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.

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.

DAY 10

Health and travel are not usually synonymous. Especially not for me. For a few reasons, actually. First, I get frustrated with my packing and inevitably the sneakers and workout gear is the first to get left behind. Then there’s the travel itself. Airports and airplanes filled with junk food, fast food, and disgusting food. And then, when you arrive at your destination you’re tempted with new exciting restaurants, and the last thing in the world you want to do is make time to exercise! 

But today begins my three week trip to visit my family (first stop Chicago to visit my big sister and my new nephew, then off to CT to spend two weeks with my momma!), and I wanted to make sure that my travels weren’t going to compromise my fitness and health goals! Flying before has always been treacherous on my health. Mostly because I’m afraid to eat the bad food around me, but after hours of starving myself, I inevitably give in to something unhealthy on the plane or in the airport. But not today! In order to prepare for my trip, I loaded myself up with healthy foods for the plane - an apple, some almonds, and a prepared Trader Joe’s salad. Though I had anticipated getting up early to eat breakfast, I only had time for my cup of coffee before heading to the airport. I figured I would just eat my salad early, and it wouldn’t be a problem, but then I did some calculations - and if I ate my lunch as I got on the plane, it would be another seven or eight hours before my next meal was prepared for me! So, I did a search for the healthiest option available. Luckily, there was a newly installed Marmalade Cafe in the United Terminal (thanks for being so fancy, LAX!), and I was able to get an egg white scramble with mushrooms, spinach, and a slice of swiss cheese on top. I was surprised, though, when the plate came out with not just the scramble. There was a side of potatoes, and toast and butter. UGH. My greatest nemesis. White carbs. I’m not going to lie, I had about three pieces of potato after my scramble. But I knew that I’d regret going down that path if I had anymore, and I had already filled up on much better foods. So, the processed carbs got trashed. It was a small victory, but I documented it anyway!

Just before boarding my sister let me know that when I arrived in Chicago there would be a healthy dinner waiting for me at her apartment. So I just want to take a minute to express my thanks to my family. Yes, my friends have been extremely encouraging and helpful, but my family has been on another level. Their love and support has helped me from breaking down, and I look forward to being able to visit them without feeling awkward about asking to go to the gym or for healthy food substitutes. My mom told me to think of my trip to her as a spa vacation. Rest, relaxation, and focus on my health. And my sister has told me we’re going to walk the baby all around Chicago (3 mile walks every day!) as well as using her apartment gym. I come up from a family of disordered eating. As I mentioned before, my father reached just over 400 lbs at his highest weight, from an uncontrollable addiction to food and alcohol. My mother once told me she was anorexic for a time in her youth, and at 5’8” was only 120 lbs on her wedding day. My sisters have both experienced stress related anorexia, coping with being out of control by over-controlling with their daily intake. And obviously, I have swung between binging and starving. My sisters have received the help they needed and become extremely healthy individuals, and now it’s my turn. Though they’ve wanted to help me for many many years, I had to come to a point where I wanted to do it myself. And I’m incredibly grateful to them for not losing hope that I one day would come to that conclusion. 

An incredible support system is one of the most important parts of this journey, and I’m so glad I have one. So, bring it on Chicago! Let's do this.