Damn and blast, as they say. So, I finally went to the gym last night, and discovered two things.

1. I am not as out of shape as I thought I would be, given the fact that I haven't done any exercise in a month or more.

2. I am BORED.

Bored with losing weight, bored with trying so hard, bored with what my gym has to offer. I did some light weights, then tried cardio, and after 10 minutes I said to myself, "DONE." Not because I was out of breath, or that I even broke a sweat. I just didn't want to be doing it. But I want to want to, sadly. I want to find a way to get myself engaged with it again! I guess losing most of the weight that I want has its drawbacks--what is left to motivate me to go to the gym except, bah, health?

My gym is also small, so it doesn't offer anything in the way of an aerobics class or whatnot. Just kickboxing--and although I would like to, in theory, be able to kick off someone's face, I don't think it's a wise first step. Also, taking a class costs extra--if I did it 3x a week, it would be something like an extra $60 a month--more than my total gym membership. Sigh.

I think that I may, once my membership is up in February, look around for a new gym with more classes included in the cost. In the meantime, I may go to the library and borrow exercise DVD's. Which makes me feel a trifle lame, but I also feel lame not going to the gym. Which, I suppose, is better than not feeling lame at all, sitting on my butt, and gaining weight back.

I am so hard on myself. I've been sick for the past 2 weeks, and I haven't been able to go to the gym in all that time. Truth be told, I wasn't going as much as I would have liked in the few weeks before that, either. And even though I am still losing weight, it's just not enough anymore. Maybe because I am afraid that if I don't go to the gym, I won't be losing in the "right" way, and then all the weight could come back. Which is foolish--even if a few pounds were to come back, I would, um, NOTICE.

Want to hear something silly? I'm afraid that someone will stumble onto this blog, and read only the most recent entry, and assume I am one of those stick thin girls who think they are fat at 105. Which goes to show 1. my ultimate lack of faith in others and myself and 2. how strongly I still identify with my heavier self. Put me in a room full of people, I would stay as far away from the tall, thin girls as possible. Not that I've ever been tall, but I could maybe call myself thin, someday. Some people even call me thin now, but I'm just not there yet--still have 15 pounds I want to lose. Which brings me to this:

51 pounds gone! Yes, of course I am proud of that milestone. It's a lot. I've finally reached an amount where I can't try to convince myself that I haven't lost that much. 51 pounds is a lot.

I turn 26 tomorrow. I wanted to be 145 by my birthday (a present to myself, maybe) and I am. Less, actually--143. 48 pounds.

I found some old pictures from my birthday a few years ago, and I almost cried. What a difference. I might have a hard time seeing the changes in my body when I look in the mirror, but pictures can't lie.

I talked a big talk when I started this blog--"I won't fail" and all that. But I really thought I would fail. I have no idea how I got here. 8 months, 32 weeks, and so much has changed.

The last 10-20 pounds that you have to lose is the hardest. If you need to lose 40 pounds, and you lost the first 20 pounds in 3 months, it will take you twice as long (or even longer!) to lose the next 20, because you're so close to where your body wants you to be. Well, it was bound to happen. 19 pounds from my goal, and losing weight has slowed to a crawl. 3 weeks to lose 1 pound. At this rate, it will be another year before I'm finished. I wanted to be done by February! I should blame myself at least a little--I haven't been to the gym in what seems like forever. I'm letting my life get to me--I'm stressed out over my job, and when I come home I don't want to do anything, especially go to the gym. I wish I had someone to go with, or could come up with a new routine, or somehow rid myself of the feeling that everyone is watching me as I barely manage to lift a paltry amount of weight.

I should really just shut up already. 47 pounds in 8 months is about 1.5 pounds a week--that's a damn good clip. If it slows down, who cares, as long as it keeps coming off, right?

My body is changing, and I don't like it. When I was fat, at least it was "firm." Obviously not tone, but my skin my taut. Now my stomach looks like it's caving in on itself. The body is receding too fast for the skin to handle. I'm a ripple of tiny ridges of skin. I like what this stands for, but it's a horrible in between stage. Maybe it's just another sign that I might never be satisfied. Or maybe I just need to get my ass to the gym and do more situps.

A small confession: my goal was always 125. I thought that I might even stop before I got there, depending. But now, seeing my shape now, I feel I might have to lose more. What should be a logical adjustment of goals is terrifying. If I go below 125, am I going to far? Am I kidding myself that this is possible? When I started this in February, I didn't put any expectations on myself. Sure, I wanted to lose weight, but 125 was too far away to think about--66 pounds away. Now, 125 is reachable. Hell, it's almost here, unless I revert entirely to my old habits.

I am happiest when I have a project. I don't know how to relax. I threw myself into this project completely, and when it's over, what do I do then?

August was a really difficult month. Not because I didn't lose weight (I did, actually--I'm now at -43) but because I realize that even though my body has changed, my mind and thoughts have not. I might know that, logically, I cannot possibly look the same, and that my body has gone through some drastic changes. But emotionally, I can't understand it. I look the same. 148 looks the same as 191. Size 6 looks the same as a size 16. How is that even possible, that I can't notice the difference?

I know I'm not alone in feeling this way, still thinking of myself as fat, even though by all accounts I am not. I really expected that once I lost enough weight, I would be able to feel different. Why else would I have done this? Believe me, weighing out 3 ounces of protein is not a fun activity. I did it for the end result! And here I am, probably 2/3 of the the way to my goal, and I feel the same!

There is an instant camaraderie I feel with any girl who is heavy. I always pick up on so many similarities between us. I still feel that way, but I've noticed...well, maybe they don't reciprocate any more. If they just met me, they can't know that just a few months ago I was that much heavier. They can't see what we used to have in common. But inside, I know I will always feel that somewhat illogical bond. Because even if I force myself to realize that I am not heavy anymore, I spent 20 years that way. And I will never forget what it feels like.

How cool would it be to say, "I've lost 50 pounds"? 50 is the kind of number no one can argue with. 50 means business. 50 would put me at 141. I know a part of me thought I would have to get some kind of wasting disease to ever see that number. But here I am, sitting pretty at -39, just a stone's throw away! 39 is inviting 50 over for tea!

I am trying to be as positive as I can. I've been beating myself up lately, and I shouldn't. The people around me are pretty divided--half think I'm amazing, the other half think I must be starving myself. It's hard, because I would like to stop, in a way. I want to stop thinking about it, and just know that I am healthy. But I know I'm not as healthy as I could be, so it continues.

I am also a little scared, maybe, to see how far I could go. Not weight-wise, oddly enough. But, if I can wear an 8 now, I could certainly wear a 6 someday. Could I ever wear a 2? I don't think I would want to. But, if I get to 125, and a 4 is what fits, what then? Something about 4 sounds too skinny! How crazy would it be to say, "I'm too skinny" instead of "I'm too fat"?

6 months

Uh, what? 6 months? Seriously?

I suppose my lack of posts can be seen as good. This isn't in the foreground of my life as much, my eating habits are just part of the whole instead of what I focus on. Well, I do still focus on them a lot, and I still probably talk about it too much, but I feel very stable. Like I won't just start eating cake. And so, less posts because there is less to post about.

-37 today! -40 looks like so much more than -30. And in 5 more pounds, I will be in the 140's. CRAZY.

People tell me I look "amazing" and that I don't need to lose a lot more. I don't know when to stop! Taking into account that:

--I still have a (fairly prominent!) belly and
--My BMI is still in the obese range (To be fair, one more pound and I will just be "overweight." What a milestone that is.)
--How much muscle I have (not much, feels like) and
--How big my bones are (small, I think, except for maybe my enormous hips!)

Conversely, however:
--I am somewhere in the size 8-10 range for pants, unless they come from a store that is generally micromini/refuses to sell pants that sit at the damn waist instead of below. (And anyway, no one is looking at the label but me, says What Not To Wear.)
--I don't want to lose all the junk in my trunk!

I probably have another 30 to go? Which was my original goal, and will put me at the high end of normal for BMI. But 30 pounds isn't any where near to "don't need to lose a lot more." And, if I say I want to lose 5 more inches on my waist (and I've lost about 10 so far) basic algebra tells me I need to lose half the amount of pounds I've already lost. So, 18 pounds, not 30. But 18 pounds is 136, which is still overweight BMI! GRRRRRRRR.

Basically, confusion still reigns. But, I would like to admit, that this is a pretty nice problem to have.

I don't feel proud of myself when I think about how much weight I've lost. So why do I feel so disappointed when I don't lose any in the course of a week or two? How backwards is that? And really, how long is a week when compared to 6 months of hard work?

I've lost three pounds in three days (making up for lost time, I suppose) and I'm now holding steady at -34. Finally in the 150's! A milestone I would have done backflips for a year ago, and now I'm still thinking "too big, too big." Maybe satisfaction isn't even an option at this point. I want to stop calling myself as fat, I want to feel that others don't look at me and think fat. Don't know when that might be. What will have to happen before I realize that I look good?

I know I don't like my body, but what if I just don't like myself, period? It's all pointing in that direction, anyway. Or maybe I just expected a bigger change in myself after losing so much--and that was expecting too much. Losing 34 pounds is great, but when you want to lose 30 more, maybe you're really only halfway there.

I have avoided writing because I didn't want to sound like a sorry sack of potatoes. Despite the physiological impossibility of it, the scale told me I was two pounds heavier. And I refused to acknowledge it until it went back where it was supposed to, which was today. So back at (or, if I'm in heavy denial, still at) -31. I know, water weight, blah blah blah and how much does that suck? Knowing you're doing everything right and nothing positive is happening? Even worse is someone telling you how great you look, and in your head you are berating yourself for not losing anything in over two weeks, and they're just trying to be nice. In other words, still crazy!

5 month anniversary update (a few days early)

I ran my first mile! All the memories I have of middle school gym class involve burning lungs, not even rounding the first turn in the 1/4 mile track before slowing down, finishing last. Not a very fast mile, 13 minutes, but it's a place to start. So I'm happy! If terribly sore.

My MIL arrives tomorrow. I'm almost at my 150's goal, but not quite. Unless I lose a pound in the next 24 hours.

I think I got the best compliment of my life yesterday. "You've got a completely different body already." I like that. I am starting to like my body, just a little. Meaning, I look in the mirror and don't frown. I'm getting there.

31 pounds and 22 inches.

When am I going to feel proud of myself? If losing 30 pounds won't do it (and it's official as of today) what the hell will?

Finally lost! I hate the waiting game, so glad it's over, now I can keep plugging away.

Owner of the gym approached me again, asked how my weight loss was going. Still made me uncomfortable, like he might judge me based on how much I did or did not lose in the time since he asked me last. For the record, it was six weeks ago, and I've lost 7 pounds in that time. Totally a normal amount of weight to lose in six weeks. So my lack of rationality continues.


I used to be ashamed of my stretch marks. But that was when they were "new," when I was heavy and still gaining. They were a bright pink, and I thought they were my most noticible feature. I hated the ones on my arms the most, since they were the ones people were most likely to notice, as I didn't (still don't) wear shorts. By now, they have faded to pale. Unless you're looking, you won't find them. I have them all over, and I know they won't go away just by losing weight. I won't lie, I still don't like them. But they've been around for so long, I just think of it as the texture of my skin. This is what my skin has always looked like; why would it look any different when I drop, 10, 20, 80 pounds?

I have never "held my weight" in my face, as they say. I've lost all this weight, and I still look the same when I brush my teeth in the morning. I'm wondering how different I will look when I'm close to my goal. Maybe I don't expect any difference at all.

It's my four month anniversary with my self-improvement project. I may have lost weight and gotten healthier, but I am still completely off my rocker.

Towards the end of May, I dropped 3 pounds in a week. No explanation, with nothing I could trace it back to. I should have been so happy, and of course, I was. But, I have been holding steady at this weight for almost 2 weeks. I REALLY HATE WHEN THIS HAPPENS. Any past success means squat when held against the fact that I haven't lost any weight again this week.

I'm doing what I can of course, which means I can do almost nothing. I am planning on going to the gym 5 times this week instead of my customary 4, and I'm bumping up my cardio from 45 minutes to an hour. Also, I promise I will actually lift some weights instead of just thinking, Oh, how nice that they have those here. I should really life some weights! and then leaving.

I keep turning one fact over and over in my head: I have no idea how much I should weigh. I'm five feet tall, so according to the doctors' charts, it's anywhere between 95 and 125 pounds. It looks ridiculous when I type it like that. 95 pounds is ridiculous.

I've never been an adult and been a healthy weight. How can I possibly gauge this?

I don't know how to let this go. How can I back off from having a specific number as a "success"? Why can't I just say, get to 125 and you'll see?

I am writing about this because I feel is it a milestone. I am honestly not that excited about it, which is so horribly sad. Haven't quite figured out why I'm not excited, but I'll ruminate and let you know if I come up with anything. Maybe because I have such a long way to go.

I bought a new pair of work pants on Wednesday. Get ready: a size 10! I am not delusional, however. I know that I could never wear a size 10 at the Gap, it's just these particular pants happen to be a very big 10. So they fit, and there will be no argument from me. That's 3 sizes for 26 pounds. (But I keep thinking that I could lose another 15 pounds, and still be a size 10. Unchartered territory, really. We'll see!)

MIL is coming in five weeks for the 4th of July. I would so love to be in the 150's by then. Just six more pounds in five weeks. It might be a bit much, but I'm going to give it a whirl.

I have not fallen off the wagon. So, why do I feel like I have? Well, probably because I'm not being nearly as disciplined as I was at the beginning. My new mantra is "You can't live life in a vacuum" but maybe that's just an excuse to let myself slide.

What constitutes a slide? Not going to the gym as often. Ok, going from 4 times a week to 3 may not seem like a big deal, but I honestly feel terrible about it. I give it all sorts of excuses: have a headache, want to spend time with Matt, got out of work late, etc. That's fine every once in a while, but 3 weeks in a row? I've got to get my ass in gear.

I've also been eating out ALL THE TIME. Not that it constitutes a slip-up per se, but I can only guesstimate how many calories or fat grams are in something. So who knows how much I'm lying to myself?

I really, really shouldn't be so hard on myself. I am thisclose to -25. Can't I just shut the hell up and celebrate?

My husband and I joined the gym together almost three months ago now. He hasn't been as faithful about going as I have, but he is a. in much better shape and doesn't need to lose a pound, and b. he has been sick/injured for the past few weeks or so. Anyway, it's good because it's gotten me into a routine where I go with or without him.

Last night, he finally feels well enough to go. We're working out on machines side by side, and the owner of the gym comes up to say hello. (Aside: This is one reason why I love having a membership at a smaller gym. It might be a few more bucks every month, but it is so worth it.) He asks us how things are going, and Matt tells him that I've lost twenty pounds. The guy congratulates me, asks me to write something for a testimonial board he's going to put up, etc. All really good things.

Totally freaked me out, ruined my mood for a few hours. I tried to figure out why, and what I've come up with is that I don't know how to take compliments, especially ones that are based on how I look. This goes back as far as I can remember--4th grade, boy tells me he likes my shirt, and I ask him if he's lying. You know, "You have such a pretty face, if only you'd lose some weight." I'd like to say this is all in the past, but my family (not realizing it, of course) still treats me this way. I can handle a compliment much better when it comes from someone I know (my husband, my friends) but even though I have a peripheral relationship with the gym owner, I was still really wary. I mean, how hard is it to believe that the owner of the gym where I work out would be happy for my weight loss, especially since it might in a small way benefit him? I am obviously crazy.

Ask and ye shall receive, or something.

I bought a new dress a size smaller than anything I've fit into since the 7th grade. Two sizes smaller than my wedding dress! Can't lie--the buzz from that fact has not yet worn off, and I bought the dress 3 days ago. This is actually working! I can do this!

This is where it gets boring. The doldrums. I've lost almost 20 pounds, I'm 3 months into it, and I'm not going to stop. But the end is still so far away.

I do feel my perspective changing. What constitutes a healthy meal or snack, what a portion is. I am definitely full faster, but I still miss food. I miss the thought of eating whatever I want. But since that's what got me here in the first place, that has to go out the window.

Annoying part of this whole mess is that I can't find a pair of pants that fit. Every pair of pants I have is too big somewhere--hips, butt, thighs, waist, or all of the above. I'm starting to look like a clown in pinstripe pants. But a smaller size is still a no-go. How much do I have to lose to go down a size, dagnabit!

I can't lie--the past two weeks have sucked. A combination of pulling every muscle in my body, then getting some flu-like bug has made going to the gym nearly impossible. The strange thing is, I am not even mad at myself. If I'm hurt, I'm hurt. If I'm sick, I'm sick. Why force myself onto a treadmill when all I want to do is sit on the couch? Granted, I love the couch even when I'm not sick, but I'm always--always--up and doing something every 15 minutes. If I'm only capable of watching Ace of Cakes, I'm ok with that.

Still kinda down about how long this process is actually going to take. My MIL is going to visit this July. At the rate I'm losing, I should be down about 30 pounds by then--which is a HUGE accomplishment, and it gives me chills just to think about it. But I keep wishing for just a few more pounds. Probably because I want just a little less work.

Pretty sore right now--I'm working really hard at still going to the gym four times a week. This week has been the toughest yet; I'm finding it really hard to stay motivated. I usually don't have trouble doing the cardio part, but at the end of 45 minutes, for whatever reason it's almost impossible to go over to the weight machines. I know that it's super important to use weights for about a billion reasons, but I still kind of hate it. And since I use them so infrequently (1-2 times a week) when I do, I feel it. Hence, the soreness. I feel like I need a nap right now.

Trying to remain positive, even though I seem to have hit another plateau. I just wish I could fast forward through time--maybe a year from now, when I'm finally at the other end.

I tried to go clothes shopping a little bit last night, and it was a very odd experience. I feel like I'm in a between stage--too big for one size, too small for another. I'm much more bottom heavy than top, so dresses are always a crap shoot. Jackets are too big the chest (why do I have to lose what little I have in my damn boobs!) but a little too tight in the arms, still. Pants may fit in the waist, but are about 4 inches too long in the leg, and I'm not getting everything tailored when I will (hopefully) need a smaller size in a month. I ended up buying a belt, and I have never worn one in my life. (Because I could never find one that fit, but that's another story.) I feel very conscious of it, like right after I got my nose pierced for the first time. Surely everyone must notice that I'm wearing a belt!

Proof that food habits are changing: 1. I ate fish again last night, a new kind, and I liked it. 2. I was full so fast, I thought there might be something wrong. You mean, I chewed my food and didn't mindlessly swallow? Yes, it's true! The world has been torn asunder! Jess took more food than she needed, and didn't eat it all simply because it was on her plate!

Food Network

The Food Network is almost like eating. All those stupid close-ups of beef stock make you feel like you're actually cooking. If I can't eat the homemade ice cream with toffee sauce, at least I can watch how it's done.

On a much less cynical note (really!) I am officially down 15 pounds! It's really hard to step back and appreciate how much I have accomplished thus far. After I hit my first plateau, I was really scared that I wasn't going to be able to lose anymore. Then I spoke to the nutritionist at my gym who basically told me I was eating crap, needed to lose a couple of "layers," and that 8 sessions with her would fix all that at a very reasonable sum of $495. So, discouraging. But now that I've hit -15, a safe distance away from -10, I know that this can keep working. I've noticed a difference in how my body looks, even without the help of a measuring tape. And even if I didn't lose any more weight (sob) I at least know I am much healthier than I was 2 months ago. I can work out harder and longer than I used to be able to, I make better food choices, and dagnabit, I feel better about myself.

Aside from all that self-love, I'm having a few friends over for dinner who haven't seen me in a few months. I'm hoping they notice. (15 pounds is 3 sacks of sugar, they better notice!)

Had two holy shit moments in one day.

1. I think I saw the beginnings of my collarbone. This has never happened in the history of ever.
2. Next Tuesday makes 8 weeks of this craziness. 8 weeks may not seem like a long time, but I'm pretty sure this classifies as the a. longest and b. most successful try in my life.

When I was around 11, my mother put me on a very extreme diet that lasted for the summer. I lost quite a bit of weight (30 pounds?) but I basically obsessed about food all the time because I wasn't allowed to have anything. Breakfast was toast. Lunch was an apple, 1 oz of pretzels, and a diet soda. Dinner was 3 oz of baked chicken and an ear of corn. For a whole summer, I basically starved. It couldn't last, and didn't. I haven't had a successful (more than a few weeks or a few pounds) since.

What kills me is I don't know why this time is different, I just know that it is. I can't question it, I just have to accept it.

I think diet pills should come with blunt warnings: Will make you drop dead of a heart attack at 21. Will make you shit yellow liquid. Will make you clean your bathroom grout with a Q-tip. Which isn't to say that I never tried it. I dropped a wad of cash on that metabolife, or whatever it was called, back in the day because I saw someone drop 300 pounds in 2 days and I was in for a quick fix. Of course, it did nothing and I stopped taking it because I was scared. Sucks to have to do it the old fashioned way.

Why can't the advice be simple? Eat this. Do that. You will lose weight. But there are all these conditions. Eat complex carbohydrates unless you can't. Do this much exercise unless it's a bad idea for you. Can't weight loss come in a nifty plastic package? Instead, I struggle to eat all my damn vegetables and I break weight loss rules all the time. I put real sugar in my coffee and I eat full fat cheese. I ate a piece of Baklava as big as your head the other day.

I constantly feel like I'm doing something wrong. The fact that my pants are falling off me isn't enough; I may lose weight, but am I doing it the right way? Do I eat too much dairy, not enough protein, too much fat, not enough of the right fat? Do I exercise too much, not enough, not intense enough, not enough weight training? I can barely get myself to work with both shoes tied, how the hell am I supposed to remember all of these other rules for eating? That was what I thought about the least. Sure, I saw what the fat did (to my thighs, my stomach, my butt) but it was hard to connect it to the food. So now I try to eat the right food, but I feel like I've got 5 balls in the air and I'm only managing to juggle two of them. Right amount of calories, but I only eat 2 servings of veggies a day, not enough water, too much juice, or whatever it is I'm obsessing over. I should set down the balls, switch to a chainsaw, chop down a tree, make a bench, sit down and stop thinking about it so damn much.

I'm on a (very) mini-vacation in NYC, which has been a lot of fun and offered a much needed respite from things. Last night, I had the most incredible dinner, and didn't count a single calorie. I refuse to feel guilty over this for two reasons: 1. I have not lost any weight for almost 2 weeks, and some (unconventional) advice is that you spend a day or two going over your calories in order to shock your system back into losing weight, and 2. I actually chose very "healthy" things to indulge on.

That being said, maybe I do feel guilty. Not guilty, but frightened. That this will be the beginning of the end, that I will start to slip up. I kept saying, "Oh, I don't give a damn, I'm going to eat anything I want." And of course I cared. Of course I cared. It didn't stop me from eating, though. And maybe the advice of eating more calories was just my excuse to eat whatever I wanted on vacation.

And maybe I should just shut up and realize that it is vacation, and that one day won't break me. I've spent the last 6 weeks developing better eating habits, and I should have just the tiniest bit of faith in myself.

On belts and brains

Your brain and stomach are in a relationship. For years, your stomach has been in charge, and always got it's way. Now your mind has taken control. But every once in a while, your stomach creeps in, and says in a tiny voice, "Can't I just have..." Your brain has to be the one who says, "SHUDDAP, BITCH! I'm in charge here!"

I love getting support like this! For some reason, it works so much better than the tired, "You're doing such a great job!" Of course, I told him that I was terrified that if I gave in to my stomach just once, that it would come roaring back like an angry husband. Because of course my stomach is the man of the house, and my brain is the barefoot and pregnant wife in the kitchen.

In general, it was just a really hard week. I did everything the way I was supposed to, ate right, exercised, and didn't lose a pound or an inch. Of course, my pants nearly fell off of me this morning, but that's small consolation. It just reminds me that I can't afford new pants! Really, I'm still planning on losing many, many more sizes, so I don't want to constantly buy a new pair every time I lose a size. I'd rather invest in a belt. Which would then get too big for me as well. Maybe I should just buy pants a size too small. For a month they would be too small, for a month they would be almost just right, for two weeks they would fit great, and then they would start to be too big, which I could probably live with for about a month. That would get me to the summer, when I can start to wear skirts! And then my skirts would all be too big.

All right, I'm going to fake some pride in my accomplishments thus far. Fake it until you make it, right?

Today is the one month mark. I've lost 10 pounds, and 5 total inches off of my waist and hips. I've been going to the gym three times a week, and I stay within 100 calories of my goal 99% of the time. I typically wear a pair of pants that are too tight (because I didn't want to go up a size.) Those pants now fit, so I guess I can call that losing a size. I generally feel better/energized/healthier, and I've had one person notice that I've lost weight. Also, those random aches and pains that had started to creep in (which I was very much not telling anyone about because I didn't want to sound like an old lady) are now gone. Huzzah for feeling like my age again!

I'm also dying for a Snickers bar, but they never taste as good as you think they will, right?

This has felt different from the beginning. I know that this time, I'm not going to fail. I don't know how I know that. I don't know where I was able to find the willpower that's been missing for so long. But it's here!

Sometimes, I just need to write the pep talk I need to hear, whether or not I believe it.

Totally got my first gym high today! Also saw someone from my high school, but I did not say hello. I don't think she recognized me, anyway. (It's the hair.)

I'm twelve, trying on shorts for the summer. I pull on a pair, and I can tell right away they will fit. Finally, something fits! I try to zip them up, but they won't budge; a broken zipper. I call to my mother through the dressing room door: "Mom, the zipper is caught on something."

"Yeah, it's caught on your fat."


How ridiculous is it that I still remember this? I remember the wash of the denim, what store we were in, everything. Can't I allow myself to forget something just once? This one moment comes back over and over again, crystal clear, every time I try to lose weight.

So why does it matter? My mom called me fat, big deal. I was fat then, I'm fat now, and even though I am losing weight, I will remain fat (at least for a while.) My mom was always kind of mean to me, and this wasn't the first or the last time. She's said things that were more cruel, and about things that were more important to me. I need to let it die.

It's a reason to stop trying. Someone who is supposed to love you mocks you and makes you feel like being fat is inevitable. So why fight it?

I've been gradually telling a few more people about what I'm trying to accomplish. I never say, "I want to lose 75 pounds," of course, but I say that I'm going to the gym. Everyone sounds surprised. Surprised that I'm telling them, maybe, but because I like to spoil even the greatest of accomplishments, I feel that they expect me to fail. I don't think I'll fail, but that's not a guarantee. I can only keep trying, I guess. There is, of course, the failsafe that I'm paying $64 a month to belong to the gym, and I'm a frugal bitch at heart.

If you hadn't noticed, I'm in a terrible mood.

I don't feel more energized, I don't have an increased self-worth. All I have is the sense that this is going to take a very, very long time.

Tilda Swinton is an alien

I've been watching the Oscars since 1993, since I was 10 years old. (In case you were curious, I was rooting for Ralph Fiennes to win best supporting actor that year.) And every year, I eat a ton. I felt so antsy all night, not eating. It didn't help that it was boring as hell this year, although I do love Daniel Day-Lewis. I do eat out of stress sometimes, but most of the time, it's out of boredom. I'm watching a movie, why don't I have some pretzels. It's Thursday, why don't I bake some banana bread. There's a What Not to Wear marathon on TV, why don't I get a pint of ice cream. Something to do while I'm doing something else, you know?

I suppose I could have enjoyed myself and eaten whatever I wanted; Oscars only come once a year and such. I just still feel so fragile. I don't have enough trust in myself built up to carry me through the times when I just go off the wall. Which is bound to happen, because it's not like I'm never going to have ice cream again. I'm not a robot.

I'm very bad at turning off. If I'm not doing two things at once, I feel unproductive. I should lock my damn refrigerator and pick up a feather duster.

My hairdresser has dropped somewhere between 50-75 pounds. I literally was shocked into silence for a good 20 seconds when I saw her, as she looks amazing. And of course, I instantly became jealous. Because she's accomplished something I have never been able to, and that makes me jealous. Insanely jealous. It's a good thing I love what she does to my hair or else I might have to kill her.

I am trying to stay focused on how well I'm actually doing. If I don't stay focused, I can literally count the seconds on one hand that it will take me to locate a pint of ice cream and shove my face into it. What is it, 21 days to form a habit? 3 days and I'm there.

I've been thinking about losing weight my entire life. Walking downstairs to the cafeteria in 3rd grade, I thought, "Everything will be so much better when I'm thin." Getting thin is my Miss America, it was my little girl dream. By now, I've been fat for so long, I don't know how to differentiate between myself and the fat. The fat is me. I am fat. Getting thin is dying my hair blonde, wearing blue contacts, growing a foot taller.


J: Mom, Dad...I'm...fat.

M: Are you sure?

D: Yeah, honey, maybe you're just big-boned.

M: It's just baby fat. This is something we all go through. You'll grow out of it.

J: No, I'm sure. I'm fat. I've known I was fat since I was five.

D: Five? You weren't fat when you were five.

M: That was definitely baby fat.


Fat made me kind, fat made me loyal, fat made me funny. Losing weight is like dumping the first friend you made in pre-school because they're not cool anymore. You try to convince yourself this is the best thing for you both, you've grown apart. You stop returning phone calls, you put down the ice cream cone.

When I imagine myself thin, there is a beautiful body in a black dress. It's walking across a restaurant, and people turn and look. And I have no head. I can't attach my head to that body.

Fat Girl Rules:

1. Never eat in front of people.
1a. If you are forced to eat in front of people, never eat until you are full. Do not eat anything that can be viewed as unhealthy.
2. Never say you are hungry.
3. Do not wear tight clothing.
4. Do not tuck in your shirt.
5. Do not wear short skirts.
6. Do not wear strappy sandals.
7. Wear a t-shirt to the beach and to the pool.
8. Go clothes shopping alone.
9. Go grocery shopping first thing in the morning or late at night.
10. Always have a jacket with you.


You already know these rules if you're a fat girl. You know why these rules exist. No one tells you what they are, you just know. These rules got me through high school. But I'm not a kid anymore. Why do I let these rules run my life when I'm 25 years old?

I'm not fat because of my genes, because of hormones, because of my mother, because I have a slow metabolism. I'm fat because I eat the wrong things, I eat too much, and I don't like to exercise. So to get un-fat, I need to eat less, eat the right things, and get off of my couch and into the gym.

I want to be able to buy clothes off the rack. I want my size of my shirts to be a single letter. And I never want to throw out another favorite pair of jeans because of holes in the thighs.