A few years ago I was really upset that I’d gained some weight and weighed 143 pounds.
Looking back at that post, all I can think is “that’s cute.” I now weigh nearly 20 pounds more than that.
My clothes aren’t fitting well, and I’m looking at every recent photo of myself and critiquing it.
Like this one, from the run last weekend. All I see is the “fluff” around my midsection, and I’m not talking about the tutu.
Or this one of me and my intern, where all I see my puffy face.
Earlier this week, I emailed Tina and told her I wanted to try her meal planning service again — I know I have the knowledge of how to eat well and lose weight, but I really need the accountability.
Yeah…no emotional eating here. (I gained weight basically as soon as my mom got sick.)
I’m reading 13 Things Mentally Strong People Don’t Do, and one section talks about a guy who wanted to lose weight but basically was afraid of changing his lifestyle — and it hit SO close to home. Yes, I love going out and drinking wine with my friends, but the frequency I’m doing it is not serving me AT ALL.
Tina and I decided I’d start the meal plan next week, but I have to admit that I’ve had a really hard time with body image since finally acknowledging all of this earlier this week and not ignoring it.
I texted with Tina earlier and told her all of this and she gave me a really good pep talk.
I’m not sure what my goal weight is, to be honest — it’s more about how I look and feel than an actual number, truly — but I’ve lost 50 pounds. I can do this. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself right now.
And I’m going to blog/IG about it as much as I can.
Any advice on losing weight a second time? Or things you want me to write about in this?
Last year, I did it with my mom, and I was so so proud of her — for dominating ovarian cancer, for finishing this walk just 3 months after finishing treatment that zapped all of her energy.
Last year, we said we’d do it every year, and I plan on doing it every year I can for the rest of my life. For her, for me, to do anything I can to raise money and awareness.
My amazing friends signed up with me, and we made a team: Team Carol.
We made t-shirts and, yup, we made our own tutus. (By we, I mean Meg and Kelly did, while I attempted to not mess the shirts up too badly. I still have teal spray paint on my fingers, though, so the jury is out.)
I left my apartment at 7:45 for a 9am start, and after two subways, two canceled Lyfts and an unmarked cab, I finally made it to Prospect Park at 8:53. (Love you, MTA…NOT.)
I was overwhelmed by both the logistics and the love as I went to meet my friends to begin. As we walked to the start, I began tearing up as the race signs reminded me of last year’s walk and being so full of happiness and pride for my mom. “Well, crying at the beginning of the race is a new one,” I said to Ashley.
The six of us ran, breaking into groups of two and three, and I stuck with Kelly and Leah. This was technically a timed race, but I obviously wasn’t there to race. I’ve been running and been attempting to still do some NYCM training, but my training has been irregular at best (which is why I haven’t written about it.)
We ran the 3.1 in about 30 minutes, and I just enjoyed chatting with my friends. We stayed to wait for the other ladies to finish and cheered them in.
Last year, I watched the official on-stage program with my mom, and my friends and I stayed to do the same. I began tearing up immediately at the beginning of the program as the emcee said “I know you are all probably here because ovarian cancer has touched you some how.” They did a cheer about fighting the war to find a cure, and tears started streaming down my face as I felt so sad and frustrated that any cure is too late for my mom. (Though, after seeing the hell my mom went through, all I want is for a cure for this disease to be found, if it can help one family to not have to go through what my family did. This is why I write about this. This is why I talk about this.)
OK, fine, no matter what the cause, I’ve never found a photo booth I didn’t like.
I grabed Meg and Ashley to start walking around with me, as I was having a hard time listening to the program. Ashley had to leave, and Meg and I continued to walk around. We heard the survivor ceremony begin, and Meg held my hand as I began sobbing and asking her why my mom couldn’t be there, telling her how I had told my mom last year that she would be up on there on that survivor stage for a very, very long time.
It breaks my heart that she wasn’t. That when the doctor told her on diagnosis that 10-year survival rates are on the rise, and that worried her. My grandma lived until she was 95, and we all thought that this cancer thing would be a huge bump in the road for us and for her, but that she’d ultimately conquer it and be so much more than a statistic. She was always above average, wouldn’t her survival be too? I keep wondering if that’s something that everyone else thinks and says when their loved one gets diagnosed. If that’s an example of the magical thinking.
Meg held my hand and hugged me as I cried and she corralled our friends to move on to brunch. [I have so many special and amazing friends, but she’s truly been my rock throughout all of this.]
My friend Shannon couldn’t make it, but her husband and daughter came, and it filled my heart to spend time with this cute little love.
Also, she gave us a legit excuse to color at brunch. “What? We have a kid with us!”
It was an emotional morning, but capping it off with brunch and coloring was the perfect end to the day.
I’m lucky to have had 34 amazing years with my mom, and I’m so so lucky to have amazing friends here to help me pick up the pieces of my life and continue to celebrate and honor my special mom.
Special thanks to Abbie, Ashley, Meg, Kelly, Leah, J-Po, Shannon, Tim and sweet little Audrey for yesterday <3
Also, I’m writing an article on ovarian cancer for work — let me know what questions you’d like to ask!
