1.25

This number is going to drive me crazy this week. It already has for most of last week.

Today is Sunday, so today starts week two of 5k training, and that means that all cardio must last for at least 1.25 miles. That's right. We're moving on up, and it's probably going to hurt. But hurting is ok if there's a purpose.

Which brings me to reason number two as to why 1.25 is driving me crazy. It's the amount of weight I gained last week. That's right. Gained. As in, not lost, but gained.

Which kinda makes me want to put my hand through a wall.

And no, it's not muscle.

Last week I had a bit of a breakdown wondering if I'd ever really get to a healthy weight and size (ok, really I just wondered if I'd ever be skinny and pretty enough for a boy, ANY boy, to fall in love with me, if for no other reason than so that my nieces would stop telling me how much I need to get married. But, that's probably too honest for a blog, so I just wondered if I'd ever get to a "healthy weight and size"). My conclusion was no.

Now before I start getting emails from friends yelling at me for being a pessimist, bear with me.

The idea of "not making it" is a fear I wrestle with all the time. Maybe it comes from a lifetime of thinking I had to "perform" to be loved. Maybe it's that good old fashioned "not good enough" tape that plays on repeat inside my head. I don't know. But it is most assuredly the place I go to when deep dark Kelly comes out to play.

And so I did something different this weekend. I cried. Not the, "wow, that really struck a chord in my heart" kind of crying, but the ugly cry. The snot filled, suffocation form of crying complete with potential for nervous break down kind of crying. This wasn't the "Hallmark commercial tear rolling down the cheek cry". This was the "uh oh, umm, I'm not sure what to do, but keep the sharp objects and addictive substances away from her" cry.

And it was good.

I'm not sure if I'm alone in this or not, but I'm pretty darn sure I'm not, but far too often I keep my feelings bottled up inside of me. Fear, nope, gotta be strong. Hurt, keep that to yourself Kell. No one needs to know your wounds. Anger, ooooh, that isn't polite. Mums the word. Stuff it all down inside and save it for a rainy day, or a margarita. And guess what? I've got hundreds of pounds of that B.S. Sitting inside of my body trying to make me lie down and give up.

In other words, the lies are trying to kill me.

And a lot of times I let them.

But not this weekend. This weekend I ugly cried. This weekend I talked with my best friend about my fears. And this weekend *might* have had a wee bit of rum involved (hey, I'm growing, not arrived!).

And this weekend I realized that I'm doing alright.

This weekend I decided that I've *GOT* to stop loving the future version of me, and learn that I can love Kelly just where she's at.

This weekend I realized how hard I am on me through the love of a good friend telling me to stop being mean to her best friend.

This weekend I read comments I've read a hundred times from friends who've got my back, and carry my heart.

This weekend I watched the best YouTube video ever, thanks to Carrie Breedlove, and laughed for the first time in hours.

So, tonight I asked myself that same question as I thought about the 5k in Houston this March. Am I ever going to make it? Tonight my answer is, by the grace of God, yes.

Unless the Rapture happens first.

Or that Mayan calendar thing.

In which case, I get heaven, and I've read 1st Corinthians. So I'm good with the hotness that will be Kelly.

Not to mention the Wedding Supper of the Lamb, aka the return of starchy carbs. *sigh*

Because Chicks Are Warriors Too

So, I was hanging out last night at the casa making a to-do list. Yes, a to-do list. I think it was the first one I've ever made, but 2012 is shaping up to be one of the biggest years of my life, so it required a to-do list. *sigh* I'm becoming that girl.


So, Erica was looking over my shoulder as I was working on one of the categories (I'm pretty sure not only making a to-do list, but creating categories to organize it, makes me absolutely hopeless), and she said,

"Where's your fitness section?"
"Well, that entails all of 'go work out 4-5 times per week, and eat well'. Since this is a real check list that will involve checking things off and whatnot, I didn't think I should put something so ambiguous on there. I don't have any real 'goals' per se outside of 'get skinny'. Not really a checklist item."
"Well, what about your 5k?"
"What 5k?"
"The 5k you're going to do in March."
"Umm...apparently that one is in your dreams." <--- I'm not the nicest sometimes.
"Oh no, you're going to do a 5k. In March. Pick one."

So...I picked one. :)

But not just any one. Of course.

I picked this one:

 

 Because if you're going to run 3.1 miles, you might as well do it covered in mud. Oh, and jumping over fire. That's right. Fire.

 

It will be epic! March 17th, 2012, Houston, TX...who's in?

I am. 

http://www.dashofthetitans.com/

And yes, there is now a "Fitness" Category on my to-do list. And it's filled with a weekly training regimen. This is a crazy goal, given everything involved in this run, but I've got a little over 3 months to get it done. And I'm going to kill it. 

So, seriously, who's in? Because this won't be nearly as much fun with just me and Erica. I want to see some of y'all get nasty too.

No, I'm Not Having a Heart Attack, It's Just My Bicep is Sore. Really.

So, over the last couple of days I've been getting back into my workout program, and much to my joy have discovered I actually haven't lost much. I like to have a workout plan before I start, so that if it's too hard I use it as a goal to keep pushing through. When I had planned to do 20 minutes of cardio, I thought it was going to be tough, when in all actuality, I finished it thinking, "I could have possibly doubled that".


I was obviously delirious.


Perhaps it was the hum of a treadmill that I missed. Or the clanking of weights together along with the melodic grunting of some of the more awkward wannabe athletes at the gym, but suddenly I thought, "Hey, if I underestimated my cardio, then maybe I underestimated the weights too!"


I think you see where this is going.


So, I decided to do not only high rep, but heavy weights too. Yesterday I was stiff and sore, but it was "a good sore". Today I'm stiff and sore, but it's a "kill me now" sore.


No, really, it would be a humane killing. A mercy killing, if you will.

I know what all of you are thinking, "but it's worth it Kelly! Or, it will be worth it when you see the results you want!". Let me tell you, it kinda feels like it's similar to saying, "let me punch you in the nose to clear up your sinuses". It might be worth it, but dang it better work.

So until my next appointed sweat sesh later this afternoon, I'll be laying on the couch watching The Hustler (which I'm watching for the first time, and so far, I do believe Mr. Paul Newman might be one of the dreamiest men ever) and trying to move as little as possible. Even my abs are telling me to stop breathing.

And you think about that mercy killing.

Sometimes All You Can Say is Wow.

Today is one of those days. Well, actually it started yesterday, but I'm still kinda basking in it now.


So, Wednesday I wrote the last blog as a form of a confession. Genuinely, I just thought, you know there have been so many people who have been supportive and encouraging, and I'm letting my fear and embarrassment keep me from not only doing what I desire, but also from being honest about where I'm at with a community who obviously loves me. And that's ridiculous. My fear was that I'd receive more than one friend's rebuke saying, "Kelly, you are squandering this opportunity you have to _____", or worse, "what a waste". I can be really mean to me, and for some reason, I fear that that means that you will be too. I know that most of us are our own worst critics, but isn't that just a pretty way of saying, sometimes most of us are really mean to ourselves?


So, instead of being mean to me, Wednesday night I got on the elliptical, and lifted weights. Not at the same time, I'm not THAT amazing! I kept my heart rate up, and started dripping some sweat in the work out room, and it was awesome! I even took pictures and recorded some of it as a way to look back on it one day and see how far I've come. Like this:

Yep, those are 5lbs weights, yes, I used to use 12lbs weights for lateral raises, but it's a start. Actually, technically, this was the last exercise I did in my work out the other night, so what you see here is 45 minutes of fatiguing my body with cardio, bench presses, squats, crunches, shoulder presses, and this. Repeat, then repeat again, and film yourself sweaty and out of breath.

Oh, and it took me like 45 minutes to figure out how to convert that from a video on my iphone, to a "movie" I could play in my blog. And it still isn't impressive. There may not be many video postings in the future until I learn how to actually make it look alright. Oh well, it was worth a shot!

After said workout, I went to bed a nasty, yet smiley, mess.

Thursday was a different story.

I have this habit of checking my email and Facebook when I wake up in the morning. Well, most mornings at least. This probably stems from my extremely extroverted soul saying, "If you're going to trap me in the house alone today while you look for work, you're at least going to give me the morning to have pseudo-social interaction through the internet". And because my inner Kelly can be extremely bossy, I got on Facebook and read my comments on the blog from the day before.

And then I read them 47 more times.

That's probably not much of an exaggeration.

Not only did I not have a single friend who said something about me being an ungrateful person who had a misappropriation of my time, but i had multiple friends tell me I had inspired them. Really? Me? Or, that God had used what I shared about getting back in step without shaming myself as a way to speak to their hearts  and souls. Again, really? He used me? What actually came out of my groggy little heart, and then my wide awake mind as I read and re-read all of the beautiful comments I got was, "There's no way. Really? What? Oh, wow! Look at that! Oh man, I love her. That was so sweet! Wow, she reads my blog? This is so cool. I can't believe that this has possibly impacted someone", and then it hit me, if this helped any one of these people truly, then maybe I'm not alone. Maybe we're not alone. Maybe this isn't about being embarrassed or ashamed, but maybe it's just about being alive and human on planet earth. Maybe I'm not looked down upon, maybe I'm loved. Maybe you're not looked down upon, and I know you're loved, because you're at least loved by me. Maybe when we fall off the wagon, we CAN just skip the step where we beat ourselves up as we watch said wagon just roll on by.

Maybe we can just say, "I fell down. And it hurt. But I'm back up, and I'm looking to kick a little ass".

I like that version better.

Thanks for helping me know that it's true.

So, I had some Kashi cereal for breakfast. And when I met with a friend for lunch, I had the salmon instead of a burger. And when I went home, I changed into my workout clothes and left immediately for the gym and got a killer back and biceps workout. And I did it all out of a heart that was excited and ready to kick some ass, rather than a heart that was crushed under the weight of my own self condemnation and judgement.

So, here's a very very real thank you to all of my friends and family who helped me experience that freedom! I pushed myself through that workout thinking about you, and your life giving words. Today my whole body is hurting, but I'm not sure that it ever hurt so good. Again, thank you.

And speaking of the gym, and thank yous, I also received this text message from my roommate Erica who happens to be a personal trainer at Lifetime. Adrianne is also known as the General from previous posts:

Whoever you are, thank you. I am blown away by your generosity. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you all for believing in me. Thank you for helping me choose life over shame, and hard work over hard judgement. Looks like I'll not only be getting some usage out of my home workout room, but I'll be gracing the doors of the Disney Land of gyms for the next few months too. Which is awesome, because right now my buns are so sore I could really use the hot tub.

That was probably too much information.

But it probably also made you giggle, and therefore it was worth it.

Talk to you soon!!!

Kelly

If You're Tired of Starting Over, You've Got to Stop Quitting

I read this today.


And I cried.


A lot of New Year's Resolutions only make it for anywhere from 1 day to 1 month. All of the folks that crowd the gym on January 1st, are gone by February 1st. I made it through October.


Ten months of working hard. Ten months of sweat, tears, and yes, even once or twice, blood. Ten months of feeling like my right knee was going to blow up because of ITBS. Ten months of being exhausted and hungry most of the time. Ten months of wishing others would notice the weight I've lost, and ten months of being confused when they do, because unless I hold up pictures side by side, I don't.


But also, in ten months I went from hardly being able to do 1 squat, to doing 100 squats in a work out. In ten months I went from doing push ups against a wall, to doing them on the floor on my knees. In ten months my sitting row went from 30lbs to 130lbs, and my lat pull down went from 30lbs to 110lbs. In other words, in ten months my back was stronger, and my spine was protected and secure, from even me. In ten months, my calves started to have more definition than my trainer's calves. In ten months I went from taking naps after an hour long workout to doing three workouts in a day and burning 2,000 calories or more daily.


In ten months I limped and hobbled everywhere I went, but in ten months I had lost 63lbs.


Only today is November 30th, and I haven't worked out in two months.


I also haven't blogged for two months because I felt ashamed.


How lame is that?


I mean, seriously? In the recovery model, relapse is actually part of it! But for some reason I don't feel like I can relapse without hiding out in shame, and that is just plain dumb. Isn't the amazing part, not that you pretend that you never fall down, but that you get back up after you do? It's not like there came a day in October when I just decided to quit. It came up slowly, and insidiously. My birthday happened, and suddenly I didn't care what I was eating anymore. My trainer wasn't able to train me because of crazy sales goals, and so a "week" of rest I had given myself, turned into two months off. And by the time I started to care about getting back on the wagon, I felt embarrassed that I had been off of it for too long.


I hate shame. Shame is stupid. And shame is one of my greatest struggles.


But today it's not about being "good enough", whatever that means. Today isn't even about starting over, because I haven't lost footing. I got on the scale this morning and I'm still 63lbs down. That is the grace and mercy of God alone.


Today is simply about burning some calories.


So, today I'm not going to worry about losing two months in my year of working out. Today I'm simply going to work out. Today I'm going to watch my food, and today I'm going to wear myself out. Even if that happens in ten minutes. Because tomorrow I'll build on that ten minutes, knowing that I'm getting better, without focusing on "what I've lost".


Being out of work has forced me to put my gym membership on hold. I have it through the month of December, and then starting January 1st, unless I've found work, I'm not going to be able to go to Lifetime Fitness. But seriously, this is life. And it's not going to stop me.


Besides, I've got 31 more days in December.

And a bedroom in my house that looks like this:

And a new addition to the living room

And these guys cheering me on, and joining me for some walk/runs

And this reminder to keep me sane in the kitchen

And so, now it's time to get this girl's head back in the game

 

 So that I never go back to this

Because it's so much better feeling like this

I like those curves better. 

It's elliptical time.

Love you guys, more than you know, and more than I say. See ya soon.

Kelly

The Spanish Sundae Diet

 I give up. Isn't that supposed to be the first step? Oh, no, wait, the first step is admitting you have a problem. Ok, I have a problem, AND I give up. I'm pretty sure that's step 1 and 2 all together. The object of my defeat? Food. Food! Food of all things! Like basic necessity taken to the nth degree where it's not supposed to go, food.


I have different theories about why. And by different theories, I mean I've read about a hundred books that all tell me a different theory as to why I am overweight, or struggle with weight loss. None of them say it's because I don't do enough squats, because Lord Almighty that's one thing I do plenty of. None of them say it's because I don't spend enough time in the gym. I'm on a first name basis with most of the staff at my Lifetime Fitness. None of them say it's because I don't have enough lean muscle. I'm pretty positive Jillian Michaels herself would high five me if she saw me do a 130lbs seated row. However, all of them say that I'm not eating correctly. It's true! All of them.

Dr. Atkins hates me because I eat oatmeal.
Dr. Hyman hates me because I eat high fructose corn syrup.
Dr. Ornish hates me because I eat beef.
Paleo people hate that I eat potatos.
Jillian would take that high five back the minute she found out I don't count calories.
Bob would be sad if he heard I eat meat.
The low carb people want me to eat bacon and avoid bread.
The low cal people want me to eat bread and avoid bacon.
Everybody is frustrated that I don't like vegetables! Except for the extreme low carbers, they think it's just a mild problem.
The Mediterraneans think I eat too much Mexican.
And the Cabbage Soup People, well, who cares what they think?
Some folks want me to put maple syrup and cayenne pepper in my lemonade, but here's a problem, I don't like lemonade, and I probably don't like it with syrup and pepper too.
Dr Oz thinks I have too much sugar
Whereas the China Study thinks I have too little (what else is all of that rice going to break down into?)
The psych books just tell me to blame my parents (and the geneticists agree)

And I'm left doing chest presses and treadmill time, because EVERYONE thinks building muscle and doing cardio is a good thing. But the problem is, I still haven't figured out what to eat! So, I've lost a ton of weight. But, I've gotten to that point where my body is balancing all of the junk I eat with all of the calories I burn. In other words, I've plateaued for a few months. Oh, yeah, and every fitness professional says there's no such thing as a plateau. So, I haven't plateaued, I've stagnated. I've ceased to move down in weight. I've dropped a size or two, but nothing in the poundage. And that makes me angry. Because I have hundreds of dollars worth of books (yes, all of which I've actually read), and they all tell me, "don't believe this guy, he's a liar, do it my way!" or some variation therein. All I know is that I'm left frustrated and fat.

So, when I know what I need to change is my food, but I don't know what to change about my food, all I'm left with are Spanish Sundaes. Seriously, you should try them. They. Are. Awesome. Here's the recipe:

Java Chip Ice Cream (or just coffee flavored with chocolate chips or sprinkles)
Hot Fudge
Spanish Peanuts (or just salted peanuts)
Whipped Cream
Cinnamon

Combine. And you're welcome. There should be a diet that incorporates Spanish Sundaes. I'd definitely choose that one. Until then, I'll either be incredibly frustrated, or I'll go the eeny meeny minee mo method. Either way, as much as I feel like I should start today, with my next meal (lunch), I realize that my birthday is in six days and whatever progress I make now, I'll blow later. I still don't think that's a good reason to not start now, so I'll just continue to fret about it for the rest of the day.

If you need me, I'll be the girl in Kenpo dreaming about chips and salsa.

I Have Failed as a Dog Mother

My dog has a bald spot.

This is not because he is old, Barney will only be 3 in three months. As far as I'm aware, black labradors are not prone to losing their fur, and when it comes to diet, he eats cleaner than me. Barney has never known the siren's call of high fructose corn syrup (seriously, one day I'm going to get sued for this). And yet, there it is, a small yet not subtle line of hairlessness on my little boy's barrel chest.

The cause? I can only assume it comes from laying around all day on couch, carpet, or concrete. With that in mind, I think I just found my new walking buddy. No more lazing about and sleeping all day for him! It's time to work out! It's time to enjoy the fresh out doors! It's time to play in lakes and hike on trails! Go! Fight! Win!

Oh Lord, did I just become the soccer mom of dog owners? I think I did. 'Til then, I think I'll let my little buddy enjoy his nap on the couch while I tickle his feet and generally annoy the snot out of him.

Here's to running buddies with or without hair on their chests!

Saint Ralph

I'm so impressionable.


No, seriously, I really am. Especially when it comes to movies. No, let me take that back, especially when it comes to sports movies. Give me a good training montage with soaring violins, or electric guitars, and my little soul grows three sizes and I become one with Rocky, or Rudy, or Ralph. That's right, Ralph. As in, I just watched this movie tonight, and not only did I laugh constantly, but I also became fully convinced that even I could win the Boston Marathon.


Secretly, I've always wanted to be a runner. Unfortunately right now with my IT Band, I'm doing good to be a walker, and it's incredibly frustrating. Like frustrating to the point of wanting to kick something, but then I remember that it's actually my IT Band that keeps me from being able to kick things. This is a circular form of madness that can lead me to near "Hulk Smash!" levels of anger. Luckily I find a different means of catharsis before my freckles fade to jade. Hey, that rhymed!


Ok, so if it's just the knee problem, I still find that as a pretty lame excuse for not running. Excuse number two is my complete and utter lack of endurance. For some reason when my legs begin to move slightly faster than a snail's pace, my lungs decide that the apocalypse is near and I go into full fledged hyperventilating melt down. This has happened my entire life. I seriously do not understand how runners control their breathing! Is there a method to this? Is there some way of training for it? Can Google give me the answer? Probably. I should look that up some time.


Excuse number three for not being a runner has to do with my pride. I'm an eat the whole elephant in one bite kinda gal, so I don't do so well with the baby step method to life. I'll jump straight into the deep end before dipping a toe in the water, and I've been known to do it fully clothed (making sure that I've atleast removed my cell phone from my pants), thankyouverymuch. Road signs in Ireland mean nothing to me, they are mere suggestions when driving on ice. Need someone to remodel a bathroom? Hand me a sledge hammer and a remote control, and HGTV and I will get the job done. So, when I want to "go for a run", and by the fourth house on my street I'm completely gassed out and sucking wind, I struggle a little bit. Mind you, I can walk with ease, but picking up that pace and learning to run? And you may as well get the oxygen tank and defibrillator ready, it's gonna get bad.


And I hate that about me.


I actually dream about running sometimes. Heck, in a lot of my dreams I can run huge distances. Some people dream of flying, I dream of running. And when I run, I feel the same exhilaration of the wind in my hair, and the freedom to go where I choose. One of these days I'll get there. One of these days I'll lace up my tennis shoes, head out the door, and enjoy the rhythm of my own feet. One of these days I'll swallow my pride and start with my baby steps, and those steps may even lead to a marathon.


Only, seriously? That's a race named after someone who died doing it. How about I shoot for a nice 42.195 kilometers instead? And possibly in Chicago instead of Boston. Fewer hills and more pizza there.

Where Have I Been?

So, it's time to fess up and let you know what's been going on these past several months that this blog has been silent. First off, let me say that at the time of my last entry last year (prior to starting this thing back up a few days ago), I was working part time, taking 18 hours of school, and working out a lot. Some of that changed in January of this year when I lost the part time job I had, but continued to take another 18 hours of school and work out a lot. It was a really great time in my life, but too many Statistics classes later, and I think my brain might have melted just a wee little bit. I also think the phrase "wee little bit" is grossly under utilized.


That describes what I was doing, but falls terribly short of telling you what was actually going on. What was going on were some of the hardest working days of my life (unfortunately without the benefits of actually being a job). I was graduating from college, and hitting the gym constantly. I met Adrianne, aka The General, and began having my butt handed to me every Monday and Wednesday morning. At the end of the summer I started to throw in Kenpo work outs for that extra bit of cardio. I was constantly sweating. Constantly. And all of this hard work and determination yielded me 43 pounds gone. Yeah, it was anti-climatic for me too. The nice thing is that total I'm down 63 pounds, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish that number was higher. I mean, I work hard when I'm at the gym, like Biggest Loser style hard. I work through exhaustion (like, I get stupid tired up there sometimes), I work through pain (hello IT Band), why am I not getting Biggest Loser numbers and checks for $250,000?

Well, lots of reasons. First of all, while I do work long and hard, I have only ever maxed out at about 3 hours worth of working out at any given time. Maybe 3 1/2. These guys work out for 6-8 hours in a day. I still haven't figured out how that's humanly possible, but I'm will to find out!  Secondly, and this is the biggest of all, I stink at dieting. Six years ago I lost 118 pounds because I started working out in the mornings, and cut out all fast food. Now, at the time I was eating out literally three meals a day at LEAST five days a week, with several weeks being all seven days. My body didn't have high fructose corn syrup in it, I WAS high fructose corn syrup. So several months of morning cardio, and eating only from the house, and voila! I hit the century mark of weight loss. Then slowly yet surely, the work outs got back burnered, and the food got nasty again, and I welcomed back 80 of those old friends back onto my 5'4" frame. Hence why I will sometimes say that I've lost 43 pounds, and sometimes say that I've lost 63 pounds. It all kinda depends on if I'm needing to remind myself that this is a journey I have been on for a long time, and am continuing on for the long haul, or not.


So, why hasn't my body completely rebounded to it's former 118 pound less glory? I mean, I don't really eat any fast food anymore, and my diet is much MUCH cleaner all the way around than it used to be? The honest answer is, I'm not sure. But I know it's diet related. Because I can't possibly sweat any more than I already do. As I write this I'm looking at the clock to see how much time I have left before I have to leave to go meet with The General. This is not due to lack of effort. I do believe it's due to bad food. When I talk to trainers, they all agree that I'm not eating enough. Awesome. More on that in future postings. Here's what I know for sure...I'm not quitting. Ever. Like, I've fully resigned to being sore well into my 60's and 70's should I make it that far. And while it may be slower going than I'd really like, this Kelly is in fact shrinking, and will continue to do so for a long time to come. So, this isn't some twelve-week long project that I come out of with a tight body and a movie contract, this is a much much longer endeavor that is frustrating, exhausting, and frequently I want to quit. With all that being said...who's in? Because I am.

How to Write

I've had this theme playing around in my head over the past few days, of friendship. See, I'm writing this blog, and I'm 99% sure that the only folks actually reading it are friends of mine...except for the folks from Germany, Norway, and Russia that have peeked in. That threw me. Really? Russia? I'm pretty positive that makes me heroic in my own eyes. Nonetheless, the other, VAST majority consists of people, who, if blogger actually named names, I'd know. These are folks I have laughed with, cried with, poked fun at, or been mercilessly slaughtered in the poking fun by. One thing I know, I can beat them all at Mariokart for the Wii...but I digress. They are my friends. And in that understanding, there is quite a bit of safety on my part for being open and honest here. Which ironically, only makes for a better blog. So, thank you friend, for taking the moment to read my ramblings. I treasure you.


Which leads me to why I've been thinking about relationships lately. I read a blog by Donald Miller in which he says that the best advice he had ever received in regards to writing, was to love his reader. I laughed at the simplicity and beauty of this notion as I was reading it yesterday thinking, "Donald Miller has never, and probably will never meet me, but he wrote his blog to extend a little bit of love my way". And that, is awesome. I want to write like that. I want to always keep in mind that whether the person I am writing to be a friend or stranger (hello new friend in Germany!), that I am sensitive to loving them, either through my open struggle with weight loss...this is after all the Incredibly Shrinking Kelly, or laughter...because this is after all the Incredibly Shrinking Kelly. After all, I am not writing a blog as a place to keep my thoughts, my own skull does that quite well, but as a way of sharing a bit of my life with you, in genuine hope that my words, words, words, can make their way through the jungle of the internet to touch your heart. To connect. To join in our shared experiences of food, exercise, or just plain complaining. Because the fact that you read this means the world to me.  But what matters more, is the fact that you care. And that, I'll appreciate always.


So, if that makes me a better writer, so be it. Because knowing how you have supported me through life, through facebook, through all kinds of means and modes, has made me a better me. Even you, Norway.


Tomorrow I'll break my "not writing every day" vow (again...I know), and actually update with what's been going on this past year...or just jump in where I am now. I'm really not sure which one y'all would be more interested in? If folks comment, I'll go with it, if not, I'll just flip a coin. But either way, enough with this sentimental stuff, I'm bringing on the whining.

Self Control is Not my Forte.

Ok, so I'm intentionally NOT writing every day, because I want to be consistent. I understand that that sentence makes very little sense. What I mean is, I know I would never (ooooh, dangerous word) keep up a daily routine of talking about this journey, so I want to keep up a consistent routine of posting, which means I want to hold to an every couple of days routine. My excessive use of the word "routine" both makes my little writing heart die, and my more mischievous side just want to randomly start using the word "routine" all of the time...you might even say, in a routinely manner. Oh mylanta, that has to stop. See which side wins?

New paragraph, in hopes that the prior paragraph gets erased from all memory.

So here's what made me break my own unspoken code of "you will not post again on Sunday, you will not post again on Sunday", I looked at my blog stats. I looked at my blog stats, and 67 of you lovely people have looked at my blog since yesterday afternoon. Sixty Seven (and no, that doesn't count my own neurosis going back and looking at the blog every 45 seconds to see if anyone commented, and then basing my own acceptance and self worth on that answer, otherwise the number would be like 1,200 page views, and clearly it wasn't. That, and there's this lovely little button that blogger has that says, "don't count my own page views", which is nice because it means I'm not the only neurotic one out there hoping that a blog makes me feel loved). But alas, the comments remained blank, though I did get a tweet from my friend Cody! Hooray! And a "like" or two on facebook, and even a comment on there! I AM loved! I AM loved!

So here's the sick and twisted part of this. Though I am being very silly, and hopefully that is obvious, there is actually a danger in writing blogs, to begin to let your comments, retweets, and page views dictate your mood and heart. So, I wanted to get this out there early on: I am going to do my very best to not let this happen. But I know me. I'm still the girl who weighs herself *nearly* every day (this is a step in the right direction since it's no longer absolutely every day) and often times allows the number on said scale to affect me way too much. Everybody says get rid of the scale, but that's not happening any time soon.Would it be healthier for me? Of course. But here's the deal, I don't want to use this blog to paint the bright and shiny portrait of a girl who conquers this problem of weight loss one pound at a time! I repeat, I don't want that. I want to use this blog to tell honest stories of a girl who is really working her butt off to beat a life long issue, and sometimes gets her own butt handed to her...ok, who's kidding...more often than not gets her but handed to her. And sometimes by my own mind. So this means frequent confessions to the not so pretty side of weight loss. As Elisabeth Elliot says, "It's not about ending the struggle, it's about struggling well". Or as The Village Church says, "It's ok to be jacked up, it's just not ok to stay there".

SO! Here's to being excited that 67 people decided to read my silly thoughts, but never letting the posts where a big fat zero people view it ruin my day. Or at least not hacking my roommate's facebook account to go to my blog to increase my page views, and thereby my self esteem. 

How Rachael Changed My Life

Is this thing still on?

It's like I walked into an auditorium, got all of the fan fare going, and then simply left the stage. This is not a good way to start a blog, but it is true. So, for anyone awaiting an update on here, please forgive me, and don't eat the donuts in the back, they've surely gone stale by now. Of course this is a blog about weight loss, so, just don't eat donuts. Ever. Unless you subscribe to the moderation in all things diet, but I could never actually handle that, which leads to deeps feelings of shame and regret, which then drives me back to the donuts I was only going to eat in moderation, but now am eating because I feel like a colossal failure, and am wondering by now if anyone will ever love me because I can't fix my feelings with donuts and expect someone to fall in love with that girl, which means that I'll become the cat lady, even though I'm not the biggest fan of cats, and probably sit on my front porch alienating my family and yelling at kids for walking on my grass (please, I live in Texas, let's be honest and call it my unprocessed hay), and I might even get a shot gun just to scare them, though I'd never have it loaded, but it'd be a great scare tactic, which would probably land me in prison. So, now if I eat a donut, I go to prison. 

Welcome to how my mind works.

So, I repeat...is this thing still on?

Confession #2, I almost had to start a new blog because I lost both my username and password to this one. Awesome, right? In a word, no. But the other day I was playing with the idea of starting a blog about my attempts to lose weight this year, when I remembered, oh yeah, I already had that idea! After about an hour or so of trying to hack my own account, I finally remembered the correct combination of both a username I never use, and a password about as familiar as Siberia (though I wouldn't mind actually checking that place out one day), I got in. Then I was tired of messing with stuff, so I wrote down the info and left it behind for a week.

If you are still reading this, and you haven't abandoned me on sheer principle, thank you! Now to actually get busy writing about life! :)

So, what prompted this sudden return to blogging? Well, a couple of things. 1) I've actually been doing quite a bit of writing lately in an attempt to write a 10 week study on the book of 2nd Timothy. Yes, I've actually been splitting a 4 chapter book of the Bible into 50 lessons. Yes, this sounds and feels like overkill. Yes, I absolutely love it. But in the midst of writing the 200 or so pages it's going to wind up being, I realized that I needed another creative outlet for writing, because, quite frankly, if all I ever wrote about was the Apostle Paul, and how we simply don't understand how much God actually loves us, I was going to get stabby. Yes, I just said that writing about God's love sometimes makes me stabby. Honestly, I cannot imagine a better way to spend my time than studying God's word, and writing down what He shows me in it, in a desire to share that with other folks one day and hopefully, by His grace, see them get to know Him better. But, sometimes I wanna talk about something else. Sometimes I wanna talk about Romans, or Genesis, or why I have my leg propped up on a pillow when I sit on the couch. You know, applicable stuff like that. So, I decided to resurrect this blog. Insert vague zombie reference here.

2) I was at a Bible Study that I go to this past thursday, when my friend Rachael came up to me. This study was on the annual summer hiatus prior to the week before, and Rachael missed the first week back, so we'd gone a whole summer and a week without seeing each other. She came up to me and we shared our "oh man, I've missed you"s when she said, "Michelle told me you've lost weight, and you really have! You look great!" I cannot tell you how stoked I get when folks notice. It's like crack for me. (Wait, can I make both a zombie reference, drug reference, AND Biblical references all in the same blog posting? I will probably get an email for this.) I said, "Yeah, I've been working really hard at it", and she said, "Yeah, I've been following on Facebook, but then noticed that you stopped talking about it".

I swear to you, it was like lightening struck my head right then and there. Some folks get light bulbs, I get lightening bolts. I said, "Really? I figured folks were getting tired of me constantly talking about going to the gym", and her reply was priceless, "Actually, no, I was really encouraged by it".

So at that moment I knew, The Incredibly Shrinking Kelly would have to begin again. And there would be the need for filler posts to talk about the last year of my life, and there would be the need to write often in order to catch everyone up to where I am now, and there would need to continue to be pillows to prop my knee up on (more on that later, but spoiler alert: I done jacked up my IT Band), but it could be done. It could be done because it was something that gave me great joy to do, and encouraged at least Rachael's heart. It could be done because it wasn't the same type of writing I am doing for the 2nd Timothy book at all, and that creative outlet might actually make the other writing better. It could be done because, well, it can be done.

So...I'm stepping up to the microphone to let you in on my weight loss journey yet again. I hope this thing is on, and please, for the love of freedom and children, stay away from the donuts.