I'd like to thank the Academy!

I'm taking a little time out from your regularly scheduled programming to let you know that Dani from "A Daily Dose of Dani" has given me the Kreativ Blogger Award. How awesome! :) Thanks, Dani!

The rules of the Kreativ Blogger Award are as follows:
1. Post the award on your blog, and link to the person who gave you the award.
2. List seven things you love.
3. List seven blogs you love.
4. E-mail or comment on those blogs to let the people know you've given them the award.

So, here goes!
Seven things I love (in no particular order):
1. Love. Yes, I love love. It's the best stuff on earth.
2. A good book- usually nothing can make me as content as curling up with a book and reading for hours.
3. Training for this triathlon. It's tiring, at times painful, and is consuming my life, but it makes me happy.
4. Coffee. Nothing starts my morning as beautifully as a quick stop at DunkinDonuts for a large Toasted Almond, skim milk 1 Splenda :)
5. Sunshine. I miss the feeling of the warm sun on my face. Come on, spring, let's kick it up a notch!
6. My family and friends, for loving me, believing in me, and being infinitely supportive of me--in all aspects of my life. And for being absolutely fabulous.
7. Road trips. Even just taking the long way home makes me happy.

Seven blogs I love:
1. SPITSisters For those of you who haven't been keeping up with this wonderfully written young adult novel in blog form, you've been missing out. While it might be geared towards younger audiences, believe me you will find so much that you identify with, you'll be eagerly awaiting each new update!
2. Super Fat Super Chick Aimee's weight loss journey is so honest and real that you can identify no matter how much weight you want to lose.
3. A Shirt That Races Such a fun, awesome idea.
4. Operation Skinny Bitch Because losing weight isn't easy- and everyone could use a little extra support!
5. Your Ill-Fitting Overcoat Beautifully written and beautifully honest
6. Two Birds One Blog Always witty, always funny, I love love love this blog
7. Surviving Myself Again, another one that makes me laugh out loud. I love it even though he dislikes those who walk on treadmills, and, alas, I am one of those people. But I don't care- I love it anyway.

Not waving but drowning

I got the bike from Audrey today. For now, it is in my kitchen resting against my kitchen table (which I never use anyway), but I can't wait to ride it. April is almost here and I definitely need to broaden my focus, which up until now has mostly been on running. Biking, I figured, would be next. I was all settled with this idea of expanding my focus one thing at a time until a conversation with my mother on Saturday.

"Have you figured out where you're going to practice swimming yet?" my mom asked. "Uhhhh...no" I replied. I hate remembering that I haven't figured this out yet, because I know that I need to. It's just never made it's way up to the top of my radar screen for long enough to actually work out a solution. "Well, you should figure out what you're going to do. I'm most nervous about the swim part of this" she says. This is news to me. My mom is not the type to be unnecessarily nervous, and I have been feeling most comfortable with the swim part. Correction: I had been feeling most comfortable with the swim, until this very moment. Something you need to know about my mom is that she is never wrong. Ever. If she is worried, then she has a reason. And if she has a reason, well then that reason is right, whether you want it to be or not. "But swim is first..." is the only argument I can come back with. Weak response, I admit--the fact that swimming will be the first leg of the race does not speak to my ability to make it through. "I know, but with everything else you're on land. If you get tired or hurt you can rest. But when you're swimming you're in the water, it's not the same. You've always been a strong swimmer, but I don't think you've ever done any type of distance swimming in your life. It's different. I'm your mom. I can't help it if I'm worried."

Oh, no. She's right (of course). I tell her that there's "swim angels" in the water during the race, to pull you out should you start to flail about, or to talk to you if you just get a little freaked out. I can tell this makes her feel a little better, but not much. And it doesn't make me feel better at all to use this as my reason why I'll be ok-- I want to be able to happily ignore these swim angel people. I kind of liked the idea of having one aspect of the triathlon that I didn't have to worry as much about, but I realize now that I was fooling myself.

And I think the universe is trying to reinforce this realization, because a friend of mine, without knowing anything about the conversation I had with my mom, sent me a message on Facebook that says "be careful :(" and is followed by a link to an article about how triathlons pose deadly heart risks- particularly due to the swimming portion. The article goes on to describe the stress swimming can put on your heart and how scary it can be to swim with all those people around you. That training by swimming in a pool is not equivalent to training in a lake or river. And how, exactly as my mom said (see, told you she's always right) it's not easy for swimmers to slow down or signal for help and even those posted to watch them might not notice when they're in trouble. I'm reminded of the title of my favorite poem, Stevie Smith's "Not Waving But Drowning". I'm not one to overreact but we all know I'm a compulsive overthinker (and I can't imagine why my friend thought it was good idea to send me this article). This is putting a lump in my throat and I haven't even showered yet- not a good way to start the day.

So. I will try not to obsess about this swimming thing. What I will do is just take from this the understanding that I need to focus on it all equally- run, bike, swim. Just as I didn't want to be the one barely able to put one foot in front of the other during the run, I don't want to be the girl with training wheels and swimmies either. Or the one not waving but drowning.

It's like riding a bike...or is it?

Something that I've noticed is that I have spent a lot of time thinking, writing and talking about running. And actually running. Yet I am running because of the triathlon. And we all know that "tri" means three, and "athlon", well, I don't know what that means but probably something to do with sports or events or something. How would I know, I'm not Greek, or Roman, or whoever invented the word triathlon (sidenote: I just looked it up and it’s actually French. Guess I’m no historian. But this might come in handy should you ever find yourself on Jeapordy). Anyway, the point is that there are 2 other events that I have yet to put any real focus on. I've been biking at the gym but I'm sure that's not the same, just how running on the treadmill is not the same as actually running outside. And swimming...to date I've been doing exactly no swimming. In fact, I have yet to determine a sufficient solution to the problem that I don't even have a place to swim. I have been joking with my pal Callie that I will be swimming in circles in her above-ground pool all summer long, but it is starting to look like that is not so much of a joke. Since they just moved in last weekend and the pool has not used for quite some time, there are currently polywogs swimming around in it. If they don’t get cleared out in time, maybe I’ll just have to plan on some polywog races this summer.

I’ve been so focused on what I considered my biggest obstacle (running) that I haven’t focused as much on biking and swimming, and therefore don’t really have a clue as to how much of an obstacle these two things will be. Knowing me, there will be some minor technical difficulties to overcome (we all know I seem to have wardrobe issues when it comes to athletics) but besides that, who knows what I’ll be facing. And I guess now that I’ve semi-overcome the terror that running used to inspire in me, it might be a good time to hop onto a bike and see what it has in store for me. I wouldn’t want to get too over confident in my athletic abilities-- adding wheels, chains and handlebars to the mix should be interesting. I’m borrowing my friend Audrey’s bike for the triathlon and training (super big thank you to Audrey!) and I’m just hoping to return it in one piece- meaning I hope that I am in one piece when I return the bike, and hopefully the bike is in one piece, too.

The well-worn phrase “It’s like riding a bike” always pops into my head-- how hard can it be to ride a bike, if everyone refers to something that’s easy to pick up again by using this phrase? But I have a feeling that this saying vastly underestimates my personal hesitation towards a sport that involves a piece of equipment that needs steering and requires me to wear a helmet. This last concern is not solely due to the fact that I’m pretty sure no one looks cute in a helmet. It’s also because any time you have to wear protective gear to avoid brain injury, you should think twice about what you’re doing. But since thinking twice about anything isn't really my style lately, I'm just planning to put on that helmet and start pedaling.

Keeps Getting Better

When I wrote that I wanted to be crossing more finish lines, I didn't realize that I would cross another one on Saturday. But I did! Instead of going for a Saturday morning run, Lola & I signed up for a local 2-mile race. With the pressure of completing our first race off, and still feeling pretty darn good about our time, neither of us took this one as seriously. Well, we took it seriously, but we weren't a jittery mass of nerves about it. In my mind, we can only get better. It can only get easier (never easy, but easier).

For example, one lesson I learned from my first race is that I ought to be wearing a turtleneck whilst running. I learned this by reviewing my official finish line photos, in which you might not notice that I crossed the finish line, but you certainly would notice that my cleavage crossed the finish line. There are about a dozen completely horrifying photos, and in nearly all of them I look more like a stripper than a runner. The only good thing is that the amount of skin I’m baring makes you notice less the bizarro facial expressions that I’m making. Now, when I was running I did feel my tank top slipping down, and I kept tugging it up, but I had no idea that the situation was as bad as it appeared on camera. The only 3 people who I allowed to see the photos literally howled with laughter. And no, I will not be posting any of those photos here; they really are that embarrassing. Lesson learned: no more tank tops for running. For Saturday’s race I wore a Nike running shirt that went right up to my neck and a Danskin zip up that zipped up to my chin. Not a chance of exposure at all. Which was a good thing, because it was freezing cold on Saturday morning and my cleavage would have ended up with frostbite.

It was so cold, in fact, that I felt like I had swallowed a fireball, which after searing my throat decided to land in my chest and smolder for a while. I literally could not take a full breath the entire time I was running. I have asthma, but just barely, and it makes me feel worse to take my inhaler than not, because it makes me shaky and I hate it. Half that time I forget I even have asthma, because it really doesn’t affect me. Except when I’m running in the cold. At first I couldn’t figure out why I felt so awful. I really didn’t think I was going to be able to run anywhere near as well as I had the weekend prior. Halfway in to the first mile, I was nearly gasping. Prior to starting the race, my confidence had led me to boast to Lola that we would finish in 24 minutes: a 12-minute mile, meaning a 34 second improvement over last weekend. Lola said 25 minutes: a 12:30 mile. We went back and forth but I stuck to my 12-minute mile prediction. Now I felt like I was eating my words. The run was through a neighborhood this time, and there were lots of hills. I wanted to run into someone’s warm cozy house and take a nap on their couch. As always happens in the first few minutes of running, I could only think of how much I hate it, and could not think of a single reason why it ever seemed like a good idea to be doing such a thing.

Then we came upon the 1 mile marker. The time was 11 minutes 10 seconds. Despite feeling completely awful, we were doing better than we anticipated. I knew I could at least keep up the “I-swallowed-a-flaming-fireball-that-is-stealing-my-oxygen” pace that I had been running at, and that if we did that, we’d finish even better than we’d hoped- again!

And we did. In the last few seconds, Lola and I turned and looked at each other and without saying a word, we each kicked it up a few notches, racing each other to the finish line. We crossed the finish line at the same time- 22:18 (actually, I think Lola was a half-second ahead of me, but let’s just say we finished at the same time, shall we?). An 11:09 mile. That may not be so great to some, but for us, it's fabulous.

Victory!

I don't know the last time I was as nervous as I was before the 5k. I woke up at least 10 times the night before, once so soaked in sweat that I had to change my shirt. The race was Sunday afternoon, and let me tell you it was the longest morning in the history of time. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the air was crisp and fresh, and I honestly thought I was going to puke at the starting line. I know sometimes runners puke at the end of the race, but leave it to me to do it backwards. From the second I woke up to the second we started running, all I could focus on was trying not to freak out.

But I didn't freak out, and I didn't puke. I was nervous as hell; that didn't go away until a minute or two into the run. I underestimated how hard it would be to dodge the people slower than me while also trying not to get knocked over by the faster people (yup, that's right, there were people slower than me!). The crowd at the start of a race isn't very fun. Lola and I had agreed that it was ok if we didn't stick together during the race; neither one of us wanted to hold the other back. But within the first few seconds of starting, I had already lost her. I didn't know if she was ahead of me or behind me or even next to me. I started to get nervous but decided not to think about it- I couldn't handle any more things to be anxious about.

Then as the crowd thinned out a bit, she was next to me. Hooray! Propelled by the excitement, the adrenaline, and the rush of the crowd we ran farther without stopping or slowing down than we ever have before. In those few moments, I think we were runners- you know, the ones who make it look easy.

Then reality set in as I realized I could barely breathe, and that we were only maybe a half mile into our 3.1 mile race. But Lola and I naturally run at pretty much the same pace overall. She has more speed where I have more endurance. Her quick pace made me move faster; the duration of my sprints made her keep running. We ran by my parents, who were proudly waving their bumble bee balloons (how cute is that!?). It was the first moment in which I felt the magnitude of what I was doing and how much it meant to me, and I started to get a little emotional (my mom would later tell me she got choked up at this point, too). But I had the rest of the race to run and hadn't earned the right to bask in the glow of accomplishment yet.I felt pretty darn good until we rounded a corner and came upon one of the race volunteers who was yelling "If this is your second lap, go left. If this is your first lap, go right." Those two sentences knocked the confidence right out of me. We were coming around for the FIRST time and people were already on their SECOND LAP? What?! Is that even possible? Are they wearing jet-propelled footwear? Are they human? Am I the most horrible runner ever? I was shaken. All those people I thought were behind us might be behind us only because they are about to lap us?
"We're doing a lot worse than I thought!!!" I said to Lola in a slightly hysterical pant. "No. No way. I don't think so." Lola replied. I am usually the one saying how awesome we will be, but in that moment I had visions of the entire crowd of spectators being home by the time we crossed the finish line, my parents the only ones standing there to see us shuffle across the line. "Ok!", I said, not entirely sure but just wanting to believe her. Besides, what could I do? I already knew that my best was not going to be as good as other people's best. I was just shocked to see how much better their best was.

We just kept on going, pushing each other along without really saying much. I don't even really remember hearing the music playing on my iPod. I was just in it, in the moment, in the race so much that I almost wasn't aware of what was happening, only of what I had to do next. Which was keep....on.....running. And then run some more.

Finally, we turned a corner and there it was. There is no feeling like seeing the Finish banner high in the air ahead of you. I turned to Lola and said "Is that it?!". All this looping around and people passing us and I wasn't sure, I didn't want to get too excited for nothing. "That's it!" she said. And we took off, faster than lightning. Ok, maybe not exactly faster than lightning. That would mean lightning was slower than us, and if lightning was slower than we are few people would ever get struck by it. Because they could outrun it. But I did feel full of electricity--I have never felt adrenaline like I felt it in that moment. We ran fast. My body couldn't move fast enough for all the sudden energy I had. I crossed that finish line at full speed and it was nothing short of glorious.

Adding to the beauty of the moment was the fact that we finished exactly how we trained: together. Oh, and we weren't last. We finished in 39 minutes 3 seconds. That's a 12 minute 34 second mile, which completely surpassed what we thought was a lofty goal of a 15 minute mile. I am immensely proud of us. I always knew we could do it, I just didn't know we could be as good as we were.

When I got to work Monday morning I had an email from my mom:
"when i woke up this morning and sat at the kitchen table there were your 4 safety pins...i felt like I shouldn't move them..that they should stay there forever marking your special accomplishment..I wondered if you wanted these safety pins even though you now have over 200..i think these pins are special ....."

I think they're special too. I'm framing those suckers. They represent the sweat, the pain, the drive, the determination, the stubborn craziness it took for me to do this. The represent my first major step towards the triathlon. They represent that maybe, at least for that day, I could actually consider myself an athlete, and a runner. I will never again cross my first finish line. But now I know for sure that I hope to be crossing many more in the future.

On pins and needles

Watching Run Fatboy Run with Lola did not make either one of us less nervous. She said she is so determined not to finish last that she will push me to the ground if she has to (she's joking...a little bit). I assured her we won't be last, and even though I never thought we would be, now I know we really won't cause there's no way in hell I'm going to get into a shoving match with Lola during our last steps to the finish line. We spent too much time discussing our "finish line photo" expressions to ruin it. My finish line face will be serious, with a hint of joy and accomplishment. Ah, who am I kidding? My finish line face will not be pretty, and my finish line photo the bane of my existence as it lives on in infamy on the race website.

We went over all the details of tomorrow like the incredibly organized and apprehensive people we are. I told Lola something that has been bothering me since Friday when I picked up my race packet- I only grabbed 2 safety pins. Obviously, to securely pin on your race number you should have 4 pins- one for each corner. But when the guy said "Need some pins?", I got all flustered and almost said "No" when I really meant "Maybe, what for?" Then I realized what for so I said "Yes" but only took 2.

Two! What was I thinking? Lola assures me that we'll get there early enough to stop by the registration booth and grab some more pins. "You don't understand", I say, "If I don't have the pins tonight I will stay up all night thinking about how I need pins. I'll run to CVS later." "That's crazy!", says Lola. "Go tomorrow- don't worry about it tonight, it'll be late, you need to go to bed early. Maybe you even have some lying around." But, nope, none with my sewing kit (it's a small, travel sewing kit- I'm not that domestic), none in my desk drawers...I'm out of places to look. I don't own any safety pins. I try not to think about it as we watch the movie and I do manage to put it out of my mind. Then, towards the end of the movie, when Fatboy is running his race, there's a shot of the race crowd. "Look at all those people with their numbers properly pinned on", I sigh. "Don't worry!", says Lola. "I have 4 safety pins! We can always do 3 and 3- it'll be fine!"

A short time later, I am standing in the aisles of CVS wondering where the safety pins are. Not the office supply aisle. Not the hardware/home aisle, although they do have about 82 kinds of lightbulbs, screws, and the thing you put in your sink drain. But no safety pins. So I head down the road to Walgreens. As I walk down the brightly light aisles I start to curse the 17 types of Crazy Glue and begin envisioning a sleepless night of safety-pin hunting. Then I spot them.

I am now the proud owner of 225 brass and nickel-plated safety pins in assorted sizes. And, hopefully, I'm about to become the recipient of a great night's sleep and maybe even a fabulous finish line photo.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow, It's only a day away

Today is March 14th. That means tomorrow is my first 5k! I can't believe how quickly time has gone by.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't get nervous. Or, actually, more anxious than nervous. The anticipation is always what gets me, with anything. And this is no exception. Lola's coming over tonight to have a nutritious night-before-the-big-race dinner and watch Run Fatboy Run. Knowing that we both share the same nervous excitement makes me feel less nervous and more excited.

Am I ready? Heck yeah! Oh wait, except I'm kinda not. But a secret trick of mine is to pretend that I'm confident about things and then I trick myself into actually being confident. Sound silly? Maybe, but try it- it works! Anyway, I think I'm as ready as I could be at this point. I've definitely been working hard. A few short months ago I wouldn't have dreamed that I would be doing this, so regardless of how or when I finish tomorrow's race, I'll be happy to have finished it. And I'll also be happy it's over!

But for now, it's still looming on the horizon. Yikes!

Battle Lines Drawn

Another week, another weigh-in. My initial weight loss battle plan, while effective, has apparently lost its strength. The enemy (the lbs I can’t seem to lose) is on to me, so I have been forced to change tactics in a few ways. First, I am choosing to attend WW tonight, Monday, instead of my normal Tuesday. My hope is that a different WW leader will not only inspire me but also offer me some constructive advice which I can work from. My regular leader says things to me like "Well, you could be doing better" and "You need to do something to jump start your weight loss." Thanks, lady. Do they pay you to state the obvious? Because if so I'd like an application.

Second tactic change: Take some advice. I've spent the past week taking into consideration the thought of a few near & dear friends, which is: You are working your body too hard. You're tired, and maybe not eating enough, and your body is holding on to all your calories (aka energy) because it feels like it needs to in order to survive. You look good, but you also look like hell. You're exhausted-- slow down.

So, I did. I went to the gym a mere 4 times this week, and was as lax with my points counting as I've ever been. I let my mind and my body relax a bit. A mini-vacation from WW, I am hoping, will be just what I needed.

Third tactic change: Stop focusing so much on the weight loss itself. I have been beating myself up thinking "Body, you might not like me very much right now, but you can't deny that I'm working hard, so stop being such a jerk and show me the weight loss, damnit!" This was not getting me anywhere, and in fact was driving me certifiably, Britney-Spears-with-an-umbrella crazy. My mind, despite being in overdrive, was not able to outwit my body. Apparently my body has a mind of it’s own and it is unfortunately not the same mind that wants to lose weight. Then, late last week I got a text from my little bro that made me realize what my outlook should have been: "Remember two things: 1) You are an [insert my last name here]...your body will fight weight loss like it's a disease and 2) The most impressive goal is completing the tri...the losing weight thing just comes along with it." He couldn’t be more right- why didn’t I let myself think of it this way? It does feel like my body is battling against this- and I know it’s never been easy for me or anyone else in my family to lose weight, so I shouldn’t be surprised.

And the triathlon truly is the bigger goal here. If I keep focused on that, losing weight will be a by-product of my training. My body can only deny me the weight loss for so long (do you hear that, body?! You can’t deny me forever!). Not that I’m giving up on WW- I just need to remember that it’s only one piece of the metaphorical pie. Mmmm....pie. I don’t even like pie and writing that made me hungry. Even metaphorical pie sounds delish.

Anyway. Will I meet my May 1st weight loss goal? Maybe. Does it matter if I don’t? Not really. And I say that grudgingly. It’s an arbitrary goal that should have been attainable and I’ll have no excuse if I don’t meet it (besides my body’s plot against me). But here’s another thought— Who do I need to give an excuse to if I don’t? Certainly I know all my own excuses, my reasons, my hard work and my mis-steps. I don’t need to answer to anyone but myself on this one. Do I want to meet my goal? Heck yes. Will I be mad if I don’t? Uh-huh, absolutely. Nothing I can do about that, it’s the way I am. But I know that I’ve worked very hard, and that if I don’t meet my goal it was not for lack of effort. I also know that I will get there; if not May 1st, then maybe June 1st. Or maybe August 1st (but eeek, I hope not!). I won’t give up. I’ll revise my battle strategy until my body & mind call a truce, hurtling across finish lines hand-in-hand, living happily ever after.

Now I’m off to my WW meeting. Wish me luck.

Step by Step

My first 5k is one week from today. One week! I can't believe it's so soon- I feel like I've only just started running, and now I'm putting myself to a major test. It feels equivalent to signing a toddler up for the high school track team.

While a 5k might be a breeze to the guy who finished first last year (with a time of 15:33) it is for sure a huge deal to me. Just to put it in perspective, I would be happy if 15:33 was my time to finish ONE MILE. It's almost beyond my comprehension that anyone can run that fast when I think about how slow I run! That guy probably finds running "fun", whereas I'm more apt to describe it as "evil torture that steals my ability to breathe." So, I guess that's one of the differences between myself and someone who can run a 5-minute mile.

Now, I am not comparing myself to this guy, by any means. Nor am I trying to place first, or even 20th or 50th for that matter. The 50th person last year finished in 20:14, at which point I could only hope to be on mile 2, with lots of people behind me (so I'm not dead last). To be honest, I just want to finish and get my free t-shirt. I also hope that I meet my 15-minute mile goal, but truly that is secondary to just crossing the finish line eventually- a lofty enough goal in and of itself. I think that, for me, finishing is something to be proud of regardless of how long it takes. I don't know if I will ever feel like I can say that I am a runner, I just know I sure don't feel like one at this point.

Yet I hope to spend next Sunday being one. A week from my first race, I still have a love/hate relationship with running. I still stand in awe of the people who can run on the treadmill for 45 minutes straight. But I am starting to feel a strange camaraderie with other runners I see out there- not so much the ones who make it look easy; not the fancy pants runners. The ones who, like me, make every step look like the struggle that it is. They make me think that maybe all you have to do to be a runner is just continue to put one foot in front of the other.

Bumblebee vs. Universe

I have to admit, I've been feeling pretty good lately. I've been working out a lot and eating well. All of my clothes are noticeably looser on me. Lest I get too comfortable, the universe choose this week to deliver me a quick one-two punch.

Monday was the day my triathlon shorts decided to show up on my doorstep. Any confidence I had prior to that night flew out the window so fast that it's probably halfway to Kuala Lumpur by now, never to be seen again. Before I even put them on I knew I was in for a problem, because they looked quite... small. I double checked the tag, hoping to find that I was sent newborn triathlon shorts by accident, but no such luck.

Let me tell you, those bad boys are so tight that putting them on is like putting on a pair of nylons- pull up a little here, a little there, a little here, until somehow, eventually, you have them on. I was almost afraid that I was going to rip them with all the tugging I was doing, but apparently they're pretty resilient. By far the most horrifying thing about these shorts is that they have a tight elastic at the bottom of the legs, which falls about an inch above my knees. I understand that the elastic is so you don't have to worry about your shorts riding up while you are in the middle of a race, but it is just not an attractive look unless maybe your legs are pure muscle, which mine sure aren't.

These shorts make me look ridiculous, and upon seeing myself in them for the first time I immediately flashed back to the dance recital days of my youth. I loved dance, but never ever ever did I love the flashy spandex outfits that came with the territory. This was due to the fact that I was always the chubbiest girl in the class. But once a year on dance recital nights I had to don a tight little costume and sashay out onto stage with all of the twiggy girls. I survived, but it was traumatizing at the time, and these tri shorts are causing me to relive it in a major way. If I'm ever feeling skinny, I will definitely be sure to check myself by yanking them on. I don't know if they're totally supposed to be this way or if perhaps they're a tad small. But as I'm checking out my lumpy self in the mirror, I'm also refusing to get a larger size, because I am sure that I can make myself fit into them before July.

Or at least, I thought so until the second punch was delivered on Tuesday, when I arrived at my weekly weigh-in to find out that, yet again, the scale had not budged.

Not a single ounce.

TKO.

Universe, 1. Me, nada.

This seems near impossible, because I've been working super hard. I've been pushing myself every day to do my absolute best. I'm not perfect, but I know I've been doing great. I deserve to see a weight loss. And I'm willing to work even harder. But at this point I do not know what else to do. I've eaten noodles made from the root of a vegetable I've never even heard of. They taste like earthworms, in case you're wondering. I've stopped drinking anything except water and coffee (and I've been drinking A LOT of water). I'm exercising at least 5 days a week for at least 45 minutes. I write down everything I put in my mouth and can tell you off hand the points value of nearly anything. Yogurt? 2 points. Banana? 2 points. Apple? 1 point, as long as its 2.5" in diameter or smaller. If not, then 2 points. And yes, I've grabbed a ruler and measured apples to be sure I'm calculating correctly.

I would not be exaggerating if I was to say I almost lost my grip on sanity in the minutes after I stepped off that scale. For a few moments I felt sure the universe really was playing a nasty trick on me (ok, so I kinda still do). I have been working so hard, and I'm freaking exhausted. I even fell asleep in the bath tub the other night. That is a bad, bad thing, especially for someone who lives alone. My cats hate the water and are not CPR-certified. I'd have been screwed if I'd gone under.

Due to all this hard work, I feel like I need to see some downward movement on the scale. It would be my body's way of saying "Great work, my friend. You did good." Instead, it feels like my body is saying "Hahahaha!!! F*%^ you!"

I know that losing weight, or not losing weight, is not the end of the world. I know there's worse things that could happen. I know I don't have a huge amount to lose. But still, I've set a goal for myself, and I'm determined to meet it, so it makes me really cranky when I realize I might not.

After 2 days of struggling to put a positive spin on this, I knew I needed to do something different to kick my ass into gear and get over it. Something I hadn't done yet. So tonight, I did it. I ran on the treadmill! And I did not fall off- I didn't even stumble! While this might not seem like a huge accomplishment, believe me-- it was. I haven't been able to successfully run on the treadmill since...ok, I've never been able to successfully run on the treadmill. Take that, universe--I'm ready for a rematch any day.

Moh-tuh-vey-shuhn

The reason I can get out of bed to go running at 7:45 on a cold, windy Saturday morning in February is motivation. Because, let me tell you, I do not enjoy cold, windy February mornings. Actually, I don't like mornings in general.

I derive this motivation from many places. First of all, I'm motivated by myself and the power of my own ambition. Ultimately, I am the reason that I work so hard. I don't want to be better than anyone else. I want to be a better version of me.

The idea of accomplishment motivates me. Often when I'm running and I start to get tired, I think about how it will feel to cross my first real finish line, and that adds a little extra pep in my step. I hope that when it happens, the moment is as great as I think it will be. And since I'd like to know for sure, it motivates me to try a little harder, run a little longer, push myself a little further.

My family and friends have motivated me. Those closest to me are so incredibly enthusiastic, supportive & encouraging about my goals that it makes me even more excited to be doing what I'm doing. Even when I'm out there running alone I can hear all of this positivity in my head and it keeps me going, like my own personal, invisible cheerleading squad.

All of this is fabulously motivating. It's wonderful. But there's one huge motivator that is a large part of what truly makes it possible, and to which I owe nearly everything.

And that's my iPod. Yes, without my iPod, I wouldn't make it through a single gym workout; my feet wouldn't move fast enough to break into even a slow jog. I need a beat to run to; a soundtrack to lay behind the sound of my feet pounding on the pavement, the swoosh swoosh sound of the elliptical, the clang of weights being dropped. Without "AwNaw" by the Nappy Roots & POD, for example, I probably would have burned 50% less calories last Tuesday alone. I owe at least 5 pounds of my weight loss solely to "No More Drama" by Mary J. Blige, and the laid-back, accomplished feeling that comes with most of my cool-downs to Janet Jackson's "Son of a Gun". I don't even want to think about what workouts would be like without "Whine Up" by Kat DeLuna.

Running requires a different soundtrack altogether, for which I need to thank The Killers for "Human", The B-52s for "Roam" and the Flobots for "Handlebars". Without these songs, I would surely be whimpering under a tree or small bush somewhere along my running route.

Which is why, as I'm sure you'll understand, I was very flustered when my iPod battery died 30 minutes into my run on Saturday morning. Once I realized what had happened, I headed straight for my car without hesitation. There would be no point in trying to run any longer without it; it would be worse than trying to run barefoot.

I will run with sneakers that cut my heels. I will run in the cold, and in the wind. I will run when my whole entire body is sore from a run the day before. I will even run in sneakers that do not match the rest of my outfit.

But I will not run without my iPod.