DAYS 79-93

Well, it's been another two weeks since I took pen to paper, and I have to admit...I'm embarrassed about it. The last time I checked in, I was convinced my wallowing was over, and I'd signed up for Class Pass and felt ready to tackle my goals.

Except, my brain and body didn't agree on that. After signing up for my first class, I was nervous but excited. I was going to try out a pilates class - something I had wanted to try for YEARS. Now was my time! But when it came time to actually go to the class, anxiety took over. I was short of breath with sharp chest pains, and an overwhelming sense of nausea set in. I tried to breathe through the panic. I used all my best tricks - counting down from 100, my slow belly breathing, and (my personal favorite) telling Rory what's happening. Nothing seemed to work. Even when I was able to catch my breath, the nausea intensified. I didn't know what to do. Thinking I wasn't up for pilates in the near future, I canceled my class and the panic IMMEDIATELY subsided. 

I spent the rest of the night sulking.

The next day, I had planned to go to a Spinning class with my friend who is obsessed with the studio I'd booked. She was jazzed, and I was too! Spin sounded like a ball. I already loved the stationary bike. But add a room with some motivational leaders and some fun music, it sounded right up my alley. Of course, an hour before the class, though, my dreaded panic set in again. Determined not to let my friend down, I made it to the studio. I asked the teacher to help me set up my bike (because apparently that's a huge ordeal), I put on my spin shoes and I was ready to go!

What I realized over the course of that class, though, is that I was NOT ready to go. Oh my god, was I out of my league or what. What I hadn't realized about spin is that there's not much sitting on your stationary bike, and my body just wasn't strong enough to hold myself up like that yet. My knees ached from standing, and when I took a few minutes to sit, the seat immediately dug into my butt (pretty sure I'm still bruised down there). There were times when the class felt so long that I didn't know if I was going to make it through. All the joints and muscles in my body revolted, despite everyone around me looking like they were having the time of their life. By the end of the hour, my body was drenched in sweat - literally every surface of my body was sweating (including the backs of my hands which I legitimately didn't know COULD sweat). And I felt defeated. I had been working out for nearly three months, and I felt like I had nothing to show for it. I was still REALLY out of shape.

I will say that in the hour following spin, my endorphins reached such an all time high that I thought the whole thing might be like giving childbirth, that I'd magically forget the torture of the class and only remember the resulting high. But...alas, I don't have spin amnesia, and I don't think I'll be ready to take another stab at it any time soon.

In fact, since the disaster of the spin class, I've been too intimidated and upset to try another class. And that really bums me out. I feel a little defeated, to be honest. Every time I try and make myself work out, I make a slew of excuses about what I could be doing instead. Which has resulted in a solid week and a half of me rewatching all of Gilmore Girls on Netflix and not much else. 

Ultimately, I'm giving myself a break. That doesn't mean I'm going to continue being a lump on my couch for whatever show comes after my Gilmore Girls rewatch, but it does mean I'm not going to shame myself for doing what I need to do. The next few weeks are going to be a time of immense change for me. I'm going to be leaving my first solo grownup apartment and move back into a roommate situation. I'm going to leave behind West Hollywood, which has been my neighborhood for the past six years. I'm going to sell or get rid of a lot of my stuff that I've accumulated and start fresh. And I'm going to hopefully find a part time job I can stay with for the foreseeable future to supplement my writers' assistant income and be able to not stress about paying my bills. I mean, that's a LOT of stuff to do. For anyone, much less someone who's going through their first real breakup. 

But, holding myself accountable and recognizing my feelings is the first step to getting back on track. I figure that if I keep telling myself I'm going to do this that I'll be able to Secret it into existence (that's how that works, right?). Since acknowledging my lack of interest in exercising right now, I've started taking long walks. Just around the block, nothing high impact. But something to get me out of my apartment and on my feet. I'm hoping that I'll be able to push myself back into a regular exercise routine sooner rather than later, but I'm not beating myself up about it either. Mostly because I know I'm not giving up.

A few months ago, if I'd encountered something like this, I would have been off exercise for the long haul, completely uninterested in maintaining my healthy eating, but I know I have to do this. So....that's what I'm going to do. 

DAYS 54-62

I have written and rewritten this post so many times over the past week, but seeing as it's now over a week from my last post, I decided it was time to do it. I have a bad habit of shutting down and avoiding problems when I don't want to deal with them. You'd think I'd have learned to be better about it by now, but I'm not. When I started this, I promised full transparency regarding my eating and exercise habits, but I didn't anticipate that it would also force me to be honest with my emotions. But today marks 2 months on this journey, and I knew I had to write something. Anything. So, here it is.

After coming home from an amazing trip in San Fransisco (two days of which I didn't even write about but will summarize by saying I wish I could go back immediately), I was forced to deal with a major life change: the end of my year and a half long relationship with my live in boyfriend. I'm not going to discuss the why or the how because that's not really relevant to anything, and as much as I'd love to air my feelings out through my writing, that's not particularly fair to the other party involved. But what I will admit is how hard it's been.

Our fitness schedules had been synched up, and to realize that it might not be the best idea to continue going to the gym together gave me an excuse not to stick to my exercise plan. On Monday I did a medium intensity cardio session on the stationary bike in my apartment complex gym (aka, three machines in the basement). On Tuesday it rained and I gave myself the day off. Wednesday I forced myself to do the hike I'd originally planned for the day before, and after being bed bound with food poisoning on Thursday, I allowed myself to take the rest of the week off.

Deep inside, I knew my excuses weren't super valid. On Tuesday instead of my hike I could have easily gone to the gym instead. And instead of hanging out at home like a lump on a log or trying to distract myself, I could have put my frustration and energy into my work outs. But I didn't. Instead, I hid. This was also made more difficult by a slight change in my work schedule. While I was in San Fransisco, the woman I was working for underwent some medical emergency and told me she needed to hire an RN for full time care, only to come back four days later and ask if I could work full time again. I had resigned myself to the fact that it was a sign, and maybe I was meant to focus on my health this summer right before she asked for me back, and it felt a bit like whiplash. With my emotions already all over the place, I wished for consistency, so I said yes to full time again. But now I'm having my original doubts all over again. Will I have enough time to exercise? What about food prep?

I will say that I have remained on my food plan this week. With one notable exception. I was actually pretty proud of myself. I stayed within my calorie count, I didn't overindulge in sad breakup food. The most I did was to order Thai food on Wednesday night (not even an unhealthy curry or noodle dish...), and of course was struck down by food poisoning for all of Thursday.

On Friday I finally forced myself to get out of the apartment. After four days of sitting at home and sulking, I was ready to see the light of day. But as soon as I was out, I found myself plagued by anxiety. Then the though of returning home doubled that anxiety. The truth is, my motivation has had to take a backseat to some bigger things this week. It's been rough. I haven't weighed myself, I haven't come up with a new exercise plan. Nothing. I should have been so excited this week, coming up on the second month of this journey, but I had other things on my mind. Things like finding a new apartment, looking for a roommate, finding alternative ways to make money, and figuring out how to share my living space with my ex until we can find other places to stay. Big things.

I know it sounded like I've fallen off the train, but I haven't. I swear I haven't fallen off of the train. I'm merely waiting at the platform, hoping to catch the next one (terrible metaphor but I'm running low on brain capacity). Because my health is so important to me, and I don't want this journey to take a back seat. It can't. I just have to figure out how to make the brain space for all of it. And I know I can.

As always, let's keep doing this.

DAY 53: SAN FRANCISCO

What is it about being in a new place that just makes you want to try every restaurant you pass by? I know that some of it has to be the fear of missing out on something you may not try again, but it almost feels like a compulsion, a need to try new foods.

Yesterday was a lot about food. And since it was a lot about food, we decided to also make it a lot about exercise. Walking, to be specific. We set our sights on two different parks to enjoy, with restaurants in between. We started off at a local cafe so V could finish her work in the morning. I enjoyed scrambled eggs (with yolks!) and a bowl of fruit. Sadly, the toast got kicked to the curb, which was totally fine.

Energized and work finished, we headed to our first destination - Golden Gate Park, which is over a thousand acres of sprawling wildlife, gardens, and museums (to put it in perspective it's about 20% larger than Central Park). We went with no real plan, other than to stop at a local Burmese restaurant for lunch on the north side of the park. V had been told we HAD to have it, so we made it a priority. The park was gorgeous.

As we walked, V asked me about my fitness journey so far. We talked quite a bit, but I was stuck on one of her questions as we continued on: How long was I going to keep blogging? I thought about it. I wasn't really sure. A year? Until I hit my goal weight? She pointed out that I didn't have a goal weight, and I laughed. She was right, yes. No true goal weight had been set. But I went into this having gained 100 lbs, and I think somewhere in the back of my mind that's where I imagined myself going. Did I think I was actually going to lose 100 lbs? I honestly didn't know. I could lose 70 lbs and decide that I'm fine. With the muscle I'm building from all my weight training, the actual composition of my body is changing so drastically, I'm not sure what it'll look like or feel like when those extra fatty pounds are gone. I admitted that I felt I'd just know when it was time to stop. She agreed.

Somewhere in our rambling, V decided that we should walk to the beach on the far side of the park. She had come all the way from NYC and wanted to dip her toe into the Pacific! I figured why not? Except half way there we realized it was about a seven mile walk through the park to the beach. But, we were already committed, and so we did it. 

Our impromptu beach visit had delayed us a little bit, though, and by the time we headed back towards the restaurant, it was already 4:30. The restaurant opened at 5, so we hung out in the car and listened to some music before preparing ourselves for the life changing Tea Leaf Salad we'd been recommended. I wish I had a picture of it because it was so beautiful, but we were so hungry by the time we sat down to eat that I totally forgot about it. It was delicious though. An array of textures came together for one perfect bite - peanuts, toasted garlic, sesame seeds, jalapeños, romaine, tomatoes, and topped with fermented tea leaves. It sounds crazy, but it was definitely worth the stop. We also decided to get some Burmese style vegetable curry and some coconut chicken noodles. We were in and out of there in about 40 minutes, and we were both totally stuffed.

After, we contemplated heading home and getting ready for our evening (even though we didn't know what that would entail), but we had made plans to go see the redwoods at Muir Woods, and we wanted to follow through. I'm incredibly grateful that we did. It was as if we were able to wander around an enchanted forrest, filled with magical beings lurking in the hollows of the gigantic trees.

I never wanted to leave. But sadly I'd forgotten my sweater at home, and my arms were starting to freeze off. We headed back home, enjoying driving through the thick fog. It added to our magical day.

By the time we got home, though, we were WIPED. I mean...we'd walked a bajillion miles and had started our day pretty damn early. So, instead of making a big deal about dinner (plus, it was like 9:30 anyway), we grabbed some tacos as a local recommended taqueria (we're staying in the Mission, and that is THE thing). 

At the end of the night, I was curious to see how many steps we'd actually walked and was not shocked to see a giant number staring back at me.

I'm so glad I've been able to utilize the city for my fitness needs. Regardless of not stepping into a gym since Wednesday, I don't feel like I've compromised any of my goals. I've been able to enjoy the food I want to try without indulging too much, plus I've maintained my activity level throughout. Halfway through my SF trip, and I think I can already say it's been a success. Being in LA, I don't have the opportunity to walk around this much, so I'm excited for two more days in SF. Come on, y'all. Let's keep doing this.

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 48-51

The past few days have been interesting. Not particularly good interesting or bad interesting one way or another. But, I'm noticing the way I'm changing more and more. 

On Sunday, I realized that I'd been out and about LA with friends for four nights in a row. By the time I came home on Sunday night I thought I'd be exhausted, but I was amped up after spending a great night out with friends. I wanted to watch Game of Thrones and see what everyone on my timeline was already tagging with SPOILER! 

I guess I've always been a fairly social person. I enjoy going out and I love seeing my friends. But since my weight gain, I all but quit my socializing. It seemed like a bigger burden to go out because I knew I'd have to find something to wear and inevitably would get progressively more anxious about being seen in public. This weekend, however, it barely fazed me. I felt, dare I say, normal again. I spent a fairly average amount of time picking an outfit and putting on makeup before heading out of the house. No panic attacks even threatened to bubble up. I was...fine. 

On Monday, I woke up ready to get back to my workout routine and decided I'd give one of the workout DVDs my new boss had loaned me a try. She suggested I start with the Tracy Anderson Method's pregnancy program because it was "slightly easier." Let me just say for the record, if that's slightly easier, I will not be ready for the real Tracy Anderson Method...maybe ever. The DVD was only 30 mins, but it kicked my ass. I was doing things with my muscles that they had never felt before. But oh, did I feel it later that day. 

And as I sat in the backyard, waiting for my new charge to wake up from his nap, I realized how great these changes to my life are. 

I felt serene. Entirely calm (although I guess some of that can be attributed to the baby's napping). 

But honestly, it was the first time I felt comfortable with the amount of change going on in my life. The past few months have been overwhelming. My emotions have been going through extreme highs and extreme lows. I think mostly because change is really pretty terrifying. No one actually likes change. It's unsettling. Going into the great unknown. One change leads to another and sooner or later you look around and don't even recognize your life anymore. But, if someone told me my life was going to be the same in ten years from now I'd be even more petrified. Change is good. It's natural. And it's really fucking exciting. 

Yesterday, as I finished my hour of cardio on the stationary bike, I was excited to find a package of clothes I'd ordered for myself from Modcloth. A few weeks ago I realized I'd returned two dresses last summer and never used my credit. So I got a few tops and a summer dress to supplement my wardrobe. For free (kind of). The clothes were all 2x, and I'd struggled with ordering them. But as soon as I tried them on, I couldn't have been happier. These were clothes that I wanted. That I was excited about. And I was thrilled to have more options every morning in my closet. Because there's nothing worse than having only three things that fit you and realizing all of them are in the hamper right before you have to be somewhere. 

I wore my new shirt with pride to work, loving the way it made me feel. Pretty. 

I can't lie and say that I woke up this morning feeling pretty again. Because I didn't. I woke up exhausted, having set my alarm earlier than usual to finish edits on a writing assignment before heading to the gym. I got grumpy at the gym because John (in his genius way) said I should just take the battery out of his HRM because he wasn't using it and mine still hadn't come. Only to find out the watch was still malfunctioning and I may have to drop another $65 to get a new one. I was annoyed by the June Gloom drizzles as I made my way to work and even more annoyed when the sun came out and I started to sweat under my long sleeves and pants. But that's not really what's important. What's important is that these small moments of clarity and happiness keep poking through. That the little changes I've made are starting to add up into something big. So big that I don't know who I'll be in another ten pounds lost, much less the next ninety of them. 

But I can say that I am excited you are all here for this journey. Somehow it's a little less daunting with you all by my metaphorical side. So, thank you again to everyone for their incredible support. 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 30 & 31

Yesterday was a typical day. Woke up, went to the gym, went about my errands, ate my meal plan meals, etc. But today I woke up and realized it had been a month since I started keeping this journal.

A whole month.

I didn't have time to think about it, though, because I could see ominous clouds in the distance, threatening rain at any moment, and I had a morning hike to attend to first!  Despite being accompanied by John and my friend Caiti, I was extremely slow in my ascent. My new work out in the gym has made my legs sore as all hell, and that blister on my heel (the one that looked like a sinkhole and thought would give me sepsis) made my foot twinge with each step. I'm sure my hike suffered because of the way I had to put my foot down with each step, trying to avoid hurting the blister more. Luckily, we made it to the top in relatively good time, and managed to get back home before the rain started. Also, this motivational sign made an appearance on my street and got me thinking a bit.

Inspired, I decided to make my lunch and get to work on my writing for the day. But as I attempted to draft my latest spec script, something felt OFF. I couldn't pin point it. Maybe it was the lack of sunshine, or that I'd wanted to explore a new coffee shop today but didn't want to brave Los Angelinos attempting to drive in the rain (seriously, 99% have NO idea that the road gets slippery). I just couldn't make the words flow. I was about to throw up my hands and call it a day when I realized that I knew why I was feeling so weird. 1 month meant I had to take a progress picture, and I really really really didn't want to. But, going in , I made a promise to myself that I would take monthly progress pictures, and so I wanted to adhere to that. So, I did. I even got a little brave and took a picture of my side view as well as from behind. 

This is me, ten pounds lighter than last month.

I look at the picture, and I honestly can't see a difference. In fact, I feel like my back looks heavier than one month ago. So then i got to thinking. Where did that weight disappear to, if I can't see a visible difference? Well, then something magical happened. I talked myself out of feeling crappy about not being able to see a difference and just moved forward with my life. I even decided to treat myself to a glass of champagne to toast myself for sticking with this for a month, hitting my goal, and being ready to conquer the future. When the cashier asked for my ID at the checkout line, I even giggled gleefully - loving that even approaching 30, the cashier needed to make sure I was 21. But what she said next nearly knocked me out. "Girl!" she exclaimed, bringing me out of my giddy trance. "You've lost a LOT of weight! You look good." I took my ID back from her and realized that the photo on the ID had been taken this past November (the peak of my weight gain), and this woman could tell based on that photo and my current face that I had lost weight. I was stunned. Here I was, merely hours before thinking that I looked no different, but I was wrong.

After thanking her profusely, I headed home to make my dinner and enjoy a glass of champagne. For my last day of Dinner #1 on my meal plan, I decided to mix things up a little bit. For the last three nights I'd been enjoying bolognese sauce over sauteed mushrooms and zucchinis. But today I was feeling excited and wanted to see if I could create zoodles - or noodles created out of zucchini. For Hannukah, my mom had sent me a spiralizer but I had yet to really use it. I'm not sure why, though. Because it was maybe the best thing I've ever used in my entire life. Within two minutes, I had a bowlful of zoodles. I'd heard that since zucchini contains a lot of water, it's good to let them dry out a bit, so I let them sit on some paper towel for about 15 minutes before throwing them into a sautee pan. About two minutes in the pan, and my zoodles were ready! I topped them with my leftover meatsauce, a sprinkle of cheese, and VOILA. Best. Dinner. Ever.

Pasta has been the one thing that I really truly miss so far. And boy am I glad I found zoodles because they have the same texture as spaghetti. So much so that I genuinely felt like I was eating pasta for the first time in a month! I highly recommend a spiralizer for anyone who wants to try them. It was the easiest dinner I'd made so far. 20 minutes from conception to the plate. And so so satisfying. I'd never been so excited about a vegetable before in my life.

But, I guess that's who I am now. Excited by vegetables, and ready to take on the world. Thank you for taking this journey with me for the past month. Now, bring on the next one!

Let's keep doing this.

DAYS 28 & 29

Day 1 back in Los Angeles required a lot of adulting. More than I was prepared for, to be honest. Although I knew it was going to be a transition to get back to my "normal" life, without the help of my mom and sister, I wasn't really happy about the lack of motivation that greeted me in the morning.

Curled up with my puppy as my little spoon, getting out of bed and heading to the gym seemed like the last thing I wanted to do. My "normal" life, I figured out really quickly, was no longer normal.   But after making myself my sister approved breakfast of chicken apple sausage, egg whites, and avocado (as well as a side of strawberries I cut up for myself), I decided it was time to start the day. But come on, you'd have trouble leaving this face too.

I dropped the puppy off at the groomer for a haircut and made my way to the gym (boyfriend in tow). Before arriving in LA, I had made a new exercise plan for myself. One that now required exercising 5x a week. I figured while I was temporarily unemployed and had my days truly free, it would be the best time to go hard. I did a lot of research before deciding on a new exercise regimen - one comprised mainly of circuit training.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with circuit training, it's a series of exercises performed in quick conjunction (in a circuit, if you will). By only resting about 15-30 seconds between each exercise, it utilizes HIIT or high intensity interval training, which is the most effective in fat burning by combining quick spurts of maximum efforts with a short rest period to keep energy levels up.

On this new schedule, I would be circuit training at the gym on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, while doing cardio on Tuesday and Thursday. Leaving my weekends for total rest and relaxation. And by training every other day I would be able to give my muscles rest time to build strength. That's something I'm very excited about doing - building strength.

So, my leg circuit was up first. Monday morning. I had looked up a few beginner's circuits, and chose the one that seemed the most interesting to me. And though it was interesting, it was HARD. Good lord. I thoroughly underestimated how difficult a beginning circuit would be. By the time my hour was up, my legs felt like jello. I actually had to use my boyfriend as a railing in order to go down the stairs. He laughed at me, but understood.

He's in his own process of training, too. In fact, right before we met he had lost 80 lbs and so he is extremely familiar with the struggles I'm going through, and I couldn't be more grateful to have him as an inspiration, motivator, and teammate in this journey. After the loss of his father last fall, he spent time in Texas with his family and unfortunately lost some of the progress he had made, but now we're both at it and have double the motivation. We unintentionally matched yesterday. Don't judge.

After the morning workout, I was totally wiped out, but I remembered before leaving for my three week cross country sojourn that I'd made a doctor's appointment. Last year, I went to my doctor and asked her about my 50 lb gain. She chocked it up to being depressed and added an antidepressant that was also an appetite suppressor to my regimen. All in all she was pretty dismissive of my concerns with my weight gain, and never even asked me about the source of my depression.

 Now 100 lbs later (well, 90 now!), I was more prepared for interacting with my doctor (a new one, thank god). He was great. We talked about my weight gain, my problems with depression, anxiety and overeating, my current medication and what my plan to lose this weight is. He was incredibly supportive, and ordered a thorough blood test to be done later this week to just make sure nothing is going on physically that I should be aware of. He said, "Most patients wish that something is wrong with them, something that they can treat and fix and explain their weight gain, but the truth is...you DON'T want that. You want your body to be working properly." He sent me back home feeling much better and confident in my journey. I would eliminate the option for anything else to be wrong by doing an extensive blood test (seriously, he sent me home with a paper that looks like everything is circled on it...not sure what they're NOT testing for). And in the meantime, I'd continue as I had been.

After that much adulting, I was anxious to head home, but I needed to do one more adult thing on my to-do list before calling it a day. Grocery shopping!

I took the meal plan V had expertly prepared for me a few weeks ago, and finally put it in action. I purchased everything I'd need for the week and headed home to do my meal prep. Dinner #1 this week was sauteed zucchini and mushrooms with meatsauce. Because I love pasta SO much, eating bolognese sauce tricks my brain into thinking I'm having pasta, even when it's just veggies. I portioned out 4 nights of the meal before partaking in this one (and topping it with 1 tbs of pecorino romano).

It was so incredibly filling and delicious. Plus...the nutrition facts were crazy. Only 277 calories, 16 g of carbs, 10 g of fat, and 30 g of protein. Totally sated, I decided that I could take the rest of the night off (even though I had plans to continue writing my spec script). And that was totally fine. After so much adulting (and still partially on east coast time), I was totally wiped out. Plus, I knew that I had cardio plans the next morning (an 8am hike with an old co-worker!), so I wanted to get a good night's sleep.

Luckily my old co-worker pushed our hike to 9:30, so I was able to sleep in a tiny bit more than originally planned. What I totally forgot is why he was so gung-ho about hiking with me, though. He is incredibly in shape, and brought his giant hiking dog with us. He asked if I wanted to try a new hike instead of doing Runyon, and I said sure! Excited to try something new, I was disappointed pretty quickly. The hike was HARD. Like...really really hard. More of a narrow path through the trees, my legs ached and burned merely 1/4 of the way up. I had totally forgotten how sore my legs would be after my hard day of training at the gym yesterday.

Needless to say, I did not complete the hike. We ended up turning around and attempting Runyon. But by that point, we'd already added an extra mile and a half to our hike, and my legs gave out somewhere near the third hill of Runyon. He was incredibly understanding, and it actually gave us time to really talk about our lives and everything that had been going on since we'd stopped working together (four years ago!). And though I immediately felt like a failure, he reminded me that our first and second hikes combined were way more challenging than just doing Runyon once through. And I should be proud of myself for waking up and making good on my promise to hike with him. My disappointment faded away pretty quickly, seeing as when we arrived back at my apartment I'd burned over 1000 calories in 90 minutes.

The rest of my day will include catching up on the writing I did not get to do yesterday, as well as enjoying my second portions of my meal plan meals. Though the routine is not 100% yet, I've only just returned to this new normal, and I am positive I will continue to persevere. 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.