Putting on a freshly washed pair of skinny jeans is the best way to ruin your day.

Seriously.  Like, I swear they were loose yesterday.  Ugh.

Sometimes I put them on without buttoning them up and do lunges around my room to stretch them out.  Sometimes I just dig through the laundry and find the least gross pair that's already been stretched out.

My muffin top plans its escape as soon as the zipper gores up.

So to cheer myself up let me tell you this: there has been PROGRESS.  How exciting.  I weighed myself a few weeks ago and was down to 170lbs.  So 4lbs isn't a whole lot, but I've noticed my body feels different.  My jeans fit a little better around the waist even though I might have only lost an eighth of an inch, tops.  My tummy also looks different.  Instead of looking like a half a hard boiled egg stuck to my gut, it looks like half a hard boiled egg with the sides pinched in.  I can also see my ribs and parts of my hip bones.  Hurrah!  

The best part is the increase my fitness ability.  I've been running/jogging intervals of 4-6km a day on my treadmill with 2lb hand weights.  When I started I could only go for 30 seconds, now I can sustain a jog for almost 9 minutes.  I'm also getting muscles where I never knew there were muscles in my legs and my arms.  WEIRD.

Like this one.

Aaaaand this one.

I'm trying really hard to focus on this particular stuff.  Looking at the measurements and the scale, there isn't really much change at all; there definitely isn't the kind of body melting off progress I saw when I was on a ketosis diet.  So instead I need to pay attention to the other cues: muscles, fitness, feeling better, feeling stronger.  A lot of the time its so easy to focus on the numbers that its hard to realize all the other stuff that's happening.  Instead of honing in on end goals like size and looks, I need to make sure I keep focusing on having being fit, being healthy, and just feeling better as my main priorities.  This is what is important, these are the good things to strive for.  It really doesn't matter what size I am, it just matters that I feel good and have the physical ability to do all the things I want to do.

I am getting better.  For realsies.  This means I definitely can't give up.

Inspiration.

Allie Brosh is posting again.

Holy shit.  I cannot begin to express how exciting this is.

If you've never heard of Allie and Hyperbole and a Half its a blog about Allie's life and experiences.  

Yep, this is Allie.  I bet you've heard of this.

She's honest, blunt, and funny; she tells it how it is and makes you realize that you're not alone.  Have you ever felt like everyone but you has their shit together?  Like being a grown up is easy for everyone and you can't seem to muster up the strength to buy groceries?  Have you ever started crying for no reason in particular because it just seemed like the only thing you could do at the time?  As cliche as it sounds knowing that someone else feels like I do somehow makes it easier.  Peppered in with cute stories about her derpy dogs and childhood memories, her battles with adulthood and depression have hit home for me.  When I start feeling like every day is a struggle, I just read some Hyperbole and a Half and I feel just a little bit better.  Sometimes that little bit is all I need to make it until bed time.

So what does this have to do with weight loss?  Not much.  The better question is what does it have to do with inspiration?  A whole lot.

Since I've started this blog only 6 posts ago I've had an unimaginable and incredible response from so many people.  Some close friends, some acquaintances, some random people from the interwebs.

Thank you.  Really.

Sometimes I find it difficult to express sincerity without religion or archaic sayings that don't make any sense.  However, a long, long time ago someone told me that if I really mean it don't just say thanks, always take the time to say thank you.  So thank you, and know that I really, really mean it.

Even though this blog doesn't have the kind of cult following that Allie has amassed, I had no idea so many people would read it and be genuinely inspired and immensely supportive.  You are all so amazing.

My first motivation for this blog was to keep myself accountable.  As I've said before, if I put it all out there and say things out loud I can't hide behind my own excuses.  I'm fat.  I out of shape.  I gained weight.  I have a very unhealthy relationship with food.  My binging behaviour is embarrassing.  The excuses I've made for the shape I'm in are even more embarrassing.  I can't take these things back, I can't rationalize them anymore, and I can't magic them away into the land of make believe inside my head.

Once things are on the internet, they're out there forever.  FOREVER.

If even one person read this, I'd be elated, so this unexpected side effect of my shitty experiences helping people...well, wow.  Just wow.  I'm excited for everyone who has decided to to something to make themselves better.  Even teeny tiny little things.  Every victory is still a victory, no matter how small.

I think I have mentioned how I couldn't have made it this far without support, and for me this blog is part of that support.  Everyone who tries, who struggles, who picks themselves back up again, that takes it one day at a time, you are all my inspirations.  Thank you.

Ugh.

This post is going to be short and sweet, but necessary.

So how bad did it get, really?

I recently had the (mis)fortune of stepping on a scale.  I'm just going to throw it right out there: 174lbs.  That's 11lbs over where I was last summer.  Ok ok, I expected some of that.  The ketosis diet I was on makes you lose most of your water weight, and when you start eating carbs again you gain it all back.  If I remember correctly that can be anywhere from 3-7lbs.

So what excuses can I dig up for the remaining 4-8lbs?  Ummm let's see, I have built a lot more muscle in the last couple of weeks, I was wearing clothes when I weighed myself, I just finished a big meal.  If I try hard enough I could rationalize every extra pound and tell myself I didn't gain any weight.  Too bad that's a big fat lie.

This is something I've done a lot.  I would obviously gain weight and lie to myself about it.  Putting on some of the summer clothes I haven't worn since last year they definitely don't fit like they should, even after I started eating carbs again.

Here is where I take a second to be really furious with myself.  Here is where I feel like a failure and think of the people who told me I was just going to gain it all back.  Here is where I feel like it was a terrible idea to get rid of all my fat clothes and I should just accept the fact that I will never be able to get fit.

I think I cycle through the 5 stages of grief every time I gain.  Unfortunately I spend way too much time in the denial and depression stages for my own good.  This time I think I'll just fast forward to acceptance.

I weigh 174lbs.  I am a size bigger than I was last year.  If I say it out loud I can't hide behind my excuses anymore.  Now I keep doing something about it.

The Relapse.

I have a confession to make:  I'm not perfect.  Shocking I know.  Underneath my resolve lies a flawed, fallible, imperfect being capable of making mistakes.  Many, many mistakes.  Someone recently told me something along the lines of the more she got to know me, the more she realized I was just as messed up at the rest of us.  Hooo boy, did she ever hit the nail on the head.  (Thanks, Kait).  So while my posts so far have been stories of triumph over adversity, I think it's time I tell you about the last year of my life since I dropped to 163lbs on the ketosis diet.

In a word: oops.  I fell off the proverbial wagon, and some times, I fell hard.  Here are the fatty fat fat things that happened starting the end of August and the end of my diet:

- A wedding

- 9 day trip eating our way down the eastern seaboard and back

- Boy's graduation weekend

- My birthday party/boy is home for a week before getting posted party

- (Canadian) thanksgiving x2

Oh yeah.  Gimmie that gravy baby.

So with all those food happy events for 2 months, I managed to (mostly) maintain my weight.  I say mostly because all my my new "skinny" clothes still fit.  Luckily living by myself meant that I could keep my house free of junk food and unhealthy things.  I still kept my fridge well stocked with good for you things, and did my best not to eat outside of the house.

However, one thing that I didn't manage to maintain was my resolve.  All of those stuff-you-face-fests lead to me down the road of oh just one more helping won't hurt, and oh I don't always eat desert so its ok this time, and the I'm not on any crazy diet any more so I can totally eat this now.  Before I knew if, I was making exceptions every single time I ate anywhere but my own kitchen.

One piece of cake won't hurt...and of COURSE I'll have ice cream with that!

I think my favourite part about this whole ordeal is that I WASN'T EVEN DONE YET.  Looking down at my body, yes, I had lost a bunch of weight and yes I was more fit than when I started but I was far from throwing in the towel.  I still had the muffin top, the gut, the thunder thighs, the Oprah arms, the cottage cheese ass.  Yes yes they were smaller, and no I'm not trying to diminish the work I put in, but I got way too elated with my success and complacent with continuing to be successful.  Not to mention if I ever wanted to make it through a whole period let alone and entire game in the net I'd have to be a lot more fit than I was.

Unfortunately, instead of getting back to it I found myself smack dab in the middle of the end of a semester.  Dun dun dunnnnnn.  Let the excuses begin!  I was on campus all day, I didn't want to lose my parking spot, I only had an hour to go home and come back so I might as well stay here.  I ate all the shitty food imaginable while I was at school.  Greasy ass pizza, macaroni and cheese, cinnamon rolls covered in glaze, cookies, donuts, muffins (and you don't even want to know how many calories are packed into just one muffin).  I even started regularly drinking those fancy latte's and specialty drinks that are just packed with sugar and things you don't need.  Then the stress began, and before I knew it junk food found its way back into my house.  I fell off the wagon, found myself a shovel, and began digging myself a hole.

Hello, coping mechanism.

Every time I went to the grocery store, I would put something terrible in my cart.  All-dressed Crispers and Ritz Cheese Sandwich Crackers were popular guest stars.  Half a dozen bakery chocolate chip cookies, pints of Ben and Jerry's and kettle cooked potato chips also made special walk on appearances.  I somehow managed to justify this by only buying one bad thing every trip to the grocery story and telling myself I would only have a little bit and make it last.  In reality I went home and was so exhausted from my shit show scholastic life that I would sit down and eat an entire box of crackers in one sitting and call it dinner.  I would do this after eating like crap on campus all day.

I had flashbacks to the days before I hit my bottom where I would run out to the store to buy food as soon as I was left home alone.  I would sometimes get anxious waiting for boy to go to hockey so I could go out and get my fix.  No one could see my shame that way, no one could judge me.  I would buy something like, a bag of chips and a tub of Philly cream cheese dip, and I would inhale what I got within a half an hour.  Then I would bury the evidence in the trash and pretend like it never even happened.  On the outside I was all smiles, on the inside I could taste nothing but shame and regret.  No wonder I ended up being almost 200lbs.

This downward spiral relapse went on for a good 4 weeks from the end of November to the beginning on December.  Then the travelling and airport/airplane food came, and then food enabling with the boy, and only after all this self destructive behaviour came the most dreaded time of year for anyone's will power:  Christmas.

All I want for Christmas is to fit through a door when this is all over.

So, let's fast forward to the end of the winter semester.  You can fill in the blanks of January, February, and the first half of March with more of the same battle I've been describing.  My pants were tight, my belt buckle was uncomfortably digging in to my gut, some of my snugger t-shirts were riding up and unable to contain my spare tire.  I even found myself opting to not wear some pairs of pants because of how they made me feel when I wore them.  I had to admit to myself after all that work I did I started gaining weight again.  Luckily I was still able to cram into my clothes but I was to the point of what the fuck how could I do this to myself AGAIN.

I was angry and sad and disappointed and all sorts of sucky depressing feelings.  I hated myself for giving in to these behaviours I knew were wrong, for making excuses to myself when I knew I was full of shit.  So, I took a stand.  Digging deep for that resolve I once had I started ejecting all the crappy food out of my house.  I ended up bringing it to class or to people's houses and sharing with friends so I didn't feel like I was wasting food and I didn't have to eat it myself.  I started bringing snacks to school and making a real effort to buy good things like fruit and salads when I was famished and stuck on campus with no end in sight.

I'm not sure how much I actually gained, but I managed to shed enough to make my pants a little comfortable just by eating better for a month.  Unfortunately the damage had already been done, or rather undone as I unraveled some of that hard work and determination I found not even a year before.  The food was only half the battle, and exercise is the other half.  I need to keep going, I'm not done yet.

So there's the story of how I fell, and hopefully the rest will be the story of how I pick myself back up again.