November 2016

June 2017

The two photos above are from the same place (Yountville, CA) and with the same subjects (me and my daughter Wrenn). The difference between the two photos is time (eight months apart). It is funny how quickly time passes, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable goals. When I started this wellness journey back in January with 100+ pounds to lose, I was skeptical because a) nothing had ever worked before, b) the goal seemed too grand to be achievable, and c) in an area where gratification is instant, the time it would take to actually lose 100 pounds felt too distant. Yet, here I am six months in and almost 45 pounds closer to my goal. Figuratively speaking, it has been the blink of an eye. It is hard to imagine what today would look and feel like for me, if I hadn’t seen that Facebook post about Jennifer’s journey. It is almost unbearable to think about, because it resurfaces feelings of shame, and the time I wasted swimming in self doubt and fear – versus how I spend my days now being more present, and practicing better self-care.

Being more present has, in some ways, changed my perception of time. I used to be a proud disciple of our lady of perpetual busy-ness – cultivating my self-worth by doing everything, and doing everything picture perfectly. For me, the problem was that I was a) stretching myself too thinly, and b) prioritizing my life backwards. Instead of putting the oxygen mask on myself first, I was putting it on my career first, then my family, then my chores, then my addiction to BRAVO television, then some online shopping, and oh, look, something shiny!! Not including yourself in your own damned list of life’s priorities is the surest way to get fat, it turns out.

I have spent a lot of time over the last few weeks thinking about what I have learned over the past six months, and trying to distill it into something more easily digestible. I want to keep these boiled down lessons in my tool chest for the days when I need the reminder of how far I have come, or to stay present, or how I will blink and be another six months in and x pounds down. Together with the tools and roadmap to success that my health coach has given me, here are the top three things that have been instrumental to my success, thus far.

1) The V word

I probably could write a thoughtful, or at least entertaining blog post about the vagina, but the V word I am referencing here is vulnerability. For something that is so essential to our own happiness, the majority of us really do a crummy job of practicing the art of showing up with our authentic selves. Which is too bad because when we fail to be authentic, we miss connecting with others more deep and meaningful ways. I have been thinking a lot lately about the role that my own vulnerability has played in my weight-loss journey.

Vulnerability, I am learning, is a bit of a paradox.  I want to see the real you, but I don’t want you to see the real me. Frankly, we don’t want to risk the judgment and potential shame. However, if we all agree that we are attracted to authenticity, then why are so few of us bold enough to show up with our true selves?  Because it feels like standing in a crowd naked, I suppose.

The hours leading up to hitting send on my first blog post were excruciating. I was getting my hair coloured at the same time as a distraction, but it didn’t help. Mostly, I struggled with why was I sharing my story? I hoped it was to find connection with others who were sharing similar struggles, or perhaps inspire someone who wanted to change but didn’t know where to find the roadmap. I also figured that boldly owning where I was at would help keep me accountable and motivated. Even though I was pretty sure my intentions were aligned with my values, I sat in a cold sweat for hours working up the courage required to push the send button.

Once I finally did work up the courage to hit send, I hoped that I would be hit with a wave of relief.. Instead, I felt the cold and familiar sting of shame – as if I had done something wrong. The rest of that evening was a blur.  I tried to shift my focus to my family, and the hockey game we were attending. However, the anxiety lingered. It was not until the following morning that I was able to dust myself off and shake the shame cloud. Why was this so hard, I wondered? After all, this was not the first time I had dabbled in real-talk, or humiliating public posts. It takes balls to write about ones experience with lice, for example.  Pssst.  Are you itchy?  I am itchy. 

Why was this different?  I suppose the answer was two-fold.

1. This was the first time I was taking my writing more seriously than hiding behind the comfort of a Facebook post.
2. I wasn’t sharing a funny story about a family experience that happens to everyone but nobody talks about – I was sharing a part of myself that wasn’t funny at all. Especially to me. I was sharing data and stories about myself that I had not even shared with my husband, let alone strangers.

Was daring to be seen naked worth the risk? Absolutely. Bucking the urge to keep myself to myself is one of the best decisions I have ever made. Even at this grand scale (haha, I said scale). The results have been beyond hope of connection, inspiration, and accountability. I imagine it is like a near-death experience, where one is left with the confidence that comes after facing their biggest fear and are capable of accomplishing anything!

2) Friends with benefits

One of the best things about sharing my struggles more broadly has been the outpouring of support and encouragement from family, friends, and strangers alike. There are the Facebook and blog comments that I receive – which I am truly grateful for, but was somewhat more prepared for.  What has absolutely floored me, however, is the amount of people who have reached out privately. Some have reached out to share their own struggles with weight. Others, may not have struggled with weight, but have wrestled with their own negative inside voices and self-doubt.

And then there are the women who have reached out to tell me that my story inspired them to contact Jennifer and start their own Project Healthy Body journey’s They are the ones who I treasure the most, because we are truly walking the same walk. The feeling that I am helping others, and they are helping me back is a powerful tool that will lead us all to success.

The support I have received, in all of its forms, has helped me immeasurably (or measurably, if we are counting inches lost). When I have been on a winning streak, the encouragement pushes me to keep going; when I have slipped back into some of my old habits and negative talk, the support helps me to get back on track. Actually, the support is especially helpful on the not-so-great days. Even though my first instinct is still to turn inward and fix things myself, I have learned that I cannot always right my ship on my own. That is one of the many benefits of having friends. It requires more vulnerability on my part – but if they do not know that I am struggling, they can’t help me dig my way back out. When it is our struggle, the possible seems infinitely more possible.

3) The G spot

Last, but not least, I would be remiss not to mention the role that gratitude has played in my journey to self-love. Being grateful for where I am, what I have, and for each moment in the day (even the shitty ones) has helped to keep me present and focused on what actually matters. I used to spend my time rushing through each day, or dreaming about the next big thing, or planning our next amazing event – often forgetting to see all of the miracles right in front of my face. An attitude of gratitude is the difference between longing for my best life and living my best life. It is the deep belief that every moment I have with my family and friends is life’s greatest gift. To savor the moment is to find true happiness. Of course, this isn’t always easy. Like all of the health changes that I am making, it takes practice and repetition.

When I feel that familiar wave of impatience, I consciously decide to stop and sink back into the moment. When we are getting the kids to bed and Quinn asks me to come back for two minutes and tell her the story of how she projectile pooped on Craig when she was a baby, and all I want to do is get them down so I can watch some stupid show, I tell myself to stop. Stop rushing and start connecting…for two whole minutes! Because I am going to blink and they will be off to start their own families. I am going to blink and they will no longer smell like grass and scented markers. I am going to blink and regret that I opted to spend my time with the New York housewives over time with my Willow Glen housekids – and my family is MUCH more entertaining, I guarantee it.

When I first started to practice gratitude more seriously, Jennifer encouraged me to start even smaller. To be grateful for running water, electricity, and the soft grass beneath my feet. To be grateful for movement, and going about my day without physical pain. To be grateful for the ability to take a long healing breath of air, or listen to my favorite song, or watch the majesty of a particularly beautiful sunset (or watch the majesty of a particularly unimpressive sunset).

Each of these practices and awakenings bring me closer to my family and closer to myself. Not only am I lighter in mass than I was six months ago, but I am lighter in spirit. I felt the weight of my weight in every step. It consumed much of my thoughts and my time. Time that I could have been spending telling Quinn the now infamous rocket-poop story, or getting more steps on my Fitbit, or tasting the delicious sweetness of an apple. Vulnerability, connection, and gratitude are, for me, part of something that feels like becoming – which reminds me of my favorite quote from the children’s book, The Velveteen Rabbit…

He said, “You become. It takes a long time. That is why it does not happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

Look at me now!

One month into the year long Project Healthy Body, and the results are good – but they could be better. The first month kicked my ass with a 28 day autoimmune protocol / elimination diet.

• no nuts
• no grains
• no beans or legumes
• no eggs
• no nightshade vegetables (like tomatoes, or peppers)
• no sugar
• no caffeine
• and *gulp* no alcohol

I don’t want to diminish the progress I made, because did lose both weight and inches. I lost the weight I gained back during the break between sessions, plus one additional pound and I lost another 4.5 inches.  But although I made progress, the AIP really took the wind out of my sails.  The good news, however, is that this is a life-long journey with peaks and valleys – not an all-or-nothing sprint to the finish line. It is trial and success, and it is trial and error. I am learning what works well for me and my body, and what doesn’t.

Most notably, I learned that the script matters to me. At least for now. For the first four months, I operated on the notion that I was a healthy person who could eat whatever she wanted – I just chose healthy foods that supported my vitality. Simply thinking abut food in a different way made all of the difference for me. Instead of feeling restricted and leaning on my own shaky will power, I felt empowered.  And that empowerment led to making good choices again and again. Just knowing that I could have the pizza, or the pasta, or the burger if I wanted it, magically made me not want it. It freed me from the handcuffs of restriction and opened my mind up to fill my home and my body with fresh and colorful whole foods.

The benefits of an autoimmune protocol are not lost on me. It is made for me.  I have two autoimmune disorders: hashimotos, and vitiligo. It is highly likely, if not an absolute certainty that I am reactive to nightshade vegetables and other common food sensitivities. Committing to discovering what exactly works best for my body can only improve my health. Moreover, many of the women in the group were getting amazing results, which I also wanted.  And yet….

From day one of the protocol, I thought about all of the foods that I could no longer have. I thought about our morning smoothies that wouldn’t have almond milk, or the tablespoon of walnut butter. I thought about my salads that wouldn’t have sliced almonds, or tomatoes in them.  And I thought about my famed antipasto platters that would no longer include pistachios, a couple of slices of 12 month aged manchego cheese, crisp sliced red peppers, and freshly blended hummus to dip it all into.  No eggs to turn into a frittata in a pinch, when our schedules were crazy and we needed something fast. Handcuffs led to anxiety, anxiety to panic, and panic to failure.

It seemed the harder I tried, the more I failed. And my failures were with foods that on any other day would be perfectly healthy. Foods like a little hummus with my raw vegetables, a sliced red pepper on my salad, or a little almond milk in my morning smoothie, instead of the AIP friendly coconut milk. Each time I caved and introduced one of these restricted foods, I felt the familiar sting of shame and anger.  Shame that I couldn’t stick to the protocol 100% for more than one week (maybe it was less).  Angry that I was berating myself for having a god damned red pepper! And stunned that after so many months of feeling like an A student, I was suddenly feeling like I was on a performance improvement plan. I was confused and should have reached out for help, but the competitor in me, plus the good student status I had self appointed urged me to try and figure it out on my own. Get back up and start again, I told myself. No more shitty red peppers!

The month-long endeavor was not without significant wins and powerful lessons, though. I zipped up (without too much effort) my all-time favorite pink strapless dress. I haven’t been able to zip that beauty up for over seven years. My wedding rings suddenly slip on and off of my finger without effort, and even my undergarments are getting too big!  I also did another clothing purge and purchased new jeans (size 18) and three new bras – and not because my ginormous jugs eventually put so much strain on the fabric that the underwire popped out (which has typically been the case).  In fact, I once made small talk with a particularly notable silicon valley CEO – while, unbeknownst to me, the unearthed underwire of my bra began travelling through the fiber of my sweater until it landed in it’s final resting place just under my chin.  Nay, this time, I needed new bras because the circumference of my chest was smaller than the smallest rungs on the clasp. If this is not monumental success, I don’t know what is!

In addition to these positive changes, I also slept more, read more, and spent more time just being. My husband and I spent less time watching TV and more time holding hands by the firepit. I woke up and read to Craig every morning, and I made our bed before I left for work. We also increased our physical intimacy, which is good because that has been an issue we have struggled to get back on track. I mean, when you can’t eat anything, you might as well get it on, right? Honestly, this counts as a double win because not only were we having sex, but we were having SOBER sex!!  Holy hell – talk about uncharted territory! Short, shameful confession…we almost named our second child Martini, if that gives you any insight into how we sexy-time. At first it was a little awkward, and at one point we even bonked heads which made me laugh at an especially climactic moment that gets ruined by laughter. But even though it was a bit of a circus at times, it helped us reconnect. And that alone is worth one month of struggle.

So what’s next?  Well, I am going to give the protocol a break and go back to flipping the script again. I am going to be more disciplined about portion sizes, and keeping dairy and grains to special occasions only.  I can’t afford to slip into my old habits, or take my foot off the gas – because although I have been doing well and I have never felt more proud of myself, I need to be doing better and pushing myself harder.  I still have 65 pounds to lose before I am no longer obese. I need to charge forward and be more comfortable with a little discomfort. Especially when the discomfort equals better health and longevity.  The stakes have never been higher, and I need to remind myself of that. Because failure means death.  And as horrible as it feels to type that, it is the truth.  My children deserve better, and so does my husband – but most importantly, I am going to do this for me. The gift of self love and a longer life from me, to me.

I am a healthy person and can eat whatever I want, but I choose to consume whole and healthy foods which support my vitality. I value good sleep, intense spin classes with music that makes me feel like I’m dancing instead of biking, and bonking heads with my hunk of a husband. I strive for true intimacy and connection with my family over charmed but fleeting moments with strangers. I choose a slower and more purposeful pace over the fake allure of being perpetually busy. And I seek progress over perfection. These are the habits and values that, over time, will get me to my goal of being my true authentic and happy healthy self.

There was a scene in Sex and the City, where Samantha tells Smith (an aspiring actor), “first come the gays, then the girls…and then the industry.” For me, weight-loss follows a similar cadence where first my friends noticed, then my husband…and then me. I haven’t suddenly lost another chunk of weight, but it’s like things are settling and my body is adjusting.  I have a waist again, my face is less round, and even my feet seem smaller somehow. I have had to do another purge of old clothing, and even more satisfying, started fitting back into some of my old clothing. I am far from a hoarder.  Just ask my husband Craig who is often annoyed with how easily I part with our possessions and keepsakes in an effort to stay clutter-free.  But I have always kept a handful of my favorite items items that hard to find, or that seemingly never go out of style. I am  nothing, if not hopeful and positive, it would seem.

The sisterhood of the traveling pants

My lady-bird

Segues are overrated, and my mum is a stunningly beautiful woman. And she has been stunningly beautiful her entire life. Of course, we are surrounded by gaggles of traditionally, and undeniably beautiful ladies, but someone has to carry the torch and light the cauldron, and I am suggesting that it is almost certainly my mother Mary-Ann (also known in close circles as “Birdie” or “the bird” or “lady-bird”, as she would prefer to be nick-named).  To support this claim, I can tell you that my high-school boyfriend once joked (kind of) that he was only dating me to get to my mother, and that my entire group of friends in college referred to her as a “yummy mummy” behind her back.

Not only is she a beautiful woman, but she also has enviable taste, when it comes to clothing, art, entertaining, and design. I once asked her what she would cite as the single most important fashion advice for women. “Buy the best and highest quality pants that you can afford”, she quipped. Although, she may have referred to them as trousers, or *cringe* SLACKS, but I digress. She also added that in addition to the very best pants that we can afford, we should also have access to the best tailor in town.  “Nobody ever tailors clothing to fit their bodies anymore”, she lamented.  She also seemed to suggest that I should mosey on over to Escada or St. John to procure said pants, which I never did – not because I couldn’t afford it if I started putting quarters in my swear jar, or stocked my apartment with cheaper wine for a couple of months.  I didn’t because I was too fat. There is a good (and a little sad) reason why my closet is filled with pretty handbags, and shiny accessories. When you are over-weight but you have a deep appreciation for fashion and design, you probably have nice handbags and great jewelry.  Unless I missed the Carolina Herrera rack in the Encore section of Nordstrom, or the Oscar de la Renta area of Lane Bryant, then I am sorely mistaken.

Back when I was still shopping in semi-regular stores like the Gap, I found a pair of pants that I could never seem to part with.  I’m sure that some of you will sympathize – but one does not simply give away the perfect white wide-leg linen trousers. They have a button, not a band or an elastic. They have pockets that lay flatly against my hips, and the linen is high quality such that it doesn’t stretch out four more sizes throughout the day when I wear them. They are timeless, and they look great on me.  Or, they did over seven years ago when I last had them in the rotation.

The pants: now (2017) and then (2010)

Until ten days ago, my weight-loss was mostly numbers and data. The numbers were great, but it is even more satisfying when they translate into more tangible milestones like crisp white linen pants. I hauled them out of the bowels of my closet, just to see what would happen.  I was certain that I wouldn’t be able to button them up, but perhaps by the summer we would reconnect.  Only they did fit. And perfectly, at that! I honestly almost cried, I felt so proud of myself. The last time I wore those pants was just a few weeks after I found out I was pregnant with Quinn – and not because it was inching closer and closer to Labor Day, either. Could I wear them, though? We were still another two weeks away from Memorial Day long weekend. Luckily, the answer I gave myself was HELL FUCKING YES!

A suit that suits me

The suit that now suits me

You would think that I would immediately dive into the rest of my closet to see what else I could bring back into play with my new hot bod, but it didn’t occur to me until almost two weeks later. I was packing the family up for a pool party, and searching through my short-but-shameful pile of swim dresses. At least I was looking for the smallest swim dress, I reasoned. Then I remembered a bathing suit that I had purchased years ago because I thought it was too adorable not to own.  Only, when it arrived, I couldn’t even get it on.  Like, I literally broke a sweat trying to pull it past my hips. Like, it still had the tags and even that pinchy plastic pantyliner still attached. Holding it now, years later, it is a little more sailor moon than I might choose today – but I still thought it was adorable. I looked at the tag, which read size 16. Size 16…oh gawd, there is no way.  Why am I going to torture myself by reattempting to pry it on without at least buttering myself up first?  Craig and the kids were still outside enjoying the fresh morning air, so I decided to go for it. I almost typed that “magically” it fit!  Magic schmagic –  it fit because of all of the hard work I have done to unpack the “why” of my fat. It fit because I am learning to care for myself, and value my health and vitality. It fit because I sweat my balls off, and ate so much spinach that it turned my poop green! When I asked Craig whether or not he thought I could wear it to the pool party, he said yes. And my friends all commented on how good it looked, and how good I looked – and must have been shooting sunbeams of pride out my eyeballs, toes, and fingertips, because that’s how good it felt to soak in the sunshine and all that I have accomplished.

In so many ways, things are getting easier and easier. I used to hate seeing photos of myself. They never matched how I thought I looked, and I would immediately feel the sting of shame and the reality of what I had slowly and steadily done to my body. Now I see photos of myself and feel a rush of pride, and the warmth of self-love. That is, when I see current photos of myself. It is getting harder to look at the person that I used to be.  Even though it was only a few short months ago, it makes me feel embarrassed.  Glad to be on a good trajectory, of course – but still hard to accept.

Today, Quinn brought home the most adorable bound book of her experience as a kindergartner. We flipped through the pages as a family together: Halloween, thanksgiving, beach day, the day the bee-keeper came to school.  And then there was a first day of school photo that made me tear up in disbelief. I wanted to rip it off the page, so that Quinn would someday flip through that book and feel proud of me – like I always did about my mum.  My beautiful yummy mummy lady-bird. It has taken me a few hours to process the shock of seeing myself like this.  What it means to look back at myself and feel shame instead of empathy, and embarrassment over compassion – and how I can get better at unraveling that. Owning where I am at, and where I have been. Being vulnerable and bold with my sharing (both the good and the not so good) seems to be a big part of what is working for me thus far – hence the reason why I am including the photo here. Turning to face the strangeness of these changes.

Changes – David Bowie
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can’t trace time

The bad

I was left to my own devices for two weeks between the three month Project Healthy Body and the year long program which started this week. For the first week, I made great choices. I ate whole and vibrant fruits and vegetables. I upped my daily step goal to a minimum of 15k steps. The front desk ladies at Lift were starting to know me by name (which I suppose is not that impressive with a last name like VonDemfange) because I was there so often. And best of all, by the end of the first week, I was another two pounds down – bringing my total to exactly forty pounds since January. I was confident. Too confident. It was that over-confidence, the assertion that I had this all figured out, and that I was impenetrable, which invited back the voice that I had quieted for so long. The one with a sense of entitlement toward food.  The one that whispers, “better have it now, because the party is over next Monday when Project Healthy Body starts back up.”

It didn’t happen all at once. Old habits are like that. They creep back slowly, so you don’t even realize you are in trouble until it’s overpowering. It started simply with eating too much of the right foods. Another handful of pistachios, another scoop of hummus, or a larger bowl of fresh berries. “It’s fine”, I told myself. “I am just hungrier because I am working more”, I reasoned. Mid-cycle period? Early menopause? Psychotic break? It’s amazing the excuses I can come up with before getting real with myself again.

The ugly

Still, the self-awareness wasn’t enough to slow my roll – which felt particularly defeating considering all that I had juts finished learning and practicing in the three month Project Healthy Body. The meals that followed were like death from a thousand paper cuts. Nothing on its own is a horrible transgression, but in aggregate it is no different than how I used to treat myself.

We took my youngest to Benihana for her fourth birthday. I told Craig and my health coach that I was going to reign it in and get back on track.  I would skip the fried rice and have the salad and chicken without the sauces. I had the fried rice, the chicken, the sauces – oh, and I also got myself  nice and sauced on cheap wine spritzers. But I skipped the cake because, you know, moderation! The concept was no different than how I used to order fast food from the drive-through. I call it the Diet Coke phenomenon.

Operator: Welcome to McDonalds. What’s your order?

Me: Hi there. I would like a Big Mac combo, please.

Operator: Would you like that super-sized?

Me: (pretending to think about it) Hmmmm, ok, sure! There’s a first time for everything!

Operator: What would you like to drink with that?

Me: A diet coke, obviously.

From there, things went from bad to worse. The closer I inched toward the start of the next Project Healthy Body, the more my old bad habits showed up. By Sunday, I was in full blown “send-off” mode and treating every meal like I was on death row…but with a diet coke.

I was a very hungry caterpillar.

On Saturday, I started strong with a banana/spinach/nut-butter smoothie (diet coke phenomenon), and then ate through two carnitas tacos from La Victoria (with “orange sauce” of course), one order of gyoza, two tempura rolls, a couple strips of teriyaki chicken (for the children), and one huge piece of chocolate cake. On Sunday, I started iffy with a cheese, turkey, and yellow pepper scramble, and then ate through a gluten-free (diet coke phenomenon) pizza with bacon and pepperoni, one large piece of leftover birthday cake, a handful of tortilla chips, one huge carnitas burrito, and a big piece of leftover birthday cake – and no, i did not accidentally repeat myself.

Only in the end, I didn’t turn into a beautiful butterfly, like the Eric Carle version. In the end, I cost myself a few unwanted pounds, some self-disappointment, and a lot of regrouping.

The good

Monday, and the start of a 28 day AIP Protocol (elimination diet, essentially) to kick off one year of Project Healthy Bodying came as a relief. No coffee, no dairy, no grains, no beans or legumes, no alcohol, no sugar, and no night-shade vegetables. But mostly, no burritos, no cake, no more hungry caterpillar, no diet coke phenomenon, and no death row.

Six days post-stumble and I am back in black. I am reading more, sleeping more, and being kind to myself again. I wake up and take five minutes to read something positive and soulful out loud to Craig, before getting out of bed. Before leaving for work, I open the blinds and fully make my bed. Because when I start each day with intention over panic, and being present over being five steps ahead, it makes all the difference.

Just six days post-stumble and I am re-losing the couple of pounds that I gained back. It is shocking how quickly the weight can come back.  Stay humble and stay mindful, I repeat to myself. I will stumble again. Many times, probably. But the difference now is that stumbling doesn’t equal throwing in the towel. For years, I would try some diet (low carb, no carb, vegan, cabbage soup, weight watchers, jenny craig, nutrisystem, bullet proof, skinny girl, and others) enjoy mild initial success, stumble once, then completely go off the deep-end and gain all the weight back and then some. I am afraid of many things, but my weightloss success is not one of them. Failure is no longer an option, because I now have the roadmap to true healing and becoming my authentic healthy self. And there is great comfort in that. This is not a diet; it is a lifestyle (not to be confused with the lifestyle which is a completely different concept).

The great

This week marked five years exactly since Facebook’s IPO, which was truly the most memorable time of my career. It was my first (and only) trip to New York. The action packed 24 hour trip included sitting next to Craig of Craigslist on the way out, pulling up to the Four Seasons hotel and having someone standing there with my room key, dinner with the coworkers and friend who worked tirelessly on that project, visiting NASDAQ and the Morgan Stanley trading floor for the opening bell, and 3 hours and access to a driver who took me to central park to wander around Barney’s and have a real NYC hot dog. In spite of all of those magical moments and unforgettable experiences, I wasted more time feeling uncomfortable in my clothing, stressing over what to wear, and feeling ashamed of how unhealthy I looked, than being truly present and enjoying myself.

Five years later (to the day), that same group of coworkers, ex-coworkers, and great friends gathered to share memories and raise our glasses to FB’s IPO adventure. Only this time, I was excited about what I was going to wear, comfortable in my clothing, and wasted no time feeling ashamed or looking unhealthy. I enjoyed meaningful conversations with people that I care deeply about, gratefully accepted compliments about how I looked, and support for my weight-loss journey. I didn’t undo a button, or endure weeks of numb toes from squeezing my feet into shoes not meant to support my weight. It’s possible that I didn’t even drive home that evening; I may actually have floated.

And when I got home, I received a notification that I had been tagged in a group photo from the event. This is typically a nightmare for me, where I take a look at the picture, feel the sting of shame in how I look, and lament over whether or not the original poster will notice if I untag myself out of pure disgust and shame. Nervously, I clicked to open the picture. For the first time in a very long time (20 years), I saw myself as a normal healthy person, and not someone who stuck out like the token fatty in the group. I looked vibrant, and healthy, and confident.  I felt like I looked like a peer, and not the funny fat one, or the chubby one with a heart of gold, or the squishy one who gives great advice.

I felt like I belonged there.

At my last weight and measure check-in, I was 36 pounds lighter than when I started working with a health coach back in January.

That was three weeks ago.

Since then, I have hit a three week slump. Ok, not a slump, but a plateau (because everything sounds less alarming in French). I knew that eventually my weight-loss would slow down – at least for short periods of time. I had prepared for this. Unfortunately, it didn’t make it any less frustrating when it actually happened. Unraveling half a lifetime of insecurities when it comes to my weight does happen in three months, in theory. In practice, I am still wrestling with some of my old experiences and habits.

All-or-nothing mentality. Historically speaking, I am an expert at kicking off a diet and sticking to it. That is, until I make one mistake. Then it is back to a steady stream of Netflix and Taco Bell, or the “fuck it diet” or “plan F” until I hate myself, or feel disgusting enough, or inspired enough to start again. Looking back, it seems obvious that I was doomed to failure each and every time. Healthy people do not have all-or-nothing mentalities; healthy people live a healthy lifestyle. They value movement, and whole foods, and self-care, and the occasional slice of pizza – because healthy people are balanced people. All-or-nothing is the antithesis of balance.

When the needle on the scale stopped moving, I could feel the familiar pangs of my all-or-nothing past knocking at my psyche – trying to seep in and derail me. I have the tools to silence this now, but I still need to stay humble to the process. Because just when I think I am unstoppable and have this all figured out, she checks in to see if it is finally time for me to stop this healthy living nonsense and go back to the comfort of fatness.

Negative self-talk. When I started running back in 2016, I enjoyed an initial boost of weight loss (about 28lbs). After the third month, the pace of my weight loss started to slow, despite of the fact that i was still running Mon-Fri. Although there were many positives that came from the miles I logged, none were ultimately as important to me as getting a handle on my weight. Eventually, like the rest of the things I had tried, the effort no longer matched the results and I went back to the F-plan – probably just in time for the second season of Narcos. Nothing pairs better with a tyrannical, power-hungry, bad hombre than a bean burrito, amiright?

By the time I hit two weeks without a change in the scale, I started to hear a familiar voice. What if you don’t ever lose another pound? What if this is just like the running? How humiliating for you! Especially after you were so convinced that this was finally the answer.  And you shouted it from the highest mountain top!  You even purchased some Facebook ads, to reach beyond your own circle. How fraudulent. What will Jennifer think? She believed in you, and you are letting her down.

This all sounds pretty depressing, but let me explain why it’s actually good news. I have struggled with that inner voice for most of my life. There have been stretches of time when I hear her a lot, and stretches of time when she seems to have disappeared. What makes this different from any other period of my life is that at no time have I even considered throwing in the towel. My F-plan days are over. I am fully awakened and there is no turning back. I know how the sausage gets made.

In the past, I could hide behind excuses – only I did not know they were excuses. I truly believed that because I have a thyroid condition (Hashimotos) I was doomed to fatness – and it was not my fault.

Poor, Holly. She works so hard, but the cards are stacked against her through no fault of her own.

In the past, I would have folded under my own entitlement issues. I believed that I deserved the food.  I deserved a treat because I worked so hard, or because something bad happened, or because something great happened, or because the Sharks were in the playoffs, or because it was Arbor day!

The difference between then and now, is that my knee-jerk reaction now is to figure out why and then push harder. This time instead of folding, I got online and scheduled more time at Soul Cycle. This time instead of saying “fuck-it” I hunkered down and counted calories, meal by meal. This time instead of filling my anxiety with crappy foods and self loathing, I filled my body with whole foods, and self-love.

And it worked. I weighed myself one week later and was down another two pounds. Two significant pounds. Significant because they were hard earned pounds. They were eff-you pounds, because that’s what I was saying to the negative inner voice inside of me. Not this time, lady.  Never again, in factor because something great happened, or because the Sharks were in the playoffs, or because it was Arbor Day

The two pounds were also significant because I realized that I am only one pound away from my pre–baby weight.  I am almost thinner than I was before I had children. I am also two pounds away from being 40 pounds less than I was four months ago. If I can manage another two before the end of April, I will have lost 40 pounds in four months. I have never lost 40 pounds in my entire life!

November 2016                                                                        April 2017

I still have a long road ahead of me, and there will be more plateaus in my future. But next time I will be more prepared. Next time, I can put that voice to bed earlier because I know that if I just stay in my lane and keep working what I now know, my body will eventually follow.

I am sure that my health coach (Jennifer Joffe) would agree that being highly coach-able is something that I come by honestly. My father [John McDowell] played for the Green Bay Packers under legendary coach Vince Lombardi. Over the years, my dad has recounted many fascinating stories from his football career – but I have always been particularly drawn to the ones about his coaches. So when I was thinking about what to title this post, I was suddenly struck by one of Lombardi’s most famous quotes:

“Inches make Champions” – Vince Lombardi

For those of you who read my previous blog post about my obsession with the scale, you may have wondered what the outcome of weigh-in day was. I am happy to report that I was another 3lbs down bringing the grand [wacka wacka] total to 261lbs. Of course, I was happy with the loss – but the absolute whopper of a statistic came from my measurements.

I have never really cared about measurements. In fact, I placed such little weight [wacka wacka] on the inches, that I didn’t even bother to measure myself back in January when I first started this adventure. Boy, do I regret that now. It had been one month since my last tale of the tape, and I was down a shocking 11.25 inches! It really put the weight-loss into perspective for me. Until that moment, I was only thinking of myself as weighing less, and not necessarily as taking up less space. The weight-loss is great, of course – but it keeps me focused on the number, not what that number means or how it is applicable.

Here is what taking up less space means to me:

• It means never having to ninja my way into the drivers seat of my car via my trunk – or squeeze myself into the 12 inch space between my open door and my seat like a human kidney stone.

• It means watching the musical Hamilton in San Francisco with hundreds of coworkers and focusing solely on enjoying the performance, and holding hands with my husband – which is a far cry from back in November, when I was at that same theater watching The Lion King and sitting uncomfortably sideways just to fit.

• Lastly, and perhaps most notably, it means wearing a seat-belt when I fly the friendly skies. When I was at my heaviest, I flew from San Francisco to Minneapolis to meet my father who was being inducted into the hall of fame at his high school for football. I boarded the flight, sat down, and tried to buckle my seat-belt – only it would not buckle. Like, not even close. Like, not even within six inches. The flight was packed and I was too humiliated to ask for an extender, so I left it unbuckled. I flew across the country without a seat-belt because I was ashamed. I am a wife, a mother of two young children, a daughter, a grand-daughter, and a hard-working employee – and none of these reasons were more important to me than my utter shame at that moment. Looking back, it breaks my damned heart, and brings tears to my eyes. Because ultimately, that is how little I loved myself.

You are only your next meal, or your next walk, or your next inner thought away from making a choice supports your vitality.

I suspect that there will be a few people reading this post who can relate to some of the scenarios above. Know that you are not alone. You are also only your next meal, or your next walk, or your next inner thought away from making a choice supports your vitality. And a choice that demonstrates self-love over self-loathe.

Undoubtedly, this is a little heavier [wacka wacka] than my usual posts. But it is when I dive into the hard, truly own my situation, and share the heavy, that I am both mentally and physically lighter. Inch by inch.

Self portrait – 4.9.17