The Journey

So, about a month or probably more ago, I posted a "note" entitled The Journey Begins.

Well, yeah...guess what? Imma trip. In and of myself. Ain't no journey been started or even mapped out.

Yes, I'm full of shit, apparently, although not intentionally. I MEANT to start trying to lose weight. I MEANT to get full on serious. I MEANT to really make an impact.

But, guess what? I haven't.

If ever there was a human version of a hovercraft. That'd b me. I haven't GAINED any weight, but I damn sure haven't lost any, either. And guess what? That really sucks. Hard.

Here is what I think the problem is. For what feels like my entire life. Every breath and cognizant realization of my existence, I have hated my body. Always. Like...forever.

I've always wanted to be thin. You know what I mean. Those girls in school who didn't even KNOW how thin they were, but would bend over to get something out of their binder and you could see the knots on their back from the vertebrae screaming out at the fatties saying..."ha, ha....look at us!!".

The girls who just ATE whatever they wanted, at any given time. Nachos, Doritos, sodas, cheese, etc. "Hey, I'm hungry for some tortillas drenched in butter. Want some?" Yeah, those girls. If you aren't sure if they exist, trust me they do.

So, anyway...apparently, a month (or 3) ago, I hit what I called "rock bottom". At the time, I had no idea what my plan was for success. I just thought that if I tried hard enough, my will would overcome.

Guess what? My will sucks. It's a weak, limp, bent over stem of a flower. There is no awesome blossoming going on here.

In the wake of my failure, I have tried to analyze what went went wrong.

Here is the best I can come up with.

When I was in 9th grade, my parents drove me from far east Texas to Jackson, Mississippi to receive a prescription of diet pills from some random man. I recall sitting in a waiting room with a myriad of people who loved food far more than they loved subjugating themselves to the likes of speed, but at 14 years of age, I wanted to be thin.

I took the pills, lost the weight, lost my periods and remember being too weak to finish a 2 mile race in a track meet. Nice.

After that came Diet Center. It was still ninth grade, but all I remember is sitting uncomfortably in a "counselors' office in Marshall, Texas and having to eat an apple a day, every day, while on the diet. My friend and I would bake our apples, adding calorie free sweetener to the slices, which, no matter how you cut them never added up to more than one whole. I remember the pieces shriveling in the oven each night and me salivating over the thought of THAT being my dessert.
Let's see...in the meantime, I'd get up in the middle of the night and eat banana moon pies when no one was around to see me.

One time, I bought a package of soft serve chocolate chip cookies, hid them in my bathroom, and devoured them during the afternoon lulls before my parents got home from work.

I'd try to make myself puke up the contents before they arrived, but I was never any good at that.

What else have I done?

I've been completely and totally vegan. That means absolutely no meat or dairy products in your diet. I did it for a while and lost a nice bit of weight.

I've done Weight Watchers and counted my "points" while I ate. Sadly, but truly, I was breastfeeding during that time and apparently, that allows you WAY more calories/points than if you don't have a toddler suckling your breast. Yes, I lost weight, but once I weaned my baby, well....it was hard to eat as many calories as I was accustomed to and still lose the weight.

In recent years, I've adopted the Zone way of eating. In a nutshell, it's a healthy combination of carbs, lean protein, and healthy fat. In all honesty, this seems the best way to go for me.

But, as I embark on this "Journey" (yes, I understand if you eye roll here), I keep coming back to the same question.

Losing weight, for ME, has been incredibly difficult through the years. There appears to be no set program that actually works long term.

I have to ask myself...how effective would it be to finally learn to LOVE yourself, Macy? Really love yourself? Accepting all of your flaws and imperfections?

In my whole life, I have never been able to do that and absolutely still can't. I just wonder, how amazing would it be to look at myself in the mirror and LOVE that lady who stands before me? That feeling is a mystery I've yet to unlock.

Something though, tells me, that this is MORE the way to go. This might actually serve me better than any prescribed pill or program or mindset that comes from anyone other than me.

I guess it's still left to be seen.

I can be sure of this though. What EVER path I choose to take, if I DON"T love me, I'm certainly doomed.


SO....(deep breath)....here I go. When I look in the mirror tomorrow morning, I will celebrate the crazy, wild, mixed up, lost woman who stands before me. I will celebrate her body, resplendent with stretch marks and dimples and wisdom and age. I will embrace her and cherish her and see if that, finally, after so many years, reaps some worthwhile rewards.

The Journey Begins

Inhaling deeply. And...exhale... Here goes. I've been toying with this idea for a few weeks now and apparently, tonight is THE night.

Welcome, one and all, to my weight loss journey. Yes, I have officially decided I'm on a weight loss journey. Actually, that's crap. I popped out my my mom's underweight uterus on a weight loss journey, as it seems like I've spent my entire fucking life trying to either make peace with my weight, lose weight, keep weight off, or not gain an ounce.

I'm creeping towards 40 and here I sit, blubber engulfed, still trying to lose a few pounds.

Therefore, in an honest but admittedly desperate attempt, I'm 'outing' myself as a fattie and putting it all out there, so to speak, so that I might, in some small way, feel accountable for what I eat, say, do, and think.

Consider me the 2010 version of Bridget Jones, minus the charming British accent, the cigarettes, the single life, and well, the option of making out with either Colin Firth or Hugh Grant on any given night.

Here I am, unveiled, in all my modest glory. I stepped on the scale this morning and weighed 149. I am 5'5' tall and yes, I realize that I am not obese. But, I can't fit into my skinny jeans, feel like a linebacker in my sweaters, and avoid catching my reflection in the mirror. In a nutshell (with nuts I've probably scarfed down in a frenzied, afternoon hunger "binge"), I am miserable with how I look and feel.

Today, in an extended moment of self torture (let's be real here, I'd already stepped on the scale to record my weight), I tried on a pair of skinny jeans. I envisioned the zipper refusing to meet across my stretch mark riddled stomach as if it were two opposing sides in a battle. Instead, the zipper zipped all the way up, but the resulting muffin top overflow was both incredulous and disgusting at once.

To further hit home the fact that I've totally let myself go this winter, I pulled out my favorite summer shorts. They are bright red, short, and I recall wearing them in the Bahamas two years ago with a white tank top and incredibly sexy, black sandals. Again, they zipped, but they fit like a pair of Spanx. I considered wadding them up and stuffing them in my purse, to carry with me as if they were my flag signaling surrender, but left them forlornly in my shorts drawer.

I'm not sure what my exact plan is to lose this weight. I would LOVE to weigh 135, but know myself and know that that is extremely hard (read: miserable) to achieve. The weight I can most get excited about these days is 138. It's under 140, but not just ridiculously low. Mind you, if I went under that, I'd be thrilled, but as someone pushing 150, I won't be too ridiculous.

It's almost 10 p.m. I ate okay today, but probably had more wine than I should have. My plan is to record what I eat each day, for better or worse, here on this blog. My goal is to lose at least 11 pounds and then go from there. Ideally, I would love to achieve this by mid March. That's what, six to seven weeks away? Okay, maybe by early April. I know that it's incredibly hard for me to lose weight fast.

So, there it is. I've said it. You can bet your sweet ass I will be saying it more often too. This might very well be the most real diet journal you've ever read. I refuse to say that I won't be annoying. I am almost certain I will. I refuse to say that I won't muck things up. I *am* certain I will. But I do promise to be real and honest and do the best that I can on any given day.

Hopefully, you'll join me or at least hang out for the ride.

Off we go!

Sex and Laughter: The Deep End

Today I put my run off until later in the day. By the time I got outside, the temperature was creeping towards 90. The sun, the sweat, and the thick air most definitely had the taste of summer. As I ran, my thoughts jumped all over the place, but eventually landed on the thought of swimming on a lazy, hot, summer day.

Swimming is one of my most favorite things to do. I've always felt so at home in the water, so free. I just love it. As I plodded through the run, I thought about this pastime of mine and a realization drenched me, much like the sweat that stung my eyes as it dribbled into them.

When I swim, I love the deep end of the pool. I know some people are more comfortable easing into the pool, a red painted toe nail at a time, but there is something to be said for just taking a running start towards the deep end. As feet leave the ground, the breathe intakes and you close your eyes and take the plunge. It's breathtaking and shocking and not always pleasant, but once your head breaks the surface, a grin is plastered on your face. There is a certain satisfaction in just going for it.

For me, the deep end holds a world of opportunity and possibilities. Excitement courses through my body as I tread water there. Why be safe and stay in the shallow end? That's for babies with inflatable floaties on their arms. Not me.

Think about it. Where is the diving board? The deep end. You can climb up the stairs to the board, walk the length of the plank, let your waterlogged toes curl around the non skid, scratchy surface of the board and look down. Whether it's a high or low board, looking over the edge is thrilling. As you bend your knees and bounce, gaining momentum, your heart races at the thought of springing forth and catapulting yourself into the water. It's an awesome feeling!

Slides spit forth into the deep end, as well. You propel yourself down the slide and are haphazardly deposited into the deeper waters, legs askew, eyes bugging open in anticipation. You can't do this in the shallow end of the pool.

In the deep end, you have to work harder to tread water. You can't rely on the reach of the bottom of the pool to let you get complacent about where you are and what you are doing. It's work, but it's a satisfying, rewarding feeling to know that you are able and capable of maintaining yourself, your safety, your sanity in the deep end. Nothing feels better, despite the effort put forth.

I love the deep end of the pool. I love to take a breath, hold it tight, and dive under water. I'm an open eye swimmer, so I swim down towards the drain and stay under until I feel like my lungs will explode. My arms are free, my legs are light, my hair sways about my face as if I am a mermaid and I feel the most relaxed, peaceful feeling ever. It's quite hard to achieve this nirvana in the shallow end of the pool.

I realize the deep end isn't for everyone. And that's fine. But in the deep end, I can dive in head first and engulf myself. When I dive, I don't have to worry about hitting my head or any other obstructions, it's a free fall into myself.

So, yeah, this summer...you'll find me in the deep end. Sometimes I'll be treading water, exhausted, frustrated even, but holding steady and strong. Sometimes I'll be down near the drain, gliding, swaying, at one with the water. Other times I'll be mid air, a look of exhilaration on my face as I prepare for the splash. No matter the style or method of my madness, the deep end is it for me. It's my ultimate dream for you to join me there.

Sex and Laughter: Just Dance

I'm in a pissy, pouty mood and I'm trying to keep my mind occupied. I tried watching some t.v., but just couldn't stay interested. I jumped over to the computer to peruse the internet or find some friends online, but no one is here and my favorite spots on the world wide web are just not doing it for me tonight.

I just put on my Ipod and set it to shuffle. It's always amazing to me how much music can help my mood. I don't want to mope tonight, I want to feel great and with the help of some fortunate shuffle selections, I think I'm beginning to perk up a bit.

I have a friend who says he doesn't dance. I guess there are people in the world who don't dance, although I simply cannot imagine that concept. When I hear a song that has a great beat, I find it impossible NOT to dance, or sway, or at the very least bob my head to the rhythm.

My most favorite dancing is when I'm alone. The song starts, I crank up the volume, close my eyes and let loose. I'm completely free and uninhibited and it feels amazing. It never fails to help me shake the blues. But, fear not, I don't limit my dancing to solo attempts, I will dance with anyone who wants to groove to the beat with me. For me, I just have to have music that makes it harder for me to stay sitting than to get up and move.

A confession is that lately, I've been wanting to dance to Lady Gaga. I have no clue who she really is, but when I hear her as I am in the car changing the radio stations, I stop. "Just Dance" is an example of a song that I must dance to. It isn't a new song and it's not great music, I know. I don't really care about that though because for at least 4 minutes or so, I can just escape my mind, my mood and enjoy the moment.

The music that I like to dance to doesn't have to be amazing or critically acclaimed. The only real criteria is that it takes my mind off whatever I happen to be stewing over and let's me go someplace simple, carefree and fun. As Lady Gaga says, "Just dance, gonna be okay, da da doo-doo-mmm". Who knew words of wisdom could be so simple? I feel much better already.

Old Friends

I haven't written in a while and it feels strange. When I don't put thoughts to paper (or computer), it's almost as if I am devoid of feeling or emotion, which in reality could not be further from the truth.

Sometimes, I find, I get so wrapped up in my mind that I don't stop to process or evaluate what is going on.

I think in some other life, I was an absent minded professor or writer who holed themselves up for days on end while the creative juices flowed. I can just imagine weeks with no contact from anyone outside of my own little bubble of a world. With hair ratted, desk askew, eyes burning from work and concentration, I would emerge from my utopia to address the mundane tasks of every day life.

The lack of writing has nothing to do with a lull in my life. Indeed, I've been very busy and actively engaged, especially within my own imagination. Crazy like this takes work. And frankly, it's my most favorite job I've ever held.

The past weekend was quite interesting for me. For starters, my sister and I reconnected with some of the most special friends of our lives. I found one of the friends here on Facebook and perused his friend list. On that, I found his mother. With a bit of encouraging and possibly a libation or two, I sent her a message re-introducing myself and expressing my desire to reacquaint with she and her kids. I waited with trepidation, but the very next day I received a tremendously enthusiastic reply!

Within the next day, I received an email from my long, lost, best friend and as I opened it I found myself shaking and crying. It was the best gift I have received in ages and I was thrilled that she was willing to open back up the lines of communication with me.

Today she sent a picture of the two of us riding on her go kart and I had to smile. I see two young girls with their hearts full of dreams, legs as long as the Mississippi and a bond that apparently, can never fully die.

It's been 24 years since we last spoke, but I have no worries about us filling in those long, lost gaps in time. My heart swells at the love I feel for she and her family, for our memories, the times we shared. It also squeezes a bit when I think of the time we lost in between. Filling those gaps is a huge priority for me and we are planning a reunion as soon as we can.

I feel happy tonight. I am content with how things work out and optimistic about the future, whatever it may hold. Putting these thoughts down was a good thing. Reuniting with old friends is an even better thing.

Sex and Laughter: If Only...

Tonight I'm contemplating happy endings. As a child I think we are led to believe that stories always have happily ever afters. The guy gets the girl or the girl gets the guy and they ride off into the sunset. The End. And yet, as an adult, I know this isn't true.

Actually, I've probably known that happy endings aren't always possible since before I was an adult, but never really wanted to believe or accept it. I am, in the end, a fan of all things nice and neat. And still, as much as I long for everything to peacefully play out, I am still undeniably drawn to the sad stories.

As a child, I will never forget watching "The Way We Were" with my mom, who was a huge Robert Redford fan. The closing scene is painfully heartbreaking and I can't watch it without desperately hoping that when Hubbell approaches Katie on the street an entirely different exchange will unfold before my eyes. It never does.

Romeo and Juliet is another classic example. When Juliet plunges Romeo's dagger into herself and falls upon his lifeless, poisoned body my heart shatters, splinters, frays. The breath escapes me and my throat clenches as my mind reels at the love lost. "If only..." is what permeates my thoughts. Shakespeare, being the genius he was, brilliantly captured the essence of unadulterated love, but also of love that couldn't be. I hurt at the thought.

It seems that Hollywood and Robert Redford share my penchant for love lost. Two of my favorite movies that feature this theme also highlight him as the leading man. "Out of Africa" is painfully beautiful to me and after watching it, I am left utterly spent. I'm reminded of how fragile life and love actually are. In "The Horse Whisperer" my heart breaks at the love that cannot be. The notion of two people, soul mates if you will, who cannot be together is a theme that leaves me feeling gutted and raw, and somehow still hopeful despite every obstacle. How painful must it be to love and lose? To love but not be able to live in that glory? I can only imagine the anguish and steadfastly hope for all hearts to be fulfilled.

Happy endings are super. They leave me with a warm, fuzzy feeling and the ability to move about my day, business as usual. But it's the sad endings that stoke the fires of my imagination, the chambers and linings of my tender, romantic heart. Happy endings placate me. Everything else stirs me up. And to be stirred is to be alive. I feel certain Robert would agree.

Sex and Laughter: Lay Your Hands

Of late, my mind wanders to the thought of hands. Specifically, men's hands. The notion of how amazing they are overwhelms me. Noticing a man's hands is a new phenomenon, but now that I have discovered their powerful effect on me, I find myself focusing on them more often than not.

I'm taken by how different they can look from person to person. One man can have long, tapered hands while another's are more thick and substantial. Rounded nails grace the tips of fingers as often as squared off nails or nails nervously bitten to the quick. Tributaries of veins course over the top of a hand and knuckles rise like hills on the countryside. Some are weathered and rough, while others are unbelievably smooth. Hands have traveled, hands have lived. They have many stories to tell.

As you turn a hand over, the palm is exposed. The crevices, creases and cracks of the life lines and love lines are fascinating to me. Silky smooth surfaces are interrupted by callouses and blisters caused by hard work and hopefully even harder play. I love to gently trace my finger over a man's palm and imagine what was produced by those very hands.

From one man's hands, words spring forth which produce written work that is spellbinding. Imagining the fingers flying over the keyboard as the writer sits and puts thought into form is exciting. Another man might use his hands to create a work of art or piece of music. Watching a musician play an instrument, with their fingers dancing across the strings is a captivating and perfect example of how powerfully moving hands can be. Yet another man might utilize his hands to repair something or solve a problem and while not inherently glamorous, there is strength and beauty in what he does. All of it is incredibly sexy to me.

Especially sexy, though, is that lately I find myself imagining and enjoying how hands can make me feel. The thought of a strong hand, placed on the small of my back, firmly but gently guiding me into a room leaves me reeling, unsteady on my feet. Imagining a hand stroking my cheek and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear makes me dizzy. A solitary finger, slowly outlining the curve of my lower lip then acquiescing as I open my mouth to playfully suck on it is simply intoxicating. Hands can be both strong and gentle at once. A playful squeeze or tweak can be followed by a caressing rub, causing me to melt on the spot. Hands can be leaders, as they boldly decide where to roam, where to explore, but can also relinquish and be followers too, allowing themselves to be willingly guided and directed. Endless are the opportunities that arise.

My mind staggers at the myriad of purposes the hands possess. Function and fun, practicality and playfulness; the hands are multitasking, multi-talented agents of product and pleasure. Ever thankful of the hands in my life, I appreciate and enjoy the accomplishments and magic they create.