It’s all I can think about.

I’m halfway through my third week of working out every single day. Eating right every single day. Making this the longest string of EVER of keeping on track. I don’t know if I’m really changing my lifestyle, but it’s getting less hard to find the motivation. I’m starting to even want to do it on some days. Which is huge for me. Hell, I even wanted to try running instead of just power walking a couple times this week, and you know what? I fucking did. And I didn’t die.

I want to sing from the mountain tops all day, every day: YOU GUYS I AM DOING THIS! But I think that they would not let me come to work anymore if that’s all I did (although I’m not sure how it would be any different than the little gaggle of Gold’s Gym meatheads that talk about protein shakes and weight lifting 24/7…okay, well  8/5), and I might get so focused on gazing at my own damn (disappearing) navel that I might forget the point, I might stop doing it. It has happened before.

So, quiet success.

But holy shit, I am doing it. And I feel great.

(BTW, it’s been 2.5 weeks, 5 lbs down, using the Lose It! app, and a combo of clean eating, cardio, and core building + 1 cheat day a week, if you’re interested)

I think back to the person, almost two years ago (how has it been so long), who was fearless, excited about life, willing to get out of the kayak in the middle of the ocean (okay, the bay) to stand on a rock and hold a paddle over her head like she just OWNED life, and I wonder where she went. I feel lost from her.

I can think of a million excuses why life was so hard, all the things that took her away from me, but the truth is, I let her slip away. It was a choice and I can just as easily choose to find her again. I’ve seen snippets over the last year – camping in sub-30 temperatures, moving across the state months ahead of my husband, hiking to the top of a trail to see the whole valley – I know she’s there. I will take work, hard work. Work that seems impossible some days when all I can think about is crawling back into bed.

I’m desperately afraid that this will turn out to be another in a long line of failed attempts to get back on the horse, but which is worse? Trying and failing, or never getting off the couch to even try?

So, today I am tired, but not because I stayed up too late (I didn’t), not because I’ve been putting crap into my body all day (I haven’t), but because it’s 1:30 and I’ve already used my break to take a walk and haven’t had any syrupy coffee or a Diet Coke (more syrup) to give me that short-term fuel. I’m going to not be discouraged by the fatigue but instead crank up the Nicki Minaj and try to embrace it, because I’m going to see it as a sign of progress, not of limitations.

• Duplicity
• Selfishness
• Outright dishonesty

I want to understand how it is possible for a person to be this way. Nothing about it makes sense. It’s just inhuman.

Time and time again I am shocked by it. I allow it to anger me. To frustrate me. To consume my thoughts.

I don’t want to deal with this. Is there a way to be zen about it? Is there a way to pray for grace to be immune to it?

The fact that I can continue to have emotions about it at all, that I want to change it, is the difference between us, I think.

My new office has a really fancy, completely automated restroom. I hate everything about it. The autoflush will inexplicably kick in mid-deuce but then not function until after you’ve left the stall and come back to press the little button. I understand that autoflush is supposed to be more sanitary, but how is all this splashback on my ass sanitary at all? And while I’m on the topic of sanitation…do you know about the newer toilet seat shape, Internets? Because I don’t like it at all. I don’t know who it’s designed for. Someone with a skinny, narrow ass, I guess. In an attempt to be ergonomic (I can only assume), the seat has contours–yes, CONTOURS–that effectively press your asscheeks together instead of, you know, spreading them apart.  No household toilet is like this. We get nice wide U-shaped toilet seats that help gravity and the old lower colon right along. What about a public restroom is different that the sides of the seat are a whole six inches apart and are built for the ass and upper thighs of a 7 foot tall anorexic? Is it to better hold the ass gasket? Because, a) those things are a waste of time, and b) no way would that ever outweigh the mess that the squeezed together toilet seat makes of doing one’s business.

And if you can somehow make it out of the stall without crap smeared between your asscheeks and bits of toilet water on the backs of your thighs, you have to confront the auto-dispensing washing station. The FUCK. Now I can’t be trusted to measure out my own hand soap?? I get about a dime’s sized portion of diluted fancy foam soap, half of which gets all over the sink and counter (and don’t try to splash water on it; that only gets you more foam soap), and then a good 8 second wait in between helpings of this shit. So not only has the ergonomic, super sanitary toilet made a giant mess out of a simple mid-morning BM, but I can’t even effectively clean my hands and get back to work now? What should take me 3 minutes ends up taking up my entire morning break. And someone intentionally designed this bathroom!

It’s only a matter of time before they put in the automated paper towel dispensers. I rue the day.

It’s been a month of this. Of long hours in the car, falling asleep alone, the noticeable void at every sad, happy, and ordinary moment. I’m going through all these big, exciting new life changes, and I just have to describe it to him after the fact over the phone. We’re like…1/9th of the way there, before he can move here with me, and some days it feels like all the long term benefits (degrees, dream careers, houses…the whole 9) just maybe aren’t worth it.

But oh, that’s not today. The secret part about living apart from your husband is that suddenly you appreciate everything about him. His face is new again, after almost five years. His voice suddenly sounds like it did the first time he said “I love you.” On the weekends we see each other, I can’t stop holding his hand, hugging him, smiling at him, just to remember he’s real. Our marriage feels so strong and just…VALID right now.

And it’s exciting, too, to find new ways to connect with each other. We just got a second webcam and did the video gchat for almost 2 hours this evening. Suddenly, being able to see him smile feels like such a great big exciting deal, not to mention all the ways that we’re inventing to let each other know we’re thinking of each other. It’s like going through those exciting beginning months of dating again.

I don’t know how this will change and evolve over the next 8 months. But I’m confident we’ll be stronger for it and it will be worth it, because, dammit, I love him.

I try to remember how her little hand felt in mine as we crossed the parking lot to the store with the puppy dog on the front. How much my heart leapt at that adorable description. What it was like to put her little bit too old and little bit too big body into the seat of the cart and push her around and make her feel special, like she was the only one in the world for me or anyone else. Why I was thinking about everything but those big, blue eyes putting all her trust in me, her smile, why I was stressed about dinner or something her mom said or how much our trip to the store would cost. Why I wouldn’t buy her gum. I try to remember these little things, and I fall short.

I try to remember something good. When he caught a fish with his dad and the hour of impatient waiting didn’t matter and only the fish and lunch (2 for $20 at Applebees) was the greatest afternoon he ever had. Or a million video games and me not wanting to play a minute. Or why I’d want to tell him “not tonight, no more stories” and tuck him into bed instead of reading until the sun came up, his head on my shoulder, laughing at Shel Silverstein’s rhymes. I try to remember the good, and I fall short.

I try to believe that this is for the best. That they will be thankful for the reprieve, for the space, for the longer time with us (longer in between though it may be). That we will be steady and unwavering and they will remember that. I try to believe we will come out better, but I fall short.

I try to be brave. To put them from my mind the 6 days of the week that I don’t hear their voices, and on the 7th, too, when she’s failed us again. I try not to fail them, to be everything they could need from me. To never show weakness, or sadness, or anger, or anything in between, but I fall short every time.

I try to let go. To go back to the life we had before. To un-fall in love.

I fall short. Again.

It started with a facebook group celebrating the fact that my 10 year high school reunion is just one year away. I would just like to state for the record that I cannot fathom any world in which a person should be so excited about reliving their high school days that they are looking forward to it a year in advance. I just don't get it. I feel like 80% of the people on the board didn't get the message that high school WASN'T the time of their lives. Isn't there just…so much more? I wish we still lived in a time where we could go about ignorantly living our lives and freak out when we get the invite in the mail just 3 months in advance and go on panicky crash diets like normal people. Not this crap.

Then, I started looking around, wondering if other people who were on the fringes in high school (not quite the outside, but not the inside either) were equally as irritated and/or anxious about this whole business. I found a very small contingent, which only confirms the fact in my mind that growing up in a small town means that the high school bullshit never really ends. There will always be the inside group that is completely oblivious to the feelings of everyone else and just tramples over everyone with their shiny hometown pride zeal.

I don't know. That sounds like I don't like my hometown, which isn't accurate. I love my hometown, I love my former high school. I just didn't fit with the people in it and it took many years for me to even realize that. I was trying so hard to fit my square peggedness into their round hole for so long that it didn't even occur to me to look for a square hole. And now that I've found it, I wonder if it's worth the energy to explain that I get it now, that I'm square, and I'm okay with that and can all of us squares just be friends?

But of those squares, I've realized, some of my (very few) close friends no longer belong. They've become so very very round that I scarecly recognize them. And I don't want to go to a place where I am placed right back on the outside again. I mean…what is the point of that? I don't want to be mourning the loss of my childhood friends. It's easier to live far away and pretend that no one has lost themselves and the only problem is not enough time to see one another.

But I graduated in a class of only 160 kids. In the whole town. There is an immense amount of pressure (probably all imagined in my own mind) to go and do ones duty and smile that fake, cheesy, "I missed you all so much" smile, when really I'll be thinking "you're all just as stupid as I remember, only now I realize that I thought you were stupid when back then I thought I had to be one of you so much that I was willing to overlook that fact."

I wish I could just pretend the invitation got lost in the mail. 

That means some things go permanently in the Off Limits file. That also means that I am encouraged to find a real purpose for this little space of the internet I've staked claim.

For those of you whom I might know in real life and have found your way here…be welcomed and forewarned. (Oh, and also don't use anyone's real name if you comment, please&thanks!)

[they say i'm supposed to give my worries up to you]

We don't have a plan right now. We have lots of obligations, lots of things that are going to cost a lot of money, but no plan.

[they say that you always have a plan, that you know what you're doing]

We are saving every penny, but it's not going to be enough, not even close.

[they say that your love is more than enough, more than we could ever need]

How are we going to do this? How is it all going to come together?

[they say that with faith, you will provide]

I need a miracle. I need that window to throw itself wide open, right about now.

[they say you don't close a door without opening one]

Please…let today be the day.

[ask and ye shall receive, right?]

I don't know how it happened.

I knew that I had given up. That I had backslid. I was in complete denial of how bad. Two weeks ago, I stepped on the scale and finally confronted reality. It was like checking my bank account balance (which, gah, also bad). I knew it was bad, but I couldn't start to fix it until I looked at the number and accepted it for what it was.

I gained back every. single. pound.

Okay, not entirely true. I somehow managed to stay just one pound under my starting weight from Feb of 2010 when I started Weight Watchers. I don't know if that's sad, or ironic, or what exactly.

It's embarrassing. To have completely undone all my hard work and to be back at the beginning (well, almost the beginning…there is that 1 lb). Sure, there were some very good reasons to have completely given up on everything (superkids moving across the country, more schmegal battles, getting laid off in the middle of all of that), but the whole time it was happening, I swore I'd stop before it got to that point.

Denial is so powerful. But accepting accountability is so much more powerful.

I'm proud to say that 2 weeks later I am down 6 pounds (probably 5 after the pizza we had for dinner, but eh, pick your battles). A combination of common sense eating, 30 Day Shred, beautiful weather & a bicycle, and no money for fast food are going miles to get me going.

Aside from the summer cold I seem to have contracted, I feel fantastic. Why is it so hard to remember this feeling when I get caught in the Evil Carb Cycle of Doom? Right now I can tell you exactly what percentage of feeling crappy is my cold and what percentage is all the stupid carbs I've eaten over the last 2 days because my husband isn't so good with the cooking. It's easy enough to tell that tomorrow morning, I'll be having oatmeal with flax, banana, and almond butter for breakfast. And a big fat salad for lunch. Ooh, and chicken, cous cous, and asparagus for dinner. (Dear GOD, balanced eating is so good.)

I'm not doing Weight Watchers this time around. It was a great program for starting out and learning portion control and how to balance my diet, but WW carries the implicit notion that at some point, the journey will be over, and that is a fallacy in my world. If I want to use WW to track my diet, then I need to be prepared to spend $18/month for the rest of my life. And thank you, but no. I can look at my plate and see when it's too many calories, too much fat, not enough vegetables, whatever. I need to be able to do that, to not be dependent upon putting numbers in my computer every day (or to feel guilty for not doing it because I was tracking in my head). I need to be able to assess my diet without fear of being thrown off-track everytime WW Marketing rolls out a new campaign and I have a whole new set of point values to memorize. It was great for learning basic principles, but it cannot carry me through.

So I'm owning this. Part of owning it means finding a community, part of it means blogging my journey and tracking how my emotional journey is tied to my diet, and part of it means committment. Hard core commitment. I did it before, I can do it again, and not trip at the finish line midpoint this time.

Tomorrow I'm going to get out and ride my bike again, recovered from this cold or not (that's why God made flat routes, right?). By the end of this week, I'm going to be back on the 30 Day Shred (hoping for at least 3 sessions, shin splints being the mediating factor there). By the end of this month, I want to be 10 pounds from my start weight.

I can do this.

I have done it before.