a thousand little wars i have to choose between

This weekend was one of the best in the recent weeks and also a bit difficult. It was one of the best because we had fancy date night, spent time with friends, and started shopping for Christmas decorations. But it was the end of a week long struggle with weight loss, injury, and exercise.

Saturday night, we dressed up. My husband wore a tie, and I wore both eyeshadow and eyeliner. I may have even put on some lipstick, and he bought new shoes. It was a big deal, and I loved every minute of it. Before leaving the house, we had my father-in-law snap a few pictures.

Looking at those pictures, I have a hard time recognizing myself. My waist looks small and my face thinner. It's not the girl I see when I look in the mirror or the girl I saw on Sunday at Kohl's while trying on clothes that didn't quite fit.

I had a choice on Sunday. It was a choice of how to respond to the clothes that didn't fit at Kohl's.

I was sad. And mad. And frustrated. And mad at myself again. And disappointted.

But those emotions did not have to define what my response would be. It was my choice to define my response. There was a part of me that wanted to eat. A part of me that thought that it just wasn't worth trying so hard some weeks and not so hard other weeks. A part of me that felt like it was time to give up.

There was another part of me, though, that knew that choice would be the wrong one. So I chose to do the best I could and remind myself that I would not give up. I took to twitter then.

I can't say I was perfect Sunday night, but rather than eat comfort food like I wanted to (pizza, pasta, and bread--oh my!), I had some leftovers and a small velveeta macaroni and cheese. And then I finished dinner off with some Skinny Cow ice cream. Not perfect but a much better than anything smothered in cheese, fried, or greasy.

I'm still dealing with recognizing myself. Pants that once barely fit are now too loose. Shirts I once loved I can no longer wear because they fall of me. And all the while, I have no idea what size fits me or what sort of clothes I should wear with this new body I find myself in.

I did well on Monday. Making healthy choices. Tracking everything. Drinking lots of water. Skipping out on the wonder that is Starbuck's Gingerbread Lattes. Getting a lower calorie sandwich from Panera Bread instead of a delicious, hot, melty panini.

And I worked out on Monday too. I had plans to work out over the weekend, but between barely being able to walk Sunday and working Saturday morning, I rested at home rather than sweating on the elliptical or surviving a spin class.

Breaking a sweat Monday felt good. Great even. I pounded out two miles on the elliptical - a mixture of speed and incline. Then I pushed myself with heavier lifting and finished with some ab work. I know strength training and more intense cardio is the way to go but getting out of my comfort zone - moving away from someone telling me what to do or just using the machines - is daunting.

You know what else is daunting? Never fitting into a smaller size. Always seeing the girl from Kohl's in the mirror. And it's not daunting in a good way. So that's why I am going to remember all the reason why I need to get back on track and just do it.

(title from "strip me" by natasha bedingfield)

it gets hard to take

Setbacks are inevitable. They're a part of life - both in the large sense and in the smaller, daily sense. I've been struggling with one specific setback recently. It's both large and small. Large because it impacts my life, and small because it has to do with every day life.

I've alluded to it in a few posts, but I haven't claimed it as a setback. Because I honestly wanted to be done with setbacks. I wanted this particular matter to disappear.

Right now, I'm determined to get rid of all this weight. I'm determined to be healthy and fit and happy. And I want nothing else to stand in my way. I've let too many other things deter me from my goal. And I refuse to be deterred again.

But there's something that's pushed me back. It's an almost unbearable pain in my right heel. The worst is in the morning when I first get out of bed. I have to hold onto the wall and limp my way through the house for a few minutes before being able to walk upright.

I haven't been to the doctor, but I've searched the internet and found the same diagnosis every single time: plantar fasciitis. Also known as a bruised heel. All the research I've found has shown me that two things cause it the most - running and shoes with poor support.

Technically, I'm more of a walker than a runner, but I like to consider myself a runner as I want to one day spend my time training for 10Ks and half-marathons. What I am doesn't really matter at this point. What matters is this almost unbearable pain in my heel that's preventing me from getting any closer to becoming a runner.

When the pain first started, it went away almost immediately once I was up and moving around. So I didn't think much of it. There was even a time when the pain went away. But now that it's as bad as it is, I'm seeing the importance (yet again) of taking care of myself.

It's a setback. This pain. It's not the end of the world or of my journey. It's just a setback. A setback in life and in running.

Running and I aren't exactly on the best of terms right now. While I want to run, I know it's physically not the best choice. So I stick with the elliptical. Even that is a little more tough than I would like to admit right now.

While I'm healing, I know it will be that much more important to watch my diet and to find other ways of exercising that are minimally weight baring. The research I've found says rest is important as is staying off the foot. My life is a bit too busy for that, so it's not really possible for me to just rest and stay off it.

So I have a choice. It's a choice of how and if to make myself a priority. It's a choice that will dictate how I go about the remainder of my journey. I can give up and decide I'll never be a runner or fit. I can think I did too much damage to my body - what with my bad knees, my bad ankle, and now this plantar fasciitis.

Or I can ice my foot. And take anti-inflammatories. And stretch out my foot muscles and leg muscles. The foam roller and I can become best friends (in the worst way possible) again. And I can pray. And I can believe in myself and make a promise to myself that I'm going to correct all these health issues to the biggest capacity possible.

I could see the big picture and wonder how it will all come together. Or I can take it one day at a time.

I can see this pain as the end. Or I can see it as a setback and only a setback. I didn't want to have any setbacks, but a setback is better than a "I give up." A setback is short-term. It's something I will one day overcome. It's something that will make me stronger in the end.

So I choose to make myself a priority. I choose to ice my foot and stretch it out. I choose to make healthy choices for food. I choose to see it as a small setback and to carry on.

(title from "born and raised" by john mayer)

done looking for the critics (week 10)

I flew into Texas earlier in the week. My flight landed early in the morning, and I immediately went to breakfast (really lunch for me given my early flight) with my mom. Then it was shopping and finally the first massage of my life. After that, it was welcoming my aunt's surprise visit and then setting about making, and eventually consuming, dinner (my mom grilled salmon, we made eggplant ratatouille, and also made mashed potatoes out of cauliflower - it was delicious).

The quickness of the trip continued when I made breakfast for my mom (a 2 egg and 3 egg white scramble with a poblano pepper, a green bell pepper, mushrooms, spinach, and feta cheese along with a side of canadian bacon), finished getting ready for the day, and then spent the following afternoon with my mom, my aunt, and my nana where we ate lunch at a Japanese restaurant (I ate a house salad, sashimi with jalapeno and cilantro as an appetizer, and then also a sashimi roll with fish and avocado).

There are some principles I haven't followed for the first two weeks of the South Beach Diet. I mentioned some previously but have added more - like several glasses of wine and a total of one cupcake over the span of two weeks.

I also mentioned before, and will continue to mention, that I refuse to be angry at myself for these things. Because this is real life, and real life is meant to be enjoyed - not just survived.

It all comes down to choice. Sometimes we don't make the perfect choices, but we can still say no to the things we don't really need.

We had a shrimp boil, and I said no to both the potatoes and corn (I eat steamed cauliflower and broccoli instead) but yes to the wine and part of a cupcake. I could easily think that these yeses were a mistake, or I could remind myself that it is not every day that I am in Texas, celebrating my mom's birthday, and that it's okay to enjoy a few glasses of wine - especially since I rarely drink in Oklahoma.

I'm adhering, still, to the principles of mainly carbohydrate and sugar free eating but balancing it with the beauty that life offers in the form of a glass of pinot grigot.

And I am so thankful for this week. It's offered me the chance to look at myself and my life and to see just how far I've come. It's also providing me the chance to realize just how much I enjoy this process of healthy living and thus sharing my experiences.

As I said earlier, my mom surprised me with a hot stone massage. I've always loved the idea of a massage, but I've always been fearful of actually having one. I carry most of my stress in my neck and shoulders, and so I am always tense. Whenever someone tries to rub my shoulders, it tends to hurt because of how much stress I carry and because of how tender I am.

Luckily, the massage was a wonderful experience. It didn't hurt. I felt relaxed the whole time, and I couldn't believe an hour had already passed.

The strange part was that I talked to the masseuse the entire time. Most of the conversation was about exercise, food, and eating healthy. Maybe I should have been quiet and just relaxed, but I felt a little awkward lying face down on the massage table, naked and covered by a sheet, while someone worked on all the kinks in my body. So I talked.

And after the massage ended, once I finally rolled off the table and got dressed, I felt incredibly relaxed as well as incredibly excited that I got to talk to someone about what I've done so far to lose weight.

I tell people that I started this journey at the end of April in 2011 and that I've lost 35 pounds so far. The response is always the same - excitement of my loss and encouragement at how well I have done so far. It's hard for me to accept that response as I often feel like I haven't lost enough weight and quickly enough. But what I realized after the massage was that it doesn't matter how quickly the weight comes off.

I wanted to lose 100 pounds in a year. That's not going to happen. It wouldn't be healthy to lose 65 pounds in three and a half months. But those 100 pounds will come off - maybe in a year and a half or maybe in two years. And as it comes off, I'll be able to continue to share my story and remind people that it is possible to lose weight.

My desire to be on The Biggest Loser or Extreme Makeover Weight Loss Edition is still present. But I'm now more aware of how important it is for people to see someone "normal" (AKA without a famous trainer, unlimited grocery budget, or environment designed to help weight loss) clawing and crawling and fighting to lose the weight at home.

Because we all deserve to be healthy and happy. And we all have the tools to do it. I just hope that my story somehow gives you the tools to do it; because if I can do it (and I can), then I promise you can too.

If it takes a year, great. If it it takes longer than a year, great. As long as we do it, the time doesn't matter.

(title from "f*ckin perfect" by pink)

there's a place for us

For a writer, I don't have the best memory. It's not that I don't remember things. I do - I just remember snapshots rather than complete scenes. I remember the feeling of a moment, the gist of inspirational words, but the exact words escape me.

I think that's why I've always loved fiction and how easy it is to get lost in the world created by the author. Often times it's a mix of reality and fantasy. And even though things don't always go according to plan, there's a light with every misstep and the understanding that everything will work out in the end.

Not every story has a happy ending, but there is always an ending.

Life isn't like that. Life doesn't just end; it continues to breathe and grow - even after the person living the life is gone. Each choice a person makes has a consequence. Those consequences come to the person who made the choice as well as to other people.

If the woman didn't choose to place the baby up for adoption, then the couple wouldn't have adopted the baby. If the couple hadn't adopted the baby, the baby may never have learned how to read at 5. And if the baby hadn't learned how to read at 5, then the baby may never have grown up to be a writer.

And if the writer didn't tell the story of how boy met girl, there would be no inspiring words to curl up with on a rainy day. No funny words to laugh over while stretched out on the beach with a drink in hand. No sentence to dissect in the midst of a sophomore English class. No novel to write a five-page paper over in college.

The story, even though it has a definite ending, continues on because of the author's choice to write the story.

I've always been drawn to fiction because it gives me hope. I've always felt better suited for writing fiction because I didn't have to remember. I could grasp onto the moments in my life and enjoy the murkiness of those memories without having to squint and force the details to come into focus. And I've always loved fiction because I could hide my own realities behind it.

Then I made the choice to start a blog, and suddenly there is no hiding any realities. It is all about showcasing the good and the bad along with the somewhere in between.

Writing a blog is stretching me. It's causing me to look at the world more carefully. I'm taking in the edges and the details along with the whole picture. I'm going back to those little moments and dissecting them, trying to understand why I felt the way I did and what the air felt like and who was present.

There are certain moments that stand out. One was on a bridge. I was in junior high. The church I grew up in was at Conclaves. It was the end of the weekend. Split into our small groups, we wrote notes to one another. Notes of affirmation. Notes that could be pulled out years later and hopefully serve as the beacon of hope through whatever darkness we might be facing in that moment. I don't know the exact words that were written, though I am sure they are hidden somewhere in my bedroom at my parents house, but I remember how they made me feel. I felt inspired and good enough and loved. Three things that are sometimes difficult for a teenage girl to feel no matter how much she hears those things.

The other day I started putting together a bucket list. One of the items on the bucket list was to become an inspiration. While looking at the list earlier today, I found a comment from a friend of mine that read you can mark done on this one too...you have always been an inspiration to me.


Those words took me back to that bridge. And to other moments. Times when people poured into me and told me words of affirmation. Times when I heard that something I said or wrote - something I did - made a difference in someone else's life.

In those other moments, I would take the words, believe them for a moment, and then release them. But this time I held onto the words and thought about them. I considered what they meant. And I wondered what it was about me that made me feel like I shouldn't or couldn't believe the words.

I started wondering about what it is about all of us that makes us all feel that we aren't good enough. I started wondering about what it would be like if we started to see ourselves the way other people saw us.

How different my life would be if I saw myself as an inspiration. How different my life would be if I considered myself a writer. How different my life would be if I saw my dreams as realities and not impossibilities.

I don't have it all figured out (clearly). I'm stumbling and fumbling along in my weight loss journey. Rather than writing a novel, I think about the characters and the plot. And so maybe I'm not the one to spark a revolution for the whole world, but I am the one to spark a revolution for my own life.

So I am going to do the thing I've never been able to do. I'm going to take the words of affirmation, years worth of words of affirmation, and I am going to believe them. I am going to remember how it felt the first time I heard the words. I am going to concentrate on the details and allow them to seep into future memories. I am going to allow the words I once hid away to effect the rest of my life and maybe make their way into someone else's life.

I am going to be the person so many people already see me as.

(title from "romeo & juliet" by edwin mccain)

and i will waste no time

I graduated college in May 2008. Armed with dreams and a bit of naivity about how the real world works, I was excited for more free time, the freedom to write whatever I wanted, and the knowledge that I would be living in my own apartment and could enjoy as much solitude as I wanted.

Years of education had made me think I didn't have any real free time. I felt that, without papers to write and tests to study for and three jobs to work on top of a full-load of classes, I would have all the time in the world. What I didn't realize then, and what I am starting to realize now, is that I have just as much time now as I did then.

My first year after college I was busy. I moved into an apartment and then moved out of it months later due to busted pipes. I worked a job that required the majority of my time and energy. I planned and executed a wedding in less than four months. Then I settled, or tried to settle, into my first year of marriage. Four months later we bought and moved into a new house.

I didn't really have a lot of free time then. And when I did have any free time, I had no energy to spend on writing or any real desire to write. Five years of writing papers, stories, novels and articles took away all of my desire to write. And then all I really wanted to do was absolutely nothing at all during my free time.

It's been over three years since I graduated college. We'll have lived in our house for three years this coming January. I enjoy writing again. The ideas are slowly trickling back into my head, and I'm responding by writing character profiles and outlines. I struggle with how to spend my free time and wonder how I did it all in college.

Maybe it was the lifestyle of college. Being free and knowing I could skip class whenever I wanted (which never happened - ever). Feeling like all-nighters and choosing friends and fun over an early night of sleep was expected. Knowing I could roll out of bed and head to class or work in a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. But at that time, I made so much more time for everything than I do now. I chose to put effort and time into classes, into relationships, into writing, and into myself. I might not have made it to the gym each day, but I did at least attempt a work out every so often.

Today, I find myself at multiple crossroads. My job is no longer as consuming. I have time to write. And yet I still prefer to sit on the couch, watch television, and then head to bed early. I make countless excuses about how busy I am and how I just can't do everything. But it's a choice I've made - this choice on how to spend my evenings, my mornings, and my lunch breaks. Even my weekends.

I've spent a lot of time wanting things to change. Wanting to write. Wanting our house to be fixed. Willing and wishing and praying for a way to do it all. And it's a lot to take on, especially when I so desperately want balance in all aspects of my life, but it's all things I need to just take on. It's choices that need to be made of how to spend my time and my money and where to put my energy.

I'm not naive enough to think that I can do everything and do it all well. I know my schedule is more restricted now than it was when I was in college and could work before class, between classes, and then in the evenings. And I have a husband to think about as well as two dogs that want my attention and a house that seems to need to be cleaned daily. But I can do this. I can make the choices that need to be made, the sacrifice of sleep when other things take priority, and the determination/drive to make my life work for me in the way I need it to.

I still spend a lot of time comparing myself to others. And I'm trying to stop. It's a daily struggle and a daily process. This wondering of where I am compared to this person or that. This questioning of why I want some things others don't or why I have no desire to have my own children but really want to adopt or foster. And this wondering of where my life is going, what will happen in the next few months and years, when I will get close to figuring it all out, and why it seems so much is harder than I thought it would be.

And I want the answers to those wonderings. Desperately. They might be out there, too, but I am not finding them with how I am currently living my life.

So I am making choices and decisions that will impact my life. Every choice results in a response - good or bad (sometimes both). I'm prepared for the good, the bad, and the somewhere in between. I know that it might be hard living with the choices and what happens after I decide.. I'll have to be more dilligent with my time and start the day off with even more coffee. And I know it's going to be hard to remain constant with writing, motivated with working out, and determined. But I also know it will be worth it.

And I know I can do it.

Writing this blog has taught me so much. I'm not one to write about the daily ongoings of my life. I'm terrible at taking pictures to post. And I spend my time with friends enjoying the laughter rather than thinking about how it relates to a post or how I might work it into my blog.

But I've found a voice. A voice I didn't know I had. This voice talks about struggles and thoughts and all these things that are a little more serious. But this voice is helping me to peel off my layers and see the beauty in my life. It's given me a deeper understanding of my strengths.

And this voice has reminded me that I really can do anything I set my mind to. It might take me longer than some, but I've still lost 33 pounds. My house might need a lot of work still, but with curtains hung (three years later), it's turning into a home. And I might never be a mother in the traditional sense, but there's a desire there to care for children that I will one day turn into a reality.

I will never share every choice here. Some are more private. And some are harder to describe. But I'm excited right now for all the possibilities I see before me. And for all the doors, that were once sealed shut, opening because of the choices I am making.

(title from "clarity" by john mayer)

shine like the stars bright

When I was a teenager, I had a sticker on my closet door that read I'm not opinionated; I'm just always right. And at that age, I believed that I was. I thought I knew just about everything I needed to know in order to live my life.

I'm no longer that teenager, but I do still struggle with thinking that I know best and that I have all the answers I need to have. Finally, I am beginning to learn that I have close to none of the answers and that while I might have a good idea of what is best, the decisions are so much harder to come to.

As a teenager, I focused more on myself and how each decision impacted my life. I carried that on with me into college and the beginning of our marriage. Because each decision doesn't just impact my life; each decision impacts my husband's life and our future life.

Going to him with questions and with uncertainty is difficult. Because I want to know. I want to explain my reasoning. And I want to hear that I am right. I want that instant gratification, that sigh of relief that comes once you realize everything is going to work out for the bestthe way you want it to.

We've spent quite a bit of time talking recently and dreaming. Wondering where our lives will be in a year and in five years. Trying to understand how to not repeat the same mistakes and how to move forward the way we want to. And it's becoming clear that it's so much harder than I thought it would but also so much more rewarding.

And everything is a decision we are making together. The nights I spend at the gym. The dinners I took. The things we watch on television. Some times the decision is made in his favor; other times the decision is made in my favor. Regardless we are doing our best to make it together and not without one another.

It's a hard thing to go from the mentality of always being right to the mentality of asking what someone else thinks and then actually listening and absorbing their response. And it's a hard thing to go from wanting and needing instant gratification to a place of conversing and thinking and wondering and then waiting for the gratification you hope will come.

At times, I think we actually know what we are doing. At times, I think we are finally where we've been trying to get for the past however long amount of time. At times, the cockiness of my teenage years creeps back into my mind and I think that I know best. Even better than God who so clearly planned for my husband and I to meet and marry.

I am at that point where I could easily give into the cockiness and think that I know best. I am at the point where I want to let go of the plans and give into the wants I have. In the past, I likely would have thrown caution to the wind and given in hoping that things would work themselves back out.

Except I know better. I know better than I did when I was a teenager. I know better than I did when I was newly married. And because I know better, I am making the choice to not let go, not give in, and not throw caution to the wind.

Marriage is important, and it deserves to be treated as such. It's not something to laugh at or to make jokes about. But so many have turned it into just that. I've even turned it into that in the past. There's no such thing as a perfect husband, a perfect wife, or a perfect marriage. Perfect simply does not exist in our world. We're all flawed, and I think realizing that is a step in the right direction. Knowing that you aren't perfect and that you are not always right allows you to open up to another person and have a marriage of compromise.

My husband is so supportive. More so than I probably give him credit for. But isn't that always the way? we struggle to give credit when someone is doing everything they possibly can. For me it is sometimes because I realize how much farther I have to go in order to be as supportive as he is.

The holidays always make me think about marriage and relationships. It's been several years since I celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family. And it's hard. And it has made me more of a scrooge than not. It's tempting to be that Scrooge again this year. To think about all the things I don't have and want. But what if I did the opposite? What if I focused on what I do have instead? What if I say that I have been wrong for acting the way I have? What if I admit that I'm not always right about the holidays?

I'm the only one who can dictate my own actions. I'm the one who lays my head down on my pillow every night. I can have all the support in the world, but it's still up to me.

So I'm making that decision. About the holidays and about compromise and about holding strong to the dreams my husband and I share. I'm further bidding farewell to the girl who thought she was always right and saying hello to the girl who is willing to admit she is wrong. I'm bidding farewell to the Scrooge and saying hello to the opportunities the holiday season brings.

And, finally, I'm working on saying goodbye to the girl of plans. The girl who has to know when everything is going to happen. The girl who doesn't like when things change unexpectedly. And I am saying hello to the girl who welcomes God's plan and purpose - even when it looks different than imagined.

Who are you saying hello and goodbye to?

(title from "this is not the end" by gungor)

it gets better than this

Leaving the house this morning, I was determined. Determined to have a good day. Determined to eat well. Determined to push myself with an hour work out that would leave me sweaty, stinky, and red-faced.

It started off well with hot green tea and a breakfast sandwich of a fried egg, canadian bacon, and cheese on an english muffin. But it went downhill quickly with an upset stomach and a sudden hit of exhaustion. I hadn't planned well for lunch - meaning I didn't have anything for lunch - which was a by product of being sick for a week and living off of Panera Bread or macaroni and cheese rather than cooking and eating homemade food.

There was a period of time when I strongly considered staying at the office for lunch rather than slipping into capris and a tank top and then heading to the gym. 12:00pm came and went which left me without a class to go to. The minutes ticked by, and at 12:45pm, I made the decision to leave the comfort of my office and head to the gym.

My hope had been that Tuesday would bring two work outs, but I listened to my body and slept in. For a moment, I thought my body was telling me to take Tuesday off entirely, but I realized that it wasn't my body - it was my mind.

A week away from the gym is mentally taxing. It takes approximately twenty-one days to set a habit and a routine, but it only takes a few days, at least for me, to break a habit and routine. Even though the week away from the gym was for my health, it still broke the habit and is making it difficult to get back into the routine.

But I did it. Sweat dripped down my face and soaked the back of my shirt. Three miles on the elliptical in 40 minutes, then 15 minutes spent on the stationary rower, and four minutes of stretching. I huffed and puffed on the elliptical. I focused on the lyrics to the songs on my playlist. I watched the clock on the elliptical and pushed myself to do sprints and intervals. I kept going on the stationary rower even though I was bored after five minutes.

I reminded myself of how far I have come so far. And I reminded myself of just how far I have left to go. It's overwhelming to realize that even though I have lost over 30 pounds I still have roughly 70 pounds left to lose.

Every work out I complete brings me closer to that goal. Every interval I do on the elliptical brings me closer to the goal of being a runner. Every time I push myself I become healthier and more fit.

I do wonder, though, when it will become too easy. When I will become complacent in my work outs. Because it has happened before. And I know it will happen again.

It's one of the reasons I enjoy watching The Biggest Loser. The episodes sometime go on for too long. There's often more product placement than I would like. And I fast forward through parts of it. But the work outs and the transformations continue to inspire me.

I often say "I can't do this" and "I can't do that." I blame the things I can't do on my knees and on my ankles. And I do have to be careful because of those things. But I also have to be careful because it's just me pushing myself on the elliptical and just me selecting which strength training moves to do.

I see where contestants are on The Biggest Loser, and I'm jealous. Jealous of the training and the one-on-one attention. Jealous of the facilities. I have two gym memberships. I have access to different classes, but there's so much I don't have that I wish I did.

So I have a choice. I can be frustrated that I don't have a trainer to count my intervals and increase the speed on the treadmill when they want me to run faster. I can sit on the couch and wish I had made the choice to get healthy earlier and subsequently try out for The Biggest Loser.

Or I can take the amenities available to me and figure out how to push myself.

I choose the latter. Even though figuring out how to push myself terrifies me. Because what happens if I get hurt? What would I do then?

When I finished my work out, my lovely heart rate monitor reminded me of something. I was already pushing myself.

I thought I wasn't. Leaving spin class after 30 minutes on Monday felt like a failure. Lifting weights Monday was hard and made me feel like I had lost all of my strength. But today I realized that the time off from working out made me stronger and healthier - even if it broke the habit and routine.

Do I have to be careful? Yes. Do I have to work out at my own pace and cater things to my knees and ankles? Yes. Does that mean I can't push myself? No.

I don't have the knowledge that a lot of people might. I am not at a place financially where I can spend money on one-on-one training - though I would love that. And I'm not a contestant on The Biggest Loser with a nutritionist and a team of medical professionals to watch all of my injuries.

But I have determination. I have drive. I have a goal. And I have the reminder that this journey matters in my life and in the lives of others.

There is strength in numbers. Getting emails from people asking me questions about heart rate monitors excites me. Seeing replies on twitter or getting new followers makes me throw up my fist in the air out of excitement. Documenting my work outs on Go The Distance and seeing other people's progress reminds me that we can all do this.

I'm still scared. But I'm focusing on the strength I have instead of on the fear I feel. Because focusing on the strength will help me move forward while focusing on fear will keep me in the same place or push me backwards.

And I won't go back. I won't let me habit turn back into a sedentary lifestyle. I'm going to take every setback, including being sick, and use it to propel me forward.

(title from "fearless" by taylor swift)

the great unknown

Last night, I got home from work at 5:45pm. I started boiling a pot of water and heated up the spaghetti sauce and meatless meatballs. Fifteen minutes later, we sat down at the kitchen table for a dinner of whole wheat cappelini, garden vegetable spaghetti sauce, and meatless meatballs. My husband also made some garlic cheese bread for himself.

With dinner consumed, I settled onto the couch for the rest of the night and alternated between reading Master Your Metabolism and pretending not to watch the season premiere of The Walking Dead. I was exhausted. And I hurt.

I skipped Sunday's work out and thought I would be back to normal by Monday morning, but when my alarm went off Monday, I found it extremely difficult to get out of bed and make it to the gym. My calves were screaming, and my vision was blurrier than normal. But I went, and I finished a 30-minute circuit work-out. I was frustrated with my heart rate remaining below 136 for most of the work out, but I knew just finishing the work out meant something given that it was so hard to get there.

Monday afternoon, I spent my lunch hour swimming laps at the pool and completed 48 laps. Last week, I divided the laps and spent only 20 laps swimming while 22 laps were spent either just kicking or just pulling. This week, 40 of the 48 laps were either freestyle, breast stroke, or back stroke and the other 8 laps were just kicking.

Somewhere between climbing out of the pool and driving home at 5:00pm, my back started to hurt and to spasm. I considered taking the easy way out and stopping somewhere for dinner. Anything sounded good. Subway. Wendy's. McDonald's. Whataburger. I strongly considered taking the easy way out and doing anything but cooking.

Food impacts everything. How I feel. What I weigh. How I work out. My bank account. And the impact food has on everything is the reason I chose to head home, throw together a healthy dinner of spaghetti and then rest on the couch.

I also considered having a glass of wine (or two) with dinner or even after dinner, but I made a commitment to myself that I was going to drink only water this week. And I am sticking with it no matter what.

These little decisions are what will determine how quickly I arrive at my main goal. So much of the time I focus on the big picture and the end result. What my new wardrobe will be like. Running a marathon (I hope). And while it is good to have goals and to focus on those goals, I need to concentrate more on the little steps I need to take in order to get there.

I had a decision to make this morning. Once again, it was a decision that centered around food. When my alarm went off at 5:00am, I could have jumped out of bed and raced to the gym. There would have been cardio and weights followed by stretching, and then I would have raced back home to jump in the shower. I would have tossed eggs onto a pan and fried them on the stov, and I would have packed my lunch for the day. There would have been no thought to dinner, and we likely would have picked someone quick and relatively cheap to eat at for dinner.

But I know food is important. Possibly more important than exercise. I don't want that to be the truth, but it is. So I made the choice to stay in bed a little longer and then get up and spend the morning preparing three-bean turkey chilli. This will make tonight the third night in a row that I will have cooked dinner.

I wish I could eat whatever I wanted, work out 15-20 hours a week, and continue to lose weight. But I've tried that, and it doesn't work. It doesn't even work if I work out more than 20 hours a week and kind of pay attention to what I fuel my body with. So I am making food a priority. And enjoying searching pinterest for new recipes.

Baked Chicken, sauteed cauliflower, and butternut squash. Spaghetti. Turkey and 3-Bean Chilli.

And by cooking dinner most nights, I ensure that I have lunch the next day. I'm depending less and less on pre-packaged frozen dinners. I'm learning how to listen to my body and how to portion food correctly. I still have a ways to go, but I'm getting there. And I know reading books about diet and exercise will help to enrich my knowledge and empower me to continue to make better choices.

So far, my favorite part of Master Your Metabolism is how open Jillian is about her own struggles. With binge eating. With diet coke. With everything. It's reminded me that it is all about the choices we make, and it's reminded me that no one is perfect when it comes to health - not even one of the most famous trainers.

I'm open with my own struggles because I don't know how else to be. Losing weight is not an easy task. Nothing worthwhile is an easy task. So often, though, other people make it look easy, and suddenly you are looking at everyone around you and wondering why life has to be so difficult for you when it doesn't seem to be difficult for anyone else. So having someone be open about their own struggles speaks to me more than anything. It makes me want to be healthy; it helps me to make the choices that are right for mybody.

And the fact that I've lost two pounds already this week helps too.

(title from "keep your eyes open" by needtobreathe)

this isn't easy; this isn't clear

Not yet old enough to drive, I sat in the backseat with a friend of mine. It was the first time I had worn all black out of respect and the first time I'd stared loss right in the face. He was someone I knew from the ugly and messy years of junior high school. Ninth grade came, and just as had happened with the start of sixth grade, we went our separate ways. A dividing of friendships into different high schools due to rezoning.

I didn't think of him much. We had shared a few classrooms and maybe some laughs, but there was no deep friendship.

But when I heard that he was gone, I remembered. I remembered sitting in the hallways. I remembered talks by the lockers. I remembered all of it.

You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. To be or not to be. -Chuck Palahniuk

We were sophomores in high school. It's a time in life when everything seems that much harder. It's a time in life when no one understands. Many of us would be lying if we said we hadn't ever thought about it. When people are mean and you cry yourself to sleep and spend hours with a tightness in your chest, it's hard not to think about it.

Life would be better for everyone if I weren't here. Will things ever get better? Why is this so hard? I just don't think I can do it anymore. The thoughts go round and round in young minds. Parents and teachers tell you that it gets better. That this will all pass. And you want to believe the, but it is so hard.

He was on the football team. His letter jacket hanging next to a picture of him. The casket was closed. The funeral was held at the church I had attended Vacation Bible School as a child. It was the same church I decided that I believed in Jesus.

We sat in the balcony, near the back. I don't think I cried, but I could be wrong. I remember the lump in my throat and feeling how overwhelming this all was. We watched the remaining members of the football team walk in with their heads down. They wore letterjackets to remember him by. And his mother following. She was inconsolable.

As anyone who has been close to someone that has committed suicide knows, there is no other pain like that felt after the incident. -Peter Greene

That was my first funeral. I didn't understand it all then. I was only a teenager and still caught up in my own world of frustration and anxiety and crying myself to sleep some nights. But I knew that he was gone. I knew it had been his choice. And I knew he left behind so many people grieving for him, wishing he hadn't left, and wondering what his life would have been like.

It's been about 10 years now. I can remember the whisperings in the hall about his death. The details that were shared. The way people were shocked. Even the cruel jokes some high school students told. I remember the conversations I had with friends and the shock I felt that something like this had happened.

Life might not follow the path I thought it would. But that's because it is life. It is always changing and always moving. Even when it feels like there is no hope, there is. Even when you feel like you are alone, you aren't. When it feels like no one understands, remember that somwhere in the big, beautiful and messy world there is someone who does understand.

We are all connected. Our lives intertwine through the internet, mutual friends, and even the movies we watch. There's something bigger than any of us that holds everything together and keeps every heart beating. There is so much to live for. Even when it is dark and seems like the sun will never shine, there is more to live for. Eventually the sun will rise, and you will be blinded by the brightness.

If you're feeling low, don't despair. The sun has a sinking spell every night, but it comes back up every morning. The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain. -Dolly Parton

And that is why I am walking. There are events happening across the country over the course of the next year. One will take place in Oklahoma City on 9/10/11. And I will be there to walk the three to five miles. I will be there to remember those who have been lost, to fight for those who think there is no hope, and to raise awareness of this epidemic. It's time to do something, and while it might not be much for just one person to walk, I know God has huge plans to join many people together and walk for this one cause.

There is the opporunity to donate. I'm hoping to raise $150 at least. But to me the money isn't as important as people joining together for one cause. Understanding of the prevention of suicide is important. Joining together to combat the darkness that plagues so many is important. I'm excited to share this journey with as many as want to walk alongside me (our group is Frontline Youth) or walk in their own cities. All donations will go directly to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. Over seven-million dollars has been raised so far. We can end this and remind people that they are loved beyond measure.

(title from "when a heart breaks" by ben rector)

the walk before the run

picture found here.

After months of not working out, I spent an hour at the gym on Thursday and another hour at the gym on Friday. I considered a routine of elliptical and rowing, the routine I stuck to months ago when I spent regular time at the gym. Instead, I chose to throw caution to the wind and attend my first work out class since high school.

My mother would tell you that I am overly hard on myself. That I expect my results to be as good as perfect the first time, that I do not do well with not doing well. And she would be right.

I know hard work is necessary. I understand that nothing is easy and that if it is easy, it probably is not worth as much as those things which require hard work.

Still, when I walked into the large classroom and waited for class to start, I hoped that I would easily catch on to the steps. That something would miraculously occur that would allow me to move with ease and without worry.

But that didn't happen.

I struggled through the class on Thursday. Sweat dripping down my face. Left ankle throbbing from the injury I had eight yeas ago. Knees cracking and popping and threatening to give out. But I didn't give up. Surrounded by people who seemed to know what they were doing, I didn't give up.

And when I walked out of the gym, I felt accomplished. I spent the thirty minute drive home feeling accomplished and thankful that I hadn't hurt myself. Once I got home, I went from feeling accomplished to hurting and spent the rest of the evening on the couch.

Then, I did it again on Friday. And again, I walked into the same large classroom hoping that I would easily catch on to the steps, expecting the class to be the same as Thursday.

But that didn't happen.

I struggled through the class on Friday. Sweat dripping down my face. Left ankle throbbing even more. Knees cracking and popping with every move. Eyes looking at the clock and mind counting down the minutes to the end of the class. I moved away from the mirror and focused on the steps. I struggled to synchronize my arms with my legs. I wondered again why I was here. I thought about how difficult it was and wondered if it was worth it. But again, I didn't give up.

It's a battle. A battle one minute at a time, a battle one hour at a time, and a battle one day at a time. But it is a battle I will win.

Setting myself on the right track is the first step to fighting the battle. Preparing my mind and my body for the things that I will face. Praying for strength and for guidance. Looking to others for support and accountability because even though this is my own personal battle, I need help.

I'm nervous for this battle. And already a little weary. I wonder if I can do it. And I worry that I won't do it well enough. But then I remember that sine this is my battle there is no one else I need to compare myself to. That instead I need to focus on myself and my steps, not on what someone else is doing.

This is what I struggle with. Both in the gym and in everyday life. Where is everyone else? Why are they there while I am here?

And it's because of choices. Some good and some bad.

So this battle it is another choice. A daily choice. Even an hourly choice.  Just like I have the choice to write every day or not write. And right now, I am making the choices that are right for me.

What choices do you have to make?

(title from "glitter in the air" by pink)