DAY 52: SAN FRANCISCO BOUND

A few months ago, my best friend and I realized we hadn't seen each other in a year and a half - at our friend's wedding, for one night. These are the hazards of moving across the country, I guess. Our friendships, even the one we hold dearest, start to become just a few texts and calls and likes on Instagram photos. So, when she told me she was going to be up in San Francisco for business for a few days in June, I told her I'd be there. At the time, I had no idea where my life was headed. I had no clue the new trajectory my whole being would be struggling with, and it didn't really hit me until I left yesterday that this trip probably wasn't what either of us had originally pictured. That didn't mean that we weren't going to enjoy every second, though.

Me and V reunited. Second time in two months!

After learning how to road trip pretty early on in this journey (what was Santa Cruz...Day 2?), I prepared myself for the six hour drive up north with plenty of healthy snacks (apples, strawberries, almonds), grabbed my favorite Starbucks treat (Skinny Hazelnut Latte and an egg white spinach wrap) and hit the road. 

It was the first time I've been alone with my thoughts for that long since starting this journey, and it was a little more intense than I originally anticipated. When I get too emotional or things get hard, I reach for a security blanket. I think we all have them - whether it's a good book, a bottle of wine, a casual fling, etc. For me it's music. Those who met me after college might not even know how important music is to me, to my healing process. But my life dream used to be a different kind of writer - of the singer/songwriter variety. 

At age 11, my dad took me to a recording studio to lay down one of my songs (a lullaby I'd written for my baby cousins). Growing up in a music industry family, I was discouraged from pursuing a career in music from day 1. After recording my song, the sound technician told me how impressed he was with me. He couldn't believe I was only 11. He asked if I had other songs, and I showed him a notebook filled with lyrics. He asked if I wanted to record anything else, but my dad shut it down immediately. In the car ride back to our hotel, I was riding high - I mean, what I'd done was pretty freaking cool, for someone of any age, much less 11. I asked my dad if we could listen to the CD in the car, and he obliged. I was SO proud of myself. That was MY SONG. And as it played through the car speakers I could almost believe I was listening to myself on the radio. My high crashed quickly after my dad chimed in. "It's great, Charlotte. You have a really pretty voice. But...in order to make it in the industry you have to have a pretty face AND a pretty voice." I was devastated, but internally I agreed with him. Britney Spears had just released her first album (at 17), and I certainly didn't look like her. It was the age of the pretty blonde pop star, and I couldn't shoehorn myself into that category as much as I wanted to. At 11, I absorbed this information and took it as the truth because I had to. Not to mention it was compounded by another decade of my dad telling me - "You'd be so pretty if you just lost a little weight." 

And though I cut my dad out of my life two years ago, sometimes his voice creeps into my head. On Monday, the day that I "felt pretty," I heard his voice questioning me. And it only got louder during the six hour drive up to San Francisco. So, I put in my latest obsession (Ed Sheeran's X) and drowned out the thoughts with his music. I listened to the album five times, listening to his lyrics and chord progressions, and became profoundly more moved each time around. This was what I missed. This was the kind of music I wanted to write. About being a sap and a nerd and being confused and hurt and in love. I made a resolution: 50 lbs into this thing, I want to get a keyboard and start writing again. Because as therapeutic as writing this quasi-diary has been, I think it'll be even more so to have a soundtrack that goes along with this journey.

By the time I arrived in San Francisco, I was feeling more motivated than I ever had, ready to tackle the next few days with my bestie by my side. After a quick rest (because, man, driving six hours is exhausting any way you cut it), we headed out to dinner to an Asian fusion restaurant. I'd already looked up the menu and knew there were a few salad options that sounded really good, and was not disappointed. Over dinner, we discussed our plan for the next few days. V had just come from Chicago where she'd gorged on not the healthiest foods, so she was game for some healthy days. My fortune agreed.

(or at all)

After finishing our food, we decided that we wanted to walk around the city, mostly to get more steps in (before leaving the airbnb I'd clocked less than 1k steps for the day). We headed to Delores Park and caught up on life. The view was pretty neat. And before we knew it, we were being kicked out of the park (apparently they close, who knew?)

By the time we got home, I'd clocked over 11k steps for the day. Which made me feel pretty good, seeing as I hadn't anticipated working out at all. That's definitely a huge plus to San Francisco, though. The walking. Mostly uphill. Exhausted, I promptly passed out, chord progressions starting to swirl through my head. 

Though the next few days aren't entirely planned out, I look forward to sharing whatever comes up. And making new goals. And writing new songs. Thank you for being part of this adventure. And as always, let's keep doing this.

DAYS 45-47

The past few days have been strange and unexpected. Having passed through two weeks of staffing and not finding any summer prospects, I'd resigned myself to a summer of working out and writing and form a solid foundation for my routine before I went back to work in August. All of this was thrown out the window, however, when I received a full time position for the summer. I was mid-hike when I got the text, asking me if I could babysit that night. To which I immediately said yes. But after the night of sitting, they sprung the full time offer on me. And I was slightly blind sided.

Though, I knew I wanted to - the family is great, the kid is great, and we'd worked together before, so I felt good about making a summer long commitment - the doubts started to creep in. When was I going to fit in my workout? I'd be working 12 hour days, and taking care of a toddler. Would I be able to maintain my exercise schedule with those kinds of hours? And what about food? Would I have time to prep my meal plan? Would I be more tempted to "cheat?" Anxiety took over. I wasn't ready for this so soon!

I told them I had to think about it, and they were more than happy with that answer, which I appreciated. I was so exhausted from my week of not sleeping, though, that I slept through my alarm the next morning and missed my window of opportunity to go to the gym. So it begins, I groaned to myself as I prepared for another afternoon of work.

But what I didn't anticipate was how helpful and accommodating the family would be. As soon as I told the mother my anxieties, she completely understood. She was so impressed by my motivation and desire to keep pushing forward toward my goals that she said she would do anything to make it work for me. Exercise could be shoehorned into the day while the toddler napped, she told me as she waxed on about the gloriousness of fitness DVDs. She even gave me a few to take home that night, to try out and see if I liked them. Or, I could take the toddler hiking with me, she suggested. Their home is close to several hikes and the entire neighborhood is uphill. As for food, she said I was welcome to take anything from their fridge. They actually use an at home food delivery service, which is farm to table and can be altered in order to fit my fitness needs. I was overwhelmed. I couldn't even begin to describe my gratitude for her support. Suddenly, the idea of going back to work seemed less daunting. 

Plus, going home and looking at my step count for the day, I realized that my activity level was automatically going to go up in trying to take care of a toddler, who wanted to run around all day. 

I woke up this morning feeling incredibly motivated, and ready to tackle the next leg of my fitness journey. And this only made it that much better. Finally getting into the 240s on the scale.

At first I was a little bummed out, I'm not going to lie. I had been home for three weeks and only lost two pounds. But also...finally seeing below 250 was pretty amazing. And I need to remember that this is an accumulation of pounds lost. Not a sprint. Plus, it meant that I could get myself a 10lb reward for myself. It popped out at the gym today. Something I've desperately wanted for my hikes - an arm band for my phone! And it's pink, because that's how I roll. I also finally bought Ed Sheeren's album for myself, which totally got me pumped during my cardio on the stationary bike. 

 And though, no, it's not what I thought this summer would be, I'm excited to see what it will bring. Even if it means figuring out a new fitness schedule and a new meal plan, I know I am committed to myself and my health goals no matter what. As always, let's keep doing this!

DAYS 39-44

It's almost been a full week since my last entry, and I finally forced myself to sit down and think about why that was. After making such a promise to myself to keep up with my feelings, I walled up and shut down and bailed.

For those of you closest to me, you know this is how I handle being overwhelmed. In the past six days, three of them were partaking in large group activities and the other three were focusing on a writing deadline.

The first group activity was a game night at a friend's house. I was already feeling down on myself because I'd had my blood drawn in the morning and had been unable to finish out my second week of five workouts. I knew that getting four workouts in wasn't bad by any means, but still riding the roller coaster of my belated period, I wasn't feeling 100%. I mustered up all the willpower I could to put on a happy face for the night, but I was immediately assaulted by snacks and drinks. My friend had prepared an amazing looking spread with brie and crackers and brownies and goat cheese strawberry pastries and home made pizza and lots and lots of wine. I knew I had to stay away from the food, but I had allotted calories for two glasses of wine for the night. But when the room started to fill up, and I was presented with a large group of people I didn't know, I broke. Food has always been a comfort to me, and with my nerves skyrocketing and not wanting to talk to new people, I broke away from the circle to grab a few snacks. By the end of the night, I was racked with guilt. I had wanted to stay on target, but I didn't.

The next day I was forced into a similar situation. To go to a picnic with an even larger group of people I barely knew. My friend and her boyfriend host a potluck picnic in the park during the summer for all their groups of friends, and though I knew a handful of people, the majority were strangers. Luckily, my raging guilt from the night before had forced me to bring a mixed green salad to the potluck and bring my own prepared lunch in a cooler, so as not to be tempted by anything there. It worked, thank god. But as my friend approached me and told me how much she loved reading my blog, how much it motivated her to exercise and eat right, the wave of guilt returned. With the schedule I'd created for myself, I was supposed to rest during the weekends, but I felt guilty knowing that I'd tacked on an extra day of rest. I didn't have the courage to weigh myself.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I was up tossing and turning until nearly 6:30 in the morning. I heard people leaving their apartments, walking their dogs, and getting up for the day, all before I was able to fall asleep myself. Something was nagging at the back of my brain, keeping my brain spiraling with worry. When I woke up Sunday (mid-day), John suggested I do something nice for myself. Brunch out? I agreed, ready to refocus my mindset on one off positivity. But when we arrived at the restaurant, I realized this would be my first time eating out since getting back to LA. I hadn't looked at the menu to prepare options, like my sister recommended, and I felt out of my depth. Luckily, I was able to find something relatively quickly on the menu (egg white frittata with garden vegetables and feta with a side of fruit) and relaxed a tiny bit. I enjoyed the sunshine and my delicious food, and when we got home, I settled in to write for the rest of the day.

I couldn't sleep again that night.

I had planned to wake up Monday morning, fresh and ready to conquer my leg day at the gym, but instead I slept through my alarm, waking only in time to make it to a writing date I'd scheduled a few days earlier. The writing was cut short, though, by plans to attend my friend's Memorial Day BBQ. Not wanting to deal with any sort of guilt, I brought watermelon to the party and snacked on fruits and veggies the whole day. And pickles. So many pickles.

I left the party realizing that during my busy holiday weekend, I hadn't worked out once and was now four days out of the game. I wanted to cry. How could I have done this to myself again? I reminded myself as kindly as I could that I had a very pressing writing deadline that needed to be attended to, and I prioritized that above all else. But I knew in reality I should have made time.

Yesterday, after banging out my morning hike with Rory (which was considerably harder after four days off), I went to the coffee shop and refused to leave until my writing was finished. I sent my script out for notes, grabbed my grocery list for Week #3 of my meal plan, and headed to Trader Joe's. And that night as I enjoyed my delicious dinner of spiralized summer squash noodles with turkey meatballs and worked on my script revisions, I felt incredibly accomplished.

Rory, killing our hike.

Today I think I truly figured out what has been bothering me, and it's going to sound really dumb, guys. Last week, during my hike on Thursday, my Polar FT4 Heart Rate Monitor ran out of battery, and I've been feeling totally off since. I've learned that I'm way more motivated when I can see the number of calories I'm taking in (and logging them in MyFitnessPal) and compare it to what I've burned on my watch. You'd think by now, a month and a half into this journey, I'd be okay not knowing how many calories I'm burning in each work out. It's the same work out each time, why the hell do I care? And the answer is...I don't know. But I do.

As I left the gym today, feeling broken down from my leg day, I wished I could see the number on my little pink watch telling me it was a job well done.

Do I see a difference in my body (especially given the ridiculous amount of selfies I take)? Yes, of course I do. Even in this horrible picture I see my face and arms thinning. But there was something extra motivating about seeing that calories burned number climb during my workouts. I'm waiting for the battery to come in, and I'm not going to lie - I expect another shitty night's sleep until it's back up and working. But until then, I know I'm going to push myself harder every day. This journey is still in its beginning phases, and I have a lot longer to go. I'm inevitably going to get frustrated and not always be able to work out and write every day. But I'm going to keep at it for as long as I can. As always, let's keep doing this.

DAYS 34 & 35

Warning: If you are triggered by mentions of sexual assault or rape, this entry is not for you.

Just over six years ago, I was raped.  On a day to day basis, it's not something I deal with anymore. And recently, my days have been more about which foods I have to prepare and what workout I've been able to complete, than anything else. In other words, my brain has been so busy thinking about other things and reprioritizing my day, that there hasn't been any time for much else to creep back in.

Last night, however, I was forced to deal with it. The final scene of Sunday's Game of Thrones showed a pretty graphic and unnecessary rape of one of the leading women. I knew it was coming, but I still wasn't really prepared. I focused on my phone instead of the TV, staring at the little game of Solitaire, and trying to block out sounds of aggressive grunting and pained screaming in the background. Luckily, I had two more shows to watch before heading to bed, but when it came time to turn off the light, my brain couldn't stop circling.

I woke up this morning feeling sluggish and easily annoyed. While last week, I'd been so excited for my Monday work out that I jumped out of bed and headed to the gym before my alarm even went off, today it took two hours of John's coaxing and an extra cup of coffee to get me there. I told myself to get over it. That I was fine, and to just do my workout the best that I could.

Apparently I took that direction to heart, because I don't think I've ever worked out as hard as I did this morning. I hopped on the elliptical for my warm up, turned on my angriest playlist and pushed myself as far as I could. And it didn't stop there. I attacked my leg circuit, pushing myself an extra two or three reps, until my muscles were shaking.

Four years ago, when I first started going to sexual assault therapist, she recommended that I exercise as part of my routine. The only gym I felt comfortable going to, however, was the 24 Hour Fitness in the middle of boystown West Hollywood. I worked out fearlessly there, knowing that the boys were more interested in checking each other out than me, and I could slip through my routine without anyone noticing I was even there. I'd avert my eyes if anyone tried to make eye contact with me and would happily give up a machine just so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone else in the gym. In other words, it was perfect.

Back at that same gym today, I was ferocious. I staked out a corner of the weight lifting room for my circuit, marking my space with my towel and water bottle and practically growling at anyone who came too close. Today, I was angry. Angry that even after six years, one fictional rape scene was enough to make me feel like my body was under attack. That even though I've worked at it and healed as much as I could, somewhere deep down I still believe my body is not allowed to take up space. That it's not my body. It's everyone's body.

My anger came to a head today when an approaching guy asked if I was still using the incline bench (even though there were two more in the near vicinity). "Yup!" I said, continuing with my workout (almost an hour strong!). Feeling slighted, he put up his hands and backed away with an, "Okay, Bambi." It took me a full 30 seconds to realize that I was wearing a shirt I'd bought at Disneyland many years ago that had Bambi on it, and another 30 seconds for my spirit to break. I felt betrayed by the gym that had kept me safe for so many years.

Tears mixed with sweat as I hopped back onto the elliptical to wind down for the day. I put on the pop station on my iTunes radio, trying to perk back up, but I couldn't . There was something so innately sexist and frustrating about the way I had been addressed. "Bambi." Really? I would never have approached a stranger and said anything like that. I just couldn't believe that even while being unafraid, in the zone, and doing exactly what everyone else was doing, this stranger felt the need to talk down to me. Maybe he thought he was being cute or clever. Maybe he does it to men as well as women. I don't know. But I do know that it made me feel small and belittled, despite leaving the gym with nearly 1000 calories burned.

After getting home and showering, I contemplated calling it a day. Just crawling into bed, deciding the world is too scary a place for me, and going back to sleep. But part of this journey is healing and taking control of my body. And so...I forced myself to put on makeup, real clothes, and shoes, and head out to a coffee shop to get some things done. 

I know no matter what society, experiences, or media tries to tell me, I can be the master of my own body. And that giving strength to my own voice is a positive thing, no matter who feels slighted as I do it. Because...as I say each time....I'm going to keep doing this.

DAY 27

Over the past two and a half weeks, I've undergone quite the mental (and the beginnings of my physical) transformation, and it's with great sadness that I post this entry from the air headed back to Los Angeles.

Though I'm beyond excited to get back to my boyfriend and my puppy, I'm incredibly sad to be leaving behind my mom. Our weeks together felt far too short. And being the mean daughter that I am, I left her with my terrible cold (I'm so so so sorry again, mom!)

But despite not feeling 100% well, she wanted us to have a special Mother's Day before I departed. And we absolutely did.

Me and mom enjoying the sun on her balcony <3

Not in the mood for getting all dolled up, we took the most casual approach to brunch we could and headed towards a local diner. When we got there, it took me about thirty seconds of looking at the menu to decide what to get. Egg white omelet with turkey-bacon, feta, tomatoes, and spinach. Substitute the carby sides for a bowl of fruit. And a coffee with skim milk. My mom looked at me curiously. "Would it really upset you if I got pancakes?" she asked. I nearly facepalmed. I hadn't even realized that for the past two weeks my mom had been on my healthy eating plan with me! The poor woman wasn't even working out and had probably lost a few pounds. That's how incredible she is. And selfish me hadn't even noticed. I mean, of course we had cooked our meals together, and when going out to restaurants I figured she was just a healthy eater, but inside I knew she could probably be eating differently. I insisted she order the pancakes, joking that would be my gift to her, allowing her to have pancakes in front of me (joke's on her though, since I will always pick eggs over sweet things at brunch!)

But in all seriousness, I appreciate what she did for me so much. Had we gone out to an Italian restaurant and she ordered pasta two weeks ago, I would have been sorely tempted to take more than one taste. Today though, I wasn't jealous. I was glad to see my mom enjoying her pancakes, even as she poured syrup on them and finished the plate. And though I'd never intentionally deprive anyone of eating something tempting, I am insanely grateful she decided to stay on track with me while I was here. It made meal planning so much easier, and I honestly feel like I've regained a certain amount of control when it comes to my unhealthy impulses.

Did I still want to knock the McDonald's fries out of the girl in front of me's hands as we boarded tonight? Absolutely. But there would have been a time where that would have tempted me to leave line and get fries of my very own. Today I didn't. Instead, I just opened up my expertly prepared lunchbox and ate the grilled chicken caesar salad waiting for me.

And though I'm heading back to Los Angeles with some trepidation about the weeks to come, I know I've formed a solid foundation on which to jump start my journey. Tomorrow vacation ends and real life begins. Tomorrow I start putting my sister's monthly meal plans into action, as well as maintaining my exercise and writing schedule on top of that. I have so much to accomplish this year, and it's really just beginning. I'm hopeful that my support system in Los Angeles is just as helpful and encouraging as the one I'm leaving behind in CT (although let's be real, no one will ever match my mom). Stay tuned on this journey...

And again, thank you times a billion to my amazing mother, sisters, and friends who have come forward and given me the guidance and encouragement I need to continue. I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude. East coast lovelies, I will miss you greatly, but...Los Angelinos, get read!. You're in for a ride with a new girl. As always, let's keep doing this.

DAY 26

There's something intensely gratifying about catching up with old friends, but it's even more gratifying when the people who know you, the core of your being, come back into your life as if they never left in the first place.

Last night was one of those times for me.

Leading up to last night, I had planned to see two of my closest friends for drinks when I was back in town. We have so much overlapping history it's ridiculous. Same Hebrew school, same middle school, same high school...and same sleepaway camp. Camp sounds so trite and silly when you say it as an adult. It's one of those things I think only east coast kids did, but I loved camp more than pretty much anything in the entire world. So much so that I even went back as a counselor. For eight weeks of my life I could just be myself, and getting to know that person was one of the best things I've ever done. Though I'm not in constant contact with my camp friends (yes, did I mention it was an all girls camp?), I've received the most support for this health journey from that community, and I know no matter where we go in life, we'll always wish the best for each other.

Needless to say, when a third camp friend heard about us meeting up for drinks, she was eager to join in on the plans, and I was eager to have her there. After relaying my health concerns, we agreed to grab salads from a nearby takeout spot and eat in Bryant Park. It was lovely and delicious, and we were able to catch up on everything (though, I did get a bunch of, "Oh, yeah, I read about that on your blog!" - so I guess everyone knows details about my life all the time now!).

I'd even spared myself enough calories to splurge on wine after the meal, so we walked a few blocks to a cute bar, and talked the night away. I wish I could let everyone know how amazing these ladies made me feel and how much I adored seeing them, but I don't think there's any way to describe the sort of longstanding connection we have. And because I value their opinions so much, it made me even happier to have them support me on my endeavors. It was the lowest pressure night out I could possibly imagine, and I was filled with angst at the prospect of not reuniting for another ten years (so, naturally we documented it!)

Us minus one (whose fiancee came and stole her away before we remembered to take a picture)

The only downside to the whole evening was our terribly rude bartender, so in an attempt to make the evening last longer, I suggested we find a new place close to the train. We ended up walking in several circles before finding a new haunt, but it was great with me because it meant I was adding steps to my daily count, and I got to enjoy a beautiful evening in NYC.

Though the night itself had very little to do with my health journey, it was one of those moments I realized how important what I'm doing is. That I have so much good in my life, so much to brag about, and so much yet to accomplish. I can't be derailed by poor health. I just can't. And as the night came to a close, I became even more determined to stay with my plan. 

So, when I realized this morning it was time to weigh myself again (really, a whole week went by since last time), I stepped on the scale with little fear. What merely days ago made me cringe actually made me smile this morning. I knew I'd been on target with my food, and despite my cold side lining me from working out, I'd managed to stay active and walking every day. And this was the result. 

Nine pounds down. I got off and got on the scale again an hour later, thinking the first number must surely be a mistake. But, the number stayed the same. 

 Only one pound and four days away from my goal of losing ten pounds a month, I'm ready to continue accumulating lost pounds and healthy meals. I know it's just the very beginning of what's sure to be a new life, and  I'm incredibly excited by it. I feel so lucky to have the support system and community I do, because I know that the best part of my day is sharing this with all of you. 

Massive shout out to my TLC ladies. Let's keep this journey going. Next time in LA? Because, as always...I'm going to keep doing this. 

DAYS 16-19

I promised myself I would, so I did. Today I finally weighed myself. And this is what happened:

19 days of blood, sweat, and tears, and I've officially lost 5.6 lbs! As I stood on the scale, trying not to hold my breath, waiting for the numbers to pop up, about a thousand things ran through my head. But nothing could have prepared me for the underwhelming - hmmm - that was my actual reaction. Not elation, not disappointment, simply satisfaction. Satisfaction in knowing that this journey is not a sprint, it's a goddamned marathon (two or three marathons, even!), and I'm just starting out. I am losing exactly how much I set out to (~ 2 lbs/week) and am on track to have a 10lb loss per month. And because of this, I need to start thinking about my rewards system. 

I knew the best person for this job would be my longest friend, Amber, so on Wednesday after my morning workout and haircut (supplementary photos are all on my Instagram Follow Me HERE!), I hopped on the train to NYC to meet her for dinner. Per my sister's instructions, we had decided on a healthy restaurant earlier in the week - a great place in Chelsea that specializes in vegetable plates called Westville. The portions were ginormous, and I was able to take home leftovers of roasted cauliflower, sautéed brussell sprouts, and shaved artichoke hearts, as well as most of my salmon and quinoa salad entree.

Breakfast (TL): Steel cut oats w/ 2 tbs natural peanut butter and 1/2 apple.
Lunch (TR): Grilled chicken and eggplant salad over mesclun w/ dijon vinaigrette.
Dinner: Blackened salmon w/ quinoa salad and roasted tomatoes. Market veggie plate.

 As we dined on this deliciousness, I asked Amber to help me out with coming up with some rewards for myself. She immediately started plotting. Knowing about my financial constraints (*shakes fist at hiatus/unemployment in the entertainment industry*), she tried to keep the rewards as cheap as possible, even coming up with a few free options. We agreed that the rewards shouldn't be weight dependent, so no food treats, not too many interim clothes, etc. We even tried to think of things that would be health promoting treats, an expensive exercise classes a la Soul Cycle, or a high end sports accessories from Athleta or lululemon. That night, even though I was exhausted from walking all over NYC, I continued brainstorming ideas. I never thought I was an incentive based worker, but it turns out I might be! My list is still in the works, but I can't wait to share it with all of you.

Thursday was supposed to be my rest day, I swear. I woke up, put on makeup, did my hair, and made a delicious brunch with my leftover veggies, quinoa salad, and added chicken sausage for some protein. I was planning on hanging out, writing up my blog entry and catching up on all the TV I'd missed since beginning my travels. But as soon as my mom asked if I'd want to go to the beach with one of our oldest family friends, I couldn't resist putting on my sneakers and abandoning all thoughts of resting. Though the walk was slow paced (my family friend hadn't seen me in two years and led about an hour long inquisition of my life -- she's not on FB, haha), it was still a good 3 mile loop. I felt proud of myself that I didn't feel resentful of being asked to exercise on my rest day. At no point during our walk did I even feel like I was exercising. I was simply catching up with an old friend.

Brunch (TR): 1 link chicken sausage over 1/4 cup quinoa salad, 1 cup roasted veggies.
Dinner (BR): Balsamic chicken over 1/4 cup cooked quinoa, zucchini, tomatoes, and mesclun.

The highlight of my week, however, was yesterday. After my morning workout (an intense leg day of a one mile treadmill warm up, weighted lunges, squats, deadlifts, leg extensions, leg curls, leg press, and finishing up with 100 weighted crunches), I showered and got ready to go back into NYC with my mom to meet up with her best friend since childhood (whom I call my "other mother"). I spoiled myself and used a bunch of my mom's fancy makeup (even getting her to give me a few of the items she'd impulse purchased and didn't end up liking after a few uses!), and sent this picture to my boyfriend. He called me immediately. "Your face looks so skinny, <insert nauseating pet name here>!" he said. I scoffed. How could this be? I'd only been gone a little over a week, maybe it was just the angle of the picture? I took another one from straight on and asked, "Really?" At this point, I hadn't yet weighed myself, so I kind of thought he was just being overly sweet and brushed it off. But as I scrolled through the week since I left LA, I could see he maybe wasn't being insincere. My cheeks and chin had started to subside. And I was feeling great about it. 

Invigorated and "feeling pretty" for the first time in...I don't even know how long, I walked through the city going picture crazy. I stopped and took photos of the flowers in bloom on Park Avenue, I made us pause at Intermix and take a picture on their couch. I smiled and laughed a lot. By the time the sun was starting to go down, I realized we'd walked about 60 blocks, just window shopping. Our feet were aching, and none of us had brought jackets with us, so we needed to find a restaurant for dinner. My other mother recommended a small Italian place by her apartment, and I was able to look at the menu and pick out about three healthy options before even sitting down. After my exercise intense day, I splurged on a glass of red wine with my dinner, and didn't even feel tempted to join in pre-meal bread eating. A first, for sure. 

I was the definition of happiness, even as we said goodbye and headed back to the car. Fully situated, I pulled up my health app, curious to see how many steps we'd actually taken around the city and was shocked to see that we'd almost cleared 13,000 steps, just over 6 miles (and that wasn't counting my mile on the treadmill earlier in the morning!). I was overwhelmed. I turned on the radio and attempted to sing along, but I was so damn happy that I kept getting choked up and being unable to continue. Though I am a crier (the HomeAway commercial with the dog getting left behind brings literal tears to my eyes), I couldn't remember the last time I'd been too emotionally overwhelmed to sing. I think my body is just so relieved I'm actually doing something to make so many positive changes that it sort of went into shock.

I'm grateful for my tears, though. They remind me to keep going. That this is the right path for me. That even though I'm just beginning, and I know there will be bad times and harder times ahead, I can enjoy pushing myself and coasting through this tidal wave of happiness right now. That I'm allowed to feel happy at any weight. As always, let's keep doing this. 

DAY 15

I've never really held much stock in the phrase, "There's no place like home." Unlike Dorothy, my friends and family left the small town where we grew up almost as soon as they could. With my sisters in LA and Chicago respectively, and my best friends spread across the nation, I'd never really seen the point in coming back to Connecticut. Though my mom remained, it wasn't like she still lived in my childhood home (neither the first, nor the second), and I'd much rather spend time with her in LA where we had better weather and much more to do.

But after my mom visited LA in March, she begged me to come home. Really, truly begged.
"It'll be like a spa vacation," she said. "You can relax and go to they gym and work on your writing!" Since I was on hiatus, waiting to hear if the show I worked on was going to return for another season (it did, btw--yay Faking It Season 3!), I figured...why not? I knew she was anxious to keep an eye on me; I'd never seen her as worried about me as when she was leaving LA this time (and that's saying something because I'm ashamed to admit I've put that woman through a LOT to be worried about). And as the weeks passed, I realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd spent any time alone with her. Because of my crazy television work schedule, all our time together had been as a family, and I lacked any one on one time with her. I was excited. And I was not let down.

My mother is not a cook (she was quoted saying she prefers cleaning dishes to cooking tonight), but using the meal plan V and I had come up with a few days before, my first day home turned into a magical delicious feast.

Breakfast (top left): 1/2 cup of steel cut oats cooked in 1 cup of skim milk. 1/2 of a chopped granny smith apple, and 1/8 cup of walnut halves.

Lunch (bottom left): 4 oz. chicken breast, 2 tbs. 0% greek yogurt, a dollop of fresh pico de gallo, on top of 1 cup chopped romaine.

Dinner: 6 oz. filet mignon, with mixed veggies (1 cup of sliced mushrooms, 1/4 cup of red bell peppers, 1/2 cup of green beans) cooked in 1 tbs of olive oil and 2 tbs soy sauce, on top of 1/2 cup brown rice.

I was seriously astounded at how delicious my meals were. Not only that, but since they'd been planned before time, they required about zero thought. And my total intake was only 1390 calories, even before my exercise. The spa vacation sentiment was pretty true. Plus, it felt amazing to be taken care of by my mom. That sounds pretty silly coming from a 27 year old adult, but there's something so intensely gratifying about it. My mom is the first to support my goals and my journey, and a large part of this has been influenced by her, but being with her was suddenly incredibly low pressure. I felt like we could just enjoy being together.

This morning we accomplished my first and most important mission. New sneakers. My brother in law promised I'd tell my mom I needed new sneakers after the bloody foot incident of this past Sunday, so that's where our day began. And it was quite an experience. For the past three days, I've done extensive research on which gym shoes are best for overweight women. Which shoes have the most shock absorption to decrease pressure on joints. Which shoes have the most stability. Which shoes come in fun colors (I'm sorry, but that's important to me!). The most valuable piece of information I learned in my research was to go to a running store and have someone evaluate my gait. It sounded silly to me, but I figured why not? So, I went to the closest running store and took my chances. Let me just say, if anyone ever needs any new sneakers, I cannot recommend this experience more. Not only did the salespeople know everything there is to know about different sneakers, but she first had me stand on a computer scale, which projected an image onto a screen to show me where most of my weight was distributed (my heels), the length and width of both my feet (9M forever despite my weight gain), and if I needed extra arch support (nope, my arches are high as hell). Because of my weight, she picked a few sneaker options that were high in stability and cushioned soles, and I went to town. After finding a pair that felt like I was floating on a cloud or walking on a pillow, she put me on a treadmill to run for 15 seconds. My feet were filmed, and when I got off, she played the video back in slow motion, just to check and make sure my alignment in the sneakers were good (toe lining up with ankle, heel, and knee). They did! And this was the glorious result.

Anxious to try them out, I convinced my mom to do the 3 mile loop around Tod's Point Beach with me. I put on my heart rate monitor, my new shoes, and grabbed my water bottle, ready to enjoy some quiet time with my mom. The view wasn't too shabby either. Plus, I managed to burn 500 calories.

 On our way home, I asked my mom to show me where her gym was. She knew she was going to have to go into work tomorrow, so I wanted to be prepared for my workout without her there to push me. Turns out I probably won't need a push. As soon as we stopped in the gym, I was taken aback by my urge to really break a sweat. My three mile walk had felt more like a warm up than true exercise, and I decided to do a quick weight training session while my mom went upstairs to start on dinner. I grabbed a pair of 15 lb weights and went to town. 4x12 sets of squats to shoulder press, straight leg deadlifts, lateral raises, lateral dips, lateral pull downs, bicep curls--and finishing things off with 100 crunches holding the 10 lb plate above my head. My quick session raised my total calories burned to nearly 1k calories. Far more than I'd originally anticipated.

And though I'm sitting in bed now, soreness starting to creep into my muscles, I feel incredibly accomplished. At no point did I feel like I was being forced into eating something healthy or working out. After two weeks, it's simply part of my routine--something I HAVE to do, just as important as sleeping or showering or watching all my shows!

Something I haven't done yet, however, is weigh myself. It's something I'm still a little scared to do. What if the numbers haven't changed at all? What if they've changed too little? What if I've gained weight (I know that's implausible but my brain works in crazy ways). One of my promises to myself is that I will weigh myself this week. By Sunday, I will have a weigh day, and that will be my new weekly weigh day for this journey. I decided that with each 10 lbs I lose, I'm going to treat myself with something (non-food related, of course). For my final goal, I want to take a weekend trip away somewhere. Santa Barbara or Palm Springs or Vegas? But with my current bank account's state, I need the treats leading up to that final prize to be somewhat economical. If anyone has any suggestions, I need 9 more treats/presents to myself to fill in! Because, as always, I'm going to keep doing this.

DAY 6

There are many days where I wonder if being in LA contributes to my skewed body image. Today was one of those days. 

After being a productive adult (four loads of laundry, dishes, dogs walked, meals prepped), I met up with one of my best friends to tackle Runyon yet again. Though I wasn't anticipating it being a breeze all of a sudden, I secretly wished it would be. The last time I hiked with her I was in far better shape. Plus, she's an aspiring pro golfer, who could probably run Runyon up and down twice before I slow trekked my way to the top. Regardless of my trepidation, I was grateful for the company. Especially because it allowed me to take not just one but two puppy friends for the hike. 

The hike itself wasn't as bad as yesterday. I certainly wasn't sprinting uphill, but I took fewer breaks (though it took all my courage to ask her to pause for the first one). It was really our conversation that got my wheels spinning. She told me she wasn't really isn't LA right now and asked if I'd ever consider moving away. And I wasn't really sure how to answer. I used to be 100% certain that I'd move back to New York, that I'd NEVER want to be an LA person. But that changed many years ago when it became clear to me it was a necessity to stay in LA if I wanted to write for television. I'd have to pull a Lena Dunham and sell a hit show to a major network who wouldn't mind me setting up shop in NYC for me to ever realistically consider returning. But her question gave me pause regardless. 

Had my body image suffered because of regularly working with actors and actresses? Did I internally compare myself to the fashion forward models in my neighborhood who looked gorgeous first thing in the morning as they walked their dogs? And would that change in another city?

I recently received a message from a girl I went to college with but didn't know very well, who expressed similar self esteem and body dysmorphia issues to the ones I'd experienced. She moved away from LA, reached her lowest weight and still was unhappy with her body. 

And as I hiked today, taking in the wide array of fit bodies along the trail, I acknowledged that it doesn't matter where you live or who you're surrounded by. You will always compare yourself to others unfavorably if you don't know how to be happy in the body you have. I'm working on that, slowly but surely (even if my face doesn't look super happy, it's still a proud one!)

Let's keep doing this!