One Twenty Five

So far I’ve:
* Drank black coffee (no cream for me, thankyouverymuch)
* Turned down a free sample, mini, little, heavenly drink they offer you at Starbucks if you loiter long enough (that was bloody hard to do, btw)
* Ate an apple and some greek yogurt for breakfast (Be-gone breakfast wraps! Be-gone!)
* Ordered a spinach salad for lunch (no side bun, for my bum, please n’ thank you)

And then tonight? Why I’m running 10k (at race pace) and making myself a delicious chicken, asparagus, and veggie filled dinner with (are you ready for this?) NO desert. Oh, I went there…

Sacrifices need to be made folks, and the sacrafices start(ed) today!

So i have this thing called a weight loss blog. I know, weird, right? I started it ages and ages ago, trying to keep myself accountable for the extra pounds I carried on my waist.

It started little, very small actually, I think only two people read my words for the first 6 months, but that actually somewhat suited me.  I did well with my weight too. No exercise, just watching what I ate. And of course, the little weight loss blog helped me too.  I’d want to eat something, but then the thought of confessing it to my two little readers wouldn’t sit well, so I’d walk away from it, and in turn lost weight. It was fantastic, I had found the 21st century diet - and it was all online!

Then the months ticked on, and the little weight loss blog grew, and with it my goals, and dreams, and my awareness that others were suddenly reading my words.  I started shifting the posts, occasionally at first, to other things about the little life I lead, and less and less about my actual weight.  Of course, that meant I had broken my new diet, but it was my blog, my prerogative, my choice, I didn’t have to blog my weight if I didn’t want to, just my life, from little things, to the big.

And so I did just that, ignoring my weight, for months and months and months.

But there was one little problem with all of that, and that was this: I wasn’t being held accountable any more.  If I stepped on the scale, and the number was up, nobody needed to know, right?  People would message me, “but what about One Twenty Five?” the silly little name I had given my blog. And I’d quickly delete those messages, because out of sight, out of mind…

And so I kept on blogging about life things, not scale or weight or food things, and the loss of accountability started to show. In my pants. In my dresses. In my skirts. And on the scale. I was gaining, ever so slowly, but I was gaining.

Every morning you can step on the scale, see a higher number, and think about the previous day…  you can wonder why the scale is up, or look at the reality of the situation. You, my friend, ate too much. That’s it. It’s simple, really.  There is absolute no secret to this weight loss game. [[I learned that one the hard way]]

My scale is up because I’ve eaten too much. I promise you that. I’ve eaten more than the girls who weigh one twenty five, one thirty five, or one forty five. It’s actualy simple math.

Losing weight is about not lying to yourself. At the end of the day, when you’re lying in bed, did you eat right? It’s a simple yes or no answer.  For the last 6 months I’ve told myself yes, would get annoyed at the scale, but the reality was obviously no. 

Weight loss is hard. It’s constant. And takes a long, long time. It’s a commitment, a decision to you and yourself. If you want to lose weight, if you envision yourself smaller, at some point you’re going to actually have to make the decision and do it, so what about tonight?

I’ve learned it doesn’t matter how many inspiring weight loss blogs you read, how many weight loss shows you watch, how many size smaller clothes you buy (ohmygod I have so many!), how many times you say, I want to lose weight, until you actually sit there alone, and realize that at some point you will have to not eat those cupcakes when they’re offered to, not order the side fries, not walk to the kitchen for the late night snack, until you sit there and make that decision, and stop lying to yourself, you’re living in this weight loss world of wishing and hoping and not committing. Which has been me for the last 6 months.

I weigh 158 pounds. That means I’m up 12 pounds since my low of 147 on March 1st.  I’m recommitting, tonight, right now, because there’s no point in wasting another day, right? I’m going to hold myself accountable for you and for me. No more lies. No more stupid decisions. No more wishing and hoping without the dedication and hard work that goes with it.

My name is Liz, I want to lose 33 pounds by December 31, 2011 (remember, a goal without a deadline is just a dream), no more lying, no more being stupid, no more making bad decisions and then wondering why. Let’s do this.

I’m in. Are you?

Catherine,

I’ve been putting off writing anything to you because when I think about how so-very-very soon we won’t be in the same city, my stomach doesn’t just twist but my heart actually hurts. I’m going to miss you more than any written words can show, but I’ll give it a shot, because y’know, that’s what I do.

At night when I’m lying in bed in the dark, thinking about the next big chapter of my life, it is you and mom that make me not want to leave, despite having such a strong desire to travel the world…  I lie there and wish I didn’t want to go, so we can always meet for lunches, search for that perfect hair stylist (which btw, I’m starting to think does not exist), go to walmart just for McD’s ice-cream cones, and have each other a phone call and short drive away at all times.

I remember this one time in high school, when you had just returned from Queen’s, when we were yelling, and chasing each other around the kitchen table (quite viciously, I might add…), and I looked at you, and in the midst of my anger (and probably a foot stomp too), thinking how beautiful you were, and how badly I wanted to be more like you.

You were so smart, so beautiful, and perfect in my eyes.  You had more friends than I could keep up with, and the life I hoped to one day have.  Don’t think it was a coincidence I followed in your footsteps and went to Queen’s, also studied economics,  and lived at 280… I’ve never told you this before (although I have a feeling you know), but in my eyes you were absolutely perfect, and really, always will be.  

Since I can remember whenever anything happens to me you’re the first person I want to share it with, you’re the only person I have in my speed dial, which somehow happened by default, (I like to think my phone knew I’d be calling you an excessive number of times a day), and the only actual phone number I know by heart. 

Please know that every horse ride you take this fall, no matter where I am in the world, I’d prefer to be trail riding with you.  When I win the lottery we’ll buy those saddlebreds, that farm and the actual most expensive saddles the world has to offer, and then trot around a ring dressed like men with top hats in the 19^th century.

Your wedding day stands as my second most favourite day so far (don’t feel bad that  it didn’t beat my Chicago Marathon day – I don’t even think my own wedding will).  You were gorgeous, and happy, and beautiful and I was so proud to stand next to you at the alter, and show the world I was your sister.

Whenever I like somebody they will always have to pass the, could-this-boy-and-I-double-date-with-Jeff-and-Cat test.  If the answer is no, it’ll be easy to let him go.  (Mark those words)

Your house, your Jeff (ha!), your two beautiful dogs, it’s everything I hope to one day have, including an address close to you, which means with my departure in a mere 17 days, please know that this is not forever (obviously, especially if your next house has a pool, then I’ll have to move close and-and we neeeeed to let our kids live close to their cousins (as we had none, and were just stuck with each other :))

You are my best friend, my favourite person, and I love you so much there really are no words. So with that, as I know you’re not one for a lot of words, I’ll skip all the sister quotes, which I’m pretty sure we’d knock out the ball park, and simply just say, I can’t wait to share a McDonalds ice-cream cone with you in our old age, while we watch our great-great grandkids play, and our horses in the paddock.

Love you so much,

Lizzy