This one is not very nice.

I slowed to a walk and glance down at my legs.  My thigh muscles stared back up in horror. "Well, now what the HELL was that???"

It was a run, my friends.  And it's time we got back in the game.

I slowed down (if you can call it slowing down, considering I was hardly moving in the first place) at 2.25 miles in to my first run in over 16 months.  At that point, I walked, stumbled, and cried a little for about another 1/4 mile, and then, get this, I ran another 3/4 mile.  And this is important because guess what?  All told, it means I ran 3 whole miles.

Boom, Beaches.

I also realized that I am an absolute jerk.  Like, a real MEGA jerk.  Okay, so maybe I didn't just realize it.  Tuth be told, this was probably information I already had.

So the thing is, it seems I can't find the gumption to keep running for miles and miles unless I have an enemy.  Who is this enemy, you ask?  And the answer is that it's probably you.  Yeah, you, right there, reading this blog on your couch, eating cheetos and hoping my writing gets more entertaining, I see you there.  And I'm talking to you.  Because I want to fight you.

I want to fight you, and be faster than you, or run farther than you, and even though you're probably skinnier than me, I will fight you.  I will beat you. I. Will. END you.

But it's okay though, cuz I know you want to fight me too.

I know, because I once had a bunch of people read my blog and say they thought maybe they'd like to start running too.  And then all of a sudden, I'd notice them posting about runs, signing up for races, and talking how they got all faster and skinnier than me. The inspiration?  If I could do it, ANYONE could.  As far as I'm concerned, that's a freakin war cry.  But you know what?  I don't fight a lot of those people any more, because some of them got way better and so now it hurts my feelings, and I long ago learned to never enter into a land war in Asia.  Or fight with someone who is better than you.  I'm pretty sure that's what that means.

Competition is good.  It keeps you striving, keeps you trying harder.  No, it's not particularly "nice", but as I've said, I think that maybe I'm not very nice.  And certainly, nice girls wouldn't growl so many obsenities under their breath as they rounded mile three and it felt like their knees were about to surrender to the unyielding truth of gravity.  And let's be honest, nice doesn't get you sexy.  It just gets you nice.  And maybe it helps you make friends, but I'm still contending that friends are overrated.  

So that's it for tonight, folks.  The baby has begun to unleash The Toots, which is a pretty good sign that he's about to wake up and I'll be required to be a mother again.  Until next time, happy weekending!

Fat Jeans Skinny Jeans. Jeans Jeans Jeans.

Word of advice: when you're at threat level- "kill yourself" about your own physical appearance, do not, DO. NOT. go shopping for jeans.  Nothing good can come of this.

::Sigh:: so, I bought some new jeans. Friday, after I wrote that post about how craptastic the diet was going, I finally went out and got me some new fat pants. It was horrible. They are not attractive.  I do not look attractive wearing them. But they can button over my bizarrely shaped body, and so I bought them. 

I chose to shop exclusively secondhand for this trip, because I'm not spending real freaking money on a pair of pants that's going to make me sad either way.  Which brings me to my mild frustration: My fat pants cost me 5 bucks. The Goodwill has raised their prices.  Their jeans used to cost like, $3.50, and all of a sudden they're 5 freaking bucks. I know it's still only five bucks, but I didn't want to spend more than I expected on depressing clothing. 

The worst part was that my brain had no idea what size I was. My brain was a size six. I saw the size 6 jeans hanging on the rack and thought, those should do.  Boy was I wrong. I tried on everything from 8 to 18 because I just didn't know.  I was having flashbacks to the ONE worse jeans buying experience I can remember, 7 months after my daughter was born when I was still about 190, but figured it was time to move out of maternity jeans and accept my figure as it was. That trip netted me 2 pairs of size 14 "mom" jeans that still cut in too much at the waist, jeans that I could almost never bring myself to actually wear. Maybe I should've kept them to celebrate how far I'd come.  Maybe I should've kept them because they'd probably fit me right now. But I didn't. I destroyed them immediately. 

I regret nothing. 

So, on to today, my new pants are a size 12 and originally from the Gap and they are still tight around the waist. But they button.  So they'll do. And I simply can't keep wearing yoga pants everywhere for the next month, can I?  No seriously, can I??  No, probably no. 

The trip though, had one unexpected and "yes I'm crazy, I don't care just leave me alone now" highlight. While Goodwilling, I found an exact pair of size 4 jeans that I'd been hunting for, back in the day of skinnier me. Of course I couldn't try them on, I probably couldn't have gotten them much higher than my knees had I tried, but they're the exact smaller version of my size 8 jeans that I FREAKING ADORE. Those jeans were built for my body, I'd swear to it. When I'd lost too much weight to wear them anymore, I went back to Kohls, multiple times, to see if I could find a 4 in them.  I never could. They didn't exists.  But at the goodwill, they DID exist and I was compelled to buy them.  This is my argument against free will. 

So yes, to sum up, I went on a mission shopping for fat jeans and instead I bought goal jeans. But for 5 bucks, a girl can dream, can't she??

Yes. Yes, I think she can. 

Soon

A couple days ago I was in the middle of a blog post about how sexy exercise and healthy eating makes you feel. But I didn't finish it. And today, is definitely not that day.

After 3 great days of exercise and, let's say, 2 1/2 great days of eating well, I officially weigh more than I have since my baby was born. I'm trying.  I'm failing. Fantastically, it seems. So instead of feeling like I'm 4 days into my healthier life, I feel like a big fat fatty who didn't even get to enjoy the journey.  Harrumph. 

This postpartum process has been a little bit wretched weight wise. A couple weeks after kid 3 was born, I got down to under 169, even with Thanksgiving and company and loads of holiday food. I was pretty optimistic. Today, I'm 9 pounds heavier than I was then. I've exercised 5 days since Jan 2 and I've made some real positive changes in my diet. And it seems that I'm gaining weight. 

Well that totally sucks. 

I don't really know what the deal is. I'm 30 now, does that really make a difference? Has my body quit after kid 3? Or is my body still hormonally jacked up from having a kid and missing out on too much sleep?  Heck if I know. All I can say is that I feel bloated and gross and stupid depressed about the lady in the mirror and this whole "breast feeding makes the weight just melt off" thing... Shut up. I have no idea what you're talking about. Just, shut up. 

Dang it's hard not to quit. It's hard not to throw your hands in the air and say "this ISN'T working, I guess I'm just going to live and die a fat chick" and just forget it all.

But I'm not gonna. 

Today is not the day I quit and cry into a giant bowl of ice cream and feelings.  Today is the day I crank it up.  This one goes to 11. Today I remind myself if the words my husband spoke to me 3 1/2 years ago. You'll feel better if you try.  You'll only be mad at yourself if you don't.  Diet. Exercise. And ask for help from the One who created you.

And once again, that's what I need to do.  Today is one of those days where I'll cry out in my weakness. Today I'll do what needs to be done when I don't freaking feel like it.  Today, I start again. Again. Again. Again. Today I pray.  And order 2 months worth of slim fast bars. And grasp at hope. And yeah, today I blog about how crappy I feel. 

But soon. 

Soon soon soon. Soon I'm going to dance. Soon I'm going to show off pictures of a skinnier me, and soon I'm going to run out of the bathroom naked to scream in excitement about a new milestone met.  Soon, I'm going to feel happy and healthy and light. Soon, I'm going to fit into my size 4 jeans, and I'm going to feel damn sexy doing it. 

Yes, today is a freaking kick in the emotional crotch, and I don't really want to think about how much work there is ahead do me.  But you only get tomorrow what you work for today. And soon, I'll remember exactly how good tomorrow feels. 

Soon.

It is 3:34am and my son is very lucky that he is cute.

These days, I've been enjoying a lot of middle of the night fun-tivities. These have primarily consisted of eating my weight in Christmasy junk food, watching innumerable hours worth of 80's  television, and entertaining a tiny human who hasn't yet learned that the night time is best for sleeping.

Unfortunately, it's time for a change.  And unfortunately, it's not the kind of change where I get to sleep a reasonable number of hours and rejoin the functioning human race.  Nope.  Basically, it's just time to cut out the fun stuff.

Eating is fun.  Don't judge me, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who thinks so.  And when I'm frustrated that I'm forced into wakefulness at 2:45am, making a giant cup of hot chocolate, or working my way through a bottomless stack of Christmas cookies, well, it takes the edge off.  It helps me pretend that I'm not awake against my will, not on the verge of an exhaustion endured emotional breakdown.  I'm just awake.  Awake, and sneaking junk food I don't have to share with my family.

Tomorrow, no, crap, toDAY, is January 2nd.  TODAY is the day that we've been planning on for the past 9 months or so.  TODAY is the day that the new weight loss journey, the one I'd like to call the LAST weight loss journey, gets started.  And after 9 months of growing a human, followed by 5 weeks of holiday celebrations and middle of the night candy-gorging, it's going to be a doozy.

The first obstacle I've got to overcome in this new journey was presented early.  Like, less than 3 hours after midnight on day one kind of early.  Obstacle One: what the heck am I going to do in the middle of the  night that doesn't fulfill my daily calorie budget before my first official meal is consumed?!?  In other words, I need to figure out what the heck I'm going to do with myself at 3 am when I'm exhausted and hungry and probably feeling loads of sorry for myself.

Tonight, I prepared the morning's coffee, picked up the living room a bit, helped my son recover from a nasty case of the hiccups, and then found my way onto the internet.  Also, I'm watching one of my favorite romantic comedies from high school, and wow it's kind of terrible.  But since it's not the "forever on the thighs" kind of terrible, we still get to call it an official Good Life Choice.

Alright.  The kid has nodded off, so it's time for me to go enjoy my bed for another 2 (but hopefully 3 or 5 or 10) hours.  I've sure as heck got a big, self-discipline-y sort of day ahead of me!

Of course, it really might make more sense to start a diet on a Monday...