Keeping My Own Promises

When you’re trying to adopt healthy living habits, I truly believe that success can boil down to just one factor:

The ability to make a commitment, and actually stick to it.

Now, this is not something for which I’m traditionally known. I’m shamelessly of the “I’ll finish it later” variety who starts a project only to abandon it halfway through (the disaster zone known as my bedroom is proof positive of that one).

Of course, when it comes to family, friends, and work, I always fulfill my commitments…but when it comes to doing something for myself, it’s always been a different story.

These days, I’m working hard to make myself a priority, which means setting a goal or promising myself that I will do something (yes, even if it means learning how to keep my room clean), and then doing it. No matter what.

Maybe my current vigor for keeping my own promises to myself is the result of my still very fresh New Year’s Resolution mindset, especially since I silently made just one very important promise as the ball was dropping on December 31, 2011.

I vowed that this would be the year I finish what I start. No matter what it is, I need to learn to commit to something and follow through. Whether it’s that half-finished query letter to my dream magazine that’s been taking up space on my hard drive for six months, or the fact that I once made it as far as 93 pounds lost and yet still never managed to hit that 100-pound mark, this is going to be the year that I muster enough confidence in myself and my abilities to set a goal and see it through to the very end.

That’s why on a rainy, miserable Tuesday this week, I decided it was a fine time to go for a run. As I declared in my last blog post, I’m madly in love with exercising outdoors, but the winter months certainly present some unique challenges. I can brave the cold, but the rain is usually enough to make me slip out of my running tights and vow to save my workout for another day — heaven forbid my new sneakers get wet!

But not this time. I made a promise that if Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday are my kickboxing days, that Tuesday was going to be one reserved for running. I’ve let my training regimen slack off quite a bit since completing my last 5K back in November, and I started to fear that my running career would become a thing of the past if I didn’t get back to business ASAP.

So when I woke up Tuesday morning to the sound of rain pelting against my window, I promised myself that I was going to suck it up and lace up my sneakers that afternoon — even if there was a monsoon waiting for me outside that door.

And I have to say, even though it was the smallest of goals, actually heading out into the rain that day (with my snazzy new waterproof running jacket) still felt pretty damn good…if not a tad wet.

I’ve learned that’s really all that leading a healthy lifestyle is about: making a commitment to go to the gym, or to eat more veggies, or to run through the rain like a maniac, and then actually doing it.

Oh, Gym, How I Loathe Thee. Let Me Count the Ways.

Recently in my journey to optimal health and fitness, I have discovered a shocking new development.

I absolutely, positively hate the gym.

When I first began losing weight, if I wasn’t at home or at work, I was on the elliptical at my local YMCA. As a result of juggling two jobs, my only available workout time was 5:30am — and that’s precisely when I would arrive at the gym, every single weekday morning.

While at first I was intimidated and insecure about how I, a 265-pound young woman, would look to others as I sweated and grunted my way through 30 minutes on the cross trainer, it wasn’t long before the gym became my second home.

If I missed a day, everyone wanted to know where I had been. As the pounds began melting off my body, I became the subject of admiration. People wanted to know how I was losing the weight, and — believe it or not — some women even began asking me for diet and exercise advice.

The gym had become a place that I associated with success, so it was no wonder that I did everything in my power to squeeze in a workout at least five times a week — at one point, I even belonged to two gyms at once!

Suddenly, my identity had transformed from an obese, lonely couch potato to a fit, healthy gym rat — and I was loving every second of it.

I really can’t pinpoint when my hot-and-heavy love affair with the gym began to fizzle out. Maybe it was after I signed up for my first 5K, and found running outdoors far better preparation for tackling a 3.1 mile road race than pounding a treadmill. Possibly it was after I began plunking down a significant portion of my monthly income to join a local karate studio and participate in Muay Thai-style kickboxing classes three times a week. Or perhaps it was when I received a truckload of fitness accoutrement, from kettle bells to a BOSU ball, for my birthday and Christmas and assembled my own makeshift workout studio in the basement.

Whatever the reason, in recent months I’ve been finding myself dreading my sessions with the treadmill. For weeks I’ve been falling victim to the evil Excuses Monster whenever it comes time to hop in my car and hit the gym.

I just don’t want to go, and I’ll do anything I can to substitute 40 minutes of pedaling my way through a ho-hum elliptical workout with another form of physical activity for the day — yes, even housecleaning!

Now, before you get a mental picture of me spending my afternoons lounging on the couch in my sweats, let me assure you that I am continuing to exercise just as often — and just as intensely — as ever. I still work out 5-6 days per week, and typically for at least 45 minutes. Sometimes I’m taking my kickboxing class, and sometimes I’m eking out lunges or experimenting with new kettle bell routines from my favorite fitness magazines in the basement.

(And yes, I do, of course, still have a gym membership.)

The only difference is that I’m now harboring a new love interest: the Great Outdoors. Even in the midst of frigid New Jersey winter temperatures, my second home has become the local park and biking trails.

I absolutely love lacing up my sneakers and giving myself an opportunity to enjoy some fresh air as I head out for a run around the neighborhood, or a bike ride to the park with the help of my favorite 2011 Christmas present: a Trek 7.3 hybrid.

Exercising outdoors has a way of making me feel energetic and invigorated in a way that watching the clock as I jog mindlessly on a treadmill never has. Better yet, I know for a fact that I get a more vigorous full-body workout from running or biking outdoors than one on a treadmill or stationary bike — I can tell you that it’s a heck of a lot harder pushing myself through a four-mile run on the sidewalk than on a treadmill that does a lot of the work for me!

The best part of all is knowing that I have lots of options for getting in my workout, even if the desire to pump iron in a stuffy gym packed with New Year’s Resolutioners just isn’t striking.

I know many people take cover and hibernate their way through these bitterly cold winter months, but for anyone who feels that they have to solely get their sweat on at the gym until April, I can assure you that all you need is the right attitude — okay, and the appropriate winter workout wear — to experience some of the best outdoor workouts of 2012 right now!

What are some of the ways you exercise outdoors – even in the winter?

The Beginning of the End

First, I want to wish everyone a happy new year, and apologize for the brief hiatus I’ve taken from my blog.

I’d like to brush off my absence with a simple “oops, I’ve been busy,” which is certainly true, but the good news is that I have been preoccupied making some much-needed overhauls to my life. With just a few major victories tossed in!

First and foremost, I finally summoned the courage to walk away from a part-time job that had become physically and mentally draining. Yes, I know this technically makes me a quitter, but the whole reason I accepted a 5:30am shift working the desk at a local gym is, quite frankly, I doubted my ability to financially succeed as a writer so much that I was willing to sacrifice my social life, my sleep, and my sanity for the sake of having a few extra bucks in my bank account each month.

The truth is that a few months ago I became tired of just peering over the edge of my dreams — I needed to take a leap of faith. And committing myself to my writing career wholly and completely seemed to be the solution. I couldn’t be happier with my decision.

In fact, several weeks ago I found the courage to pitch a story idea to one of my dream magazines — a national health/fitness publication — and after lots of follow-up e-mails, I actually landed the assignment! I intend to let this victory become a turning point in my career — it’s time to have faith in my abilities as a writer.

The same goes for finding the courage to participate in the handful of 5Ks and four-miler races I competed in last year. The most meaningful one took place in November, when I ran a 5K and raised over $500 to support the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network.

My grandpa succumbed to pancreatic cancer in 2004, and losing him remains the most painful experience of my life. Over the past several years, I’ve promised myself that I was going to do something — namely, a 5K — to take action against this disease and honor his memory, but I kept telling myself I’d never be able to actually complete a race or solicit enough donations to make a difference.

In 2011, I finally ran that race. It felt incredible to be surrounded by so many people who had been touched by pancreatic cancer and were coming together to fight back. Best of all, I know for a fact that Pop was with me that day; I will never, ever forget the moment when I crossed the finish line and suddenly his absolute favorite musician, Johnny Cash, started blaring over the loudspeaker. I had just finished listening to my race day playlist of Johnny Cash songs on my iPod, and when I pulled out my earbuds and realized that “I Walk the Line” had come on just in time for me to finish my 5K, it was the first time in the seven years since his death that I knew undeniably that he was with me. And that I had made him proud.

In another significant running achievement, I was also awarded my very first medal for placing third in my age group after competing in a four-mile race sponsored by the Central Jersey Road Runners Club — I’m now officially a member!

Granted, I know I probably placed because there weren’t a whole lot of people racing that day — and there definitely weren’t many runners my age — but I did improve my time significantly (35:29) from my very first four-mile race on the 4th of July (40:31), and it’s an indescribable feeling when I can genuinely experience pride in an accomplishment I’ve made.

I’ve gone through life feeling unworthy of praise from others, and I’ve never fully been able to give myself credit. But I’ve worked hard to be a better runner in the last six months, and I’d say I earned that medal!

This month also marks a full year that I’ve been studying Muay Thai kickboxing. I remember being so terrified of breaking a measly little wooden board to earn my first belt (in fact, I blogged about it), and today I’m a red belt, which officially makes me an advanced martial arts student. I do very much want to be a black belt someday, and even I can admit improvement in my techniques — and my overall confidence — since January 2011. I absolutely love my kickboxing classes, and they have transformed me both physically and mentally in more ways than I thought possible. I’m so glad I’ve stuck with it.

In fact, I hope to make 2012 the year of following through on all of my goals — and above all, finishing what I’ve started. An anniversary weekend with my boyfriend, another Disney World vacation, and lots of holiday hooplah have led me to slip a bit (okay, a lot) in my healthy eating and workout routine, but I’m back on track and ready to continue making progress this year!

November marked my four-year anniversary as a Weight Watchers member, and while I am thrilled and proud to still be living a healthy lifestyle and maintaining my weight loss, I want nothing more than to become a Lifetime member — which means reaching my goal weight. Whatever that is!

In the last year or two I’ve become so focused on my fitness-related goals and, honestly, enjoying my new size 8/10 body so much, that I think I may have lost sight of the prize. I know that I will weigh never 125 pounds, and I also know that my loose skin and stretch marks will always serve as battle scars from years of yo-yo dieting. But this year I vow to reach a healthy weight and finally begin the process of becoming a Lifetime member…and, maybe, even starting to work towards becoming a Weight Watchers leader.

For possibly the first time ever, I’m not afraid to set a goal…and believe that I will see it through to the end.

What are some of your goals for 2012? Please share!

*Don’t forget to subscribe to my blog, follow me on Twitter @jenniferlnelson, or e-mail me at jennifer@jenniferlnelson.com. Thank you, as always, for reading!

The Right to Bare Arms (and Stomach, and Thighs…)

As the summer months officially come to an end, I decided it was finally time to step back on the scale.

And, unsurprisingly, I was greeted by an additional five pounds.

It’s what I was expecting, given my week-long jaunts in Vegas, Atlantic City, and Orlando, the endless string of barbecues and late-night fro-yo runs, my less-than-rigid workout routine. Now that I’m back into the swing of things — my long-awaited return to Weight Watchers, first and foremost — I’m fully confident that I’ll ditch those extra pounds (and then some) in no time.

That’s what still continues to amaze me. For the first time in my life, if I see the number on the scale nudge up a bit, I don’t panic. I don’t say “the hell with it” and start eating everything in sight, as I’ve done so many times in the past. I simply chalk it up to a few (okay, maybe more than a few) poor eating choices and lackluster workouts, and I pledge to get back on track ASAP.

I can finally acknowledge that I’m strong enough to lose (and re-lose) weight. I believe in myself. Who knew?

The truth is, this summer marked a whole new leg of my weight loss journey…even if I didn’t actually lose any weight. Whether the scale is moving or not, it seems nearly every day I’m slapped with a new realization about my body and just how much has changed.

Yesterday, for example, on a somewhat chilly afternoon that didn’t exactly warrant capri pants, I was amazed to pick up a pair of jeans from last year and easily slip them on. No lying on the bathroom floor trying fruitlessly to yank the zipper up, no jamming my rolls of flesh into the too-tight waistband, or rubbing raw indentations in my stomach after I removed them. I stepped right in, zipped them up, and was on my way.

And all this after so many years of having to buy a larger size for school every September, or sheepishly “losing” last season’s jeans, or — I’m ashamed to admit — destroying more pairs of pants than I can count when my denial about needing a larger size led to popped buttons or seams that blew open.

For the third September in a row, I’ve been able to re-wear clothes from the previous year, and that, to me, is an ultimate victory.

But this summer, perhaps my greatest achievement is that — for the first time in my 26 years of existence — I was confident enough to sport a bikini top at the beach.

Now, before you get too excited, let me preface this by stating that I had to search far and wide for a top with the extra coverage I still craved (athletic-style suits did the trick!), and I still felt the need to camouflage my generous thighs and loose, stretch-marked paunch with a high-rise skirted bottom. But who cares? I’ve worked hard for the body I have at this very moment — even if it isn’t “perfect” — and I don’t care who sees it.

Then there’s the fact that it’s almost surreal to me to do a load of laundry and fold my size small — SIZE SMALL! — tank tops from Old Navy. My summer uniform once consisted of baggy t-shirts or short-sleeved polos hidden beneath cardigan sweaters, for fear that anyone should catch so much as a glimpse of one of my behemoth, saggy arms. I sometimes can’t believe that I’ll slip into a strapless dress or racerback running tank and walk out the door without a second thought. My Muy Thai uniform is sleeveless, and where I would once be mortified to be waving my bare arms around for all the world to see, now I can look in the mirror — even at my loose tricep skin — and accept the way my arms look. Sometimes, at just the right angle, I think they even look pretty strong and muscular.

Oh, and then there’s the small detail that I ran not one, but two races this summer. And I already have a few other 5Ks lined up for the fall. At my very first race, a four-miler on the Fourth of July, I met my goal of jogging the entire course. Granted, I wasn’t the fastest runner, but it didn’t matter — I gathered up my courage and was able to squash my self-doubt long enough to cross that finish line, and I’ll be damned if I let 10-minute miles spoil that.

Did I mention that I even had the audacity to wear shorts to that race? Me, good old “Thunder Thighs,” wearing shorts. In public! Oh, the humanity.

Bikinis, shorts, tank tops — and, certainly, running races — were things I never thought possible. I was, after all, a 22-year-old shopping in the Women’s Plus section for swimsuits, and constantly pretending I was cold to justify wearing long sleeves or ankle-length capris in August. There was a time not too long ago that I couldn’t run a single mile without gasping for air, and now I’m breezing through 5Ks as if it’s completely normal for me to be running alongside other athletes.

Believe it or not, I am slowly but surely beginning to accept my body. I know I’m by no means thin, and I never will be. Maybe I have no business baring so much of my body at the beach or flapping my batwings in kickboxing classes, but for the first time in my life, I’m not constantly obsessing over how every little inch of my body looks at every moment of the day.

My tummy flap and jiggly thighs are clearly here to stay, and I’m finally making peace with the fact that I will never have the “perfect” body, no matter how much more weight I lose.

But guess what? I think I might just be perfectly fine with that.

The important thing is that my weight is no longer holding me back from anything I want to do or achieve in my life, and I’m excited to see just what else I can accomplish on my journey.

With or without the cooperation of a scale.

I am Runner, Hear Me Roar.

When it comes to our diets, there are a few hard and fast rules that will help just about everyone drop a dress size. You know, like eat more celery and less Cheetos.

But when it comes to the day-to-day decision to break a sweat — because, let’s face it, there is no lasting weight loss without physical activity — I believe that every person is a little different.

For example, I have trouble mustering the energy to exercise in the evenings, while others wouldn’t dream of rolling out of bed at 5:30am to hit the gym. Some people like to tone up with yoga or Pilates, while I prefer to pant through a run or a grueling kickboxing session. While some can push through several hours of strength training at the gym (insane Biggest Loser contenders, I’m looking at you), it may not work for all of us. I’m lucky to be able to carve out 45 minutes for a sweat session 5-6 times a week, and some people get away with far less. And that’s perfectly fine.

That being said, I think there is one workout rule that applies to every single person looking to lose the weight and keep it off. And that is this: you must make fitness a part of your identity. If you want to truly commit to a regular exercise routine, I don’t think you can just pencil in a 30-minute walk four times a week. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great start — but I think it takes more than a calendar appointment to make exercise a part of your life.

I strongly believe you need to find something that you love to do. It has to be something you can latch onto strongly enough that you won’t let bad weather or family responsibilities or work schedules or anything else stand in your way. I’ve been known to run in the rain, and have attempted to maneuver my car though six inches of snow to make my Muy Thai kickboxing class.

I recently returned from a vacation (Disney World!) where I gave myself permission to eat anything I wanted — ice cream, cookies, cheeseburgers, you name it. While traipsing through theme parks for six days is physically demanding, it was still nothing like my usual running/spinning/kickboxing regimen. So, big surprise here: I returned home to pants that suddenly fit a little more snugly. I was hungry all the time, and feeling way too lethargic to hit the track.

Because of my lack of exercise and unhealthy eating all week, I didn’t feel motivated or energetic…but most surprisingly, I didn’t feel like me.

That’s when I realized how much working out has become part of my identity. It has consumed my life in so many ways that without a daily bout of exercise — even if I miss less than a week — I suddenly start feeling like a completely different person. It’s truly humbling to realize that, before my weight loss, I used to feel this way all the time.

If I were to draft a list of all the qualities that make up who I am, “physically active” would be  right at the top. My being can no longer be summed up by my gender or what I do for a living. I’m also a runner and a purple belt.

I think my overzealousness at the gym in my earliest weeks of weight loss paid off in more ways than a scale could ever show. I quickly became a fixture on that elliptical machine, and it wasn’t long before people started calling me by name…and asking about me when I didn’t show up. That’s when I realized that others saw me as something of a gym rat, and that fueled me with the motivation to get stronger and tougher and fitter. I wanted to live up to that new perception of who I was.

When I started running, at first I considered it nothing more than a fast way to torch as many calories as possible in a short period of time. But it wasn’t long before I got bored with the monotony of pounding a treadmill. When I started looking at running as more than a weight loss technique, that’s when the habit really started to stick. I subscribed to Runner’s World.  I strapped on a Garmin sports watch.  I signed up for 5K races.  Suddenly, I was a “runner.” And now I can’t wait to lace up my Nikes.

I’m often asked to divulge the number of times I work out each week. But an active lifestyle is so much more than the hours you spend on a treadmill. It’s just way too easy to lose interest in working out and return right back to your favorite position on the couch. I should know…I work at a gym.

I tend to shy away from making all-knowing proclamations on this blog, but I truly believe that the only way to make fitness a lasting part of your life is to make it part of who you are.

Fake it ‘Til You Make It: Running My First 5K

I did it again! After running my first four-miler on the Fourth of July — and proving to myself that I didn’t die or, worse, come in dead last — I finally had the courage to run my first 5K. And, appropriately, it just so happened to be the 10th Annual Downtown Westfield 5k and Pizza Extravaganza…meaning there was gooey, cheesy pizza (and cookies!) awaiting us at the finish line. Now if that’s not motivation, I don’t know what is.

Even though this race was a shorter distance than my last, mentally, it proved much tougher than I anticipated. I’ve been putting off registering for a 5K for years now, always assuming that I was still too fat to run a race and that I’d just make a fool of myself amongst the “real” runners. That’s why despite the fact that New Jersey is in the midst of a brutal heat wave, and the sticky 90+ degree temperatures have been making movement of any kind utterly unbearable, I knew this race was something I had to do. I also knew that my running sneakers are in desperate need of replacing — which was evidenced by the blister I earned in mile two — and that I haven’t been running as often since I became addicted to kickboxing and spinning.

In the end, though, it wasn’t the sweat pouring down my face or the stinging pain of a newly-formed blister that I had to overcome: it was myself. I had to once again go head-to-head with the old Jen, who had no qualms about telling me that I couldn’t run a real, official 5K race, and that I didn’t really belong there.

That’s when the mantra that my Muay Thai Kickboxing instructor constantly barks to newbies — “Fake it ’til you make it!” — started running through my mind. Maybe I wouldn’t meet my goal of beating my average 10-minute miles this time (I definitely didn’t), and maybe I didn’t look as good crossing the finish line as some of the more seasoned runners, but with time and training (and some new kicks), I can and will become better and stronger and faster.

I decided right then and there that, for now, I’m going to continue to break the bank on the latest running sneakers and slap on GPS-enabled sports watches and don cute, colorful racerback tanks — and totally fake it.

Last night, when I showed up in my snazzy new running duds, I took a look around at the other runners. Sure, there were a handful of men and women with ripped runners’ bodies who looked as though they escaped the womb wearing Nike Airs. But then there were the children and the senior citizens. There were runners who were tall and lanky, and ones who were short and stocky. There were runners wearing knee braces, and mothers pushing baby carriages. And suddenly I found myself peering down at my own body, which despite its blatant faults (ahem, batwings) has gotten pretty strong and muscular in the last three years…and realized that I fit right in.

I forced myself to remember that I’ve worked hard for this moment, and I that I had every right to revel in the joy of crossing that finish line. I truly believe as though I’ve been given a second chance on life, and running a 5K is just one way to celebrate the new me and the kind of future I never thought possible.

This thought wasn’t lost to me as I pounded the pavement amongst thousands of runners and realized that I never, ever thought I could be an athlete. Yet there I was, a former obese woman whose idea of exercise was once racing into the kitchen to sneak another sleeve of Thin Mints, and I was keeping pace with people who have been working out and pushing their bodies to accomplish incredible feats for most of their lives.

Of course there are still the little things that wreak havoc on my self-confidence, like the loose skin on my inner thighs slapping together in my running shorts, or the fact that I only managed to eke out painfully slow 11-minute miles for a finishing time of 33:03.

But as long as I never lose sight of the journey I’ve had, and keep upholding my commitment to live a healthy, active life — by signing up for more races! — I’m confident that someday I won’t have to fake being a runner. I’ll just be one.

My First Race

After two years of running, I finally summoned the courage to run my first race!

The race was held in a neighboring town, which just so happens to be home to the park where I usually run. I figured I’d start somewhere I’m comfortable, because despite my oh-so-cool, “it’s no big deal” facade, running this race was actually a very, very big deal to me.

No matter how many years have passed, that 260-pound version of myself is always around, hanging out in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind, telling me that I can’t do anything that’s even remotely athletic. Even though I know my own running ability and average speed — solid 10 minute miles — there’s still some part of me that, when it comes to competitive events, automatically assumes I’m too fat, too slow, too weak, [insert horrible thing you'd never say to anyone except yourself]…and I’m definitely going to make a fool of myself amongst all the “real” runners. So why bother trying?

That negative inner dialogue has been playing on loop for 25 years, and upon my realization that losing weight — and successfully keeping it off — is doing little to silence my harsh inner critic, I knew I had to start participating in group activities where I’d have no choice but to recognize that I’m just as good as everyone else. Hence my newfound obsession with martial arts classes and sudden need to run amongst hordes of people.

This race was something I had to do just to prove to myself that I can, as insane as that may sound. So bright and early on the fourth of July, I lined up for the 32nd annual Firecracker Four Miler. That’s right…I skipped a 3.1 mile 5K and went straight to a four-mile race. Go me.

I set just one race-day goal for myself. I wanted to run (or, okay, jog) the entire four miles. I knew I could do it — I’ve run the same distance many, many times on my casual hometown jaunts — but there’s something about lining up with hundreds of fellow runners that suddenly makes you doubt your own ability. Especially when you’re like me, and doubting yourself is as commonplace as breathing. Being surrounded by women 50 pounds lighter than you certainly doesn’t help, either.

I just wanted to stay calm and relaxed and finish the race…which proved more difficult than I thought given searing 85+ degree temperatures at 9:30 in the morning. The humidity was unbearable; sweat was pouring down my face by the time I hit the first mile mark. Fortunately, race organizers set up plenty of water stops and lots of kind local folks were shooting us with their garden hoses to offer some much-needed relief from the heat. Needless to say, I was drenched by the time I crossed the finish line.

But the important thing is that I did, indeed, cross the finish line. And my only brief stop to walk was at the first water station, before I learned the fine art of quickly tossing back the contents of the paper cup mid-run (and pouring the rest over my head).

I ended up staying right on my usual pace, and clocked in just after the 40 minute mark. I probably could have done better, but my finish time was the last thing on my mind. That’s because to most of the other participants, it was just a run in the park. But for me, completing any physical challenge serves as proof that I really, truly am not the same person anymore.

When I crossed that finish line, I could hardly remember that there was a time where I couldn’t walk around the block without getting winded. Let’s not forget that I was the girl who, for years, couldn’t even complete the mile in gym class. Suddenly all those years I spent alone, devouring boxes of Cheez-Its in front of the TV, felt as if they belonged in someone else’s life story.

I may not have been the fastest runner — and I’m certainly not the smallest — but for the first time in my life I’m not beating myself up for being anything less than perfect. My thighs are still huge, but guess what? Those are the legs that just carried me through a four-mile race.

This weekend, I proved that I am a “real” runner. One who proudly sports lime green neon tank tops.

Running this race has helped me put things in perspective. When I set a goal — and prove to myself that I can achieve it — it no longer matters what size dress I wear or what the number says on the scale. I’m tired of worrying about my BMI and obsessing about how to hide my loose skin in a bathing suit. Instead, I’m overwhelmed by an urge to shed these last stubborn pounds just so that I might run faster at my next race, or tackle more sprints in my spinning classes, or kick higher in my Muay Thai kickboxing classes. These are the things I’m really passionate about now, and it’s because of my new body and all my hard work that I’m strong enough and fit enough and healthy enough to pursue them.

The best part? I’m already registering for my next four-miler — and first 5K. And there’s not a single doubt in my mind that I can crush them both.

Seeing Yourself as Others Do

One of the (many) things about myself that I’ve been trying to “work on” lately is my inability to accept a compliment.

From the “you look amazing!” screeches from friends and family when I started losing weight to the occassional compliments I receive on my wardrobe, I have never been able to look someone in the eye and genuinely believe their positive words. I’ll spare you the sob stories of how I was ridiculed by everyone for my appearance as a child and teenager — including my parents — but I’m sure it has a heck of a lot to do with why I can’t accept that someone legitimately has something nice to say about me today, more than a decade later.

Why is it that I still carry around 15-year-old memories of my classmates calling me “fat” and “ugly,”  but when someone says they like my haircut or that my arms are really starting to tone up, it’s almost immediately forgotten?

While I’ve slowly been learning to appreciate my new body and graciously accept any praise with regards to my weight loss accomplishments, it still pains me to realize that when someone offers a compliment that goes beyond my physical appearance or choice of shoes and relates to who I am on a deeper level — my intellect, my talent, my strength — I find it impossible to accept their words as fact.

I’m one of the lucky few that’s found a man who is quick to offer his encouragement and praise. But any time my boyfriend is regaling me with compliments, I can’t help but argue with him. I can’t remember the last time he told me I looked nice, and I offered him a simple “thanks” in return. Instead, I usually suggest he go get his eyes checked.

And yesterday, when he went on and on about how proud he is of me for working so hard at pursuing my writing dream, I not-so-gently informed him that, in fact, I’m a total failure. Because, after all, I haven’t yet published a bestseller or landed bylines in all of my favorite newsstand magazines…at the ripe old age of 25.

If I could look in the mirror and see the woman he sees, I would never again suffer from lack of self-esteem. I’d never again ridicule the way my thighs look in shorts, I wouldn’t hold myself back from pitching my dream magazines for fear of not being good enough, and I definitely wouldn’t walk around thinking that I’m a failure just because I’ve managed to lose 90 pounds and not 100 pounds.

If we could treat ourselves with the same kindness, respect, and understanding that our loved ones do, and learn to recognize all of our positive attributes instead of constantly focusing on the bad, could you imagine how much happier we’d be? And how far we could go?

My Inner Battle with Obesity

It’s no secret to anyone here that losing “the final 40″ has proven a challenge that I have not yet been able to conquer. Granted, I now have my sights set on the “final 30,” but completing my weight loss journey is a goal that has continued to elude me…for nearly three years now.

Atlantic City, 2007

I continually experience periods of ups and downs — no pun intended — where I’m following my Weight Watchers program to the proverbial “T” and the scale is moving (ever so slowly), but then it’s immediately followed by a week, two weeks, or more, where various family celebrations, vacations, or perhaps even good old-fashioned frustration cause my efforts  to wane.

And, soon enough, I’m right back to where I started: I’ve been bobbing between an 85- and 90-pound loss since summer 2009.

So, why haven’t I thrown in the towel? Believe you me, the thought has crossed my mind. Don’t get me wrong: I’ll never, ever allow myself to go back to being a 250+ pound woman, but I could have easily quit Weight Watchers a long time ago and continued to live my life as a size 8/10, active young woman who by all intents and purposes is “normal.”

But then there’s the small matter of the fact that, oh yeah, I still weigh 175 pounds.

Now, when I was 267 pounds, I was, not surprisingly, considered obese by any standard BMI chart.

And today, thanks to my 5’4 frame, a weight of 175 pounds means that that I am still — believe it or not — obese.

Atlantic City, 2011

As much as I tell myself “it’s just a stupid chart” or “weight is just a number,” at the end of the day, I am desperate to finally be rid of the “obese” stamp that has been slapped on my forehead since the second grade.

My excessive weight has been a burden I’ve had to carry ever since then, and frankly, I’m sick and tired of looking in the mirror and knowing that deep down, I’m obese.

It’s a little secret that I carry with me as I scarf down my POINTs-friendly grilled chicken and veggie meals and hit the gym six days a week. No matter how healthy I eat now, or how intense my martial arts training has become, I’m still not the athlete that I dream of becoming.

I’m finally starting to realize that I’m worthy of something more. But I’ll never reach my goals until I can identify the mental block that’s keeping me from digging in my heels, losing the rest of this weight, and saying good-bye to the “fat” girl forever.

I no longer care about squeezing into a size four, and I know that I’ll probably never weigh 130 pounds, but I want so badly to just be truly “normal.” I may prance around in teeny halter dresses and two-piece bathing suits now, but regardless of what I look like on the outside, I know that I won’t feel truly successful until I am finally and forever stripped of that “obesity” label.

So, here’s to a renewed effort to finish what I started. Wish me luck!

When Life Gets in the Way

Contrary to popular belief, my life doesn’t revolve around weight loss.

While my newfound commitment to healthy eating and exercise has radically transformed the way I live my life, there are times when work, family, friends, vacations, sleep, special occasions, and a long list of other responsibilities and daily demands can throw even the best-intentioned person slightly off course.

Yes, that includes someone who has already lost a significant amount of weight, and purports to have it all figured out (ahem, yours truly).

In the past three weeks alone, I have traipsed up and down Las Vegas Boulevard on a week-long vacation trip in celebration of my boyfriend’s 25th birthday, spent Easter Sunday with his (very Italian) food-pushing family, sipped martinis with my sister on her 22nd birthday, and accompanied my mom to a delectable buffet brunch on Mother’s Day.

Up next: a weekend getaway to Atlantic City in celebration of my sister’s college graduation. Yikes.

There are times when I’m on my best behavior, and I truly embody the monikers of “health nut” or “gym rat” that friends have so kindly bestowed upon me. The scale is moving because I’m monitoring every morsel that passes my lips, and I’m on a first-name basis with everyone at the gym. I have a specific objective in mind (e.g. lose the last 10 pounds by the end of the year), and everything I do seems to be motivated by that goal.

But then there are other times when once-in-a-lifetime special occasions like a loved one’s graduation or wedding, or a long-anticipated (and much-deserved) vacation, temporarily seem more important than weighing X number of pounds or slipping into a certain dress size.

Meanwhile, there’s no avoiding the daily responsibilities that can interfere with anyone’s best efforts to eat well and hit the gym regularly, from long hours at the office to mountains of dirty laundry. Sometimes the need to meet a work deadline or squeeze in a few extra minutes with your kids before bed can prevent you from preparing a nutritious dinner or making it to the gym.

If there’s one lesson I’ve learned in the past three years, it’s that there is nothing that’s more important than my health. However, when you’re committed to living as healthfully as possible 99.9 percent of the time (okay, okay, more like 75 percent) I see no reason why you shouldn’t enjoy a slice of cake on your significant other’s birthday.

My little sister is only going to graduate from college once, and while there are certainly more important aspects of this special milestone than a post-ceremony lunch (and cocktails!) together as a family, we live in a society where food is an integral element of just about every occasion — whether it’s a wedding or a funeral.

While it’s unfortunate that special occasions and the many demands of daily life have a way of piling up all at once, and it seems I’m currently “off” my Weight Watchers program as much as I’m “on,” I still think giving into the occasional indulgence or skipping a workout is better than being the person who nibbles on salad while everyone else enjoys a holiday feast, or who forgoes the entree you really want at an incredible restaurant on vacation for fear that you might tote an extra pound or two back home.

Sometimes it’s okay to let life push you ever-so-slightly off the wagon…just as long as you eventually hop back on.

How do you deal with special occasions or daily responsibilities getting in the way of your weight loss efforts?