Words of a Friend

Sometimes, you need the words of a Friend to remind you of where you’ve been and how far you’ve come.

February 2015 vs. December 2016

March 2016 vs December 2016 (black shirt)




I wanted the white one. With the bright pink lettering. It was the one that drew me to the display. But, of course, it was the smaller one. A medium. My coach suggested I try this¬†smaller one, I laughed at her. She’s crazy. I took the larger, grey one.

Everything about the white one was… uncomfortable. It would stain quicker. It would expose my wobbly bits clearer. It would fit my form tighter. But the grey one, it was comfortable. Too comfortable. Too large.

I took the white one.

~that’s life… in no particular order

My New Normal


It fits!
Not “plus size store” fits.
Not “women’s section” fits.
Not “specialty cut”, “loose fitting”, “maternity style” fits.
But “normal” fits.
In the same store with the “normal women” fits.
On the same rack as the “normal women” fits.
“Hopeful that you want to buy it” rather than “anxious that it will look awful” sales associate fits.
Suddenly I have a choice, “to buy it because I want it, not because it fits” fit.
Suddenly I find myself, “shocked by the unexpected moment in the Van Heussen dressing room”, “stunned with a frozen smile on my face”, “embracing my new normal” fits.

~that’s life… in no particular order

It’s Not Complicated


Yes. That is what you think it is. And if you know me as well as my bestie does,  you’re probably having a reaction similar to her’s: gasp in mid-sentence,  “Who are you!!??” Considering I lost my parking decal because I didn’t want to permanently affix it to my car, a bumper sticker “decorating” or “desecrating” Princess Grace Kelly warrants a dramatic reaction. I mean, have you seen her? Beautiful pearl white with cream leather interior – she is indeed a portrait of regal beauty in automobile form.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate a good bumper sticker. In fact, I am the person who makes them dangerous because I drive dangerously close to the car in front of me so I can read its bumper. I build stories in my head of what the sticker reveals about the vehicle’s owner. And I can glean a lot of information from those stick figure families people insist on sticking on their cars. Now that’s dangerous. But the point to fix your attention on is that I prefer those sticky statements on other people’s bumpers. And up until now, the only thing intentionally adorning Princess Grace Kelly was the pearl necklace and black bow tie hung around the rear view mirror – she does have to live up to her name, after all. The parking decal only became a permanent fixture after a lovely breeze carried the original off the dashboard and out the window.

Then, why this? Why now? No I didn’t join a crossfit cult, as some of my friends are prone to think. The truth is I made a commitment. I set a goal. And as the months wore on, I found myself less committed to my commitment. As the numbers on the scale remained steady and the inches around my waist clung on with firm resolve, my goal oriented behavior became less… goal oriented. So on Friday, having missed more workout sessions than I attended for the 4th week in a row, I knew drastic measures were needed.

Thus, I branded my car.

I want people to know that about me. I want them to judge me when I drive through the Chick-fil-a line because I’m too lazy to make the salad I have at home (and we all know I’m not going to Chick-fil-a to order a salad). I want to see the unbecoming adhesive on PGK’s perfect exterior every time I walk Oreo in the morning so I don’t make an excuse to go back to bed. I want to look in the mirror at my SLOWLY changing body with more determination than my stubborn flesh and know it was worth it. It’s not complicated, really. It’s just my own form of public accountability.

~that’s life… in no particular order

Hard Exercise Thoughts

Day one, Friday: what have I done? How can I get my money back?

Day two, Saturday: taking comfort in the idea that I will pass out before I die because death seems like a very real possibility.

Day three, Sunday: maybe I should go for a jog so that… wait. You should what?! Who are you?

Day four, Monday: not sure if zumba is boring tonight or if it’s just the fact that I can’t move my limbs.

Day five, Tuesday: completely understand why gym people wear gym clothes because real clothes are very uncomfortable for sore muscles. And it’s been 45 min since my workout and I still want to pass out.

Day five, PM: endorphins screaming louder than pain.