Where to begin. So much has happened in the last 11 months, I honestly feel overwhelmed with what to say here. So, in true Claudia fashion, I have derrived a list to summarize what the journey has been like. Here goes:
1-Gained about 40 of the 60lbs I had lost 2 years ago
2-Lost 15 of those 40 lbs
(The math is confusing, I know. The PS of it all is the scale is going down. For the first time. In over a year).
3-My professional life had some major achievements, but also, some major devastation.
4-My love life had major achievements, but also, some major devastation.
5-Still have 3 cats, you guys :)
6-I gave up on the one relationship that became progressively abusive in the last 12 months. Happy to report, I have been sober for 101 days.
7-I survived depression. Not the financial/economy kind, either. Still struggling, but surviving.
8-I say "my therapist says" at least once a day. My friends find it amusing/comical.
9-I've reconciled with the gym. Some days, I still think the gym is an asshole. But we are getting there.
10-My OCD needs to have ten things on this list. Trying to put something profound and introspective here. I've got nothing. So here's something not so deep: I finally picked up my dry cleaning after months and months and months. Tommy (the owner from Tom's Dry cleaning in Sunnyside) is eternally grateful, greeted me with a smile, and did not stir up any guilt.
I'm blessed to say, in the last 12 months, I've survived because of all the Tommy's in my life (you know who you are). And because of God, of course.
I'm sure there's so much more to say. At this moment, right now, my brain is flooded with stories I want to share with you, but all in due time.
I'm ready to share, I guess. For the few of you that have been checking in, I appreciate it :)
Talk soon xo
C
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Ramification Hell - Vlog
Gonna try this Vlog thing again, guys!
Enjoy!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98ZvbL3KHc8
Just some more info to add:
I actually had ZERO dee
Enjoy!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98ZvbL3KHc8
Just some more info to add:
I actually had ZERO dee
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of . . . WAIT! WHAT!?!?!?
I was going to blog about these amazing Cheetos (Jalapeño flavor) that I can only find at the vending machine at work, and how I have been on a mission to hunt them down elsewhere. Having cheesy fingers and potential residue arount your face because you eat like a five year old (or most grown men) isn't exactly a sure fire way to a promotion. Not to mention the crunching sound that comes from your cube every other day at 3:47pm. So I've been trying to find them off company grounds.
I'll save that gem for another time. There's something a little more . . . intense that is on my brain. Allow me to begin:
So this happened this weekend:
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which then caused this thought to happen:
followed by a panic which brought about this solution:
Now. before I get massive texts, emails, calls, calls to my mother, calls to my pastor, etc., let me explain.
Firstly, that cutie patootie that I am holding in the photo is by best friend's niece. She is absolutely stunning. I never realized how precious newborns are.
Secondly, everybody who knows me is well aware that I swore off having children years ago after I saw a youtube video on giving birth. Also, because the idea of having some one's life in my hands and the opportunities to screw them up was something I wasn't too crazy about pursuing. And finally, because I love to sleep late.
That said, within the last year, I've noticed some, um, not so pleasant reactions to baby crap. For example, not to long ago I went into Target at 10:30pm, with 30 minutes to spare because I ran out of detergent. I was one day away from using my Bath and Body works handsoap to do laundry if I didn't get detergent right then and there. Could I have gone to the local drug store? Sure. But Target is way cheaper and who doesn't love a late night visit to Target?
Anywho, I was skipping around the store applauding the fact that the crisis at hand had been averted when somehow, I ended up near the baby section. Normally, I run the other way, or make a dash for the purse section right across the baby stuff, and I was about to, when all of a sudden, my eye caught the following:
Usually I would just glance and mosey along. However, that evening, holding a bulk bottle of Tide (with bleach alternative), I found myself . . . getting warm. On my face. Near my eyes. Then, without any notice, I started to well up. Cry! Like a bitch! I mean, I wasn't sobbing or anything, but there was definitely sniffles, and, possibly, a whimper.
WTF?!?!?!? I had never EVER had a reaction to a piece of clothing (well, maybe when bell bottoms made an appearance in the early nineties). I certainly have never had any kind of reaction like that when it comes to baby stuff. I knew I needed a quick fix to get over this bizarre moment. I did what any adult would do in a time of crisis. I bought myself a snickers bar.
And that helped 100%! I paid for my Tide (with bleach alternative) and headed home. I chalked up that crazy reaction to my die-hard dedication to the Mets, and how awful they are, and pms, and never gave it another thought. I have, on occassion, used this story to entertain my friends during happy hours, dinners, and phone calls. Everybody got a laugh out of it! So I decided to laugh it off, too!
Until this weekend. I went up to VA to see my best friend and her family. Her niece had just been born so we went to visit her. I had no plans to hold the little one, since some parents are super sensitive to that, and also, I can barely hold a can of Goya beans without dropping it, so for the safety of everybody, I was just gonna "goo-goo, gah-gah" the kid from afar.
The only problem was, I didn't expect to fall instantly in love with the baby. She is gorgeous. And teeny. And innocent cheeks like a cherub. So peaceful and vulnerable, and a part of a wonderful family, with two parents who were elated to have her here. It was all so unexpected for me to take in.
"Wanna hold her?", her pops asked. I usually respectfully decline, but I found myself getting elated butterflies in my belly and saying, slightly apprehensively, "Sure."
As I got into position (my bff and her sister coaching me through hand placement, arm stability, and overall relaxation), I started to mildly panic. But there was no time to address it, because my bff placed the baby in my arms. And she melted in, like butter through the crevices of a baked potato. It was perfect.
"Hi, pudding!" was all I could say. Because, within seconds, that same warm feeling from that fateful Tuesday evening at Target started to invade my eyes. That lump in my throat started to grow and I felt my voice sink into my belly. Oh no! I thought. I couldn't do this here. I was surrounded by everybody in the room, and I knew I would be caught! Don't be that girl. Don't be that girl!!! I continued to think. You know what girl I am talking about:
The girl that I fear more than anything!! I usually can't bond very well with said girl. I've met many of them along my journey, and they are usually very lovely. But babies drown the very essence of their brain. In all capacities. With visions of baby showers, choosing names, and whether or not circumcision will happen already planned out!! I can barely plan out my outfit for the day!
And suddenly, I felt Baby-Crazy Claudia evolving. And I let her be for about 7 minutes. I held back the tears and just smiled my ass off as I stared at this kid, who, not even a week old, had capativated a career woman from New York City.
I felt the spell wear off when I begin hearing the conversation around me. It was a conversation about feedings, pooping, labor incisions, formula testing, sleep, as in no sleep, as in no sleep ever again . . .
"Here you go Auntie," I suddenly said, indicating that the baby should be picked up, so I could punch Baby-Crazy Claudia in the mouth, metaphorically speaking. My bff picked up the little lady from my arms and held her with such soothing second nature. The lump in my throat was coming back.
FUCK!!!
You see, my best friend is so many things. So many. I am in awe of her constantly for what she is. But one of the most incredibly components she possesses is motherhood. I've known Jay since we were five. FIVE YEARS OLD! She is, in some ways, my soul mate. If I never make a million dollars in my life, I will still say I won the lotto. Simply because of having her in my life.
So to watch her be so comfortable with this newborn, adding to already having watched her feed her ten month old son while being captivated by his big brown eyes ,bringing about her ginormous smile that shows off her dimples, and also observing her unique bond with her 5 year old daughter, as they both negotiate childhood transactions, usually ending up with some sort of amusing outcome . . . it was all too much. Too beautiful. Too unbelievable.
It was time to go. Or I was about to have a crying competition with an infant.
For the rest of my time in Virginia, I thought a lot about the concept of having a baby. Jay was MORE than excited about this idea. Both she and her husband think I would be a great mom (I did remind them that I had yet to unpack my apartment and it had been 10 months, and, rumor has it, my eggplant in the fridge had simply just become a plant with a family of something inhabiting it). They seemed not to care of these facts. Jay even went so far as to pick the Sunday night movie that just screamed coincidence: SWITCHED with Jennifer Aniston. A single career woman wanting to get knocked up. As she played it, I looked over at her, not amused mind you, and she looked at me with those big brown eyes her son inherited and let out a giggle her beautiful little girl inherited and said, "What?"
That's my Jay.
So here I am, back in New York, three days later, thinking about the emotional whirlwind of the weekend. Perhaps I should think about why I am blogging about this, on a weight loss blog. Well, see, I always thought if I ever was to get married and knocked up, I would be at a healthy goal weight with flat abs! Only because I would probably never see those flat abs again. I also fear getting enormous during my pregnancy, because I would give up my vegetarian lifestyle for the fetus and go ape shit on whoppers, breaded thin chicken cutlets, chicharron, my mother's cocacola marinated pernil, and Colombian empanadas. Because all that is WAYY healthier than being a vegetarian. Clearly.
Like I said, guys, I have NOOOOOOOO plans on getting pregnant right now. Possibly ever, perhaps. My brother-in-law said to me this weekend, "There's never the right time." And he has a point. Some of the people in my life that I love dearly were conceived during "pull-out" method intercourse. And I couldn't be more grateful. Accidental and unplanned babies are great. However, I'd like to at least prepare a little more if I am going to bring a kid into my life.
For starters, I should probably unpack. And get on to those flat abs. See Patagonia. Participate in a bar-hopping Santa-Con event, dress up as a hoochie for Halloween (I came close one year, but it was really cold that evening), date a biker, etc. Perhaps I should revisit that infamous birth video on youtube and decide if I really want to have that happen to, um, her. Me. Whatever.
Let me make one thing clear. This isn't about getting married or falling in love or anything like that. That concept is so independant from this, which is rather scary. I was raised by a single mom and, while she is the best mother anybody could ask for and has raised me to be the strong, brave, sappy, sincere, successful, yadda yadda yadda, person that I am, I know I probably could have experienced some very wonderful experiences that can only happen in a 2 parent household.
That said, my parental plans/fantasies have no place for a pops. No Danny Tanner, no Nick Russo, no Tony Soprano (what? he was a good dad!), no George Lopez. Nothing.
Just me, my kid, and my New York.
Heavy stuff, huh?
To conclude, I just want to reinterate that I will not be proclaiming an "I'm knocked up" message any time soon. Not unless the good Lord decides to pull a Mary on me. And even then, I might have to negotiate with God and show him my unpacked apartment and deformed eggplant in the fridge. For now, I will contine to enjoy this wonderful life I have. I don't need to list everything that is so wonderful, but one thing I will mention is that I have amazing loved ones who will always be there to encourage me to follow my heart, or, when my heart is being an idiot, will set me straight.
Case in point, I got the following tweet from one of great friends the day after I posted "Babies on the brain.":
DON'T START!!!
That, my friends, is all I needed to hear.
Now on to those abs . . . .
I'll save that gem for another time. There's something a little more . . . intense that is on my brain. Allow me to begin:
So this happened this weekend:
which then caused this thought to happen:
followed by a panic which brought about this solution:
Now. before I get massive texts, emails, calls, calls to my mother, calls to my pastor, etc., let me explain.
Firstly, that cutie patootie that I am holding in the photo is by best friend's niece. She is absolutely stunning. I never realized how precious newborns are.
Secondly, everybody who knows me is well aware that I swore off having children years ago after I saw a youtube video on giving birth. Also, because the idea of having some one's life in my hands and the opportunities to screw them up was something I wasn't too crazy about pursuing. And finally, because I love to sleep late.
That said, within the last year, I've noticed some, um, not so pleasant reactions to baby crap. For example, not to long ago I went into Target at 10:30pm, with 30 minutes to spare because I ran out of detergent. I was one day away from using my Bath and Body works handsoap to do laundry if I didn't get detergent right then and there. Could I have gone to the local drug store? Sure. But Target is way cheaper and who doesn't love a late night visit to Target?
Anywho, I was skipping around the store applauding the fact that the crisis at hand had been averted when somehow, I ended up near the baby section. Normally, I run the other way, or make a dash for the purse section right across the baby stuff, and I was about to, when all of a sudden, my eye caught the following:
Usually I would just glance and mosey along. However, that evening, holding a bulk bottle of Tide (with bleach alternative), I found myself . . . getting warm. On my face. Near my eyes. Then, without any notice, I started to well up. Cry! Like a bitch! I mean, I wasn't sobbing or anything, but there was definitely sniffles, and, possibly, a whimper.
WTF?!?!?!? I had never EVER had a reaction to a piece of clothing (well, maybe when bell bottoms made an appearance in the early nineties). I certainly have never had any kind of reaction like that when it comes to baby stuff. I knew I needed a quick fix to get over this bizarre moment. I did what any adult would do in a time of crisis. I bought myself a snickers bar.
And that helped 100%! I paid for my Tide (with bleach alternative) and headed home. I chalked up that crazy reaction to my die-hard dedication to the Mets, and how awful they are, and pms, and never gave it another thought. I have, on occassion, used this story to entertain my friends during happy hours, dinners, and phone calls. Everybody got a laugh out of it! So I decided to laugh it off, too!
Until this weekend. I went up to VA to see my best friend and her family. Her niece had just been born so we went to visit her. I had no plans to hold the little one, since some parents are super sensitive to that, and also, I can barely hold a can of Goya beans without dropping it, so for the safety of everybody, I was just gonna "goo-goo, gah-gah" the kid from afar.
The only problem was, I didn't expect to fall instantly in love with the baby. She is gorgeous. And teeny. And innocent cheeks like a cherub. So peaceful and vulnerable, and a part of a wonderful family, with two parents who were elated to have her here. It was all so unexpected for me to take in.
"Wanna hold her?", her pops asked. I usually respectfully decline, but I found myself getting elated butterflies in my belly and saying, slightly apprehensively, "Sure."
As I got into position (my bff and her sister coaching me through hand placement, arm stability, and overall relaxation), I started to mildly panic. But there was no time to address it, because my bff placed the baby in my arms. And she melted in, like butter through the crevices of a baked potato. It was perfect.
"Hi, pudding!" was all I could say. Because, within seconds, that same warm feeling from that fateful Tuesday evening at Target started to invade my eyes. That lump in my throat started to grow and I felt my voice sink into my belly. Oh no! I thought. I couldn't do this here. I was surrounded by everybody in the room, and I knew I would be caught! Don't be that girl. Don't be that girl!!! I continued to think. You know what girl I am talking about:
The girl that I fear more than anything!! I usually can't bond very well with said girl. I've met many of them along my journey, and they are usually very lovely. But babies drown the very essence of their brain. In all capacities. With visions of baby showers, choosing names, and whether or not circumcision will happen already planned out!! I can barely plan out my outfit for the day!
And suddenly, I felt Baby-Crazy Claudia evolving. And I let her be for about 7 minutes. I held back the tears and just smiled my ass off as I stared at this kid, who, not even a week old, had capativated a career woman from New York City.
I felt the spell wear off when I begin hearing the conversation around me. It was a conversation about feedings, pooping, labor incisions, formula testing, sleep, as in no sleep, as in no sleep ever again . . .
"Here you go Auntie," I suddenly said, indicating that the baby should be picked up, so I could punch Baby-Crazy Claudia in the mouth, metaphorically speaking. My bff picked up the little lady from my arms and held her with such soothing second nature. The lump in my throat was coming back.
FUCK!!!
You see, my best friend is so many things. So many. I am in awe of her constantly for what she is. But one of the most incredibly components she possesses is motherhood. I've known Jay since we were five. FIVE YEARS OLD! She is, in some ways, my soul mate. If I never make a million dollars in my life, I will still say I won the lotto. Simply because of having her in my life.
So to watch her be so comfortable with this newborn, adding to already having watched her feed her ten month old son while being captivated by his big brown eyes ,bringing about her ginormous smile that shows off her dimples, and also observing her unique bond with her 5 year old daughter, as they both negotiate childhood transactions, usually ending up with some sort of amusing outcome . . . it was all too much. Too beautiful. Too unbelievable.
It was time to go. Or I was about to have a crying competition with an infant.
For the rest of my time in Virginia, I thought a lot about the concept of having a baby. Jay was MORE than excited about this idea. Both she and her husband think I would be a great mom (I did remind them that I had yet to unpack my apartment and it had been 10 months, and, rumor has it, my eggplant in the fridge had simply just become a plant with a family of something inhabiting it). They seemed not to care of these facts. Jay even went so far as to pick the Sunday night movie that just screamed coincidence: SWITCHED with Jennifer Aniston. A single career woman wanting to get knocked up. As she played it, I looked over at her, not amused mind you, and she looked at me with those big brown eyes her son inherited and let out a giggle her beautiful little girl inherited and said, "What?"
That's my Jay.
So here I am, back in New York, three days later, thinking about the emotional whirlwind of the weekend. Perhaps I should think about why I am blogging about this, on a weight loss blog. Well, see, I always thought if I ever was to get married and knocked up, I would be at a healthy goal weight with flat abs! Only because I would probably never see those flat abs again. I also fear getting enormous during my pregnancy, because I would give up my vegetarian lifestyle for the fetus and go ape shit on whoppers, breaded thin chicken cutlets, chicharron, my mother's cocacola marinated pernil, and Colombian empanadas. Because all that is WAYY healthier than being a vegetarian. Clearly.
Like I said, guys, I have NOOOOOOOO plans on getting pregnant right now. Possibly ever, perhaps. My brother-in-law said to me this weekend, "There's never the right time." And he has a point. Some of the people in my life that I love dearly were conceived during "pull-out" method intercourse. And I couldn't be more grateful. Accidental and unplanned babies are great. However, I'd like to at least prepare a little more if I am going to bring a kid into my life.
For starters, I should probably unpack. And get on to those flat abs. See Patagonia. Participate in a bar-hopping Santa-Con event, dress up as a hoochie for Halloween (I came close one year, but it was really cold that evening), date a biker, etc. Perhaps I should revisit that infamous birth video on youtube and decide if I really want to have that happen to, um, her. Me. Whatever.
Let me make one thing clear. This isn't about getting married or falling in love or anything like that. That concept is so independant from this, which is rather scary. I was raised by a single mom and, while she is the best mother anybody could ask for and has raised me to be the strong, brave, sappy, sincere, successful, yadda yadda yadda, person that I am, I know I probably could have experienced some very wonderful experiences that can only happen in a 2 parent household.
That said, my parental plans/fantasies have no place for a pops. No Danny Tanner, no Nick Russo, no Tony Soprano (what? he was a good dad!), no George Lopez. Nothing.
Just me, my kid, and my New York.
Heavy stuff, huh?
To conclude, I just want to reinterate that I will not be proclaiming an "I'm knocked up" message any time soon. Not unless the good Lord decides to pull a Mary on me. And even then, I might have to negotiate with God and show him my unpacked apartment and deformed eggplant in the fridge. For now, I will contine to enjoy this wonderful life I have. I don't need to list everything that is so wonderful, but one thing I will mention is that I have amazing loved ones who will always be there to encourage me to follow my heart, or, when my heart is being an idiot, will set me straight.
Case in point, I got the following tweet from one of great friends the day after I posted "Babies on the brain.":
DON'T START!!!
That, my friends, is all I needed to hear.
Now on to those abs . . . .
Sunday, August 18, 2013
A rant
I have no clever stories, no fun pics, no humor to hide behind. I just need to spew out what's in my mind. At 2:25am on a Sunday, when I am suppose to wake up in 2 hours.
So . . . here goes:
I made big decisions last week. Decisions that I haven't told many people about. So why not blog about it for the masses to see, right? smh
I quit WeightWatchers. Officially. I haven't worked in a meeting for almost a year, due to scheduling, due to feeling like a phony, not being at goal, due to my day time gig taking over my life in some way. I made it official with my WW manager, and it was a tremedous relief, because with her approval and empathy, I became a member again. A member who lost life-time and is trying to get back to goal.
So now I am ready to be a member again! Yay!
Well, sort of yay, I think.
This is a new place to be. Before, when I joined WW in 2008, I had never been fit, at goal, healthy. So when I lost the weight initially, it was a dream that became tastier and more real with each week, at every meeting that I would weigh in. This time around, even if I lose a few pounds, it isn't so juicy, because all I can think is, "You suck! This is nothing to celebrate! You've gained back half the weight you lost, so you have WAYSSS to go."
I'm trying to ignore that asshole voice in my head and rekindle that drive. I swear, it's like rekindling a relationship that feels stifled. I envision this drive as a poor horse that should be put out in the pasture.
Now, now, don't panic. It's the scenario, the plateau that I wish would be put out of it's misery. Not myself. I happen to think I'm pretty great, just experiencing one of the biggest challenges in my 32 years of life: being healthy and human. Healthy so that my knees don't hurt when I walk a few blocks because I'm heavier, and human so that I don't beat myself up and accept that I am not perfect.
Also, I am cleaning house in general. Cleaning my life of clutter, people, and possible career plans. Trying to create space for what counts. As funny (and annoying) it is, I truly feel like I have no time for "that", that being the long list of bullshit currently clouding my life/perspective.
Look, I am not the easier person to deal with. I'm no fool to that. I may not be available all the time, and I may have to blow you off for work because all I have is me to rely on, and perhaps when I am in a dire situation, I handle it before I reach out to anybody, because my momma raised me to handle my shit, to not depend on anybody, and to be mindful of putting your own problems on other people, because everybody has their own stuff to handle. But damn it, my heart is enormous (metaphorically speaking. I'm not that unhealthy/overweight to have an enlarged organ) and if I let you in, you best be aware of how huge that is for me, and how lucky you are. Does that make me sound vain? Maybe. But if you know me, you know that I am the least vain person in your circle, hands down. This isn't about vanity, this is about reality. When I love, I love hard.
Where am I going with all this? I don't even know. I am really just ranting. And preparing. And accepting that none of this is going to be easy. None of it. And if it means ridding myself of some complacent situations because of certain fears/insecurties/pendejadas (foolishness), then so be it.
For now, I think my brain/soul can enjoy this respite thanks to this blog, where I can come and let out all the heaviness that kicks in some times.
And with that, it's bed time.
So . . . here goes:
I made big decisions last week. Decisions that I haven't told many people about. So why not blog about it for the masses to see, right? smh
I quit WeightWatchers. Officially. I haven't worked in a meeting for almost a year, due to scheduling, due to feeling like a phony, not being at goal, due to my day time gig taking over my life in some way. I made it official with my WW manager, and it was a tremedous relief, because with her approval and empathy, I became a member again. A member who lost life-time and is trying to get back to goal.
So now I am ready to be a member again! Yay!
Well, sort of yay, I think.
This is a new place to be. Before, when I joined WW in 2008, I had never been fit, at goal, healthy. So when I lost the weight initially, it was a dream that became tastier and more real with each week, at every meeting that I would weigh in. This time around, even if I lose a few pounds, it isn't so juicy, because all I can think is, "You suck! This is nothing to celebrate! You've gained back half the weight you lost, so you have WAYSSS to go."
I'm trying to ignore that asshole voice in my head and rekindle that drive. I swear, it's like rekindling a relationship that feels stifled. I envision this drive as a poor horse that should be put out in the pasture.
Now, now, don't panic. It's the scenario, the plateau that I wish would be put out of it's misery. Not myself. I happen to think I'm pretty great, just experiencing one of the biggest challenges in my 32 years of life: being healthy and human. Healthy so that my knees don't hurt when I walk a few blocks because I'm heavier, and human so that I don't beat myself up and accept that I am not perfect.
Also, I am cleaning house in general. Cleaning my life of clutter, people, and possible career plans. Trying to create space for what counts. As funny (and annoying) it is, I truly feel like I have no time for "that", that being the long list of bullshit currently clouding my life/perspective.
Look, I am not the easier person to deal with. I'm no fool to that. I may not be available all the time, and I may have to blow you off for work because all I have is me to rely on, and perhaps when I am in a dire situation, I handle it before I reach out to anybody, because my momma raised me to handle my shit, to not depend on anybody, and to be mindful of putting your own problems on other people, because everybody has their own stuff to handle. But damn it, my heart is enormous (metaphorically speaking. I'm not that unhealthy/overweight to have an enlarged organ) and if I let you in, you best be aware of how huge that is for me, and how lucky you are. Does that make me sound vain? Maybe. But if you know me, you know that I am the least vain person in your circle, hands down. This isn't about vanity, this is about reality. When I love, I love hard.
Where am I going with all this? I don't even know. I am really just ranting. And preparing. And accepting that none of this is going to be easy. None of it. And if it means ridding myself of some complacent situations because of certain fears/insecurties/pendejadas (foolishness), then so be it.
For now, I think my brain/soul can enjoy this respite thanks to this blog, where I can come and let out all the heaviness that kicks in some times.
And with that, it's bed time.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Gotta start somewhere. I did, on 43rd ave and 41st street!
Today began day 1 of my 5k training. For more info, see video below.
Trying something new, you guys, following the advice/guidance of my fellow blogger friends:
Vlogging. A video blog. Another tool to fufill the vanity we all have.
So here it is:
Day 1: Flinging is not an option
What do you guys think? I'm not sure if I enjoy this method of blogging, as I do not like a medium where I can not go back and edit. Additionally, it took like 20 minutes to u
Ok, TOTALLY digressing.
Any who, some more thoughts. As
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Also, let me correct my friend's twitter handle who told me to ice down my old lady back. It's actually Kellyfit1220, not Kellyfitgirl.
More on running on Tuesday, scheduled Day 2. Off to do some laundry and
Trying something new, you guys, following the advice/guidance of my fellow blogger friends:
Vlogging. A video blog. Another tool to fufill the vanity we all have.
So here it is:
Day 1: Flinging is not an option
What do you guys think? I'm not sure if I enjoy this method of blogging, as I do not like a medium where I can not go back and edit. Additionally, it took like 20 minutes to u
Ok, TOTALLY digressing.
Any who, some more thoughts. As
Also, let me correct my friend's twitter handle who told me to ice down my old lady back. It's actually Kellyfit1220, not Kellyfitgirl.
More on running on Tuesday, scheduled Day 2. Off to do some laundry and
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Behaving like a boob
Allow me to state the obvious: my lack of attention and priority towards my
health, weight loss, and, more importantly, this blog, is quite tragic,
irresponsible, and dumb. I'm choosing, subconsciously, not to lose weight.
Sure, I complain when I'm out of breath after climbing up some stairs, I pout
when last season's jeans start to encase my midsection, and I roll my eyes when
my mother sizes me up and says a silent prayer to God that I give up late-night
visits to CVS for Doritos and Jujubes.
All that sucks!
That said, there has been a new development that has made this reality a little less . . . painless.
Boobs.
Allow me to explain:
When I lost 60 pounds, there was no greater feeling than NOT feeling my midsection. The same midsection that would torture me like an uninvited fruit roll-up under my t-shirt. Additionally, being able to cross my toned legs, not being smacked in the face by my under-arm flappers when holding the overhead bar on a crowded N train, and joyfully skipping towards the Banana Republic dressing room to try on some size 4s, were all just amazing things.
However, I was NOT prepared for the discovery that would become apparent on that fateful June summer morning. I'll never forget it. It was mid 2009, and I was all pumped and happy for completing yet another successful a.m. Muay Thai session with my trainer. I arrived home from the gym and had about an hour to prepare for work, so I quickly jumped in the shower, did some early morning sing-a-long to Britney Spears, "Three", because, you know, that's what you do, and sprinted to my bedroom. I decided on an outfit for the day and proceeded to get dressed as usual.
It was at that moment that I realized something was wrong. I wasn't feeling very . . . um, supported.
"Hmm. Maybe this bra grew in the washer."
Yes, that thought entered my brain. My college-educated brain.
I quickly tried on another bra.
Same thing. In fact, I remember feeling very, somewhat . . . breezy.
It was as if I was bamboozled. Not only because I didn't expect I'd be losing boobage, but less than a month before I had invested in some new support in a pricey bra place on the Upper East side.
Clearly this was a joke.
Of course, by nature, especially when it comes to my self-image, I tend to focus on the negative. All the other parts of the weight loss, all the aforementioned above, were quickly forgotten when I realized that my breasts were changing. It goes deeper than the usual bra cup that I had so easily filled before. In 2008, when I was 200 pounds, my girls were a sizable part of my identity, a symbol of sexiness and femininity, in a world where I seldom felt attractive. Listen, I wasn't hideous, but I clearly was drowning in my weight, and I needed something to hold on to for dear life (really, no pun intended).
Fast-forward a year later and all that was changing. I had lost the weight and I was finally embracing my health and newfound confidence in my body. And the one feature that I had been hiding behind was slowly deflating (honestly, ignore the pun).
It was an intense moment. And something I would struggle with for some time. I was beyond proud of myself for being svelte, healthy, and present. Living in a world where I felt beautiful, a world I could never imagine. But there was a slight sadness, as I could no longer hide behind my loyal buddies.
Fast forward, yet again, to the last 6 months. This weight gain has been a smack to the ego. I haven't gained back all the 60, but enough to begin to panic.
However, I was once again bamboozled when, during a recent morning, as I prepared for work, I felt a little . . . um, stifled.
After taking a peak in the mirror I realized that . . . well, they were rather present, more present than usual, and it was all too familiar. The girls were sort of... back, in full bloom (I had flashbacks of being a 17 year old late bloomer when, in a dressing room in Mandee's, I realized that I was no longer a little girl).
I wasn't immediately thrilled. I mean, it was another reminder that the weight gain was very real. That I couldn't blame the scale or the washer for shrinking my clothes (my college-educated brain finally figured that out). There was no way to blame other factors, like the environment, water, air, the City, the Media, Al-Qaeda, etc. My weight gain was happening, and my choices were making it very concrete.
That said, I started to feel mildly happy. It was a nice moment, like seeing an old friend, one that did you good in the past. Also, my confidence began a happy dance, which is always nice.
I made my way to work that day with an extra skip in my step. It had been a long time since I liked what I saw in the mirror, so I was on cloud nine. But, throughout the day, I also got to thinking how much emphasis I was putting on this one characteristic, and how maybe I was defining myself on something really superficial. And then, I thought of my momma.
Allow me to explain:
It goes without saying that I got my figure from my mother, a beautiful Liz Taylor replica. Always gorgeous, elegant, and, quite frankly, a knockout! She carried her appearance with grace, and, also, always took care of her health.
Sadly though, in 2007, she had come face to face with a life changing reality and, from that, made a powerful decision. My mother gave up her breasts for the opportunity to live. Cancer tried to take her by taking them. Her response to Cancer, " Fuck off. You can have them. Me? Think again." And, with that, Cancer fled, but not without taking her breasts and some of her right lymph nods.
Almost six years later, and she is healthy and still the most beautiful, most feminine woman I know, and will ever know. Those who have met her would agree with me, 100%.
Momma is also incredibly wise. She showed me that, as women, your breasts don't define you. More specifically, they do not define what a real woman is. When cancer confronted her, my mom taught me what it meant to be a real woman. A real woman will put her worth first. A real woman is brave. A real woman is defined by her courage, dignity, and selfless yet steadfast decisions.
Which brings me to a lesson that is presently unraveling: a real woman will realize how important it is to maintain a healthy lifestyle, so that the likes of Cancer, Heart Disease, and High Blood pressure never make an appearance. The journey must continue, no matter how long it takes, no matter how life's circumstances may throw a wrench in things.
A real woman will never ever give up.
Since my reacquainting with my breasts that morning some weeks ago, I've been thinking a lot about how lucky I am. Sure, it's great to be curvy. No doubt about that. But it's even better that I have my legs to run on the elliptical, my arms to do intense kettle ball exercises, my torso to hold proper form for squats and ab work, and my brain to make smart choices on diet and activity.
And, unfortunately, I am NOT maximizing or taking advantage of any of these wonderful features that make up who I am.
Clearly, I am behaving like a moron. Being proud of your boobs, no matter the size, is a given, a necessity. Behaving like one, though, it's out of the question.
Dedicated to my beautiful mommy. Her lessons are great and everlasting, no matter where my journey takes me. I love you, momma <3
All that sucks!
That said, there has been a new development that has made this reality a little less . . . painless.
Boobs.
Allow me to explain:
When I lost 60 pounds, there was no greater feeling than NOT feeling my midsection. The same midsection that would torture me like an uninvited fruit roll-up under my t-shirt. Additionally, being able to cross my toned legs, not being smacked in the face by my under-arm flappers when holding the overhead bar on a crowded N train, and joyfully skipping towards the Banana Republic dressing room to try on some size 4s, were all just amazing things.
However, I was NOT prepared for the discovery that would become apparent on that fateful June summer morning. I'll never forget it. It was mid 2009, and I was all pumped and happy for completing yet another successful a.m. Muay Thai session with my trainer. I arrived home from the gym and had about an hour to prepare for work, so I quickly jumped in the shower, did some early morning sing-a-long to Britney Spears, "Three", because, you know, that's what you do, and sprinted to my bedroom. I decided on an outfit for the day and proceeded to get dressed as usual.
It was at that moment that I realized something was wrong. I wasn't feeling very . . . um, supported.
"Hmm. Maybe this bra grew in the washer."
Yes, that thought entered my brain. My college-educated brain.
I quickly tried on another bra.
Same thing. In fact, I remember feeling very, somewhat . . . breezy.
It was as if I was bamboozled. Not only because I didn't expect I'd be losing boobage, but less than a month before I had invested in some new support in a pricey bra place on the Upper East side.
Clearly this was a joke.
Of course, by nature, especially when it comes to my self-image, I tend to focus on the negative. All the other parts of the weight loss, all the aforementioned above, were quickly forgotten when I realized that my breasts were changing. It goes deeper than the usual bra cup that I had so easily filled before. In 2008, when I was 200 pounds, my girls were a sizable part of my identity, a symbol of sexiness and femininity, in a world where I seldom felt attractive. Listen, I wasn't hideous, but I clearly was drowning in my weight, and I needed something to hold on to for dear life (really, no pun intended).
Fast-forward a year later and all that was changing. I had lost the weight and I was finally embracing my health and newfound confidence in my body. And the one feature that I had been hiding behind was slowly deflating (honestly, ignore the pun).
It was an intense moment. And something I would struggle with for some time. I was beyond proud of myself for being svelte, healthy, and present. Living in a world where I felt beautiful, a world I could never imagine. But there was a slight sadness, as I could no longer hide behind my loyal buddies.
Fast forward, yet again, to the last 6 months. This weight gain has been a smack to the ego. I haven't gained back all the 60, but enough to begin to panic.
However, I was once again bamboozled when, during a recent morning, as I prepared for work, I felt a little . . . um, stifled.
After taking a peak in the mirror I realized that . . . well, they were rather present, more present than usual, and it was all too familiar. The girls were sort of... back, in full bloom (I had flashbacks of being a 17 year old late bloomer when, in a dressing room in Mandee's, I realized that I was no longer a little girl).
I wasn't immediately thrilled. I mean, it was another reminder that the weight gain was very real. That I couldn't blame the scale or the washer for shrinking my clothes (my college-educated brain finally figured that out). There was no way to blame other factors, like the environment, water, air, the City, the Media, Al-Qaeda, etc. My weight gain was happening, and my choices were making it very concrete.
That said, I started to feel mildly happy. It was a nice moment, like seeing an old friend, one that did you good in the past. Also, my confidence began a happy dance, which is always nice.
I made my way to work that day with an extra skip in my step. It had been a long time since I liked what I saw in the mirror, so I was on cloud nine. But, throughout the day, I also got to thinking how much emphasis I was putting on this one characteristic, and how maybe I was defining myself on something really superficial. And then, I thought of my momma.
Allow me to explain:
It goes without saying that I got my figure from my mother, a beautiful Liz Taylor replica. Always gorgeous, elegant, and, quite frankly, a knockout! She carried her appearance with grace, and, also, always took care of her health.
Sadly though, in 2007, she had come face to face with a life changing reality and, from that, made a powerful decision. My mother gave up her breasts for the opportunity to live. Cancer tried to take her by taking them. Her response to Cancer, " Fuck off. You can have them. Me? Think again." And, with that, Cancer fled, but not without taking her breasts and some of her right lymph nods.
Almost six years later, and she is healthy and still the most beautiful, most feminine woman I know, and will ever know. Those who have met her would agree with me, 100%.
Momma is also incredibly wise. She showed me that, as women, your breasts don't define you. More specifically, they do not define what a real woman is. When cancer confronted her, my mom taught me what it meant to be a real woman. A real woman will put her worth first. A real woman is brave. A real woman is defined by her courage, dignity, and selfless yet steadfast decisions.
Which brings me to a lesson that is presently unraveling: a real woman will realize how important it is to maintain a healthy lifestyle, so that the likes of Cancer, Heart Disease, and High Blood pressure never make an appearance. The journey must continue, no matter how long it takes, no matter how life's circumstances may throw a wrench in things.
A real woman will never ever give up.
Since my reacquainting with my breasts that morning some weeks ago, I've been thinking a lot about how lucky I am. Sure, it's great to be curvy. No doubt about that. But it's even better that I have my legs to run on the elliptical, my arms to do intense kettle ball exercises, my torso to hold proper form for squats and ab work, and my brain to make smart choices on diet and activity.
And, unfortunately, I am NOT maximizing or taking advantage of any of these wonderful features that make up who I am.
Clearly, I am behaving like a moron. Being proud of your boobs, no matter the size, is a given, a necessity. Behaving like one, though, it's out of the question.
Dedicated to my beautiful mommy. Her lessons are great and everlasting, no matter where my journey takes me. I love you, momma <3
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Shame on me!!
I haven't posted on here in 2 months!!! Unacceptable!! So much to catch you guys up on.
Where to begin? Where to begin?
Well I'll fill you on a few tidbits (in 50 words or less as I have to be up in 4 hours).
1-Hit a weight plateau. I thank my birthday, long weekend in Jamaica, my birthday, 8 day cruise, and my birthday. I am incredibly loved therefore I had much celebrating. And since my loved ones know me, I had a shit ton of cheese fries. And alcohol. Bringing me to my next update.
2-Cold turkey. I have given up alcohol until further notice. Today is day 9. I feel ok about it. Booze is expensive and, thanks to texting, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I have made a shit ton of mistakes, where the next day it's like a perpetual, "Ohh maaan! Did I really do that?" Also, I have felt sluggish, unhealthy, and depressed. All bad bad side effects of alcohol. Am I giving it up forever? I don't know. Much like this journey, I won't make any definite decisions. Just one day at a time.
3-I'm tan. Sounds hilarious, but it's worth noting. I never ever get tan. And so this is all new to me. It appears, interestingly enough, that when you are tan, you appear svelter. I have had a few people tell me how thin and fabulous I look since I returned from my cruise, which is a big pile of poo. Not that I think they are lying, but I think with the right outfit and this tan, it works!
But the scale can give 2 shits about my tan. It made it clear that I have a lot of work to do.
So here I go!
I'll report back soon, y'all! So so much to tell you all!
Where to begin? Where to begin?
Well I'll fill you on a few tidbits (in 50 words or less as I have to be up in 4 hours).
1-Hit a weight plateau. I thank my birthday, long weekend in Jamaica, my birthday, 8 day cruise, and my birthday. I am incredibly loved therefore I had much celebrating. And since my loved ones know me, I had a shit ton of cheese fries. And alcohol. Bringing me to my next update.
2-Cold turkey. I have given up alcohol until further notice. Today is day 9. I feel ok about it. Booze is expensive and, thanks to texting, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I have made a shit ton of mistakes, where the next day it's like a perpetual, "Ohh maaan! Did I really do that?" Also, I have felt sluggish, unhealthy, and depressed. All bad bad side effects of alcohol. Am I giving it up forever? I don't know. Much like this journey, I won't make any definite decisions. Just one day at a time.
3-I'm tan. Sounds hilarious, but it's worth noting. I never ever get tan. And so this is all new to me. It appears, interestingly enough, that when you are tan, you appear svelter. I have had a few people tell me how thin and fabulous I look since I returned from my cruise, which is a big pile of poo. Not that I think they are lying, but I think with the right outfit and this tan, it works!
But the scale can give 2 shits about my tan. It made it clear that I have a lot of work to do.
So here I go!
I'll report back soon, y'all! So so much to tell you all!
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