I fell off the wagon...

and I fell hard.

OK.  So I've badly neglected my blog.  I know, I know.  Honestly, I'm embarrassed and disappointed. I thought that this blog would make me feel as though I was being held accountable, but it didn't make me feel that way at all.

For those of you reading who have read each posting, please don't take this personally:  The reason I didn't feel like I was being held accountable is because very few people were reading.  And that bothered me.  No matter how much I told myself that I didn't need big numbers, I still felt a little... stranded each week when I saw fewer readers than the week before.  I felt like people didn't really care about my struggle.  Then I'd mentally smack myself in the face telling myself to stop being so self involved.  Why should they care about my weight issues?  I'm the one who got fat; it's not the fault of my friends and family.  Why should they be punished for my failures?   But ultimately the sulking (overly sensitive) part of my ego won out, and when I got hurt I just quit writing.

Last weekend I went to the beach with a lovely group of girls and made some new friends.  One new friend advertised her blog* on fb tonight, so I checked it out.  One of her recent entries is a brutally honest and detailed account of how much she hates her body.  I was shocked.  This girl is gorgeous.  And it made me sad to see how she sees herself.  It also renewed my interest in this blog.   So I'm back.  TA-DA!

I think the last time I wrote, I'd just run a full 3 miles without stopping.  I'd gone to the track with my mom, started walking at a good pace, gotten shin splints, and decided to run instead.  Next thing I know 45 minutes have passed and I'm completing the last lap of 3 miles.  I finished (at a pace slower than a normal walk, I'm sure) and then stumbled my way over to my mom to celebrate with her.   2 days later I did it again.  This time I ran in circles through our living room, office, dining room, and kitchen wearing a pedometer.  By the time I got done with the full three miles, I couldn't put any weight on my foot.

At first I thought I'd simply burst a blood vessel (I do that often) but it still hurt the next day.  So I pulled out the walking cast and the crutches and resigned myself to getting through yet another injury.  I wore the boot everyday for a month or so taking it off only to sleep, shower, and pass a physical for the new job.  During that time, I pretty much didn't workout.  I did a couple of seated upper body weight/cardio workouts, but that's it.  And I continued to eat.  Gradually I started gaining weight  And I do mean gradually.

I kinda wish I'd gained it all back over the course of three days so that I could look in the mirror and say, "Gross.  Get your stuff together girl."  Instead, I've put on 10 pounds over the course of two months.   And with gradual weight gain, you can kid yourself into thinking it's not there.  You look in the mirror and think, "Nope.  Nothing's changed."  The you head to the kitchen and eat.  It's not until you realize that you can't button your jeans anymore that you accept the fact that you've gained weight.

Right now, I hate my body.  HATE it.  I don't have a pair of jeans that fit, I had to buy shorts 2 sizes bigger than the ones I bought 3 months ago, my boobs are back to their out-of-control size, and I feel absolutely disgusting.  And any self consciousness I'd lost is now back with a vengeance.

I mentioned my trip to the beach last weekend.  And while I had a really, really lovely time with the girls, not for one second did I forget that I was the biggest girl there.  They wore bikinis on the beach, I wore shorts and a tank top.  They got hit on when we went out, I sulked in the corner (just the first night, the 2nd night I said, "Screw it," and had a much better time - still didn't get hit on.)  They wore cute little shorts and shirts while I wore either a tent disguised to look like a dress or workout shorts (elastic waste bands.)

So here we go again.  Back to square one.  I have 16 days until I leave for Hawaii.  I'm not crazy enough to think that things will be dramatically different by then, but I'm going to workout and eat like they will be.  I'm also going to write more than once a week.  I have a lot of dangerous emotions and thoughts right now, so I'm going to get them out.  Not dangerous like suicidal dangerous, but dangerous as in getting discouraged in my workout dangerous.

I'm not going to promise that I won't feel like I did before.  But I am going to try to rely on "reader support" a bit less and not be so sensitive about how many people read.  In general, I'm just going to try to be a little bit less ridiculous.

No promises.


*I don't know if my friend wants her blog advertised, so I'm not linking it.  LSL, if you're reading this, feel free to put a link in the comments section.