Halloween

It's amazing to me how things can bother me on an unconscious level. Just like my last post from September about my due date or when I was going though IVF with my friend and didn't realize how much I needed her to be pregnant, I've been eating my feelings for the last week. I'm up seven pounds in two weeks. And I didn't know that anything was bothering me, just couldn't figure out why I couldn't get my eating under control.

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When I worked at IC, Halloween was a big deal in my building. We had a Halloween party and trick or treating from office to office for all the kids of the people in my building. The kids were adorable as they went door to door, while we were in the middle of checking email or updating a website, and a little Dorothy or an Elmo would peak from the other side of the desk. But this also coincided with the baby plan and each year, as I would say "next year" it became less and less fun. The "next year" mantra grew fainter in my mind until finally, I would just leave work before the party, leave early, and not be around the see everyone else's kids, to see something I couldn't have.

Fast forward to my new life in Doylestown. Halloween hasn't bothered me the last few years. My first year here was hurricane Sandy; two years ago, I was newly with EB and we had dinner at Panera. (As an aside, Halloween is thee best time to eat at Panera, or probably anywhere, if you don't want to deal with kids.) Last year, I sat outside with my neighbor's, around the fire pit, drinking and handing out candy.

But this year, what I didn't see coming, what I didn't realize would hit me so hard, was my part in the community's Halloween party. As a member of the social committee in my neighborhood, I helped plan the day's festivities. And even though I thought I hate Halloween, I wanted to take part, wanted to do my part.

After an hour of putting temporary tattoos on little costumed kids, I looked around at all the moms, chatting among themselves about their kids, about school, about homework or activities, about things that moms talk about, and I realized I couldn't be there anymore. Thankfully I had sunglasses on. Don't cry, just hold it together. do. not. cry.

I managed to not cry, I took deep breaths, wiped away the tears that had been welling in my eyes, and faked it for the next hour. More adorable children. I was numb to them. I looked past them, all the while doing the math in my head...the math that is always in my head. If I hadn't had a miscarriage, I would have a six year old; if Takesha hadn't changed her mind, I would have a 3 1/2 year old.  

Would Harper have been in on the Frozen obsession? Would I have had an Elsa or an Anna? Anna...because she would have had red hair like her momma. 

Would Cooper have been a minion or Captain America?

These were the torturous thoughts going through my head, probably bubbling just below the surface all week as I ate my weight in chocolate. Today wasn't much better. I had a pep talk with myself this morning, and still, and still...I ate a packet of peanut butter cups and m&m's I had in the freezer. I ate when I wasn't really hungry, but I ate anyway.

For now, I need to just move on. To have a good Monday.

Someday, I need to figure out earlier how to be aware of what is bothering me. But now, I just need a good day.

Six years....

I wasn't me this week and I wasn't consciously aware of why. I'd open the pantry to look at the calendar or write something on it and close the door again without doing my original task. 

I ate a lot of shit. I felt like crap because I was eating like crap. And I didn't care. Panera for dinner one night, with the 99 cent bakery item, frozen yogurt the next. Popcorn at the movies tonight.

Around Thursday, I figured it out. And I just let it keep happening. I knew there was an end, I knew that this eating if my emotions would end tonight. 

Today my little girl would have turned six. I say little girl, not knowing if I carried a boy or a girl, but I always felt I lost a girl. For 43 days, I had a life growing inside if me. I saw a heart beat one week. A flickering light on the ultrasound. The next, it was bleak. Two days later, I had a D&C.

It was the only time I was pregnant. Thirteen valid tries (unsafe sex doesn't count), one pregnancy, one miscarriage. Those are my stats.

I was implanted the day before Christmas Eve, I saw the heartbeat the day of Obama's inauguration, I was due on Seotember 12.

Tomorrow I go back to normal. Tomorrow I eat my normal boring food. Tomorrow I will not weigh myself. Tomorrow.

Today, I think about a little girl I never got to know.

What its like inside my brain

Tuesday

Great weigh-in. I feel strong. I am back within the range where it could be goal, where I could fluctuate a pound here or there. 

I stand in Dr. Ben's office and mindlessly eat Hershey miniatures. It's just a couple. I don't weigh in until next week. I'm good. I'll be good.

Wednesday

The scale was up almost a pound. Did I eat more chocolate than I thought yesterday? How could that happen? Why am I eating these dark chocolate kisses in my office? I know they are only like 20 calories, a few more can't really hurt. Oh my god, my parents are coming tomorrow. They'll be here for four days. We'll be eating out. I have to make cookies for my father. I had such good momentum going into Tuesday's weigh-in…why the visit now? How can I strategize this visit better?

Thursday

The scale was up again. OK, I'll make all my dad's cookies on Friday and get them out of the way. I won't eat any. We'll grill out on Friday night. I'll still eat my normal breakfast, lunches and snacks. I'll still be able to work out.

Friday

These cookies taste so good. I'm not even hungry. Why am I eating them? My mouth is hungry, watering for them. My stomach is starting to hurt. Why can't I stop eating them?

Saturday

At this point, I should just enjoy this weekend as a vacation, right? People can indulge on vacations. I'll be up a few pounds, I'll be better next week, right? No…I can't enjoy this. I'm eating "junk" food, "good" food, "yummy" food…and I can't enjoy it. I should just let myself enjoy this, it's going to happen anyway. My parents have been in the house for less than 48 hours and suddenly I've reverted to old, bad eating habits. How does that happen? They aren't even doing anything. It's just so pavlovian…I can't help myself.

Sunday

It's the last day, I can eat better tomorrow. We're going out to dinner. My mom ordered hot, soft pretzels for an appetizer. I got a burger and fries. I'm full from dinner and yet I'm eating cookies again. At this point, why the hell not? I hate myself for it. 

Monday

The scale hates me. I'm up eight pounds. I know it's not real. It's like a false positive. Eight pounds and yet I still went right to the kisses when I walked into the office. Sigh

Wednesday

I'm down four on my scale, didn't even want to look at the gym last night when I weighed in. End of day, with clothes. I couldn't have handled looking at a higher middle number. My eating still sucks, though it's better. 

I saw on Facebook that a family friend is pregnant. She already has one kid, by a different guy. She has an entry level job. Yes, I'm being judgmental. When I texted my niece about it, she said, "she is a really good mom." Sorry, I have a broken uterus, I'm not feeling very gracious about this right now.  Somehow I found myself in Dr. Ben's office, ate a couple and grabbed a couple for my bag. I suck.

Thursday

My four sisters are going on vacation together this weekend. I wasn't invited. I'm 16, 15, 14 and 9 years younger than them, but it still hurts that I wasn't included, not even considered. Somehow I feel like I'm being left out -- punished -- for my singledom as the four of them, and their husbands, vacation together. I sit in a colleagues office and eat caramel cremes and Dove dark chocolates. My sisters suck.

Friday

I had a good workout. I'm almost there. But not yet. I'm getting frozen yogurt after I go grocery shopping. I managed to skip the candy aisle.  I'm eating this because I want it. I'm making the conscious decision to eat this, not because I'm stressed, not because I'm eating my feelings, not because I haven't heard from a boy in a few days or feel over-whelmed at work. 

Saturday

I feel good. I'm strong. I'm staying on track today.

Sunday

How the fuck did the scale go up? I stayed within my calories. Yes, I had an Italian sausage at the Eagles game last night, with practically no roll. It took talent to eat a sausage link -- with practically no roll -- and not have it look phallic. Ergh…..stay on track. Stay on track.

Monday

I was down two pounds this morning, still up two from pre-parents visit. I walked by Dr. Ben's office today, without even a second glance. I stayed away from the kisses in the office. I worked out as soon as I got home. I stayed on track nutritionally 100%.

I think I can let go of the obsessing. A little bit. At least for this week.

When we will ever get over it?

I was scanning Facebook last night and saw this headline:

"Read this if You Don't Really Have an Eating Disorder, But Kind of Do."

Coincidentally, I had been thinking about my eating disorder years, when I was afraid of food and wondering if I was going down the same path, even subtly. I have green seedless grapes in my fridge. I had had some at a friend's house about a month ago and they tasted so good, I wanted more. And then I put them into myFitnessPal and saw how many carbs are in them. Even in a half serving. And there the grapes sit in my fridge.

I've always had a precarious relationship with food, with my body, with exercise. I think it's something that most women do, even if they have never been perceived to have a weight issue. It's how we're wired. It's how society talks to us.

I was out with a radio rep a few weeks ago and somehow got on the topic of food, dieting, exercise... and he told me his girlfriend once told him that she thought about food all the time. And the thought I had was, "wow, I'm not the only one."

I think about food. all. the. time. When I'm dieting. When I'm not.

So when I clicked on the above article and read it, I thought immediately, I could have written this.

We know what it feels like to be incapacitated by body obsession—by food thoughts. Because we’ve long been slaves to that apex of tall, thin, white, blond perfection. That apex we’ve been climbing to since we were old enough to look in the mirror and hate what we saw—since we were old enough to be consumed by our consumption. To jitter with paranoia that people are constantly critiquing our bodies—cheapening them. Fattening them. To fiercely hold the fucked up belief that our weight and our happiness are perfectly, inversely proportional. Even if we’ve never had an eating disorder, we grew up with them.

That’s why a violent surge of panic rushes through me when my boss suggests we order pizza for dinner. I had two slices of bread with my salad at lunch—that’s plenty of carbs for today.

Most think of eating disorders as simply anorexia or bulimia -- starving or binging and purging. There are so many facets, such a spectrum of what qualifies as an eating disorder. I think, in a way, unless a woman has a healthy relationship with food and exercise (can I meet her, please?), we all have a tendency for disorder.

At my worst, in my mid-30s, I was diagnosed as an exercise bulimic. I ate about 800-1,000 calories a day and worked out to the point of having a net negative amount of calories, typically two or three hours of cardio. And I was afraid of food. My nutritionist asked me to eat an ice cream cone as my homework assignment. Not just stop and get it somewhere, but to actually have the ice cream and cones in my house.

I bought a single, serving container of ice cream and a box of cones, and literally put one tablespoon of ice cream on the cone. I can see myself -- to this day -- standing at the counter, looking at the ridiculously small amount of ice cream on the cone and not being able to lick it. And at that moment, I realized that this could be an issue.

So last night, after reading the article, I had to have a heart to heart with myself. Yes, I am afraid of the grapes in my fridge, but that didn't stop me from sitting in Dr. Ben's office yesterday and eating eight Hershey miniatures. One could say that's just another symptom of a disorder. Possibly, but like I said, until or unless I have a perfectly healthy relationship with food, there will always be some disorder.

What I validated for myself last night was…I'm allowed a cheat. Where once those Hershey miniatures in the afternoon would have turned into a handful also in my bag for later and four days of cheating, I'm done with the chocolate for awhile. 

If I really wanted the grapes, I would eat them and fit them into my day. Bananas have nearly as many carbs and I have one in my smoothie most mornings.

I'm 10 years older than I was when I was working out to excess. I don't have the energy to do that, even if I was inspired to! I like my 10 p.m. bedtime too much, and am NOT an morning exerciser.

I run. I eat healthy. Do I obsess? Yes, sometimes. But can I let go and enjoy myself for a meal? Yes, sometimes.

That, I think, is the healthiest my mind is going to be with my relationship with food.

When we will ever get over our food issues? I think this is the closest I'm going to get.

Seeing the Big Picture

I posted this assortment of pictures to Instragram the other day (I'm lauriebaseball there, too).

The scale has been stuck on -- or a more accurate term -- bobbling between -- 189.6, 190.4, 189.8, 190.6 and so I decided to break down Friday morning and try on my size 10 jeans. Just to see if I could have a positive moment on something not scale-related.

They were tight, but not too tight to wear in public. It was a victory. These jeans, which fit me so perfectly at 180, two years ago; these jeans, which did not fit me at all last year in the mid-180s…these jeans fit me now. Even heavier, because my body is changing back to what it once was. What it once was in a good way.

To take a step back and stop thinking about the numbers, which are literally within 10 pounds of each other, I dug out some pictures from college. That put is all in perspective.

Am I happy at 190? Seeing what I once looked like when I topped the scales at 252, I am not only happy, I'm proud of myself. I don't even know who that person is on the left in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

It will always be a struggle, I will always have to watch what I eat, and exercise will always need to be my friend, but I will never go back to where I was. And I have to recognize the level of health (not to mention happiness) -- and probably a good number of extra years -- I've given myself.

I will never be a size 2. And quite frankly I don't want to be. I am a curvy girl, with a great rack. I don't want to lose that. But I don't have to be a 22.Depending on the style, the manufacturer and the actual item, I am anywhere from a 10 to a 14, mostly landing in 12-land.

And as someone who used to wear size 22 as her regular size, 12 is just fine with me.

I visited a friend in Baltimore yesterday. And while I've seen her more recently than five years ago, I hadn't seen her kids since 2010. We recreated a picture from the last time I was there. They weren't the only ones who have changed in those five years.

I remember this period of my life. I remember that  I was at a weight I wasn't thrilled with, but I also remember thinking that I looked OK.

And then I see this and think, "oh my god."

I was on year two of fertility treatment and my body was full of hormones and drugs; my emotions were a roller coaster and I'm sure my eating mimicked them.

I posted this picture to Facebook and a former colleague wrote:

"5 years looks great on you."

Ever the self-depracating fool who can't just say thank you, I responded: "Lots of fertility drugs in 2010, lots of sweating in 2015."

She wasn't going to let me off easy. "Not to take anything away from the sweating, but inner peace has a lot to do with it too. I'm so glad to see you happy."

The lesson? The point of this post? I think I need to try to remember that the scale, the numbers, the exercise -- they can't fully define me as they have been. As Amy correctly pointed out, I look good because I'm happy, because I like where I am in my life. And while a lot of that has to do with how healthy I am, it also has to do with where I am -- what I have, what I've achieved -- in my life.

Tired legs

I did lower body tonight, which, considering we use weights for squats and lunges and kettbells for squats, it's really like a full-body workout. My legs are tired but I feel good. Cardio was :45 of a speed climb with 3:00 of recovery (also speed climb). Started walking at 4.0, running at 4.5; finished my set walking at 4.6 and running at 5.2, with a full sprint at 6.5.

I admit planned on running at all, but my legs feel good. Tomorrow will be a full run after upper body. I've got three sessions at the gym with my trainer this week and next, planning to make the most of it and kill it on the scale by August 1.

All numbers are good....scale is back under 190, just .4 up from before my surgery; I'm at 632 miles for the year, shooting for 700 by the end of July. I'm in a good rhythm.

Right now, this is the most important thing in my life...I'm the most important thing in my life.

Kicking ass....kind of

I'm proud of myself for bouncing back so quickly. Decent nutrition the past few days, kick ass workouts and a good mindset.

I set three workout goals for the weekend, even wrote them in my to do list

* 15 total miles for the weekend

* run in my treadmill, .5 consecutively (as I've said, my treadmill is much tighter than the one at the gym)

* do an upper body workout

I printed out some simple workouts and created a mini calendar on the wall outside my bedroom. I have the week planned out with my workouts, and they include circuit training and strength training at home (my Achilles heel). 

I've got a couple sessions with my trainer to make up after my surgery and vacation, so I'm hitting the gym three times this week and next.

I feel good. I enjoyed myself in Richmond, made myself enjoy every thing I out in my mouth and now I have my routine back. This is living, this is life.

And this is planking on the bottom step.

Dominoes

I hate how one little change in my routine can completely derail me. I was so strong, so confident, so on track, and then I had surgery, and then my student from Denmark came to visit and then we went to Richmond and then I still have an 18-year-old in my house,and then and then and then.

Did you know that Denmark only has plain and peanut m&m's? Not dark, not dark peanut, no almond, not crunchy, not pretzel. Did you know that I have all of those in my pantry? With berry Oreos and potato chips.

I packed my food for Richmond. Protein shake powder all measured out in baggies. Protein bars. Greek yogurt. And then I got to Richmond and we were having lasagna for dinner. When I asked for chicken for dinner, would it be a problem to grill me a chicken breast. "You don't want lasagna?" I'd like more protein than carbs. And then my brother jumped in with, let's get ice cream tonight.

In the end I did have chicken breast for dinner, but overall it just seemed easier to not be difficult and eat what was being served.

I blame no one but myself. I'm an adult who makes her choices. In the end it's all on me. The eating, the lack of self control, the three pounds I'm up since before my surgery.

I put my sweet little Charlotte on a plane tomorrow. And I told her all opened sweets are being put in a ziplock bag and going with her. I get back to the gym on Friday, and to make up for a few sessions I've missed over the last two weeks, I'm planning three sessions per week for the next two. 

I've sent myself some good workout charts from Pinterest to print out at work tomorrow. So the nights I don't go to the gym, I can get in some strength/circuit training.

I will have challenges the next few days. Lunch with a friend on Friday in Philadelphia, Chris in town this weekend, lunch in Baltimore next weekend, as well as a neighbors party. One day at a time. Tomorrow my focus is creating my plan, staying on track nutritionally and getting a good workout in when I'm back for my Newark airport drop off.

On the plus side, I have walked every day, ran once. Have they been stellar workouts? No. But I've moved. I've burned some calories.

I'm going to sum it all up with the photo I posted to Instagram tonight. Not exactly the most positive of messages to go with my 30 days of positivity, but it's a message I needed to embrace tonight as I put oral surgery, out of town visitors and out of town visits to rest.

Making choices

This is how my afternoon started

me: can I have chicken for dinner? 

My sister in law: you don't want lasagna? 

Me: I'd rather not eat carbs for dinner 

my brother: we'll have to go get ice cream after dinner

It all worked out fine. Did I snack off plan at the pool? Yes. But I went for a walk/run, my sister-in-law graciously grilled me a chicken breast for dinner and I had nonfat frozen yogurt.

While I was on my walk, I made the decision that I wasn't going to consider this weekend shot and blow my eating habits, but neither can I expect that in going to stay on plan 100%. I'll get my workouts in as best I can, I'll make the best choices I can and when I don't, I need to let go and just enjoy it.

Goal 1 completed...kinda

I'm the type of person who always wants to push it a little more, who strives for perfection, who achieves something and immediately finds fault with it. Call me Type A, call me OCD, call me crazy...I accept it all!

This morning at the gym, I ran for not one mile but two. Two consecutive miles. For 25 minutes. And I should just stop there. Hooray for me, but I can't.

Here come the but's....I was barely running at 4.7 mph, it was on the gym's treadmill which is much "looser" than my treadmill at home, and of course, the way I measure my happiness these days....the scale is going in the wrong direction.

I'm headed out of town and worried about falling off completely. 

Getting it back

I did well with my numbers, had a decent walk after dinner with a friend, but I still don't feel strong. I think because within those 1100 calories, there was chocolate and a cookie. But also not in those 1100 calories are two cookies...I had the bag opened and grabbed my yogurt instead. That was a big win for me, for keeping the cravings at bay, for fighting the mouth hunger and winning.

July goals

The week went well. Surgery was a success. I still can't open my mouth completely but I'm eating solid food again. I am disappointed that limited calorie intake on Wednesday and Thursday did not translate on the scale. But in looking at my food..well smoothies and yogurt....there was half or more of my nutrient ratio that was carb.

I'm back on track this weekend. Ran on the treadmill yesterday...intervals of .25, .5 and .6; and my usual six mile walk this morning. Food was good. I'm hoping to see something on the scale tomorrow.

I know July isn't until Wednesday just I'll just start a couple days early. 

1. Planks and squats every night. I have the numbers written on my full,length mirror with a dry erase marker.

2. 185. This morning I was up slightly to 190. I can lose five pounds in a month, even with a weekend in Richmond, a lunch in Philadelphia, a lunch in Baltimore and a house guest for 10 days. Challenges for sure, but I can work through them.

3. One consecutive mile of running. I have a 5k at the end of July after all.

Two steps forward, one set back

I was feeling invincible. I had a good weigh in at the gym, as I anticipated because my home scale has been great all weekend. I had a good sweaty work out. And then I came home to make cookies to mail to my dad for Father's Day.

I tried not to snitch at the dough. I tried to stick to one baked cookie. I tried.

The cookies are all baked and packaged up, ready to mail out tomorrow so I won't be eating anymore. And for the last hour, I've been hoping I would throw up. It was mindless eating, even when I wasn't hungry, even when I was kind of full. One cookie after the other. All in all, I probably *only* ate four or five cookies, but after limited my carbs to under 100 grams for the past three weeks, I feel like I've either over eaten considerably or I have a carb hangover, or both.

It's disappointing that I can't control myself better. I'm going to remember this feeling and hope it sustains me the next time there is temptation. Until then, here's hoping that every time the discomfort in my belly gets better and I can sleep tonight.

My workout buddy keeps me honest

After a three-mile walk in the humidity, this is what I got tas soon as we walked in the door. Complete with whining, as if he was saying, "come on momma, it's your running day, get your butt in the basement and on the treadmill."

So in the basement I went, planning to just do a mile of walk-run intervals. I did two! I didn't worry or care about my speed, I worked on my breathing and was able to run a half mile at one point! Dog walking and running totals for the weekend...16 miles. And as of this morning, I'm back in the 180s!

He kept one eye open and made sure that I worked hard.

I did.

A Cheat Day

My dear friend Carrie came to visit Thursday night. we started Friday with the six-plus miles at Peace Valley Park, did some shopping, had a relatively healthy lunch (salad) with a bit of a cheat...the yummiest homemade tortilla chips and salsa fresca.

We spent the afternoon, shopping talking, catching up, getting a pedicure. We got take out (salad and froyo for me) and relaxed. My calorie numbers were on target but carbs were over.

But I felt good about the cheat. I felt in control. Today, did a four mile walk, and have been pretty much on target. Tomorrow is my running day and Monday is weigh in day.

Tomorrow needs to be stellar!

Maine

When we were little, family vacations consisted of piling as many kids in the station wagon as humanly possible (safety was not a factor in the 70s), leaving at an ungodly hour from syrcause and heading to Maine for a week in a little cabin across the street from the beach. There were rafts at the beach we could rent, there were movies in the rec center in the camp grounds, and a play ground. I collected sea glass and could stare at the ocean for hours looking for mermaids.

We stopped going when I was about 6 or 7...I'm not sure why. Maybe the older kids outgrew family vacation time? 

I found out tonight that my four sisters are going in August with their husbands. And when I initially found out, it sounded like just one sister was going with her husband. She purposely didn't tell me the full plans because she felt bad that I would feel bad. I found out tonight that all four of them are going. "I didn't want you to feel left out."

I can't - and didn't - take it out on her. But yea, I did feel a little left out, because I am being left out of it. All four girls are going and I'm not included?  Would I have gone? As the only single person, probably not. But I'm being overly sensitive to the reason I was left out (if there is a reason at all). Is it because I'm so much younger than them. And therefore have nothing in common with them? Or is it the damn single issue again?

So that's all floating around my noodle. But I think the part that annoys me the most is that my one sister is flying all the way to the east coast from San Diego and is only going to see my other sisters. Not stopping even in Syracuse to see the rest of the family.

Ok whatever, maybe we didn't want to see you anyway. I better go to sleep before Bitter Betty takes up residency in my brain.

On another note...just under 1200 calories (and that included a few too many Hershey miniatures), a good run on the treadmill, 122 protein, 99 carb, 29 fat. Legs felt good today.

Strength

That was the lesson at the gym tonight. Courtney is back, after several weeks dealing with a very sad family medical issue. And she was back with a vengeance.

She made me plank with my hands on a medicine ball. I didn't think I could. I could.

We upped my weights....18-pound kept bell swings with squats, 80 pounds on the leg press, and when I said I couldnt squat because of my knees, she gave a me a look.

"When was the last time you tried?"

I had no answer. "You are stronger than you think, just try."

And I lunged. Didn't lose my balance, didn't go super low, but still felt my leg muscles.

1231 calories

154 protein

103 carbs

24 fat

Carbs would have been lower but I was starving after the gym and had a half of a protein bar. I think I'll be ok :)

Boo-yah

Good number on the scale...at least lower than I was last week. And back at a significant number. Significant not because it's a nice round number, not because it's in a new decade, significant because it was my first goal at the gym, it was until two years when I hit 177, the lowest weight I had ever been at.

My food was spot on today. 1256 calories, 87 carbs, 26 fat and 159 protein.

I ran a quarter of a mile three times, with a quarter mile walking recovery in between. The first one was ok, the second one felt great, I struggled with the third but did it. I took the dog for a walk and then he,med and hawed about yoga, and finally knew that the mouth hunger might get the best of me, so changed out of sweaty clothes and went to a yoga class.

I won't expect anything on the scale tomorrow (bullshit...I can say i won't, but I will). I'm just excited about my mindset, more than anything else.

The way I feel tonight...I can do anything.

Sunday

I started the day with a great walk at Peace Valley Park, six-plus miles, with a wonderful friend and Bernie. We went early but it was still hot once we got through the woods and into the sun. Thankfully we started as early as we did.

I did my Sunday food prep...cutting carrots and making five single-serve baggies with a tablespoon of hummus in little containers, rice cakes with a edge of laughing cow cheese in baggies, cantaloupe cut up and one cup in each baggie, and weighed out three ounces of turkey for my sandwiches. I, giving myself the tools...this makes it so easy to make my lunch  and snacks for the work day. And I have chicken breast cut up and in servings for dinner.

I'm actually excited to get up and weigh myself in the morning. I'm really hoping for a loss. But even if here isn't, I can't let it get me down. I have to keep the momentum.

And tomorrow, after Bernie's walk, I have a date with the treadmill to do a little running. I will add an extra quarter-mile of running. No worries about speed or time. Just run.

My numbers for the day...1247 calories, 153 protein, 89 carbs, 32 fat. Ratios were good...50%, 28%, 23%.

Shame

"Shame is nothing more than denial of the truth."

I've been neglectful of this blog, mostly because I feel shame, ashamed, of my lack of focus. By not writing it publicly, by not sharing it, it wasn't real. My lack of focus, my continuing to think the the 80/20'rule is about eating well 20% of the time.

But no more. 

For the past two weeks, I've had more good days than bad. And the bad days were only small cheats, not full blown, out of control binges.

The success in the past two weeks was that I checked in every night with my friend (the woman who owns the gym I go to). And so rather than bother her, it'll go here. Whether anyone is reading this or not, you're my accountability.

The goal is to be between 1200 and 1400 calories, under 100 grams of carbs, under 30 grams of fat and over 120 grams of protein.

Today...1272 calories, 93 carbs, 38 fat, 141 protein.

I also need to start running again. I've been lazy. And lazy is a relevant term. I walk the dog an hour or more a day, but that's walking at, for me, a casual pace. I ran today. I wasn't fast, it wasn't long, but I ran. Quarter mile walking, quarter mile running at 4.6 mph, quarter mile walking, and then quarter mile running.

That's what I have to do. It took me less than 15 minutes. I can do that three or four times a week. It's not about the time, it's about getting back into the habit.

I committed $2,000 to be back at the ladies gym for the next year. The money was worth it two years ago, and do not go to waste. I need to be just as committed now as I was then. I'm struggling to get over the 190 hump and back in the 180s. That will be, I think, the watershed moment for me. That will open the gates. It won't be any easier, but for the last six months, my half hearted attempts have seen me swing between 192/193 upwards of 203. 

Even the first month back at the gym, I saw the scale swing up and down. Stress eating. Eating my feelings. I rationalized. I made excuses. This week I got on the scale at the gym for a loss. The second week in a row with a loss. Rather than accept the small win, I had to find the negative. After six weeks, I'm only at a net loss of two pounds.

It was shame. 

But I won't let the shame win out this time. I'm committed. The thing in my brain, that switch that keeps me going even in the face of temptation, is almost fully on.

This morning, and the past two mornings, I was at 193, one up from earlier in the week. This is the hump, the speed bump, the road block, whatever metaphor I want to call it. This is the number I need to get over (or in this case, under) and continue with strong momentum.

It can't be about shame anymore. I have to own it. And by owning it, I have to share it. It will keep me honest. And hopefully it will keep me motivated.

Still...

Struggling a little...stress eating, overwhelmed at work...but took the action I needed by going back to the gym. Workouts have been great, food is still my Achilles heel.

I'll never have that.

I remember the moment that I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be a mom. And for a fleeting second, a doubt that it would ever happen.

I was in my 20s, living in Rochester. I had found a church I really enjoyed -- good pastor, good sermons, good cantor -- and I became a regular church-goer.

It was Mother's Day and the priest asked for all to stand except the moms. We were to raise a hand and say a prayer over the mothers. The young family in front of me had three boys; the youngest stood on the pew and put his hand on his mom's head as we repeated after the priest. And then he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

I'll never have that.

As soon as the thought popped into my head, it left.

My maternal yearnings kicked into high gear and I spent the rest of my 20s and early 30s moving my deadline a little further out. I kept pushing the deadline because, to me, it felt like making the baby dream happen in this way was to give up on love. If I'm not married by XX age, then I'll have a baby on my own. First it was 32, then 35 and then finally at 37, I made the appointment with my OB to discuss my options.

I had the blood work done in anticipation of my first appointment. The nurse practitioner called me a few days before the appointment to give me time to digest that this wasn't going to be easy. "We'll have a lot to talk about, but your numbers indicate a fertility issue."

I'll never have that.

For the second time in my life, that thought popped into my head. And this time, it stuck a little longer.

I would learn at that appointment that my egg reserve, at the age of 37, was that of a post-menopausal woman, even though I showed no other signs of being near menopause. That my eggs did not mature. Each month -- for a few years or my entire reproductive life span, who knows? -- I released an egg that would not be capable of creating a life.

During that time, even though I was a regular church goer, I did not attend mass on Mother's Day.

This weekend, I will avoid public places -- the grocery store, a restaurant -- where someone could wish me a happy Mother's Day. 

I'll never have that.

I will call my mother, and wish her a day she so richly deserves. I will walk Bernie around the lake and enjoy six miles of tranquility. And I will do everything I can to avoid remembering what that day means...because I'll never have that.

PS: After I posted this, I got an email from a friend asking if I was ok. I'm fine. I wrote this post very matter-of-fact. It's not about sadness anymore. I think I'm numb to it all. My infertility and the subsequent failed adoptions are so not about emotion anymore; the point of the post is that I will not put myself in a position to be sad. It's about self-preservation so that my infertility and the subsequent failed adoptions stay not about emotion. It's just the facts, ma'am.

Wrapping up 44, welcome to 45

I bought a new car. I launched a college to a university. I gained 15 pounds (on top of the 10 I gained last year).

That just about wraps up the past few months. Long hours, too many carbohydrates (bread and chocolate), unlimited diet Pepsi's, no significant running or working out other than walking the dog, in the office every Saturday.

And in the end, I somehow pulled out a rebrand of epic proportions. The logo stayed secret until the big reveal. Highway signs were changed a few days before the official launch. Gateway signage was installed and wrapped until the big day. Banners are up. Signs are up. T-shirts were given away.

And then I turned 45 and reality kicked me in the ass. I started year 45 (or is it my 46th year…I always get that confused) with a three-day refresh, ate healthy the rest of the week and lost nearly 10 pounds.

So what? So I'm back to where I was at the beginning of the year. At 4am Saturday morning, I emailed my friend who owns the gym I used to go to and told her I wanted to come back.

I kind of feel like a failure, but I also realized that I needed to do this. I'm not happy with the way I look and that's effecting more than I realized. It wasn't just being over whelmed at work, it was the whole "I hate my body" come to the surface again. And it could have been pretty easy to continue to eat, to continue to drink my diet Pepsi's and yo-yo the same five pounds. It's how I've pretty much spent my entire life, so why not?

Because two years ago I was brilliantly happy and I want that back. I want to look like that girl up on the banner to the right. That's a happy girl, not stick thin, but healthy with a positive body image.


So tonight I'll feel like a failure, I amy even feel ashamed or embarrassed walking through the doors tomorrow night, but hopefully when I walk out, it's the first night of finding me again.

Saturday morning musings about the last week

The snow is melted...it smells like spring even though it's still chilly enough for a hat and thin gloves on our walks. But these are a six days difference.

The time change didn't effect Bernie at all. He still woke up at 4am, one day at standard time, the next at daylights saving time. 4:00 on the clock, even though my body knew it was really 3. Why didn't his? My body certainly knew that 6 was 5 when my alarm went off on Monday.

I'm a little in love with one of Bernie's daycare teachers...mostly because of how much Bernie loves him (and how much he loves Bernie).

I ran my first 5k of the season. In 19 degrees. I paced a little over 11 minutes my first two miles, averaged 12 for the race and finished under 38. I can only get faster from there. My next race is at the end of the month.

I bought a new car! It should be in --and mine -- this coming week! More on that next week.

To the woman at the dentist office...

I'm sorry I didn't look up and acknowledge your very adorable, curly/ and red-headed child, I'm sorry if I offended you by not oohing and aahing at what a delight she is. 

She tried to get my attention, I knew that, but she was only trying to make eye contact. She did not talk to to me (I would have said hello), I did not hurt her nor was I mean to her.

So before you sigh loudly, before you tell your older child that I must not like kids, before you think inwardly that I'm a bitch, before you judge me...

You know nothing of my journey. Thirteen IUIs/IVFs...two pregnancies...two miscarriages. Two years trying to adopt.

But I've come to terms with all of that. The trigger....the thing that still is a punch in the gut...is the red hair.

What you don't know, what you can't know and what people in my own life probably don't realize...All of my assisted reproductive attempts were made with sperm (and one egg) donors with red hair, in the hopes that I would get my own mini-me. 

So have some empathy for the unknown. Look beyond the nose on your face and think that the expression on my face is not one of annoyance at your child, but sadness for an unfulfilled dream. You don't need to know what the dream is, just have empathy for the stranger who can't make eye contact with a three year old.

xoxo, the girl with the broken uterus

I'm doing the best I can…take 2

I started to write this post this morning, but could only get as far as the headline and the sentiment attached to it. I didn't have the emotional strength to recap the past week.

Seven days ago, my boss alerted me to a logo for another college. He felt it looked very close to our new logo. The new logo we've been developing for the past eight months. The new logo that was already on multiple objects in production. The new logo that has a 56-page brand book attached to it. The new logo that will be the "wow" factor to a press conference on April 8 when we officially go from college to university.

Initially, I wasn't worried. In my opinion, they looked nothing like one another. Sure, they both create the same abstract (common) object and they share one (primary) color.

But that would be like saying that these logos are all the same.

I contacted our trademark attorney on Thursday afternoon, to ease the anxiety of my boss. By Monday, I still hadn't heard from the attorney and my boss's anxiety had ramped up. There was no convincing him that, in my professional opinion (20 years in marketing and communications) this was not an issue.

As the week wore on, so did my nerves. When I finally spoke to the attorney, he gave me a lot of lawyer speak. First, he felt there was possible logo infringement. What the what?! How…how …how could anyone think these two images looked alike?

Tuesday night, I tried to cry it out. I've needed a good cry for several weeks and it's just not coming. when I mentioned that to a dear friend, she explained to me that I had no room in my heart or my head for the cry. And she was right. Sadly. I have no room for a good cry right now.

And as time went on, I was questioning my opinion. Not that I thought that the logos were similar enough to cause market confusion. But was I thinking that because I couldn't be objective?

I contacted several of my colleagues (and friends). People in the business, marketing in higher ed and marketing not in higher ed. Every single person agreed with me. "Not even close."

I wrote up a detailed email, recapping the options the attorney gave us, including the very "reasonable course of action to move forward with the good faith belief that we were infringing on another logo," as well as the opinions of our agency and four others in the business. I met with my boss yesterday afternoon. We met as an administrative team this morning.

As a group, we decided that we should move forward as is.

In 41 days we launch. In 41 days, we roll out a new logo. On banners. On signage. Unfurled down the side of a building. In the bookstore on merchandise. In 41 days, the cumulation of more than a year's work.

There will still be work to day the next day, but April 8 is the big day.

Between now and then, I will work out every day. I will take care of myself. I will eat healthy. Not in the way I would like. Not in the way that would contribute to my losing the last 10 pounds.

Right now, I have to accept that I'm maintaining my weight. I cannot gain anything, but I have to be okay with not losing. I'm doing the best I can and for now, that has to be enough.

I am doing my best...

and for now, that has to be enough.

Celebrating 30 Again

This image popped up on my TimeHop this morning. From two years ago…I celebrated hitting 30 pounds lost.

More symbolic was the actual number on the scale. It had, previously, been the lowest weight I had ever been at (going down).

It was a number I had hit in 2005, when we celebrated my parents' 50th anniversary.

Two years today, I hit that number. It was a milestone. A celebration. A number I didn't think I would see again.

This week, I hit that number again. It doesn't feel as good but I'm trying not to dwell on the negative but more that I'm headed back in the right direction.

It is something to celebrate, especially as I read back on previous posts from this year and how hard it's been to get back on track.

I feel positive. I feel strong. And I'm happy to be back at the 30-pound mark, soon to be in a new decade on the scale.

Learning to Walk Away

I have a friend -- a 20+ years friend. Ed and I  met when I worked in Rochester, my first job out of college, and have remained friends, and occasionally friends with benefits, over the years. Between the two of us, we've shared nearly 10 moves, across four sates, but somehow managed to stay in touch.

In 2004, he got married and I moved back to New York. We stayed in even closer contact, as he was hopelessly in love and we were back in the same state, hoping to actually see each other. For lots of reasons -- none that were terribly traumatic -- we never ended up meeting up. Kids, jobs, life, miles. But we emailed and we talked by phone.

Ed supported me emotionally as I dealt with infertility and adoption issues; and I was thrilled at the birth of his first his daughter and then his son.

And then as often happens, as I've seen from the outside looking in, the shine of "hopelessly in love" wears off a little. Two small children. A bigger house. And just about the time I was getting ready to leave New York for Pennsylvania, things between us turned a little strange.

And what was once just harmless flirting between two friends who had been through a lot together, didn't seem so harmless. And didn't seem like a joke.

At first, I played along. What could it hurt? I was a state and several hundred miles away. But when the conversations, the texting, the emails only included innuendo and propositions, I had to make a difficult decision to push back.

As women, we are raised to be pleasing. To not hurt feelings. To go along with things so as not to create conflict. And I think that is the mindset I had; I let it go on for months too long instead of speaking up for myself.

Finally. Finally, I did. I told him that I was not the answer to the problems in his marriage, not the antidote for his unhappiness and we needed to get back to our normal conversations.

It was a proud moment. I came through for myself. (If that sentence doesn't sound like someone who has been through years of therapy…)

And then silence. I didn't hear from him again. It hurt at first, but I had to stand my ground. And as time went on, it hurt less but angered me more.

For two years, I only heard from him with the obligatory Christmas card. And then, seemingly out of the blue, last fall, he sent me an email and apologized, he wrote that he missed his friend.

It took me a few days to respond, but when I did, I told him that I missed him as well. However I couldn't just let go what had happened. I wrote that he had been shitty to me, that a true friend wouldn't have heard the no from me and then dropped me. I expected that from some guy I met in a bar, not from someone who had been my friend since 1994.

He agreed and apologized repeatedly.

And then the weirdness started up in a different way. Emails telling me what a mess his life is (with no elaboration, even when I pressed) and that he really needed to talk to me. I gave him home, work and cell numbers, best times to call me at each, and a reply would come that he was busy with the kids that week, couldn't talk.

A week or so of silence, and then, "I really need to talk to you."

"You know how to reach me. I'm here for you."

This pattern went on for several months and finally I called a mutual friend, one who lives in the same city as Ed and has known him even longer. I hadn't spoken with Dave in easily a year, but again that was due to life and nothing major. I had once been in love with him, he had once broken my heart -- but he is a part of my story and someone I only have positive and genuine feelings for.

Dave filled me in on the background: a house of their price range, a lost job, drinking (both Ed and his wife), emotional issues (Ed's wife). It sounded like a major mess and my heart broke not only for them, but their two kids.

Dave wasn't happy that Ed was pulling me into this, especially after what had transpired between Ed and me two years earlier. When Ed sent his next round of "i need to talk to you" emails, I gave him a very specific time. Shit or get off the pot. If he really needed to speak to me so badly, then let's just do it.

The morning we were supposed to talk, he emailed me and said he was helping his daughter with a school project and couldn't talk.

I didn't respond. There was almost a month of silence and then he emailed and said his wife would be out of town with the kids in February for a week, "maybe we can talk then, or I can come visit you."

Red flag! I responded that I would be happy to talk but a visit, at this point, would be inappropriate.

His response: "Ok, I'm just going to end it all. Good bye."

I forwarded it to Dave, feeling that was really all I could do. I didn't take it seriously, he was playing emotional blackmail with me.

This past week, he emailed me asking if I had time to talk this week. I replied with some nights and times. "OK thanks…PS I miss you."

And then last night, "If I don't connect with you, sorry…I'm working to fix things."

I have put up with more than most would, I think. He has been my friend for 21 years. I felt I owed it to our friendship, but last night, when I read that, I knew that I had done all I could. I was the only one thinking about the value of our friendship.

And so I replied:

I hope you find what you need. I'm here when you want to talk but I can't take the emotional roller coaster, the push and pull you are doing to me with your emails. We don't speak for two years, and then for the last few months you seem to jerk me around telling me you'll call then you're busy then we have to talk then you have to watch the kids then you want to visit me bc your wife is going away (do you remember why we didn't speak for the last two years?!) then you threaten suicide.

No matter how angry and disappointed I was in you, I have been trying to be your friend. No matter how fucked up your life is, you need to be a better friend to me.


I will repeat that I am here when you want to talk.

My heart breaks for him. I have empathy and sympathy and compassion and can't imagine how shitty he must feel every day, given all he's been through the last two years.

But I knew I had made the right call when he wrote back. "OK good bye then."

This is not someone reaching out to a friend, this is someone who wants what he wants when he wants it and the hell with me. If he were really looking to me for help, I had given him ample opportunities. Maybe he hasn't hit rock bottom yet. I hope he will be able to figure his shit out before he does.

But at this point, I can't help him. Not the way he wants me to. Not in the way he needs me to. What he wants would just create a bigger mess in both of our lives. And I am not willing to go back. I am not willing to be "that girl" again.

I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Ed. I hope you find happiness. But now, I have to walk away.

My Mind is a Beautiful Mess

I'm eating my stress. And then I'm stressed because I'm overeating. It's a vicious cycle. And one I need to figure out soon because work is not going to get any less stressful as I move toward the biggest project of my career in the next two months.

I've tried to do things the way of my Beachbody coach -- 100% clean eating, not counting calories.

Fail. I need more structure.

I've tried to do things the way of my nutritionist -- a calorie is a calorie is a calorie. 

Fail. By introducing "too many" carbs, I've created a slippery slope that is hard to stop.

I need to get back to -- or closer to -- high protein, low carb.

I've been on this up and down for the past month, trying to figure out the best eating plan for me, when I know all along what it is.

Certainly I can take tips from both techniques -- I've actually really enjoyed making a protein smoothie for breakfast. And adding yogurt as a snack has actually been really helpful -- filling while still satisfying my sweet tooth.

Today was a good day. And tomorrow I see both Terri and the nutritionist. Between the two of them, I'm hoping we can give me some new strategies for dealing with my stress, other than comfort food.

What I Learned this Week

I saw the nutritionist a week ago and she gave me some tools. Some were successful, others not so much.

More filling snacks...think of yogurt as more than breakfast...have a second smoothie. All good.

Have snacks with lots of volume....Special K chips, 28 to a serving. Ummm....no. I didn't necessarily eat them mindlessly. I ate a handful and went into the living room. And five minutes later, I got another handful. Finally, I stood at the island in the kitchen and finished off the box. 

Have multiple snacks on hand. Having too many options just made it that much easier to go off track.

And so this morning, I made my meal plan. I really can eat the same thing for each meal, with one or two options to have when packing my lunch and dinner. And that's what I did today.

No diet Pepsi.

No chocolate. Even when offered. Even when I was in Lasker, where one of the deans has a bowl of chocolate.

Ate healthy at a lunch meeting.

One day in the books. Now I focus on Friday.

When did the tide shift?

Work used to be my solace, my routine. Breakfast at 8, snack at 10:30, lunch at noon, snack at 1:30 and 3, leave at 4, work out , dinner and snack, kitchen closed by 7-7:30.

Weekends were the gamble, the unknown. Where eating, diet Pepsi, not enough water got a little out of hand, not so routine.

But somehow, sometime, things shifted. Weekends have become easy, and work days not so much. At some point, I think, the need to reward myself, or comfort myself, with a diet Pepsi or a piece of chocolate, moved out of the comfort/reward phase and into habit.

I'm not sure when, I'm not sure how, and honestly I'm not sure when I realized it, but I have...and so tomorrow, when I go into work, I need to break the cycle, stay away from the sugar, from the pretzels, and even from the flavored water, which I had usually reserved for an afternoon that, after all my water had been drunk for the day.

I'm not going to make promises. Im not going to look too far out, just look at tomorrow. I'm going to pack my food for tomorrow, which does include a lunch meeting, and make a concerted effort...

January Musings

It's been a rough month, one that started with promise and is ending with promise. In the middle, lots of roller coasters.

Exercise -- thankfully, I've got this. I have a dog who doesn't take no for an answer. I can't be too tired or too cold or too lazy. He needs to walk. So walk we must. Typically we get in two miles every day. I've also added strength training with some DVDs. And started the Couch to 5K program. Week 3 was in the books today.

My goal of 1,000 miles for the year is off to a great start. I set a goal of 85 miles for the month. I hit just under 104 this morning.

Cooper -- Last Saturday was, would have been, whatever…it was Cooper's third birthday. I spent the day feeling sorry for myself. I was sad. What makes it hard is that I'm so close to where he lives. Or where I think he lives. Thirty miles…that's it. I'm 30 miles away from where Tekisha was last living in New Jersey. I've thought about taking a drive, but for what?  To see that she's not living there anymore? To see that she is and to see her with her daughter but not him? Or to see her and to see that she did end up keeping him? I'm not really sure what I'm hoping for, and so I won't be making the trip to Washington, NJ, no matter how many times I think about it.

Food -- I haven't seen much success on the scale even though I have worked out as much as I have. There has been a lot of mouth hunger, a lot of binges, a lot of eating my feelings. I literally have eaten 12 hershey kisses, one after the other, and would have no satisfaction of them. I would eat them so fast that I wasn't really tasting them.

My mind has been working overtime trying to figure out how to get back the strong mindset when it comes to food. And in the process, I've felt the eating disorder brain creeping back in. So I did the smart thing and met with a nutritionist.

Marge calmed my fears, gave me very attainable goals for the next two weeks and two days later, I'm feeling almost like I have a handle on it.

I'll continue with the exercise as I have been. I will weigh myself three times a week. This was a tricky one that we had to negotiate and talk about. In a study of people who have kept 30+ pounds off for five years or more, one of their reasons for success was they weighed themselves daily. I used to do that. In fact, I used to weight myself two, three, fours times a day. i don't want to go back to that. So we both felt that three times a week was doable and safe.

I'm going to try a new vegetable, which I actually did tonight for dinner. I'm not a big veggie eater and I'm not an adventurous eater, so while this doesn't sound like a challenge for most; for me, it is. I bought some cut-up butternut squash at Wegmans today. Did not have to make a huge commitment by buying a whole one and then trying to figure out how to peel it, how to cut it. It was already done for me. (thank you, Danny Wegman)

I need to learn to add more colors. My roasted veggies were carrots, butternut squash and some sweet potato slices, mixed a little bit of sweet onion. All pretty orange, but I had vegetables with my dinner.

And we talked about my vulnerable times -- mid-afternoon and after dinner. Sometimes it's the simplest things, the why didn't I think of that. And to solve this, that's exactly what happened. My snacks have not been filling enough. Why does yogurt have to be reserved for breakfast? Why can't I have a second smoothie?

I don't know why none of that occurred to me. But it makes sense. When I have been having a sugar-free pudding for my snack after dinner, when my sweet tooth hits…now I'm having a "dessert" yogurt. Tonight, it was dark chocolate raspberry Greek yogurt. Protein. Sweet. Takes care of my sweet tooth and fills me up longer. At work, I'll add a smoothie for mid-afternoon.

I started a challenge group on FB with one of my Baltimore friends. The girls in the group are great, supportive. Some, I think, will become friends outside of the group, for cure. And as we're ending our first month, they are posting their successes. And I feel like I've wasted a month. And I could let it get me down or I could let it motivate me.

I'm letting it motivate me. I want to get to the end of the month and be glad that I didn't give up, that I didn't give in, that I didn't waste another month.

Warsaw Shire

"I had to leave. I felt lonely when he held me."

I'm obsessed with this quote. And the author, Warsan Shire, is so insightful and so young. This sums up the last few months with EB.

I'm going to go Google stalk her now and see what else I can find by her.

#100daysto45

I will be 45 in 100 days. My goal is to be at goal weight by then. It hasn't been that hard to get the eating back under control. I'm like a child or a dog -- I really do crave routine. And even though I've been home all week, I've managed to create a routine with healthy habits.

This week has been my soft launch for 2015, I officially start in a challenge group on Monday. It will include shakeology every day and a strength training program, something I haven't managed to keep doing successfully or consistently since I left the ladies' gym.

I kicked off day 100 with a quick 1.5 mile walk with the dog and morning yoga with a girlfriend and feeling strong.

Namaste.

PS...The TLC-marathon of "My 600-Pound Life" has also been motivational.

Better! Fit! Expression!

Inspired by one of my oldest friends, I took part in a very thought-provoking writing exercise to look back at 2014 and set the foundation for 2015. It goes beyond the recent trend of choosing three words to define your New Years resolutions. It's a look back and a loom forward. And I can say that the words I chose at the end, we're not even close to what I thought they would be if I was just to come up with three words.

Accomplishments of 2014

1. Though it technically happened in the last 14 days of 2013, it was a big deal. I bought my first house.

2. I set up the above-mentioned house in record time, so that it felt -- almost immediately -- like home

3. Even with 15-pound gain from the previous year, the triumph is in maintaining at or below a weight I never had before.

4. I adopted a rescue dog. There were times I felt completely over my head but we've come a long way together in eight months and I can't imagine life without him.

5. I learned what I want, and more importantly what I won't compromise on, in a relationship

6. I got better at using my words.

7. I was able to see Derek in his last game in Baltimore, in the park that feels like my home park

8. I've built an amazing collection of friends in my new hometown.

9. While not perfect, I've gotten better at letting go of the small stuff...whether it's with friendships, changes in plans, getting everything crossed off my to do list

10. After enjoying more than my fair share of cookies and eating out and festivities since thanksgiving, I ended the year with a three-day refresh/detox so that I can start 2015 off on the right foot.

Disappointments of 2014

1. My brother's health scare and the amount of time and pain he had to endure until he was better.

2. Not saving as much as I should have

3. And though I got better at using my words, as I mentioned above, sometimes I didn't use them soon enough. I think I could have saved a few months of fooling myself into believing I was happier than I was if I had spoken up sooner and used my words.

4. Not blogging regularly enough

5. Always feeling rushed and not being able to fit everyone into my visit when I'm in ithaca

Three things I focused a majority of my energy on

1. My house

2. Bernie

3. Thinking about being serious with a health plan, lots of starting over and over and over again

Three things I intended to do but didn't

1. Lose those 15 pounds and get back to my August 2013 goal weight

2. Start running, consistently and consecutively, again

3. Start up my Etsy shop

4. Take a sewing class

My game changers in 2014 -- unexpected outcomes that made things different for you

1. Understanding the needs of not only a rescue dog, but also a breed that requires a lot of attention and exercise

2. Going through each step, virtually, of fertility treatment with a friend, and realizing that the pain would have come from a failure not a success (huge strides in my psyche)

How do these reflections inform my intentions for 2015?

I've learned, from a lot of the experiences of the past year, that I'm strong, that I can write my own story. I don't have to be the girl with the broken uterus, rather the friend with oodles of experience and wisdom, I'm not the former fat girl who feels fat once again, but rather the former 5Ker who has once again committed to the Bucks County 5K Series, with my first race in early March. 

What are my three words for 2015?

BETTER

I put a lot of pressure on myself to be perfect. My house, while comfortable and lived in, is always in order. I have lists. I have high expectations of myself. And when I don't meet them, it throws me off. I can't enjoy the process, I want the end result that I want. And so I will continually tell myself that I don't have to be perfect, I just have to be better.

FIT

As in, "fit is the new skinny." I will never be skinny, but I  ran a 5K in 33 minutes. I will do it again or better. Being healthy, making healthy choices when it comes to food, makes me feel strong, makes me remember all that I'm capable of. I have the power to say no to junk food, have the power to take the dog for an extra 10 minutes on our daily walks, I have the power to feel fit, however I want to define that.

EXPRESSION

As in, using my words, and writing it down. Journaling. Getting back to work on the book I've been working on on all my dating misadventures since being in Doylestown. Being creative, sewing more, restocking Etsy, learning new crafts.