Having (Literally) Nothing to Wear

When losing weight, everyone talks about how much effort it is going to take, how it's a complete lifestyle change, how happy you'll feel when you're a thinner version of yourself, how confident you'll be in your own skin etc. What people to fail to mention is the biggest craptastic aspect of losing weight: no longer fitting into the clothes you own. Yes, I acknowledge that many would consider dropping clothing sizes to be a good thing (and I too do a happy dance when my size goes down) but having to replace a wardrobe sucks!

This evening I was getting ready to go out with some friends and while I was getting dressed I realized that my entire winter wardrobe is too big on me. Since last year, my body has changed enough where I can no longer wear any of the sweaters I own. I can't even turn them into the long sweater dresses because they're just too big and baggy. I'm honestly not happy about this at all. Call me crazy seeing as how many women would love to have my problem, but I feel like I have two completely valid reasons for being peeved by this development.

Reason number 1: I now have to spend the money to replenish my obsolete wardrobe. Don't get me wrong, the idea of going shopping is very exciting, but I don't like having to spend the money on clothes. The only reason I used to buy so many clothes in the past was because I worked at Gap and received 50% on everything. Now that I'm no longer working there, I really do not want to spend $75 on a sweater. Even if I were to go to cheaper stores, the amount of money it takes to build up an entire wardrobe is huge! That is money I do not have. It's just really really frustrating.

Reason number 2: I have some pretty awesome memories in my clothes. When I look at an article of clothing in my wardrobe I don't just see a pink tweed vest; I see the vest that Danny insisted looked fabulous on me when I was still debating if I could pull off the vest look. I see the cream sweater my old roomie gave me that I wore to my internship's Thanks-for-Giving party where we goofed around the whole night. I see the black off the shoulder sweater that I wore to my friend's family's annual Trivial Pursuit night where not only did the women win for the first time in like a decade but we all laughed the entire evening. Each article of clothing holds a special memory for me and to get rid of that piece makes part of me extremely sad. Yes, I will always have the memories of these great times, but giving away these clothing pieces feels like I'm giving away a part of myself.

In the end, losing weight and changing who you are means saying good-bye to a part or aspect of yourself. Generally it's the overeating self-loathing couch potato part so you don't mind too much, but every now and then it means saying good-bye to that happy college version of yourself where you only worried about passing the next test and writing the next paper. It means saying good-bye to that part of yourself that was blissfully unaware of how truly large you were and fully embracing the you that knows you can still be better. Then again, maybe this is just what it means to truly grow up, become an adult and be that most mature version of yourself possible. What do I know, though, I've still got plenty of weight to lose and heck of a lot of growing up to do.

Marathon in the Motor City

I know it has been almost a month since my half marathon and I'm just now getting around to writing about it, but really does that shock anybody? No, it does not. Since I'm writing right now I clearly survived the experience. I actually didn't do too bad either. I finished in 3 hours 10 minutes with a 14:30 minunte pace. For as much as I didn't train, that's pretty good!! I suspect if I did not have to deal with all the bridges (4 of them!) and a useless bathroom break, I would have finished in under 3 hours. But I suppose that's the goal to work towards for next time. Yes, I've already decided I'm going to run another half marathon. I think Chicago is the next city to conquer, but that's a story for another day.

Even now, with so much time having gone by, the whole experience is so surreal to me. I can't tell you how I made it through those 13.1 miles or even what I was thinking because I honestly don't know. I remember the excitement and adrenaline pumping through my body as I stood at the starting line waiting for my wave to go. I remember cruising through the first three miles. I remember getting to the Ambassador Bridge and realizing that I never thought to train for an incline (let alone the multiple ones I would encounter). I remember how gorgeous it was to be running across the Bridge at sunrise and being able to see how beautiful downtown Detroit is.

Canada was an interesting part of my run. I stopped to use the bathroom not too long after I got into the country and it completely messed up my rhythm. After the bathroom break, I was running much slower and really starting to get into a bad head space. It was never a "I can't do this" but more of a "I am completely alone in this." A morale boost was desperately what I needed and unfortunately it wasn't going to come while I was in Canada. The entrance to the Tunnel back to the States was either mile 7 or 8 and when I saw that mile marker I almost started crying. I have absolutely no idea why, but I definitely got teary eyed. Luckily for me, my iPod chose that moment to start playing "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus and all I could do was start laughing at how perfect the timing was on that. I like to think of it Canada's morale boost to me.

Running through the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel was pretty fun (once again minus the incline). What got me through was knowing my parents were on the other side of the Tunnel waiting for me. As soon as I ran through customs I started looking for them everywhere. I don't think I can describe what it felt like to find them and know they were there for the sole purpose of cheering me on. I received a quick hug from the Madre (without really stopping) and went on my way. That emotional boost was exactly what I needed, though, to make it through the last leg of my race.

Those final five miles were some of the best of the entire race because we were able to run though different neighborhoods and see some really beautiful parts of the city. On the other hand, the final three miles felt like the longest miles of my life. The closer to the finish line I got, the slower time went. I had reached the point where I was only able to run for one song and then I had to walk for a song (or two). It was also in those final miles that my body decided it had had enough. My calves started seizing, my thighs were twitching uncontrollably and my left knee felt like it wanted to give out at any minute. I stopped to stretch a couple of times, but that only helped for a minute or two. I completely reverted back to the mentality I had when I had a difficult swim practice: "This will all be over in 45 minutes. This will all be over in 20 minutes. I'm going to be done in less then 10 minutes." Putting it into a time perspective somehow always helps me.

The last .3 miles of the race was a straight shot to the finish line. When I reached that point, a guy yelled at us "Only .3 miles left! You can do it!" I muttered to myself, "I just ran almost 13 miles. I sure as fuck hope I can finish this!" That earned me an unintentional laugh from a woman running next to me. Seeing that finish line definitely gave me a new shot of adrenaline. Jay Z started singing "Empire State of Mind" and even though it was about the wrong city, I told Jay to sing me home. I kept on moving, singing to myself and when I reached the 13 mile marker I somehow convinced my body to sprint across the finish line. I wanted to finish strong and I did just that with a huge smile on my face accompanied by a fist pump. It was a pretty epic moment for me.

After that, I received my medal, felt my entire body finally give out, head directly to the massage tent in hopes that I'd be able to walk again and lastly meet up with my family. They had all found each other already so I was the last person to join the party. I'm not going to lie, the cheers and round of applause I received as I walked up to them with my arms spread wide open showing off my medal felt pretty damn good. That is the moment I will remember forever: seeing how happy and proud my family was of me. All of them knew what a huge personal accomplishment finishing the half marathon was for me and seeing their support meant more to me then anything else.

The next few days passed in a fun haze of limping and extremely sore muscles. I believe I looked like I had a pegged leg from the way I limped around. I liken the pain I felt to that I experienced after my car accident a few years back. Just like in that car accident, I beat the shit out of my body running that half marathon and it took some time to recover. I can honestly say, though, that every ounce of that pain was worth it because I can say that I ran a half marathon. That is a sense of pride and accomplishment that nobody can ever take away from me. Plus, it makes me even more of a badass then I already was.

The 'Meh' Week

I started a new job last and while I did pretty well with my training then, this week has been complete crap. I'm working the evening shift at the hospital, some mornings at Gap and not getting a whole lot of sleep or free time. Now, I realize the free time thing sounds like an excuse, but it's half true. If my only free time is going to come in the morning then I would rather spend it relaxing and not running. In the same respect, if I'm not getting home until almost 1:00 am I'm certainly not going to wake up early in the morning to go for a run. And then there's the part about how I refuse to run at mid-day because it's August and I don't want to die.

So what have I learned from this? My adjusting to a new job + fatigue + laziness + desire to have time to do what I want = a really crappy running week. I only hope that I find a way to adapt to my new schedule soon because I still need to teach my body to run 8.1 more miles.

Run Forrest, Run!

I have decided that I am officially insane. I mean, that is the only logical explanation as to why I would sign up to run a half marathon in 10 weeks. That's right friends I, the kid who has never run more then 2 miles in her life, is going to run 13.1 miles on October 17th (actually, I'd say 'lightly jog' is the more proper terminology for what I'll be doing). How did I come to sign up for such an adventure? Well, let me tell you.

As you can all see from my lack of posting, my exercise life has gone absolutely nowhere in the past few months. I had become very bored with my normal gym routine and I didn't really feel like I was getting anything out of it anymore. Sure, when I went I felt good and I felt stronger but it was a chore to go and I wasn't happy. So without really knowing what exactly I was looking for I knew that I wanted something more challenging to work for.

Then a few weeks ago I received an e-mail from my oldest brother informing me that my other brother was running the Detroit Marathon and that he had decided to run the half marathon the same day. He mentioned that our parents had said that I had been working out and running and asked if I'd be interested in running the 5k on race day. Immediately I was touched that he thought to invite me to join the two of them on their race day; I'm not exactly the athletic one of the family and generally when my two brothers get together I'm not included so it meant a lot to me that he wanted to make this a sibling thing.

I quickly decided that I was going to join the two of them on race day, but the thought of running the 5k seemed way lame to me. I mean, 3 miles isn't that difficult to run if you're moderately in shape and with about 13 weeks to prepare I mean come on! The more I thought about it the more I realized that the half marathon was exactly the challenge I was looking for. I would have a set training schedule with a real goal to work towards instead of the abstract "get healthier" or "lose weight." Yes, it would be hard as hell to do but it has that "go big or go home" feel to it that I kind of really enjoy. So last week I officially signed up and paid my $80 to run the Detroit Half Marathon.

Am I scared shitless? Of course I am!! The thought of running that much makes me want to cry, but I know I can do this. Part of the reason I wanted to run this half marathon was to prove to not only myself, but all the people who have known me all my life and seen me as the fat kid that I am capable of doing this. I know my brother was being nice in suggesting the 5k to me since I have never run an actual race before but I want to prove to him and the rest of my family that I'm just as physically capable as my brothers. I want to prove to myself that I can set a lofty goal such as this and achieve it. I know that preparation is key and the biggest thing I am going to work on over the next 10 weeks is mentally preparing myself. The more I train physically, my body will fall in line so I'm not too worried about that; what needs to be worked on is the 22 years of my brain telling me that I'm not as athletically capable of doing things like this as others are. I know the next 10 weeks are going to be grueling but with the support of my friends and family I know that I'll make it through and when I finally cross that finish line after 13.1 miles and I stop wanting to kill myself I am going to be immensely proud of myself. That is the moment that I am looking forward to.

With all that said, my hope is that over the course of my training I'll keep the blog updated with how and what I'm doing. Today was the official start of training. I started running last week, but today I started the training schedule. When I registered for the race I registered in the 15:00 minute mile pace group. My goal is to end up being around 12:00-12:30 minute mile pace group. I don't think that's a completely radical goal. Today I ran my 3.12 miles (thanks mapmyrun.com!) in 38 minutes. That's a little over a 12:30 minute mile and much better then the 15:00 minute mile I was running last week. What I'm most proud of, though, is the fact that in my final stretch I didn't stop. I think for most people, knowing the end is coming makes that last leg of the run so much harder. For me, running down Belden from Clark to Orchard and then up to Fullerton is the hardest part of that 3 mile run mentally. It's only about half a mile but it feels like it's going to kill me. Today my goal was to prove that I could finish strong and I did exactly that. I kept on running that last half mile and that is one skill that I know will come in handy on October 17th.

Call Me Usain

When I met with Jason two weeks ago one of the things he told me was that if I did sprints three times a week, I would be in really good shape. Now, for those of you who do not know how sprints for fat kids work it goes a little something like this (I assume there are other variations on this): walk at a 2.5 and then every 2-4 minutes do a 1 minute sprint. The first time you sprint you go to 7.0, then 8.0 and finally 9.0. In the end you do 6-10 sprints all together. Ideally you go 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9 but because running at a 9 is like the CRAZIEST THING IN THE WORLD I do not do that. I do a nice 7, 8, 9 three times and finish it up with an extra 7. In the end, you spend about 45 minutes on a treadmill and if you're me you end up dead tired.

The first day I did sprints I wanted to die which wasn't overly surprising to me. It was a new exercise so being bad at it seemed pretty normal. What killed me, though, was the running at 9. I was barely able to hold onto it that first time and even then I only sprinted at a 9 once because I couldn't do it. The second time I sprinted I knew I wasn't going to be able to get through a full minute at 9 so I did two 30 second sprints. I figured I was still getting in my full minute but in a more manageable way. The third time I did the 30 second sprints again because it worked the first time around and well there as no way I would be able to sprint that full minute.

Today was my fourth day of sprints (obviously I have not done the recommended three times a week). As always I was nervous going in. Every time I do sprints my legs end up hurting like crazy and then I'm worried about pulling a muscle and then I don't go to the gym and then I remain fat and lazy. So you see, doing sprints isn't exactly a calming experience for me. Even with all my nerves, though, I was determined to put in a good effort since my overall gym effort has been lacking. I started doing my sprints and found that today it finally seemed to click for me. Running at a 7 was actually pretty easy and something I wasn't even sweating over. Running at an 8 was of course a bit harder but I was not dying at the end of it. And running at 9, well I finally was able to run it for a full minute....three separate times. I actually ended up doing 11 sprints in 46 minutes with a distance of 3.1 miles (yes, I made myself get to 3.1 so I could say I did a 5k).

What's really cool about this workout, aside from me being able to run at 9 three times, is the fact that I walked/ran over a quarter of a mile more in the same amount of time as I did the first time I sprinted. It was just one of those small reminders that I am actually getting better at some things. And let's be honest, right now I can take as much as those as I can get.

Hello Foot. Meet Ass.

Most people don't dream of being yelled at by another human being. In fact, we (humans as a collective) tend to react negatively when others yell at us. We like to fight fire with fire: If someone is going to yell at me I sure as hell am going to yell right back!! So why is it, that at the mere thought of having someone yelling at me makes me giddy on the inside? Because I have 4 sessions with a personal trainer (as of right now....don't be shocked if I end up paying the money for more) and I could not be happier.

For years all I have wanted is a personal trainer. Someone who knows me, who can tell me what I need to be doing, tailor a program to fit my needs, push me further then I would ever push myself AND hold me accountable for all of my shit. There's a huge reason as to why my exercising (and therefore posts) have been non existent. I was getting bored with my routine and honestly I was too scared to try something new so I pretty much just stopped. I made some excuses but I like to think that I was pretty up front with my self and admitted that I just didn't want to go to the gym. It's me getting back to that "I want to change, but I don't want to put in the effort to change" mentality. And seeing as how I'm a fat kid that mentality is never good.

Things changed a bit when I was talking to the Madre last week. She mentioned that because of me and my success in the gym in the past 6 months (Ha! If only she knew it was really 2 months) she had decided to really dedicate herself to the gym membership her and the Padre have. The Madre signed up for these group classes that meet 3 times a week and is seeing a personal trainer 2 other days a week. I guess all of this is going to be a 12 week thing for her and she's hoping it'll help her get into shape. I heard all of this and while I was happy for her and the fact that she's doing something instead of talking about doing something it turned my competitive nature on a wee bit (the little that I do have). I was the impetus for her doing all this and now she's going to be better then me?? I don't think so!! If the Madre is going to push herself to the limit and she's 30 years older then I am well then I certainly can too.

Cut to Tuesday. I'm at the gym for like the 5th time in 2 months (pathetic I know) and I'm trying to figure out an exercise that my ActivTrax has me doing. It involved a huge barbell and weights at something called the Squatting Rig and I had no idea how to use this weight machine. So being the "I'm going to complete everything on this list" person that I am I went to the trainers to ask for help. The trainer that was around, Jason, came over and showed me how to do the exercise. At the same time, though, he also just talked with me about a bunch of different things health wise and even told me the exercise I was trying to do was pretty pointless for me since I'm not a linebacker or getting ready to go into a scrum. Jason did show me some other exercises that were better for me and then went on to show me some random exercises because I was curious about working out my back. Essentially this guy spent 20-30 minutes with me giving me helpful tips and being a nice guy. Now yes, I do realize personal trainers are all salesmen and they are trying to sell themselves but let's be honest I liked him.

When we were done working out he sat down with me and talked about his qualifications and the type of trainer he is. Jason flat out told me that he will push his clients as far as they need to be pushed, he will hold them accountable for their actions and he won't let them quit. In that moment Jason became the swift kick in the ass that I need to get back on track with my healthy living. If it means that I drop $150 to meet with him 4 times then you know what I'm going to do it. Besides, I just got my tax refund so I can afford it (I have 18 months to pay off my new laptop without accruing interest charges so I'm totally fine!). To me it seemed like it was just this perfect storm of events that once again came together and influenced me to be impulsive. The last time I did that I joined the gym and that is not something I regret even slightly.

So tonight, I go to sleep knowing that tomorrow I will meet with my very own personal trainer who's going to lay down the law with me and show me that I can continue doing this. I am quite excited but also a wee bit nervous because God only knows how much pain I will be in by the time this is all over. But no matter how much pain I'm in or how much Jason gets on my nerves I'm going to smile knowing that my butt-whooping time has finally arrived.

Itty Bitty Titty Club...Sign Me Up!

My boobs are getting smaller!! Some people would think of that as a bad thing but I personally could not be happier. Let me first explain how I came to find out this piece of valuable information. Today, while being completely bored out of mind at work and having absolutely nothing to do, I decided to give myself a bra fitting. There was nobody in the store and I was just standing there so I figured why not? I took a tape measure that was lying around and proceeded to measure my chest to determine my bra size (thankfully nobody showed up while I was doing this otherwise it would have been slightly awkward). Turns out, my band size is now 38. I stood there completely shocked. I even measured myself twice to make sure I wasn't wrong (I wasn't). I stood there in disbelief because I was measured for a bra a few months back and I was definitely 40 inches around. Now, I'm in between 37 1/2 and 38 inches. This is the first time that I've realized I'm losing actual inches off my body along with the weight.

When I started working out back in October, I decided to track my progress. It started off with weighing myself once a week but at the beginning of November I decided to measure various parts of my body as well. I never wanted to be discouraged that I wasn't losing tons of weight since I knew I'd be building muscle at the same time so I figured keeping track of the actual inches might make me feel better. At the beginning of the month I would pull out my tape measure and see what progress I had made. Well, I only ended up tracking November and December because by January and February I wasn't motivated to do much of anything. Naturally after my bra fitting this afternoon I had to come home and measure the rest of me to see what was happening. I have actually lost a couple of inches in a few places. I'm down at least an inch everywhere including my legs and arms (which I was pretty confident would never get any smaller).

I realize that I've lost 20 pounds and dropped about a size/size and half in my clothes but I never connected how that translated to my actual body dimensions. The whole thing just seems very surreal to me. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't stoked about my findings today. It's good to know that my body really is changing in a way that can be quantified (clothing sizes don't count quiet as much since those change from store to store). And while I may not be moving at a Biggest Loser pace, if I keep going at the rate I'm going now in one year I'll be 40 pounds down and pretty damn close to not being considered overweight. So if smaller boobs is the price I have to pay in order to not die of a heart attack at 55 well then I will take it (besides, my boobs were not all that big to begin so it's not a huge deal).

The Battle of the Jiggly Butt

What is it about those first few minutes on the treadmill or elliptical (or working out in general for that matter) that make your butt feel so incredibly un-toned? Maybe it's just me, but I feel like when I first start running my ass jiggles like crazy! And what's even crazier is that after those first few minutes it doesn't feel like my rear is jiggling all over the place. Literally every day when I start my work out I think about how I should be doing an average of 10,000 lunges and/or squats in order for the rump to stop shaking all over the place.

The most awkward thing about it, though, is that I feel like other people can see my tush jiggling all over the place. I almost feel like my fanny needs a bra in order for it to control itself. I realize this is so ridiculous of a mindset and the chances of anybody actually looking at my bum are slim to none. I mean let's be honest here, I tend to work out in the late morning/early afternoon and the people who are at the gym at that hour are not looking at or judging other people's hindquarters. Regardless, I always feel that wee bit of awkwardness at the beginning of any cardio workout.

Today I decided that if I was going to get over this jiggly butt syndrome I would have to put my derriere front and center in my workouts. In all of the strength training that I do only like 2 of the exercises work my glutes so I sucked it up and worked out on the stair-master for a bit. Now let me just start by saying that I hate the stair-master with the fire of a 1,000 suns. It is literally the most boring exercise you can do at the gym (in my opinion of course). I know that it does wonders for the backside and you burn calories like crazy but honestly who cares if it feels like it drags on FOR-EV-ER? I would much rather spend an extra 10 minutes running then stair climbing because that is more interesting.

Anyway, so I'm on the stair-master and it's not as bad as I remembered but it still is not fun. I just kept plugging away, though, in hopes that one day the Battle of the Jiggly Butt will be won. In that light, I have found my goal for March: to get a few steps closers to winning the Battle of the Jiggly Butt. I think if I do the stair-master for 10-15 minutes some days and lunges and/or squats on the other days I'll hopefully not shake so much when I work out. Of course, I'm always open for suggestions on great exercises so if you know of any great ways to do some booty toning let me know! God knows by next week I'll be even more bored of the stair-master then I am already and hating anything resembling a lunge.

Special Thanks: I would like to acknowledge the thesaurus for it's awesome help in providing me with a variety of synonyms for the word 'butt.' Writing 'butt' over and over seemed boring and then I found it funny using all the different synonyms.

Everybody Poops (Hopefully Not in Their Pants)

For the past 2 days I have been debating about whether or not I want to share this piece of highly embarrassing information with you all. After much consideration, though, I realized that this blog would not be a true story of my weight loss journey if I did not share the ridiculous things that happen to me along the way. So here, for your reading pleasure (and most likely amusement) is the story of what almost turned into the most embarrassing moment of my life.

My gym routine is pretty standard. I do a warm up, stretch, do crunches, do my strength training and then finally my cardio. Over the past few weeks I have been running a mile as a warm up mainly because I feel like being able to run the mile should be an easy task and if I keep doing it hopefully I'll get to that point. So I'm on the treadmill doing my mile run and from the very beginning I'm feeling really great about this run. It was literally one those days where I just felt phenomenal and knew that I was going to be able to push myself further. By song number 4 (which is more or less the number of songs it takes for me to run a mile) I knew that I was going to be able to keep running. Please also keep in mind that I have been trying to build my running stamina back up again so knowing that I can push past song 4 is really exciting.

Song 5 comes on and I'm still feeling fairly well. Yeah, I'm getting tired but I know that I can continue running. Nothing is hurting me; the only true discomfort I feel is my breathing and the fact that I am sweating all over the place. Song 6 starts playing and of course it's getting a wee bit harder to run but I just keep telling myself that I can do this. I mean by this point, I know I have to be around the 1.5 mile mark which means I can probably hold out for another half mile and make it a nice round 2 miles (I have this thing about round numbers). I have told myself that I am going to keep on running through song number 8 because if I can get through 8 full songs then I know I will have made it though 2 full miles.

Around the beginning to middle of song 7 I know that I have to go to the bathroom. And by go to the bathroom I mean I have to poop. I understand this happens when you exercise. Hell, I spent my first 2 years on my high school swim team taking a poop after warm ups because I always had to go. So I understand that exercising makes one poop. What I did not account for was how strongly those urges can come upon you and how much your body will fight you from holding it in. I knew that I had to go to the bathroom but I was not willing to stop running because I was so close to hitting that 2 mile marker and I was going to hit 2 miles no matter what. I was determined to make it through but sadly that did not happen. My body pretty much gave me a giant "Eff you!" and I swear to God it felt like I pooping in my pants. How mortifying is that?!?! Who wants to be the 23 year old who can't control their own bowel movements? I mean, I expect that I'll have these kinds of problems in the future but I also expected them to start in about 50 more years.

What's truly ridiculous about this whole thing, though, is the fact that when I felt like I was getting ready to crap myself I did not immediately jump off the treadmill and run for a bathroom. Oh no. I just slowed my pace down to a walk thinking that I could get myself under control and be alright. Then I saw that I had run 1.85 miles and was ticked off that I had to stop running because I totally would have hit my 2 miles. So after about 1 minute of walking I decide to say to my body "Suck on that!" and I proceed to start running again because I am going to actually run a full 2 miles. Yes, I ran my last .15 mile. No, I did not actually poop in my pants (although, I don't think anyone would be shocked if I did at this point).

Once I finally finished my 2 miles I started walking for my warm down, got about 10 seconds into it, realized I would never be able to finish, immediately gathered all of my belongings and raced towards the bathroom. It was definitely one of the more satisfying trips to the bathroom that I have ever taken because I'm pretty sure I emptied my entire colon on that bathroom visit. It also made me realize that I never want to have to go through that ever again. But let's be honest here, chances are if I'm in a similar situation of trying to reach some personal goal I'd probably do the same thing all over again. Here's to hoping that next time I'm just lucky as I was a few days ago.

Long and Lean? Not Quite, But Working On It

I think I may have figured out one way to stay motivated through all of this: jeans. I was at work on Saturday and thinking to myself that I really needed to do my laundry because my jeans were fairly stretched out and definitely not doing my butt any favors. And then I thought that maybe I should try on a pair of size 14's (I'm currently a size 16) to see how they fit and gauge how far away I am from moving down a size. I remember I did that with the 16's a year ago and was ecstatic to see that I while the 16's weren't completely flattering I could button them up.

So after work I'm trying on clothes and I decide to try on the Long and Leans first because let's be honest, out of all the Gap jeans those are the ones you can move down in size first. I put the 14's on and not only did they fit but they looked really good too! I was so happy it was crazy. I stood in my fitting on the verge of tears I was so happy. I honestly don't remember the exact last time that I was a size 14. I know it was somewhere around 7th or 8th grade but that's it. To know that I'm at a size that I was at 10 years ago is crazy to me (and a wee bit sad when I think about how fat I was at that age).

While I was obviously very pumped about this experience I also knew that the Long and Leans aren't the best judge of true size and it could very well be that those are the only pants I'd actually fit into at that size. And for the most part I was right. The Sexy Boot definitely did not button and the Always Skinny were no where close to being able to fit (that's the true testament of being that size - if I can fit into the Always Skinny). But I was also trying on some dress pants because I do need some. In the Hip Slung dress pants I am in fact a size 14. I tried on the Curvy dress pants in a 16 and they were a wee bit loose, but kind of OK. I think in those I'm in between the 14 and 16 but I didn't try on the 14 because well by that point I didn't really care all that much. I was too freaking excited that I'm moving my way down to the 14 club!!

Trying on those jeans helped me realize that going to the gym and actively trying to live healthier does have its rewards. It's taken me 5 months to get there but I'm finally moving out of what I know. I know what size 16 feels like. Below that, I've got nothing. So this being somewhere new in my journey to a healthier me is exciting and it is very rewarding. But most of all, it is very inspirational. I got home from my jean fit session and immediately went to the gym (and no, it was not the first time I went that week either). After my almost 2 month work out hiatus I've been building my running stamina back up and I pushed myself to 1.24 miles. While not near my record of 2.5 miles it's still a step along the way. And really, that's all this is, a bunch of steps. I know I can only take one at a time and it may take me what feels like forever to get where I want to go but if I keep on taking those steps eventually I will reach my destination.

So honestly, if you're like me and grasping for anything motivational after the initial buzz has worn off go try on some jeans. It may be exactly what you need to get back into that gym and recommit you to your healthy lifestyle. I know for me putting on those jeans has been the most rewarding part of this journey so far.

When Does Inspiration Strike?

How does one find the motivation to go the gym? I mean really. We're coming to the middle of February in Chicago with a snow storm headed our way and I'm supposed to want to leave my apartment, walk the 7 blocks to the gym and work out? What would ever possess me to want to do that?

When I made the commitment to live a healthier lifestyle 4 months ago I had motivation all over the place. I was a woman on a mission and I was going to listen to trainer Dave and live right by everything he told me in that introductory session. Going to work out 5 times a week was something that I was all over and I would not allow myself any excuses not to go. But by mid-December (when I had lost about 18 pounds, was looking pretty good and feeling pretty good) I fell out of my work out routine. I went home for a few weeks for Christmas and ever since returning I just can't find any motivation to go. I tell myself that I'm up way too early for work or I have errands I really need to accomplish so setting aside 2 hours to spend at the gym isn't feasible. But the whole time I'm saying this to myself another part of me is screaming that I am full of shit. And I know I am!! Yes, I would in fact like to do my laundry and go to the grocery store but I'm not spending 8 hours doing either of those activities. I can easily fit in a work out. I've even taken my gym bag to work with me so I won't go home. Oh no, even that doesn't stop me from my own bull shit. When my bus comes to my bus stop I'll decide to get off instead of going two more stops and spending my time doing something worthwhile.

I was so motivated in the beginning and the fact that I'm not at all now is so disconcerting. I mean, how does anyone stick to a work out plan? If there's one thing I've learned in all my years of being a fat kid it's that you have to want to lose weight for yourself and you have to be ready to do it. I thought I had hit that point back in October, but maybe I didn't. Or maybe this is just one of those tests you need to push through in order to come out on the other side. I feel like an addict because I keep telling myself to just take it one day at a time, but that doesn't seem to be working. I just keep making the excuses and end up sitting on my couch watching 5 episodes of NCIS. All I know is that sooner or later that inspiration needs to strike otherwise the only thing I'll be losing is $80 a month on a gym membership I'm not using.