many reflections

I have a lot to catch up on here, don't I?

First, our trip to DC and Chambersburg was wonderful. Too wonderful, in fact, because it was actually physically painful to come home to Orlando. The mobs of harried holiday travelers we encountered at OIA versus the cool organization of Dulles did not enhance the comparison in Orlando's favor, either. I really feel as though I have lived in this city too, too long, and if it weren't for coming back to my dear friends, my degree, and my snugglebuttons cat, I might not have come back at all.



We spent 4 days pounding the pavement around DC and northern Virginia. The only other time Jason and I were in DC was back when we were dating and in the city for my cousin Jen's wedding in October 2004, and he only saw Georgetown University and about 45 minutes of one Smithsonian museum. So, I was determined to show him "my" DC, and we covered just about everything: the memorials and monuments, the museums, the White House (outside only, as we didn't know you need some sort of special clearance from your local congressperson to get in), the Capitol Building, the Library of Congress, the Supreme Court, and of course, probably a hundred miles total of the Metro system. We must have walked between 5-8 miles a day, trying to get everything in - my legs have never been so sore. But we got some amazing photos from it all, which you can see here. Staying with my Aunt Carol and Uncle Tim was also a treat: their house was always the home you wanted to come home to when all was said and done.



Our time in Chambersburg was really incredible, even though we only had a few days to spend there. Chambersburg is this little-but-growing town in southern Pennsylvania, about an hour from Gettysburg and 20 minutes from the Maryland state line. It is home to Martins Potato Rolls and hundreds of acres of manure-scented pasture. When I was growing up, it was always cool to go to DC - endless hours of stimulation and entertainment awaited me. However, I never liked going to Chambersburg: nothing there to entertain me. I loved all my uncles there, my mom's Amazonian brothers, who towered over me and made me squeal with delight when they tossed me into the air. I loved seeing my Nana. But those cow pastures get pretty old, and to boot, there weren't any kids my age on that side of the family. I had 3 cousins whom I hardly saw, two of whom were boys and therefore Infested With Cooties, and the one girl, a few years younger than me, decided that it would be great fun to lock me in the trunk of her dad's car, giggling outside and making me sure I would die a slow, carpeted death. She got me out after 15 minutes, but I never got over it and vowed to never, ever play with her again.

So it really, really surprised me last week when I found myself falling in love with the town after so many years away but so many vivid memories still playing in my mind. It is small, quaint, miles away from anything resembling bad traffic, filled with families and cute antique shops and some newer development, like the Target store being built and the Hagerstown outlet mall just minutes away. My Nana is still there, my uncles are still there (and still very, very tall), the cow patties are still there. Two of my aunts are there who are both wonderful, down-to-earth people, and there's the addition of my most precious cousin, Kiana, who delights me with her 8-year-old girliness and giggles (you can see her about a year and a half ago here). After about 6 hours there, Jason and I looked at each other and then to the town where we saw everything we had been looking for: a small town with wide open spaces, a great community to raise a family, all four seasons plus some snow. The job market is wide open, as is the real estate market, and Chambersburg Hospital is a great place that desperately needs good nurses. We're hoping to visit again during my next semester break - possibly early May - and we're submitting all of these revelations and deep desires to God in the meantime.



And I came home to Orlando after several large, butter-laden meals financed by my relatives, only to find that I had lost 1.2 pounds. It was pretty astounding, I tell you. I am only .2 away from reaching the 150's, numbers I saw only for a brief while as I was growing up. And even more amazing than that was the shopping day in Hagerstown at Ann Taylor with my mom: I instinctively reach for size 12s, thinking that they're going to be tight anyway. This cute skirt I found in a size 12 nearly fell off my hips, so I assumed they sized them big and reached for a size 10. Still didn't fit: it was just too long and didn't hang right. My mom insists the size 10 is too big and gets a size 8 for me, and I protest because no way am I a single-digit size in anything, especially not at Ann Taylor. Still, she makes me try it on... AND IT FITS.



I think I'm still in shock. I'm in shock over all of it, really: the knee-length boots that zip without tugging, the tops in sizes not containing the letters "XL" or "L", the butt that is both smaller and rounder, the delight in seeing myself in the mirror reflection. I'm not yet where I want to be - I'm about halfway - but I love that I am smaller and am finally enjoying the process and not just the anticipation of the goal. People compliment me a lot these days, and though the weight isn't dropping off as quickly as it used to, I'm at a miraculous spot right now, and anything in the losing-weight direction is just more icing on the fat-free cake.

might be in trouble

Jason and I acquired something I've been fantasizing about for years now: a steam cleaner. It's actually a loan from my friend Wendy, but nevertheless, it is in our possession for the entire weekend. I was so excited about the reality of having clean carpets, I mean really stinkin' clean carpets, that I could barely contain myself during church today. People probably thought I was having some sort of Advent-inspired religious experience. I mean, our carpets have gotten so bad that when I apologize in advance to visitors for our messy carpet and they sort of brush me off like, "oh yeah, we have the same issue at home..." and they walk in our door, they actually stare at the various spots under their feet as if being hypnotized by some primitive Rohrschach test. One of my friends, upon seeing the disaster, actually muttered, "Wow... yeah... whoa..." and sort of tripped out on all the spots and stains. So, this steam cleaning we're doing is actually a purification of my renter's soul - I am no longer an Untouchable and can live amongst those who have sparkling, all-white carpets and never ever rub Coke into the carpet with their sneaker, surreptitiously, during dinner with their husbands.

While Jason was steam-cleaning my carpet (and my soul, mind you), I wandered into the kitchen for a snack. I have weigh-in tomorrow and am anticipating a loss, so I don't want to pig out on anything tonight and have to include its remains for the numbers on the scale tomorrow. I'm drinking a LOT of water, needless to say. Anyway, I'm in the kitchen, and I decide to have a bite - yes, just one - of ice cream. Now, Jason's favorite ice cream in the whole world is actually the one I despise: espresso chip. If it was espresso-flavored ice cream with chocolate chips, that would be pretty okay. But the chips themselves have coffee grinds in them (Jason argues they are chips of espresso beans, which is pretty much coffee grind to me) and that's just gross to me. So, having half-gallons of espresso chip in the house doesn't hold much temptation for me. However, there was a sale - a 2-for-1 deal - and since there was only one tub of espresso chip left, I also got him peanut butter cup. He normally eats the generic version of this from our local Publix, and it's not really that great: the fudge tastes too dark, the ice cream isn't that great, and there are maybe 3 miniscule peanut butter cups for the entire tub. Hmph. I'm expecting the same from this new tub I get from Edy's, so I go to have my one little spoonful, just enough to satisfy that cold-creamy-sweet craving and go on with my life.

Holy freakin' cow. It was, quite possibly, the most spiritual experience I've had outside of accepting Jesus and getting married. With the whirr of the steam cleaner in the background and chunks of perfect fudge and peanut butter (and HUGE peanut butter cups) in my mouth, I thought I was being lifted by St. Peter himself to the pearly gates. I had the simultaneous conflicting thoughts of wanting to pledge my not-yet-conceived firstborn to the Edy's corporation and visions of a massive hate-mail campaign against them for being Diet Ruiners and Fat Packer Advocates. It took every last iota of willpower in my body to put the spoon down and not shovel the rest of the tub into my mouth in a last-supper experience.

Damn you, sweet ripples of fudgy, peanut-buttery evil.

giving it away

I donated my wedding dress, crinoline (aka Big Puffy White Nightmare), and shoes to Goodwill this afternoon. I have to admit I was feeling like Mother Teresa, driving down to the donation site. However, I think I was more relieved to just have the space in my closet back. It was the last remaining clutter of the closet after I had cleared out all the clothes that no longer fit, and now my closet looks all clean and roomy and pure. I have to admit I was a little nonplussed when the lady accepting the donations just took my bagged wedding dress, folded it over, and plopped it on top of some dusty puzzle boxes, Danielle Steel books, and stuffed animals of indeterminate breed (is it a dog? a horse? or a "dorse"?). But I hope it can bring someone else joy for their wedding day and perhaps take up large amounts of space in their undersized closet, too.

I took my exam Wednesday morning. I walked in confident, hoping for an A, and left terrified, praying that I had not failed badly enough to have a bad grade for the course. As it turned out, I scored a B - miraculously - and earned myself a good, solid B for the class. I was so relieved when I found out - I think pharmacology/pathophysiology was the hardest class I've taken to date. And now I have a whole four weeks to relax and recuperate before starting it all again for another 4 months.

The Sarasota trip was good. We ate at Yoder's, an Amish restaurant about 5 minutes from his grandparent's home. The Amish restaurant experience is pretty great: a mom-and-pop style restaurant with quilts everywhere, friendly teenage girls in plain frocks, and massive portions. Jason and I shared a slice of apple pie the size of your average barnyard animal, and our dinners could have each fed 4 people. So much for portion sizing!

I'm gonna poison all my patients

This morning's weigh-in: down 1.4 for a total of 26.6 lost. I've lost my cat... twice. (her dead weight feels like the whole 26 pounds, though) What I didn't understand, though, were the ladies just behind me who talked the entire way through the meeting, only to stop the leader every 5 minutes or so and bark, "Huh? What did you say again? Can you repeat that?" in nasally-toned New England-y accents. Why? Maybe they think they'll burn more calories with all that constant whiny talking. I don't know.

As motivated as I am to be in shape and lose weight, I am just not feeling the motivational vibes for school, and I only have one exam left to go. One. Tomorrow morning, for my super-hard Pharmacology & Pathophysiology course. We took some standardized, generalized, lobotomized testing last week - ATI tests for those of you in the know, supposedly to simulate the NCLEX experience - and I just found out I scored somewhere in the 10-40th percentile. Now, it was a hard test, I know, but you have to realize that I grew up as this test-taking wunderkind, scoring in the 99th percentile of, like, every freaking subject, even when I was making mediocre grades in high school but still managed to crank out an obscenely-high SAT score. So scoring in the 10-40th percentile in anything except perhaps my body weight, well... my whole world just got shaken. I know it's pathetic, my obsession with perfection even on the stupidest crap like a test that doesn't even count for a grade. The pharmacology part of the NCLEX is only a very small percentage, anyway. Or at least that's what they tell me. If I get to the actual test and the only questions I get are asking me about the contraindications of Depakote and the method of action of adrenergic antagonists, someone's gonna have to pay.

Tomorrow, after the exam, I get to be prettied up by my stylist, and then J and I set off for Sarasota to see his family. I have spent so very little time with his family that going to see them is like the first time, every time, and I start getting nervous and chatty and Avon-lady smiley in anticipation, forgetting that we've already broken bread together a handful of times and I have no reason to be uptight. And as far as in-laws go, I lucked out: no horror stories here. But I still get wigged out. We're bringing them gifts, and they're taking us out to a Sarasota phenomenon: Amish restaurants. I was so enthralled by the idea of an Amish restaurant: I imagined a large wooden house with no electricity, and you have to leave your car in the next block over and walk, or else come by horse and buggy, and you are served all sorts of amazingly hearty culinary delicacies by candlelight, served by women in frocks and austere hair arrangements. My friend Rachel, a Sarasota native, tells me that it's really more like going to Cracker Barrel, but I hold on to my other-world fantasy.

Oh, and the singing went well. No high-note-itis or glitches here, except for perhaps a small moment of amusement as I launched into the second verse and saw a small boy vigorously arm-farting his appreciation to me. Very reverent.

you know it was... divine night

As I prepare to deliver another heartfelt rendition of this loveliest of Christmas songs to an assembled crowd, I am always struck by my panic, left over from my singer-in-training days, that I will not get the high note. The one everyone waits for, and the one that makes the song. The version tonight is in a fairly safe key, but like most people's fear of public speaking, I too have the fear of Public High Note Shaming. Kelly, my realistic, ever-grounded fellow singer, always tells me that we are our own worst critics and that the majority of people don't know from bunk if you mess up. Maybe I have too much faith in my fellow man, for I imagine everyone in the audience with a pen and paper in hand, writing extraordinarily-crafted, detailed critiques of my every diaphragmatic offering. (A flair for exaggeration? Yes, I do have that.)

However, nothing makes me feel more at ease - or makes me nearly lose control of my bladder - than this. There is no possible way that anything I could sing tonight could come remotely near it. And if it did, I would sell it and make millions off of my comedic genius, like this singer should have done a la William Hung and Florence Foster Jenkins.

how I run

I've had a lot of people ask me this question, which always surprises me because I am 1) the slowest runner EVER and 2) have only been doing it for about 4 months. So, here's my unofficial advice. Ingest at your own risk:

I started running about two weeks after I started Weight Watchers in August. I know people who run at a bunch of different weights, but I'll admit I was about 185 when I started (and 5'2", proving you don't need to be a skinny mini to do it). I'll definitely put the consult-your-doctor-first disclaimer here, though I was bad and did not call my own doctor. One lap around my apartment complex is about half of a mile, and at first, I went around three times, doing the infamous Couch to 5K running plan. Though the plan itself is geared for an 8 week time period, I ended up running a straight 20 minutes after about a month... but not a 5K in that time, of course. I was probably running a 16-minute mile! Anyway, I just gradually increased the time I ran - about 5 minutes every two weeks, and made up the rest by walking either at the beginning or at the end.

Currently, I run about 18-20 miles a week, provided I am not sick or having finals. Usually, it's about 4-5 miles per run, 4x a week.

I always, always started with a 5-minute warmup walk and ended with one, plus some light stretches at the end.

One of my WW internet-buddies, Corinne, is my favorite couch-to-runner success story - she made a fabulous transformation and has an awesome running tips page and a great newsletter you can sign up to receive each month.

Things I cannot stress enough:

--When you start, run at a slower pace than you think you should, but run for a longer time than you think you should.
--Good shoes are crucial in ways I could list forever. Go to a running store like Track Shack, not just your local discount shoe store, and have them fit you for a shoe after analyzing your gait. It's the best investment you'll ever make in your fitness quest, and it saved me from having achy knees and legs and generally not enjoying my run.
--Don't run every day, even if you're one of those crazy, all-or-nothing perfectionists like Yours Truly. Take a day to rest yourself in between runs.
--Hydrate: nothing will cut your workout short like a nasty, strength-sapping case of dehydration. Drink yo water.

Other things:

--Love, love, love my iPod. Great for running. Get an armband if you can.
--My running gear: cheap stretchy pants and top from Target, their C9 Champion brand. Moisture-wicking, cute, and I didn't need tons of money to get it.
--When you run, remember that it will feel about 20 degrees warmer than it actually is outside, so don't overdress.
--Use the toilet before you go, even if you think you don't have to go. Trust me on this one. Taking a dump behind a bush is not fun.
--For the girls: I have, er, a lot up top, and Target also has Champion sports bras that hold me in well and secure. They go up to a DD cup size.

Again, this is just my own, unofficial, not-an-expert story of how I became a running fool. I love it now and feel really yucky if I don't get to go for my run when I need to. Another really great website to go to is Cool Runnings, home of the aforementioned Cto5K plan. Great tips on how to start running, how to train for a race, and to answer any general FAQ's you might have.

Happy running!

a landmark event

The skinny jean saga continues:

So, I can fit into them wonderfully, and by the end of the day, they're even a bit loose. However, they are the ONLY pair of pants that really fit me well, aside from my work scrubs and my running gear. I quickly realized that my Skinny Jeans would quickly turn into my Nasty Funk Jeans if I didn't add at least one other pair of pants into my daily rotation. I went to Target, found a sale on Levi's, and since I had no idea what size would fit me, I grabbed a bunch - sizes 14, 12, and 10 - and went to the dressing room.

The 14s needed a belt to stay on me. (yay!)

The 12s were nice, but a bit paunchy in the butt.

The 10s FIT. Holy crappo!



I haven't worn a size 10 since maybe 9th grade when I was 14, over half my life ago. (Okay, that's a depressing realization. I'll focus on the joy of the pants fitting). They fit well, and they are even slightly stretchy to be forgiving of another holiday meal. Their only flaw was the pants legs are a bit long - I may be getting skinnier but I doubt I will ever add any inches to my height. I was almost daring enough to grab a (gasp) size 8, just to see how far away I was from it, but I changed my mind and scurried away to "Home Decor" instead.

Monday, bloody Monday

Weigh-in tomorrow. I am optimistic. I have run, I have nourished, I have moderated. I had a little undoing with Olive Garden and a basket of fragrant breadsticks, but other than that, I'm doing well, I think. One more run today and maintaining my dietary vigilance until tomorrow. Well, not UNTIL tomorrow - through tomorrow, really, but after 9am tomorrow, my efforts go toward next week...

So, I completely forgot to take pictures of all the food and festivities, but I did manage to get a nice Christmas-card photo of Jason and I:



I love that my face isn't so pudgy or bloated-looking anymore. And I think that guy sitting next to me is really, really hot. I want our children to have those eyes and curls.

Oh yeah, and those are the skinny jeans again. Only they're my normal jeans now. I cleaned out my closet and now have about 3 pairs of pants I can wear that fit well, and only one pair is a pair of pants not worn at work (scrubs) or out running (stretchy spandexy things). Donations welcome.

Wednesday: a breakdown

1. Today I feel highly disinclined to move. Maybe it's the remnants of a truly fantastic Thanksgiving-two-days-early feast moving through my body (still), maybe it's the chill in the air, or maybe it's the last sniffles of last week's knock-me-out cold I had. Whatever the case, I'm on a Sloth Campaign today, and my cat agrees it's a lovely thing. She gets a nice warm snuggly human to curl up next to, and she understands me, for she is also One Who Does Not Move All Day.

2. Last night's Thanksgiving dinner was remarkably good, confirmed by lots of "mmm, nffft hrrrgish gnnnd!" through mouthfuls of my lump-free mashed potatoes and lump-free gravy (thanks for the tips, Nannie. I owe ya one when I get to heaven). I had an emotional moment with my thawed chicken: rubbing it down with butter and rosemary and its comparable size made me think of my babies, and I imagined some poor mother hen crying about missing Fat Alfie whom I was now shamelessly basting, and I thought that this must be how people become vegetarians (or vegans, or whatever they're supposed to be). Once he was cooking, however, Alfie started smelling delicious, the emotion disappeared, and our sacrificial chicken turned out wonderfully moist and tender for dinner. Even the white meat. So much for veganism or remorse.

3. Last night's dinner was so good, in fact, that I am still carrying some of it around with me, and likely will for a few weeks yet. It's amazing how I can go from neurotic must-reduce-ness to "eh, it's only once a year" in such a short span of time. WW's weigh-in revealed a gain of 3.4 - how?why?whyME? - and a week's worth of inactivity. But the world didn't crash in around me when the scale revealed its ugly numbers at me, and I actually felt this sense of sisterly solidarity with the other WW members at the meeting, most of whom had gained that week as well (as evidenced by a constant low-voiced muttering about tight pants, expanding waistlines, and water retention). Maybe it made me too complacent, for this morning's breakfast was not shredded wheat and skim, but two cold leftover pancakes. Oy. But I will hit the road for the first time in over a week: I am running today, and I think I am looking forward to it, except for my Campaign of Immobility (see #1).

4. I bought a Glade scenty oil thingy for downstairs during last week's fit of cleaning, only to discover that the subtle lotus-flower aroma I'd hoped for instead produced an Uzis-on-my-nose effect in my living room, due to an absent scent-regulating something-or-other. You know, that expensive bit of technology that is basically a little movable plastic disc that determines the opening of the scenty part: 1 for minimal, 7 for mausoleum. I woke up this morning, went downstairs, and my sinuses instantly inflamed, so I chucked the Glade scenty thingy to make a better-smelling landfill somewhere. Maybe a candle next time?

5. My husband is truly lovely. Last night, after feeling all bloated and cold from the weather, my husband's warm body in the bed felt like heaven. And he even let me snuggle my typically-frigid toesies and feet up against his typically-toasty ones and didn't complain one bit, and we feel asleep snuggling (well, just until I got a major itch right where his chest was against my back... and then we pulled away and snuggled with our pillows). He tells me every night how much he loves me and tells me things like how beautiful and sexy I am, even when I am next to him with a full T-day meal like lead in my belly, hair sticking up in bizarre spikes from my head, and the snucky sniffles from a cold. And even when he's tired and would rather just go to sleep right away, he lets me rest my head against his chest and talk about my day and ask him about his, and he talks with me for a while.

6. I love reading people's blogs, especially ones of people who are professional writers (or should be), because I love how they use words. I'm adding them to my link list because I think they are funny and brilliant. If you haven't seen her site already, I highly recommend this site by author Wendy McClure, who has published a really hilarious, slightly freakish book of Weight Watcher recipe cards from the 1960's, with titles like "mackerel pudding". She's hilarious - be sure to check out this for a hilarious commentary about stores that make you feel bad. Have I mentioned she's hilarious? Also, there's this one, not for the faint-of-heart and/or Mormon. She makes me want to get Photoshop, real bad, and a really good camera. And an English degree so I can write as well and as witty as she does. (Witty? Wittily? See, this is why I need the English degree...)

7. Oh, and last night: it snowed. Not a big deal for most of y'all living above the Georgia state border, but last night, it was both cold and damp (a rarity for us) and those little cold things I felt on my face if I stared up at the sky and held really, really still were, in fact, snowflakes that melted before they even hit the ground. All of this was confirmed by the massive media coverage this morning. I am surprised school wasn't cancelled.

dinner with all the trimmin's...

Tomorrow I cook my first Thanksgiving dinner. Okay, I know: tomorrow isn't Thanksgiving. But it will be at my dad's house, and I am the chef. Here's what I am cooking:

--Roast chicken (there are only 4 of us - turkey would be too much)
--Stuffing
--Mashed potatoes
--Homemade gravy
--Green Beans
--Homemade yeast rolls
--Sparkling apple cider (not homemade, but dee-lish)
--Apple pie w/vanilla ice cream & caramel sauce

I'm excited. I already feel so domestic. I'll take lots of pictures and post how it all went.

peace

I'm sick. Blech. Don't like it much. Messes with my body and my head. I'm reading the post I put up a few days ago and think maybe I was temporarily possessed by rabid aliens, or there's a secret ingredient in my DayQuil no one told me about. As it turned out, both sets of parents were wonderful (and not at all petulant) about making sure Jason and I could attend all festivities with all involved family members - Mom & Gary on Thursday, Dad the Tuesday before. And I'm not so neurotic about what the heck I'm going to eat. It's just turkey, for chrissake.

The real joy yesterday was that I got to wash babies. I work as a nurse tech on a mother/baby (aka postpartum) floor, and I wasn't looking forward to a 12-hour shift when all I really wanted to do was to go home, rest, and go through a couple hundred boxes of Kleenex. The Powers That Be assigned me to the nursery - normally, I am spending most of my time with the moms on the rest of the floor, not the cute chubbums, so I don't get to "play with babies" all day, as many people think I do when I tell them where I work. But being assigned to the nursery (for the first time) was a bit intimidating at first: I had never given a newborn a bath, and that's a lot of what you do in the nursery. Plus, my first baby to bathe had an excited "tag-along" daddy who had to videotape every moment of his daughter's first bath... augh. Pressure, anyone? But it was fantastic: you get them all soapy with baby shampoo, and then they're basically lying on this soft mat while you wring warm water from a washcloth to rinse them off. You put them on their tummies to get their backs, get all the cheese off of them (babies are born covered with "vernix", which is a protective layer that resembles cottage cheese), dry them off, wrap them burrito-style in a soft blanket, and stick 'em under a radiant warmer to bring their temperature back up. I have to admit, putting this little pink miracle under a radiant warmer and then giving her a lotion rub-down made me feel like I was basting the poor child, only she gurgled and cooed and farted in delight for me. There really is no possible way to be in a bad mood after going through that whole bathing process.

the holiday shuffle

Ah, the holidays. I never know the right thing to do with the two-house shuffle. There's my mom and Gary, her boyfriend/significant other, and their Thanksgiving dinner, complete with turkey, stuffing, pies of all sorts, and assorted offspring and friends. Then there's my dad: my stepmom is spending Thanksgiving up in Kentucky with family, and I guess felt okay about leaving my dad behind, who couldn't get out of work, so my dad is alone on Thanksgiving. Except that he has to work until about 6pm that day, and the feast at Mom & Gary's starts at 7pm. There was this whole run-around about Thanksgiving dinner with my dad: I felt bad for him and somehow agreed to cook the feast myself for him, myself, Jason, and my brother for that afternoon, then try and scoot over to Mom & Gary's place before 7pm to break bread with them. Only now that's not going to work, and like petulant children, neither parent is willing to sacrifice Thanksgiving dinner with me on the actual blessed day itself to accommodate the other. Naturally.

And then, if we do manage to work the whole two Thanksgiving feast arrangement out, there's the issue of the two meals. Let's face it: there's a reason why serving "tofurky", low-fat stuffing, and healthful fare produces gales of disbelieving laughter or twisted, grossed-out faces. And the Wise Gods of Weight Watchers tell me to just adjust my portions to fit it all in, but come on, how realistic or obvious will it be when I reach for only 1/4 cup of stuffing (my favorite)? Or pass up on the array of desserts? It makes me look unnecessarily pious and martyred, seems to make other people think I am judging them for their overflowing plates when I am, in fact, eyeing their generous portions greedily, wishing I had done the same... and in the end, I'm hungry as a cow and miserable, with everyone making remarks about my weight, my diet, how "good" I am, which only serves to remind me how freaking hungry I am. I can get away with normal (aka generous) portions with one meal of the week, but two?

While trying to work out this crazy two-house holiday whirl, I'm also trying to come to terms with what seems most realistic: that I will have not one but two very delicious, non-lowfat and very sugar-laden meals, and I will likely not lose any weight this week. In fact, I'll probably go up a few pounds. Which, theoretically, is just fine: I think someone told me that the average American packs on 10 pounds each holiday season that never comes off, so I think even a minor setback won't deter my good progress so far. But then there's that horribly perfectionistic version of myself inside my brain, the one that I am often compelled to listen to, the one that wants to have the perfect track record, even throughout the holidays (isn't she remarkable? Losing weight even during the holidays! My my!). I'm slowly learning to tell her to just sod off and let me be.

running

different me's

This is kind of interesting: there's a website called My Virtual Model where you can make, well, a virtual model of yourself (shocker!). So you can go a little crazy and make pictures of yourself at your start weight, your current weight, your goal weight, whatever. And you can dress your model up with clothes and everything. So here's me at my starting and all-time highest weight of 188:




and me now:




and me at my goal of 120:




Pretty interesting... and no, you cannot undress me, as my husband sulkily found out. For whatever reason, it wouldn't let me save any outfits on my models, so I'm just in what looks like either chaste underwear, workout clothes, or bum-around-the-house gear. I'd say these models accurately represent me - at least the first two - so I'm kinda hoping that the kick-ass girl at the bottom is a fair representation of what I'll look like in several months. I'm so gonna pull a Kirstie Alley and get a bikini (though I won't appear on Oprah) when I hit 120.

not perfect

I'm learning - slowly - that it's okay not to be perfect. If I don't lose weight one week, well, it doesn't negate all the other weeks/months of progress. As much as I want the numbers on the scale to go down tomorrow, there's a chance they may not. I got a little too excited this past week over McDonald's caramel sundaes, partly because I "forgot" how bleh sugar makes me feel and partly because I had a sort of rough week and tried to make myself feel better with low-budget ice cream. But oddly enough, I'm not beating myself up over it. Very unlike typical me.

And I took a really stinking hard pharmacology test, and I got a 91. That was practically a miracle, given how hard the material was, but unless I get a 100 on the next exam AND earn a few extra bonus points somewhere, I'm outta the ballpark for an A. My other class is looking about the same... and at 5 credits each, my GPA will take a hit. As every nurse tells me, C=RN. I want an A. I really do. But I know I'm still going to be a damn good nurse whether I make an A or a B in pharmacology, and graduate schools will still want me if my GPA is a 3.0 this semester instead of a 4.0. It's OKAY. (But I still want an A.)

sadness

I lost a dear friend yesterday. Or at least, I feel like I lost a dear friend.

Any of you who have been in a band or small musical group for any length of time know how close you get to your bandmates/fellow musicians, even after a short time. The musicians on our ragtag little worship team are my family: some of them are literally related to me (like my husband) and still others are so closely knit to my heart that they might as well be biologically tied to me. We laugh and make music together, we cry together, and sometimes we don't like each other all that much, but family is family.

I lost a member of that family last night, and I am sad about it on so many levels that I cannot adequately verbalize. There was no physical death involved, only a set of devastating personal circumstances that, I suppose, caused my friend to feel that being on our worship team was no longer an option, even though I know how very much this person loved being with us and looked forward to each rehearsal and each Sunday. I can't explain particulars, but those circumstances had absolutely nothing to do with us or with Grace Fellowship or the worship team... but now they do, I suppose, because we lost family.

Jason and I have tried, in vain, to reach our friend - no success. I don't even know if this person is still in town or not. I am full of regrets and wishing, like many of us do in similar situations, that it wouldn't have come to a situation like this for me to express just how much we love someone and how much they have touched our lives and our hearts. Musicians come and go, and we can certainly find a replacement for the actual musical void, but it was that incredible gentle heart, the quiet strength, the amazing humility (even with such mind-blowing talent) that will all be impossible to replace. Most of you know how much it takes to get me to cry, particularly in public, and when I got the news last night that this person was no longer a part of our family (certainly not by anyone else's wish) I sobbed like a baby, without reservation. My heart still feels like a lump of lead.

I know that loss is one of those unavoidable parts of life that we must all endure, but I still don't understand it. I trust God and I know He does all things to benefit, not harm, His children... but this doesn't feel particularly beneficial at the moment. Not that I am doubting Him - I just know I can't fathom the bigger picture in all of this. And I find myself trying to ease the hurt with whatever can fit into my mouth. Food won't change anything, but try telling that to my heart. My sorrow could knock over a half dozen delicatessens right now.

There is always the remote possibility our friend is reading this right now. If you are, please come home. We love you and we miss you.

as requested

Here are the skinny jeans. My husband is a foot taller than I am, so the angle of the picture makes my legs look about 3 inches long...



This is at nearly 25 pounds gone... scroll down to do a before-and-after comparison.

skinny jeans

I think every woman has a pair of these somewhere in the recesses of their closet. You know, the jeans that are one or several sizes smaller than everything else you wear on a daily basis, the ones you wish you could fit into even if they are out of style now, the ones you keep around as a motivator for losing weight but sometimes end up accusing you silently from their designated spot in the dresser drawer? Okay, maybe your jeans don't communicate with you the same way mine do, but nevertheless, skinny jeans are an almost universal female experience.

Saturday night, I tried on my skinny jeans on a whim. They fit. They FIT.

I was going to wear them yesterday morning to church, but I chickened out: they are "slim leg" jeans, and while they do fit (no mushroom-top waist bulging out), they're just a little too tight in the butt to wear to, say, lead worship, which is what I do every Sunday morning. Out on the town with the girls would be a different story. I think Jason was looking forward to showing me off in the skinny jeans (which have not fit for over 4 years) - I walked into the sanctuary where he was setting up, and he looked all disappointed and said, "You didn't wear the skinny jeans!" I still wore jeans that I haven't worn in several years also, but they were a little looser, a little less Christina Aguilera.

It occurred to me that now I'm going to have to buy an even smaller pair of jeans to keep that universal female experience of the Skinny Jeans That Just Won't Fit... in a size I may have seen briefly when I was 11 or 12 years old. It's a strange, electrifying experience to be shrinking, indeed. More on that later.

my journey

I think I've been on a diet since I hit puberty. That's a long time to be worrying about what you eat, how many calories you take in, if your butt looks fat in your neon jammie shorts, or whether you might be more popular if, just if, you could lose ten pounds and not be so chubby.

I've been to nutritionists, registered dietitians, therapists, and personal trainers. I've walked in the doors of Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem, and Weight Watchers. I've tried the Zone, Atkins, Weigh Down, Oprah/Bob Greene, and dozens of other books that all ended up with the same outcome: they never stuck. I've tried to just accept myself as a fat chick and deal with life as such, but I could never do it. I even tried hypnosis, but I just ended up laughing the whole time.

Enter nursing school and its vast array of convenience foods, drive-thrus, break room goodies, and vending machine cuisine that all becomes de rigeur when you become a full-time, time-strapped student. I was eating horribly, feeling even worse, and generally not a nice person to be around. Here I was, learning skills to help care for other people, and I was making myself sick. I got done with finals and was so stressed out, it took me the entire 2 weeks of break to unwind. I said enough was enough, and I walked back in the doors of Weight Watchers for a last-ditch effort.

This time, I ended up doing their Core plan: it focuses on fresh fruits, veggies, lean meats, whole grains, and lowfat dairy, without the obsessive counting of points that drove me to insanity all the other times I tried WW. This is a picture of me the day I started Weight Watchers:






This is a perfect picture of how I was: sugar-coma and tired, depressed, overweight, with that glazed-eye look. Who wants to be like that?

So I committed. There were several reasons why this stuck: first, my thirtieth birthday is just around the corner, relatively speaking, and I couldn't face the idea of approaching middle age looking like I was already over the hill. Second, Jason and I are thinking of starting a family, and my weight as it was would be a huge impediment to getting pregnant. (PS - Don't ask me when I'm getting pregnant.) And, in addition to wanting to wear cute clothes not bought from Lane Bryant or the larger end of Old Navy's sizes, run around the beach in a bikini before I hit a bikini-unacceptable age, and enjoy getting my picture taken, I was finally, truly doing this for me. I wasn't doing it to hopefully get a date, or to lose weight for an upcoming event, or trying to reduce before graduation/summer/Christmas/my birthday, or trying to get into my wedding gown. This time, it's just me.

I started losing, and then I started running. My cousin Jen - practically my sister - is a marathon runner, and I always thought she was crazy or incredibly driven (or both) to get up and actually run for miles, day after day. But she looks fabulous, healthy, fit, and she genuinely loves it, as do many of my friends, so I decided to try it again. Someone somewhere along the way told me that to start running, I should run slower than I think I should, but run for longer than I think I should. I ran around the apartment complex a few times. I started adding more laps. And then I ventured down to Cady Way Trail and ran 2 miles without stopping. It didn't happen overnight, but it was still pretty quick, probably a couple of weeks. People could actually fast-walk faster than I was running, but I didn't care, because I was running, I was doing something athletic and succeeding, and I liked it. I finally got what all the fuss was about.

So here I am, 23 pounds lighter, a couple of 5K races under my belt, and looking at life a lot differently. Cliche, I know, but it's true. I run about 16-18 miles a week, I eat fresh vegetables and hardly touch sugar, and all my clothes are getting looser and looser.

That's my story. I'm sticking to it. Really.

about me

Hello.

I'm Anne, a 30-something who calls herself a wife, mommy, daughter, nurse, singer, mostly-runner, human incubator, follower of Jesus, Internet junkie, writer, occasional lazy bum, walking contradiction, and friend. I live with my husband and our beautiful sons Aidan and Brendan in Central Florida where, after over 30 years of living here, I am still trying to adjust to how freaking hot and sauna-like it is here.

Things I love: my family, comfort food, my friends, music, singing, sleeping in, the scent of my kids' heads just after a bath, vacations, snuggle naps, Bubba's lisp, beautiful photos of people, getting presents, the mountains, snow, Thin Mint ice cream, being pregnant, higher education, snuggling with my husband, Christmas, my birthday, Disney

Things I dislike: writer's block, confrontation, Florida in the summertime, crowds, rudeness, cilantro, misplacing my car keys, listening to voice mail, professional gossipers, my inability to be a clean and organized person, bugs that sting or bite, commission-based salespeople, writing About Me blurbs

You can contact me at annecvermeulen at hotmail dot com, if you want. But only if you have lovely, nice things to say.