I feel I need to say something – after all, it has been nearly a month since my last entry – but I haven’t known what to say. Initially, I took a break from blogging because we went camping. When we returned; however, I remained uninspired and uninspiring. I have been keeping up with meal planning and we are working out three nights a week (more or less) but my heart isn’t in it and I have been struggling mightily with my food addiction.

I have moments when I feel motivation strikes, when I make mental plans to go balls-to-the-wall again but those moments are fleeting and always gone when the time comes to actually get off my duff and do something. I am struggling with exhaustion. Not physical exhaustion but inner-exhaustion. I am tired of meal planning, tired of spending my Sundays meal prepping, tired of giving up my free time in the evenings for workouts. I think about all the people leading “normal” (or what I imagine are normal) lives and I am exhausted from feeling like I have to count every calorie going in, every calorie going out, every moment of movement and exertion and making sure all those numbers add up to numbers being subtracted on the scale. My life feels as if it is ruled by diet and exercise and I know that will never change. So long as I want a healthy body at a healthy body weight, I will have to be ever-vigilant about diet and exercise.

Maybe it is the Libra in me, demanding a balance of the scales, but my mind and heart rail against the seeming-unfairness of it all. While I feel surrounded by healthy-weight people who are free to skip gym days (or never go to the gym), free to indulge on the weekends, I am tethered to the demands of a calorie-restricted lifestyle. Sure, I could say, “*&$% it all” and accept myself at my current size, a larger size. A lot of people do that and that’s great. All I have ever wanted for anyone is to be what they feel is the best possible version of themselves, for them to love themselves. But this is not the best possible version of me. So long as I struggle to hike, climb, run, scale flights of stairs; so long as I experience any physical limitations due to my size or weight; I am not the version of myself I want to be. So… diet and exercise.

I want to stamp my feet and throw a tantrum, screaming “it’s not fair!” but I know I’ve done this to myself. Here is where I fall farther down the rabbit hole. I hold myself responsible for the situation I am in – and rightly so (nobody force fed me until I was 290 pounds). But being accountable shifts to blame and blame is a concept with a far more negative connotation. I blame myself, I get angry with myself, I punish myself mentally and physically (with food) then I feel sorry for myself and soothe my anger and sorrow with more food. Then I regain weight and the blame-anger-sorrow cycle starts anew. I know I need to forgive myself, to love myself and to go about my healthy lifestyle with love, compassion and empathy for myself. At the end of the day, THAT is the struggle now. That is where I have gone so terribly off-course. Self-love and compassion, at this point in the cycle, are empty words – lip service. I am simply feeling nothing towards myself right now but anger, frustration and impatience. Until I can truly love myself again, forgive myself for my history and treat my body with kindness coming from a place of compassion and not punishment, I’m just going through the motions of healthy diet and exercise. That, I’m afraid, is uninspired and uninspiring.

I haven’t got much to say this week but I refuse to let this blog fall the wayside, cease to be a priority. I have continued to struggle with mild depression, making it difficult to stay on-track with my meal plans – the desire to soothe difficult emotions with food persists and is strong. That combined with missing cardio sessions in order to watch the Democratic National Convention this past week cost me my chance at reaching Onederland last week. Rather than feign optimism or try to pump myself up, I am simply trying to maintain the course and work through my feelings. I may get to Onderland this week, I may have to wait until we return from our planned camping trip. The most important thing right now is my emotional wellbeing and coping with that little black raincloud following me around. I have to shift my focus to my inner-health and do my best to not let my physical health backslide in the meantime.

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WEEK TWELVE CHECK-IN
Weight: 202.4 (.8 pounds gained this week, 12.6 pounds lost total)

Last week was great, last week wasn’t so great. I went into my weekly weigh-in less than optimistic. I had done my strength training workouts and kept to my meal plans, but I missed my lunchtime walks a few times as well as my Thursday night cardio session. What’s more, I was feeling a little down all week which zapped my enthusiasm for workouts. I didn’t have very high expectations as I hopped on the scale but, much to my surprise and delight, I discovered I’d met my goal and lost another 2.2 pounds. From there, I started getting excited for the next week because, barring any catastrophic backslides, I could very conceivably hit Onederland next week.

I looked through my weigh-in history and discovered I am now at my lowest weight since June 2015. When I went to treat myself to a much-needed pedicure on Sunday, the nail tech asked if I’d lost weight … people are noticing! My clothes, jeans in particular, are starting to loosen up and it is impossible not to get charged up when I’m experiencing all of these encouraging and validating transformations and think of the milestone well within my reach.

That said, I have been dealing with some depression lately and those emotions can really sabotage my plans.  Dark moods drive me to a lackadaisical attitude towards exercise and, more dangerously, spur desires to soothe those emotions with binge eating. Working through my feelings this week and not giving into unhealthy and unproductive inclinations will be just as vital as workouts and meal plans.

I am feeling good today, feeling inspired and confident and ready to see that beautiful, glorious LCD “1” blinking up at me from beneath my feet.

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WEEK ELEVEN CHECK-IN
Weight: 201.6 (2.2 pounds lost this week, 13.4 pounds lost total)

As I was getting my hair done Saturday, enjoying a little girl talk with my stylist, the topic of weight loss came up. We’d been talking about my goals, about my struggles to regain motivation. Over the course of the conversation, she said something that didn’t seem all that significant at the time – it was something I’d heard before, said before and was admittedly a little dismissive about – but her words have lingered, proving they were not insignificant. She simply said, “just look how far you’ve come.”

This morning, her advice still echoing in my mind, I dug deep – all the way down to Photobucket (anyone remember that?) and dug up an old photo of myself at my highest weight. How could I have been so flippant about my progress? Looking at that photo, remembering all the negative, hurtful feelings I lived with back then (not to mention the negative, hurtful things people said to and about me) and I realized I have been taking for granted how far I’ve come, how hard I’ve worked and how much I have achieved. I have been so focused on being pissed off at myself for regaining some weight that I have been cavalier about the 87 and pounds, 12.2 BMI points, and 5 dress sizes I have lost. I’ve lost 30% of my body weight and I am being hard on myself… really? I have transformed so dramatically and I am questioning whether or not I can go on? Seriously?

What a blessing those words were to me on Saturday. Whether she knows it or not, my stylist gave me a tremendous gift in making me remember, making me acknowledge where I’ve been and where I am now. “Just look at how far you’ve come.”

I wish I had more progress to report, a more dramatic photo to share, but I haven’t done the work necessary for that. I am only down 6/10ths of a pound since last month I am continuing to struggle with righting this ship after losing focus and motivation. I didn’t meet either of the goals I’d set for myself during my Month One check-in. This is the point when, historically, I give up on a goal – when my mental toughness fails, my lack of grit is all-too-evident. But I am not quitting. Instead, I have been looking at where I have gone wrong and making notes about what I need to adjust. I have been thinking back to times when I have had more success and pinpointing the differences between then and now. Moving forward, here are some adjustments I have to make.

Increase Frequency and Intensity of Cardio Workouts: I used to do sweat-dripping cardio workouts five days a week; 30-45 minutes on weight lifting days and 45-60 minutes on cardio-only days. I am committing to starting three mornings per week with 15-30 minutes of rowing as well as two days of 30-35 minutes of cardio at the gym. Eventually, I will work my way back to the duration of past workouts.

Design and Implement New Workouts: With my eight-week TRX workout plan complete, I am designing workout plans. I need to ensure the workouts are rigorous and intense enough to cause muscle failure rather than simply breezing though the five quick reps of certain exercises in the TRX plan. Workouts need to be varied to prevent boredom and create muscle confusion. Additionally, I have to find a way to keep active in the downtime between my sets while David does his.

Addressing Afternoon Hunger/Binge Eating: I am being hounded by hunger in the afternoons, bringing on the manic quests for food of my food addiction. The drive for food is overriding my discipline and I am eating spoonfulls of peanut butter and stopping on my way home for Cliff Bars. Moving forward, I am going to put notes in highly visible places at work to remind myself to sit with the hunger, take a brief walk to take my mind off food.

Meal Planning for Weekends: I have never been good about meal planning on weekends. When I was a single gal in New Orleans, I tended to eat less on weekends – there was little more than staples in the house by Friday night so meals were small and simple. Now; however, weekends are a free-for-all of dining out. While our Saturday Night Date Nights are important for us, the rest of my weekend eating needs to be reigned in.

Sitting at the dining table this morning, talking over a couple of lemon smoothies, David said “you’re in a funk.” “You’re right, I am in a funk!” I replied. We had been talking about my waning motivation and how I’ve been fighting to regain my momentum ever since the fateful weight-gain week on June 13. The Hawaii trip caused a brief spike in my drive but even that excitement was dampened by only having lost 8/10ths of a pound that week. After that point I decided to stop weighing in on Mondays, instead focusing on healthy eating and workouts without the numbers being a distraction. That was both a blessing and a curse in that just as a disappointing weigh-in couldn’t discourage me, a good one couldn’t inspire me.

I feel I am at a sort of crossroads now – our eight-week TRX workout plan wraps up this week and my two-month weigh-in (which I have resolved to do) and progress photo are looming this coming Saturday. After this week, we have decisions and plans to make about our workouts moving forward and I feel, in many ways, that this gives me a sort of deadline to address the issues I know are holding me back from making the progress I want to make.

I don’t mean to discount all I’ve been doing – but, in my mind, I have been discounting it. I have been veering wildly off plan over weekends by both skipping workouts and eating unplanned and untracked meals, including dining out and indulging in desserts. Even during the weeks (it is time to come clean about this and be accountable) I have been climbing-the-walls-hungry by late afternoon and, subsequently, sneaking extra snacks. Three times last week I had to stop at the store for something I either ran out of at home or didn’t/couldn’t get during my weekly grocery shopping trip and each time I left Safeway with a Cliff Bar in hand. It doesn’t seem like much, but an extra 250+ calories a day can absolutely make a difference. It makes a difference in terms of meeting my weight loss goals and it makes a difference in terms of my psyche, my ability to tell myself I am doing my best. That said, aside from unplanned snacks I have been making and adhering to meal plans Monday through Friday for nearly two months and that is an accomplishment. And, even without motivation, we have been working out in the evenings until the weekends roll around again and it becomes all-too-easy to brush them off, promising to make up for the missed sessions later (which we do… I should point out, we do make up for those skipped sessions.)

But I am in a funk and, as hard as it can be to make the right decisions and the healthy decisions each day, it is doubly hard when your heart isn’t in it – when the “why bother?” thoughts ring in my head and, in my minds eye, I see those numbers on the scale that knocked the wind out of my sails three weeks ago. I don’t have any pearls of wisdom, any answers or theories, any inspirational epiphanies. I’m just in a funk and have to share that, get it out of my head and into the world.

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WEEK EIGHT CHECK-IN
Still not weighing in. Will weigh in on Saturday, July 9 for my two-month progress report.

Two weekends ago, David and I decided to head to the beach. Being born and raised in here, I have lived comfortably with the self-christened moniker “Northern California Beach Bum.” Of course, Northern California beaches aren’t like other beaches. The water is cold, the mornings (and often large parts of the day) are overcast, the tide pools are teeming with creatures you can ogle and caress. Surfers are well-outfitted with wetsuits and bikinis are few and far between unless it is a particularly scorching day on the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. But I love it – these are my beaches, the beaches I merrily trudged as a child, collecting an array of shells, pebbles and the occasional dismembered crab claw which, inevitably, stunk up the car on the drive home. As we cruised up Highway 1 along the coast on a gray Sunday morning, in my excitement to get my toes into some sand and surf for the first time in ten years, I was struck with an idea. “When I reach my goal weight, let’s go celebrate in Hawaii.”

I am prone to some pretty impulsive and hair-brained ideas so, as the words came out of my mouth, I half expected David to reply with an extremely rational reason why we should not go to Hawaii. The other half of my expectation would be that he simply wasn’t interested. You can imagine my delight when, in his constant and effortless way of being the perfect man for me, David said, “sure.” Hmmm… that was too easy. I continued to mention it at odd times through that day and into the next,  and David continued to be fully on-board. The idea took root.

I have never been to Hawaii. I haven’t seriously thought of going to Hawaii. When I was a teenager, mildly obsessed with the surf culture I saw in movies and Elle McPherson on the cover of S.I., spending Spring Break on the deck under a thin layer of heavily-scented coconut oil, trying to tan I probably imagined going to Hawaii. As an overweight and obese adult, Hawaii or any other tropical paradise seemed the antithesis of paradise: a place for tan lines, swimsuits and board sports. With my pale skin (I have two skin colors: “Edward Cullen” and “Boiled Lobster”) and the physical limitations of my oversized body, I was a poor fit for an island vacation. I would have been miserably self-conscious, watching people enjoy their tropical vacations as if their experiences were my own. In a way, Hawaii is like running in that it is a symbol for my real and perceived limitations. The beaches of Hawaii were a dream so distant that I had lost all sight of them, believed it so impossible that I never entertained the idea.

I have been thinking of Hawaii every day since that Sunday, imagining my feet in sugar-white sand with the foaming swash of a turquoise ocean curling around my ankles; imagining the island sun warming my skin. But it is so much more than that. As I have spent my days dreamily listening to Jack Johnson and Mishka, mentally on the beach already, I realized how much more profound this trip would be. I began imagining all the things I couldn’t have done at 290 pounds: imagining snorkeling and swimming with sea turtles, hiking up jungle paths, paddle-boarding through inlets and biking along beach-front roads. I am imagining cute beach outfits and wearing my first two-piece. I am imagining lying side-by-side with David melting into our couples massages. I realized what an amazing and appropriate way to rejoice in my hard-earned health, athleticism and fitness. My friend Karol recommended I find a challenge to motivate me, to push me – something I can visualize – and I think I have found it in Hawaii.

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WEEK SIX CHECK-IN
Weight: 207.6 (.8 pounds lost this week, 7.4 pounds lost total)

I had a great week. I did everything right and felt awesome. My meal plans were dialed in and I didn’t stray once. I didn’t skip a single work out. In fact, I tried a yoga class on rest day, hit the gym on Saturday and have been quickening my pace on my lunchtime walks. Rather than enjoy our usual date night Saturday dinner out on the town, I opted to put some delicious fruit and veggie skewers on the grill and have date night at home with an ultra light and healthy meal. My clothes are getting loose, certain pants coming on and off without unbuttoning. I set a short term goal that involved losing a little over 7 pounds by June 26 and I dug my heals in, excited to smash through that goal. I woke up this morning with aching muscles from a tough workout week and a Christmas morning-like anticipation of stepping on that scale and seeing how close my hard work and sacrifice got me to my goal.

I have regained 6/10ths of a pound, negating all of last week’s weight loss and part of the prior week’s. I am reeling. For the first few moments I stared at the number in disbelief. I stepped off the scale, then back on: still 208.4. I said it aloud, “I’m up, I’ve gained,” to David or myself or the cosmos, just letting those words hang in the ether. I stepped down and left the bathroom to continue my morning routine. The emotions were like waves, building then washing ashore, surging one after another until they curled and crashed over me; the hardening lump in my chest moved to my throat and flowed from me in devastated sobs. It wasn’t just the gain; it was the tremendous loss. I had set two short term goals I’d felt would be challenging but I was sure were achievable, goals that would ignite a fire in me, drive me to push harder and become more dedicated. With a quick flash of an LED, the hopes I had of meeting those goals were lost, mathematically-impossible at this point. Over the course of the morning, my feelings alternated between sadness and fury – anger being a mask hurt loves to wear, a mask that gives the hurt an illusion of being productive. Enraged, I X-ed out the goal I’d written on the calendar, adding a hurtful, self-immolating addendum. Over breakfast, I snapped at David, rebuking every kind and rational attempt he made to calm and encourage me. I want to quit.

How can you convince yourself not to give up when your efforts manage to go beyond fruitless, working against you; when you believed in the marrow of your bones you were doing the best you could, doing exactly what needs to be done? How do you workout with fatigued muscles when all you did to fatigue them in the first place appears inconsequential? The question that lingers in the forefront of my mind: “Why bother?” I would much rather melt into a Jody-shaped puddle on the couch tonight with a bag of Oreo’s to catch up on my Wayward Pines than drag my (.6 lb heavier) body up and down by the TRX straps. Why bother working out when the weeks I’d skipped workouts resulted in greater weight loss than this one? Why bother missing adhering rigidly to my 1350-calorie meal plan when the slice of strawberry cheesecake I’d eating a few weeks ago seemingly had no negative affect on my Monday weigh-in? Why sacrifice so much time and energy into what, at least this week, was a losing cause? I would rather quit.

Now, having had time to think and reflect over the past few hours, I can see now it has far less to do with the number on the scale, more with the loss of hope. Pounds can be lost and gained and lost again. One more good week could turn it all around. But one more good week can not get me below 200 pounds by June 26. The hopes of reaching this particular goal is lost and can not be regained. The waves of emotion are coming even now, only they are smaller swells that rush over me each time I think about the impossibility, then recede. My goals had stirred something inside me, a fevered passion. I was giddily anticipating the elation I would feel, the satisfaction of reaching my goals and seeing my hard work and sacrifice pay off. I would high-five David from the scale then hurriedly post a blog sharing my news with my readers. I probably got ahead of myself and should have stayed focused on the day at hand but who can help getting excited imagining future successes? Now the fire is dimmed, if not doused, and I realize I am in mourning of the loss of that potential day. I will reach the milestones I’d hoped to – but not when I’d hoped, not when I’d planned. I will not meet my goals and that is a painful truth, a sad consequence to an action I do not understand.

As I sit here now, removed by time and distance from this morning’s conniption, my instinct is to be embarrassed and ashamed of my reaction and behavior but that is equally hurtful. My emotions are what they are. They do not require justification, are not expected to be rational. They were strong, they were painful to endure and, like many emotions, they have diminished or shifted over the course of the day. What didn’t pass is the dark, harmful place I let them take me in the moment. I wish nothing more right now than to be able to go home and erase the ugly words I wrote on the calendar; to be able to hug David and thank him for his endless support; to look down at those LCD numbers and say, “that’s ok, I love you and will care for you” to my body rather than embracing the bitter, hateful thoughts I inundated myself with. I am not angry, despite my words and actions. I do not hate myself or my body. I am sorry… so sorry for the way I spoke to the person I love, so sorry for the way I spoke to my body in my mind and heart. I have to find a way in times like these to be kind to myself, to be patient and empathetic. I need to love my body when it isn’t perfect the way I hope to be loved despite my imperfections. I am crestfallen, I am disappointed, I am quite simply sad and that is ok. I will recover and I will not quit.

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WEEK FIVE CHECK-IN
Weight: 208.4 (.6 pounds gained this week, 6.6 pounds lost total)

So, here it is… one month since I renewed my efforts to get fit, drop the weight I’d regained and finally reach my health and fitness goals. I feel pretty good about this past month, although I have struggled to stay within my nutritional targets on weekends and have been prone, at times, to skipping workouts. Plus, I lost four days of workout days on the doctor’s orders to take it easy the second week in. I am proud of my accomplishments. While my efforts didn’t pay off on the scale to the extent I’d hoped, I have gotten into my groove with meal planning and working out making it very nearly routine. That is no small feat as it is not something I have been able to maintain for more than a few weeks at a time over the past year and a half. Moving forward, I now have both a long-term goal (running the Firehouse 10K in Santa Clara this December) and a short-term goal (be in Onederland by June 27 – that is 7.9 pounds in three weeks). Both goals can be achieved, but both will take a lot of sweat and dedication. Bring on Month Two!