Starting Over

Day one (again) -14 pounds. 50 to go.

I recently lost 22 pounds. Even more recently, I gained 9 pounds back. I lost 2 this week, but it's time to get back on track. But, really, I've got to start all over. No Kosama (aka compulsory, super-expensive and intense workout program) to keep me motivated. No Chelsea to keep me motivated. Just me and my YMCA pass, my yoga mat, and my new kettle bells. I thought I could just continue on with what I was doing before, but I failed to adjust, though two major pieces of my weight-loss puzzle are now missing and won't be back anytime soon. So here's what's going to happen:

1. I'm replacing two meals a day (breakfast and dinner) with all fruit and veggie smoothies.

2. I'm not eating any of the following: white flour (white bread, white pasta, cake, cookies), white potatoes, beef, chocolate, ice cream, candy of any kind, anything with more than 200mg of sodium per serving, or cheese (with the exception of parmesan, though no more than a tsp. at a time).

3. I will eat: veggies and fruit at every solid food meal I have.

4. I will not eat out.

5. I will not buy food from any establishment that is not a grocery store. If I slip up, I have to do the lemonade detox for 5 days.

So this is phase one of the three weeks before my wedding. This isn't about losing a ton of weight. This is about getting to a place where I feel good, where I don't feel bloated, where I have the energy I need. All of my showers are finished, my bachelorette party is over. I have one wedding and my birthday, and these are the only potential "bad food" occasions coming up.

I want to remember how I feel right now, post-game on a football Saturday: I feel like crap. I have a tremendous amount of gas, I cannot suck in my stomach, I feel lethargic and my brain's a little slow and fuzzy. My skin feels greasy. I have broken out quite a bit. I would really like to just puke all over the room right now. I'm dreading Jake wanting to have sex, because I feel disgusting and as far from sexy as it is possible to feel. Even my tongue has a few of those super uncomfortable little swollen tastebuds on it. From the ends of my hair to the tips of my big toes, I'm a bloated, gassy mess. DISGUSTING.

Right now I'm going to go into the bathroom and brush my teeth until the taste of all of this disgusting food is gone. I'm going to wash the makeup from my face, braid my hair, and climb into bed. In the morning my alarm will go off at 8am and it will be time to get started. If I don't want to run, I'll at least walk. I'll throw my kettlebell around a little, do crunches, other ab workouts, pushups, an even burpies. Then I'll clean my house, my cupboards, and my fridge until it's ready for a new way of thinking. 'Till tomorrow!

Day 1

  My dishwasher is a machine devoid of miracles. Even the everyday kind are beyond its talents: leaving a wine glass spotless, not plastering tiny specks of dried food into my clear glass tumblers, cleaning the surface of my glossy-glazed plates to a condition fit for company. I could spend a day deep-cleaning it; scouring the layers of grime and dried gunk from its innards, but what has it ever done for me? I didn't buy it, I don't own it, and when I leave in 5 months, someone else will benefit from my hard work. But you get out of something what you put into it. No work= no reward.

     My writing is like that. I worked on it, I honed it, but then I got complacent. I look back at old pieces and wonder how my mind put those words together so casually; in my mind I hear them fit so well, they have cadence, occasional shafts of brilliant sentences run through them like glimpses of some higher purpose. But now my words have become jumbled, confused. My vocabulary has narrowed and old words stand dusty in the cupboard of my mind, canned or pickled for some long winter. Old friends, left behind. Sluggish words bloat my sentences, dulling sharp intents.

     Writing is not a gift, or even a talent. Writing is a skill. Those with "talent" usually gain that from reading. Anyone can write, if they work for it. I'm going to work for it, going to remind myself, daily, that writing is a more gratifying, more exact expression of who I am than any other art.