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.

DAYS 32 & 33

There's a lot to be said for "feeling pretty." It's something that can make or break your day, and I've fallen victim to ruining my plans because I don't feel that way.

So, when my friend Alissa suggested we go to an event she was invited to last night and pre-game with Dry Bar blow outs to "feel pretty," I was game. After getting in five work outs and sticking to my meal plan this week, I was excited to go out for the first time in a very long time. She forwarded me the invitation, and I cringed. "Attire: Cocktail/club." What the hell did that mean? I scoured my closet, desperately searching for anything that would be appropriate. Anything I thought that could be remotely appropriate ended up on a pile on my bed, and I was not surprised to see that everything in there was black.

A black knit shift, a flowy (well, it had been flowy the last time I put it on) black tunic, a summery cotton black dress, and a black dress with pleather side panels that I'd gotten for my birthday a year and a half ago when I'd put on my first 50. I knew that dress sounded the most appropriate, but I wasn't sure if it was going to fit. I'd last worn it to a friend's birthday last summer, in the middle of my second 50 lb gain. I knew I'd only lost 10 lbs, but I thought...maybe it would fit? If it fit me at 225, why not at 250? I packed all the options in my bag and hoped for the best, but resolved not to think about it during my hair appointment. After all, I was about to get pretty!

I tuned out the world for an hour and luxuriated in the modern but elegant atmosphere of the Dry Bar. Only pausing to snap this pic.

When it was done, I felt like a model. True to Alissa's word, I "felt pretty." But I quickly realized that it was approaching dinner time, and I'd forgotten to bring anything with me! Luckily, Alissa is one of my most amazing supporters, and she was happy to make a quick grocery run to pick up a healthy dinner for us. We decided on splitting a rotisserie chicken and steaming a side of broccoli (my favorite vegetable). Quick and delicious (even having only breast meat with skin removed I was a very happy camper!). 

What I realized shortly after consuming my dinner is that I had eaten a little too fast and felt a little bloated. And now I had to figure out what to wear to this event! I showed Alissa all the options, and she agreed with my initial instinct - the dress with the leather panels was the winner. But after zipping it up, I wanted to cry. The dress fit - as in, it zipped up with little effort. But because of the stretchy fabric, I felt like I was being squeezed into a sausage casing. I could see every roll of my stomach, and I felt a hot rush off panic sweep over me. "I can't wear this!" I squeaked. Alissa assured me it looked fine, but I couldn't stop looking at my sides in the mirror. I took of the dress as quickly as I could, and felt relieved when I could breathe again. I knew had I spent one more second looking in the mirror at me in that dress, I would have gone into a bad head space and asked if we could stay home and wallow instead. 

Luckily, I knew without a doubt that my black knit dress fit me, and put it on instead. It wasn't quite as fancy looking as the previous one, but I felt like I could breathe in it, and that was the only important thing to me. I compensated for the less fancy dress with fancier makeup, and within minutes, I felt ready to take on the town. 

"The town" as it was, turned out to be a graduation party for former The Hills star Spencer Pratt, hosted by his wife, Heidi (who I later learned had invited Alissa personally, and was maybe the sweetest person I've ever met). It was pretty surreal, as the party was fairly intimate, and I only partially felt like I was intruding. Though, Heidi and Spencer were thrilled to hear about me being a USC alum, and I weirdly teared up when the USC marching band made a guest appearance and played the fight song halfway through the night. Feeling good, I enjoyed a glass of white wine as we mingled. And didn't feel tempted at all by the large food spread at the side of the room, or by the waiters who were offering appetizers through the evening. 

By the time we got home, I'd forgotten all about the problems getting dressed I'd had, and really just enjoyed being with my friend. And because we're adorable, we documented it. 

This morning I woke up, excited to weigh myself. Saturday weigh day! I couldn't wait to step on and finally see that 10 lb goal accomplished. To my shock and horror, though, when I stepped on the scale, it read 253. That couldn't be right. I stepped off and stepped back on. The screen flashed 253 again. I nearly broke down. How could I have GAINED weight since last week? I'd worked out more than ever, followed my new meal plan to a T! I'd had a 1000 calorie deficit a day, meaning I should have LOST 2 lbs, not gained them.

I sat in confusion and horror, and lay down in bed, losing motivation and wallowing for about an hour before I realized I was being an idiot. I needed to accept a few things. First, t was a different scale than I'd been weighting myself on. Not only that but I was about two days away from getting my period again. It was extremely likely that my body was holding onto water weight, and that's where those extra pounds were coming from. Also, after a week of weight training, it was extremely possible that I'd gained two pounds of muscle. 

Am I still upset about the number I saw? Yes. I'm not going to lie. I'm disappointed that I didn't see the weight I wanted to on that scale. Especially after working so hard this week. But it wasn't enough to ruin my day. 

Mostly, because one of my best high school friends was coming up to LA to visit and go to an outdoor screening of Pitch Perfect with me. Usually for an outdoor screening, I'd pack a picnic of meats and cheeses and crackers and wine, or rely on the food trucks at the location, but tonight I knew I needed to plan and eat better. So, I made a quick trip to the grocery and stocked up on low sodium turkey, cucumber slices, light string cheese, almonds, and grapes. My snack smorgasbord was a winner, and I didn't feel guilty eating a larger portion of the foods I'd brought with me. 

Though I'm still feeling insecure about my weight, I'm conscious of the positive path that I'm on. It's a healthy one, and it's a happy one. And I need to reconcile the fact that the number on the scale is going to move slowly, and it might move up and down. And while two pounds feels like the end of the world right now. Eventually, when my weight fluctuates according to water retention it will be like nothing. In fact, I'm hoping that when I get to my goal weight, I won't feel the need to weigh myself at all. That I'll be so in tune with my body that the number on the scale will lack any sort of importance.

The truth, though, is that I'm not there yet. It upsets me to not see the number lowering the way I want it or expect it to. And it sucks that even though I know I'm doing all the right things, the scale is going to fluctuate depending on what time of month I'm dealing with. That said, I'm learning how to talk to myself down and stay focused, as opposed to throwing in the towel and giving up. Because no matter what the scale says, I know I'm on track. 

Today I read a quote (that I believe Bill Gates said?). "Most people overestimate what they can do in a day. And underestimate what they can do in a lifetime." And it's true. The scale isn't magically going to jump down tomorrow. But the longer I stay focused, the more it's going to accumulate and add up to the loss I want. Either way, I know I'm not deterred. And I'm going to keep on 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 22 & 23

In forced rest and recovery for my cold, I have been through quite a bit. While yesterday started off as a day to treat myself with a relaxing morning of doing my hair and makeup and walking to the local nail salon for a fancy pedicure, it took a swift turn into foreboding as my mom asked me to accompany her on a shopping trip to the mall.

The original purpose of the trip was to find a birthday present for my big sister, but I knew that was only part of her mission. Though my mom thinks she's super subtle, the comments about taking more pride in my appearance and how worn out my current wardrobe looks did not go unnoticed, and I knew I'd be in for a bit of a shopping trip myself. Since gaining my weight I have not shopped. The clothes I'm wearing now are from 50 pounds ago, and I've been okay with that. I don't want to know what size I am. I'd rather go around knowing my clothes didn't quite fit than succumb to purchasing clothes in a bigger size. My clothes are the one vestige of my previous normal-sized life, and to acknowledge that they don't fit and I really truly can't wear them anymore is to truly admit that's not my life anymore. And I didn't think I was ready to give that up.

To make a long and boring shopping story short...I was right. I was not ready. Trying on jeans was pure torture. "Why don't we start with the biggest size?" my mom suggested. "That way, it can only get better." I knew she meant it as a joke, but my mind raced - what if I didn't fit into the biggest size of jeans? I held them in front of me. They looked like they took up my entire body. Luckily, a saleswoman must have seen the panic on my face and suggested another cut and size of the jeans. A decidedly bigger than my last size, but still not enough to make me want to throw up - size 18. I grabbed them, as well as a few larger tops, and settled down in the fitting room.

There is no worse place in the world to a fat kid than the dressing room. The harsh lighting, the 360 mirrors, and clothes. Ugh. I disrobed quickly, trying not to notice the stretch marks marring my body, and shimmied into the pair of jeans. They were snug, but they zipped up, so I said they were fine. But about three shirts in (each one of which got an, "Oh my god you look amazing!" from my mom), I thought I was going to pass out. The jeans were too tight around my stomach. Oh god. I'd have to go up to a size 20.

20. The number rolled around in my head. I'd just watched Amy Schumer's bit on the Ellen Show about how at a size 6 she felt obscenely overweight walking through LA. My size would be 8 sizes bigger than that. I broke into a cold sweat, and the fluorescent lights stung my eyes. "I need a bigger size. And we need to do this fast before I have a panic attack," I blurted out. My mom looked stunned, but quickly went to grab the bigger pair for me.

Alone in my underwear, I sank onto the cushioned bench in the dressing room, trying to hold back my tears. I did my panic attack breathing. In for five, hold for seven, exhale for eight. And again. I kept my eyes down, not willing to look at the rolls that had formed while sitting, afraid it would set me off again.

I managed to make it out of the store about three minutes after trying on the 20s. The pair felt extra heavy in my bag, and I was ready to head home.

Today, I was not ready to wear the jeans. Though they're in my possession, I'm not sure I ever will be. I'm glad Nordstrom has a great return policy because I honestly don't know if I will ever feel okay putting them on. I know a size means nothing. It's a totally arbitrary number, and I'm already well on my path to a different life - so why don't I just wear the fucking jeans, no matter what size they are? It's not like anyone besides the people who just read this post will even know? But it means something to me. I put on one of my new shirts in an attempt to feel okay, but I still felt like a blob in my outfit. I knew a lot of that was due to still being unable to workout, so I made myself a healthy breakfast and forced myself to let it go.

Breakfast: 1/2 cup steel cut oats, 1/2 cup skim milk,
2 tbs natural peanut butter, and 1/2 chopped pink lady apple

I was excited for my day. Though my mom and I had originally planned to go see a matinee on Broadway, I felt like if I had been in the audience and someone came in with a hacking cough they couldn't control, I'd try to cut a bitch. So, we regrouped. Something we loved to do when I was younger was pick a random location and go on an adventure--get lost and wander around. We picked a small coastal town in CT, Niantic, which was named one of the most charming towns. After a two hour drive, we were expecting a Stars Hollow-esque experience, but were thoroughly let down to find out there were about two restaurants, neither of which had anything but fried fish available, a book store, a coffee store, and a boutique. Disappointed, we continued to travel onwards and unintentionally upwards. And by the time we realized we were incredibly lost in bumblefuck CT, we were both uncomfortable, burgeoning on hungry, and had to pee badly.

Our pee break was taken care of immediately, but the other two had to wait a while. We searched and searched and searched for somewhere to stop for lunch, but the longer we wandered and couldn't find something, the closer to dinner time it became. My bra started to dig uncomfortably into my ribs, and I knew my cough was wearing on my mom. Between the two of us, we were grumpy and grumpier. Finally, we made it back to our home base and drove through towns we were more familiar with. We agreed on a seafood restaurant, since that's what my mom had been craving earlier, and sat down ravenous.

Now, if my sister had planned this vacation, we would have known exactly what restaurant we were eating at about a week ago, but she didn't, and I didn't. So, looking through the menu, starved and cranky and annoyed with my bra was not the best plan in the world. Steak au poivre, fish in a beurre blanc sauce, and mac and cheese all popped out at me. I hadn't eaten anything since noon, and this was just after six, I said to myself. I could have a more decadent dinner, right? But the pain in my ribs from my too tight bra reminded me otherwise. And instead I focused on what would be the most healthy dinner on the menu that I'd still enjoy. Roasted chicken with roasted seasonal veggies (as a substitution for mashed potatoes) was my best bet, and I felt like I was treating myself with a pretty large glass of Malbec.

Satiated and back in the car, I realized what a victory that was. It was small, but it was a positive decision that I made all by myself. And despite my negative mindset the past day, I'm still sticking to my goals. I know there will be more bad days to come, but I'm proud of myself for pulling myself out of this one. Because, as always, I'm going to keep doing this.

DAYS 20 & 21

As I approached the three week mark of my journey, I was filled with a sense of accomplishment. I went back into NYC to visit two of my best friends - neither of whom I'd seen in almost two years. 

As I brunched on egg whites and salad with bestie #1, I felt a twinge of congestion and a few sneezes squeak out. Ugh. Allergies. I'd been warned that this was going to be one of the worst allergy seasons ever - something to do with an overpopulation of male trees and a whole lot of pollen with nowhere to go but into my nose. I figured that rather than feeling like crap I should grab some Claritin D and really try to not to tucker out during the time I'd allotted for bestie #2.

Though I was still sniffly, I powered through, walking the floors of Bloomingdales like a champ. It was not until taking the subway to Brooklyn that I realized the congestion was getting worse, not better. I popped back some more Claritin, knowing I needed to rebound immediately. Bestie #2 had a ton of energy as she was training for a race and currently running upwards of 10 miles a day. And she wanted to meet at the Brooklyn Bridge Park where we'd be able to take a long walk. I couldn't Peter out now, allergies! Luckily, the walk through Brooklyn was beautiful, the absolute perfect weather. Plus, it was the time of day just before the sun began to set where everyone was walking their dogs. It made me miss Rory (my own) so terribly that I found myself saying drawn out "hiiii"s to several dogs as I passed them by. I was so into one particular dog that I didn't even notice one of them belonged to one of my favorite actors, Bryan Greenberg (my love for OTH will never die) and his girlfriend Jamie Chung, until I'd passed. It turned out to be okay, though, because as I came upon the park I was greeted with this beautiful view of lower Manhattan. No filter necessary. 

Before I even had time to process, I was being wrapped up into a warm hug, And my mood instantly lifted. As we walked down the path, she informed me all about her running progress and asked me about my journey into healthy living. Having once been packing a few extra pounds (though not quite where I'd let myself go), she offered her two cents. "I'm sure everyone has given you theirs already, she said, "But since I've really gone through it I just wanted to tell you my experience." I told her I wanted all the cents I could find, and she launched in. She told me she'd been keeping up with my blog and instagram and she worried my intake was too low. That when she did the same thing starting out she was inexplicably exhausted and not losing nearly as much as she thought she would. It was only when she added to her intake (healthfully, of course) did she start losing more and having way more energy. I told her I'd thought about the same thing, as most of the health and fitness gurus say the same thing. When you're exercising you need to feed the muscles you're building. More muscle = higher metabolism = more fat burning even while not working out. That contrary to logical thought, eating less while still maintaining my exercise routine would signal to my body to store more of my intake for fear of not getting enough fuel for my workouts. I explained to her my anxiety about raising my calorie limit. That my problems with binge eating were so pervasive I worried about opening that door too quickly. She understood, but then she started crying. (Side note: Can I say a blanket apology to everyone I've made cry? I'm horrified that my behavior has affected so many people. I don't plan on this happening ever again.) 

Anyway, she cried. She said how upset she was about learning my previous weight loss hadn't been earned through healthy means. That she was upset with herself for not seeing through my lies. But I promised her I'd never do that again. It was miserable to feel that kind of guilt associated with food, and it's what led to my cycle of binge eating. She hugged me and we took this picture to commemorate my promise. 

After our emotional conversation, we were in dire need of sustenance. We easily found a healthy restaurant a few blocks away (seriously if you're ever in Brooklyn and want delicious healthy foodNature's Grill is all organic with gluten free, vegan and vegetarian options). I left her for the night feeling energized and loved and ready to conquer the 4th week of my journey! But by the time I was finally sitting on the train back to CT (nearly 12 hours and 16k steps later), I realized my "allergies" weren't any better. In fact, they were about 100 times worse, and were actually a cold. 

I woke the next day completely incapacitated by my sickness. Fever, congestion, soreness and a hacking cough took over my body. I could barely move off the couch and eating was not high up on the list of thigs I wanted to do. Somewhere between my naps and nose blowing, I started to feel a panic rise up in me. 

This wasn't a part of my schedule! I was supposed to spend the morning in the gym doing upper body weight training and my intake was totally off. By 5pm I'd only consumed 350 calories and walked 40 steps. The mean voice in my head returned, telling me I needed to get off the couch, that I was a lazy sod. So when my mom said she was going to go for a walk down by the water I immediately jumped at the chance to join her. 

I pushed through a two mile walk, insisting I was fine and even encouraging us to do more for fear of having an unintentional rest day. Though I could see the worry on my mom's face, I ignored it. Until we got back inside and I was wracked with chills and sweats. After a long shower and hearty dinner of chicken, veggies and brown rice, I reminded myself that I would only prolong my sickness if I continued to push myself like that. That my anxiety can't be what rules my life. I need to take control and tell her to step off, that a rest day is necessary when I'm this sick. And being healthy includes self care and rest. 

Today I'm giving myself the rest day I need and trying not to feel bad about it. I'm taking care of my brain as well as my body by putting on makeup and doing my hair and getting a desperately needed pedicure. I keep reminding myself that two rest days in a row while my body heals is necessary and I can't feel guilty about that. That pushing myself to do anymore will hinder my heath, not help it. Because I have a long ways to go. As always, let's 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. 

DAYS 7 & 8

This entry is brought you by the letters P. M. and S.

I once read an article that said most diets that start on a Monday are broken by the end of the week, and for some reason that's always stuck with me. I think the actual message of the article was that people who view their food intake as a "diet" are the ones who give up and fail, but I have always taken it literally (if you were wondering why I started my journey last Tuesday, that's why).

Yesterday, I was thoroughly enjoying my day off from working out (and heading over to one of my best friend's apartments to spend some time writing), when a sharp pain stabbed into my lower stomach. It subsided quickly and then struck again a few minutes later. Fuck, I thought. Was it time for my period already (or as I've started calling it thanks to a clever co-worker, my moon time)? In all my excitement about starting this new healthy life, I failed to remember that my period was on its way, which is kind of insane because as my close friends and family know, my period turns me into a sad baby overwhelmed by the crippling pain of stomach cramps and lower back pain. These symptoms have only gotten worse with my weight gain. According to my extensive internet research (trying to figure out at home remedies for cramping), I learned that my extra fat actually has an estrogenic effect on my glands. This excess estrogen creates a myriad of problems including emotional upheaval, irritability, sadness, and last but definitely not least...debilitating cramps. Sounds like fun, right?

So, as I circled looking for a spot, getting more and more annoyed, I turned the wheel in the opposite direction and made a bit of a detour to a corner market where I grabbed a bottle of wine and looked for something chocolate. I knew it wasn't the best decision, but I felt like I NEEDED it. How would I be productive if I was miserable, I reasoned with myself. The options were limited, so I grabbed a bag of Milanos and a bottle of red wine and continued on my way.

Upon arriving, I inhaled the bag of cookies. Only sparing two for my friend, because I knew otherwise I would eat the whole thing. 14 cookies and two glasses of wine later, I was still unsatisfied. The wine had relaxed my muscles enough that the cramps no longer felt like a demon baby was trying to claw its way out of my uterus, but the cookies had only satiated my emotional hunger, not my desire for real food. I input the cookies into my nutrition tracker and gasped. I had consumed almost a thousand calories worth of empty food, making me almost 500 calories over my approximate limit for the day. And I hadn't even had dinner yet! I felt guilty. How could I have done that to myself? I continued sipping on my wine, hoping I'd be able to do without dinner, but as the evening continued and the hours passed, I knew I needed dinner.  Luckily, I remembered I'd left some Trader Joe's ravioli in my friend's freezer a few weeks ago! Not the best choice, but better than ordering takeout. Unfortunately, she'd eaten the ravioli, and I finally gave in. I needed to order food. The only restaurant open was a Thai place down the block, so I ordered my favorite curry and a side of rice. I ate all the rice with half the container of curry in record time (yet again), and immediately regretted it. I felt completely bloated, filled way too far, and immediately the guilty and berating thoughts appeared. "You're such an idiot," I thought. "This is why you're so fat. You'll never succeed at this rate. You're such a disappointment."

I couldn't sit there anymore stewing in my shame and discomfort (plus, by this time it was about 1 am), so I took off. As I was outside and walking to my car, a gross thought entered my head - "You could make yourself puke," I thought. "No one's around. No one would ever know. You don't have to feel this full." I'm not going to lie, this wasn't the first time those thoughts had appeared. And I'm loathe to admit that I've done it a handful of times, just wanting to forget about the food I'd gorged on earlier. But I stopped myself this time. Yes, I had eaten too much. Yes, I didn't feel well. Yes, I'd made bad decisions. But making myself throw up was not going to help, and it most definitely wasn't the way to a happier and healthier life. I had to acknowledge that and accept that. Berating myself wasn't going to change the fact that I'd eaten too much. And it certainly wasn't going to make me feel better. In fact, if anyone actually talked to me the way I talk to myself, I would have cut them out of my life a LONG time ago.

So today, as I wallowed with my heating pad in day two of my heinous cramps, I realized the first thing I really need to do this week. I need to say goodbye to that terrible voice in my head that tells me I'm worthless. That voice sucks. She's mean and a bully. She's toxic, like that terrible girl from high school you always wanted to impress but knew she'd never give you the time of day. I think by working on getting rid of her, it will free my head to think in a more positive direction without fear of being reprimanded for failing. Because the truth is, I'm going to fail. There are going to be shitty days, days where I can't get out of bed, days where I will fall down and miss the mark. But that's okay. In a week of successful eating and working out, one bad day (even if it's really really bad) isn't the end of the world. And it certainly doesn't warrant me treating myself poorly. I need to stand up to that voice and tell her to fuck off. So, that's what I'm going to do. Today is a new day, and I've lived through it successfully.

On a separate note, does anyone have any suggestions for making it through your period cravings in a healthy way? Are there any tricks of the trade? Next month I want to be as prepared as I can be. 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!