My, it's dusty around here!

The Great Hiatus of 2013 gave way to an even Greater Hiatus, encompassing all of 2014. But while my writing lapsed, my goal setting and dedication to this path didn't.

Well, not for long, anyway. Here and there, but never for very long.

The best way for me to kick off this New Year is with a wrap-up of what everyone's missed while I was busy not writing. Major life changes (like a surprise knee surgery and marriage to the Geeky Runner) aside, my life has revolved around fitness in one way or another. I returned to school in Fall 2013 to gain a Fitness Specialist education, and in November 2013, I became an NASM Certified Personal Trainer.

The gig wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and I spent only nine months concentrating on that career path, but it brought me to bigger and better things. Most importantly, it kept me focused and on track for all the fitness goals I had in mind.

2014 was a year of running, and it was a year of racing.

April:

10-mile

Half marathon

May:

25K

5K

June:

10-mile

July:

Half marathon relay

5K

August:

Half marathon

September:

5-mile trail

October:

Marathon
Half marathon

November:

5K

You see that word up there, right under "October"? Yep. I finished a marathon. 26.2 miles.

I stop short of saying that I ran a marathon, because I did a lot of walking. A whole lot. But I completed it under the six-hour cutoff and on my own two sore, aching feet. Even as I was climbing painfully over the worst of the hills, I knew I would do it again. And even as my muscles seized after crossing the finish line and I hobbled stiltedly, whimperingly to my car, I knew I would absolutely do it again.

Looking forward to 2015, there's a lot I hope to accomplish. After the marathon, I took what I hoped would be a brief break from running. Despite having two shorter races ahead of me, I didn't really resume running. I instead discovered just how much I'd been eating when, in the absence of meaningful, consistent physical exercise, I packed on fifteen pounds. My pre-marathon 165lbs was all gone. Yikes.

I'm no believer in New Years Resolutions, but a switch flipped in me this morning when I rolled out of bed and felt that forgotten Need To Run. So I did.

The races on my schedule this year begin in February with a 5K and peak with my second marathon in June. A handful of other races decorate my calendar at this point, including a weekend in which I'll run a 5K and 10K back-to-back, followed by a 10-mile the next day. I'm excited to have a baseline on many distances, established in 2014, and to have the opportunity to improve on them this year.

So much to do. So many places to go.

Best of all, I'll be doing it all with my husband. The Geeky Runner was with me for every single race this year, waiting for me at the finish line, his own medal already around his neck. (One of these days, I'll catch him.) Our plans diverge somewhat this year; he's taking aim at some trail races, while I recently discovered that my dodgy knee has trouble with extreme terrain. So it'll be me at the finish line for him this time.

Here's to another year. Bring it on!

The Great Hiatus

Last month, I had reached my limit with calorie counting.

It wasn't the counting that I hated, exactly. It was that, no matter what I did, I was no longer losing weight. Spending months with the same number staring back from the scale was making me angry, irrationally so, and it was translating into anger with myself. There was so much blame.

I just couldn't break 173lbs.

So I did what any flighty, hyper-emotional person would do. I said Screw it! and stopped counting. And, oh, I started eating whatever I wanted.

I ate cake. I ate cookies. I drank more Mountain Dew in one week than I have in months. The scale didn't change... until, of course, it did. In a big way.

After a little over a week, the scale registered a sudden and unrelenting 180lbs. I was staggered, and not, all at the same time. I should have gained weight. I know how this works. But that much? And now what?

The results, though ugly, might have been what I needed. Right there, I had proof that my diet had been working, though perhaps not as well as I wanted it to. It was keeping the weight off, maintaining at my as-of-yet lowest weight of 173. That's worth something.

Lesson #1: After a year of being on a reduced-calorie diet, eating lots more makes a great big difference, very quickly.

The next day, it was back to calorie counting. Re-committing, trying to undo the weight I'd managed to gain in such a short time. Within days, I'd learned a second very important lesson.

Lesson #2: Weight gained quickly can come off just as quickly.

I dropped eight pounds in a week and a half. Yep, I broke through to 172. Finally.

My take-away from this experience is two-fold. Temporary weight is simply easier to lose. I'd been told this before, that an entire lifetime of obesity would make it so very much harder to drop the pounds, but I never entirely understood the reality of it. And I discovered that sometimes, a break really is the best thing for the body.

Could I have been making progress these last three weeks, instead of mucking around with pounds I didn't need to gain in the first place? Maybe. But at what cost?

For now, I've doubled down. I need to; I picked up my wedding dress on Tuesday and it's veeeeeery snug. I need to drop around ten pounds over the next few months in order to make it a reasonable fit for September. But I'm looking forward to a very delicious cake that evening, and I plan to eat my way through the honeymoon.

Sometimes, life comes first. Until then, goodbye cake. I'll see you in September!

Back on the radar and catching up

Hello again! What's new?

That's as good a way as any to start a post after so long, I think.

I'd love to say that I've been quiet because I've been busy having adventures and making great progress, but the truth is that I've been spending my time sitting on the couch, watching tv and making bad choices. And then, subsequently, being upset about those choices, and immediately making more.

Etc, etc.

These spirals are sneaky. I never see them coming. I feel them when they're happening, but I feel so powerless. What's the use?

I've done good things in the past month, and I deserve to own them. I did two 5Ks, one of which I managed to blog about, the other which I didn't.

A shame, really, because it was awesome. I set a new PR over three miles, 36:00 flat, over varied terrain in a state park, and it was in the pouring rain. I'd never before run in the rain; it's not something I'd ever chosen to do, for obvious reasons. But having been forced by virtue of a race, I can safely say that it was one of the most exhilarating, wonderful experiences I've ever had on the road. The rain kept the bugs at bay and helped to regulate my body temperature. My knees were so happy!

I will run in the rain again.

I also learned a valuable lesson that day. After my three-mile PR, my body felt good. Too good. I wonder if I can set another PR today?

Do you know where this is going? You do. I know you do.

So I went to the gym that night and blazed my way through a mile on the treadmill. I was determined, and my PR of 10:41 showed it.

Know what else I accomplished? I pounded the crap out of my good knee. I was forced to take a solid week off from running as a reward for my foolishness. The day that started as such a triumph ended on a whimper - literally.

That, I think, was a deathblow to my motivation. (And my pride.)

My eating habits have been poor. I've given into cravings not just occasionally, not just often. Every day.

This is where the self-loathing comes in.

I don't think that there are bad foods. Not really. I think that any food is acceptable when taken in moderation, and different people get different results from different foods. There's nothing inherently wrong with that box of cookies I ate while hidden away in my apartment last weekend.

No, what's wrong is that these foods deter me from my goals. They're tiny, delicious roadblocks that prevent me from making progress. Losing ground on goals that mean so much to me - goals toward which I'm working so incredibly hard - is emotionally painful, and it chips away at my pride. That's where the problem lies. Not in the food, but in what those foods do to me, in practice.

I will never, ever utter the oft-used phrase that "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels". I don't care one bit about skinny. I care about my fitness. My running. I care about being an athlete, and healthful weight loss furthers this goal.

Besides, my last entry summed up rather well how likely I am to ever be "skinny". Ohlol! These hips may be getting smaller, but they're not going anywhere!

So. Having said that, I've lost a lot of ground. My most recent evaluation last week revealed that I'm down to 194 pounds. When I see that number, I'm so freakin' happy I could cry. But when I realize that number is a scant 1.5lbs lower than the previous month's eval, it's sobering.

That tiny loss isn't a reflection of how hard I didn't work, it's a reflection of how many roadblocks I laid down. How many times I tripped over them.

How much I hated myself for it.

This isn't the first time I've felt this way, and it surely won't be the last. But digging out and overcoming the feelings isn't easy, no matter how many times I've done it before.

So here I am. Next Friday (the 13th!) will mark 9 months since I started on this journey. So far, I have lost 44lbs. This is worth something.

Here, I try to get back on track. I try to stop sabotaging my progress toward my goals. I recognize that I deserve these goals and that I am the only one who can achieve them - or take them away. I decide to take control again.

Let's see how this goes, shall we?

Has it really been a week?

It would seem that when I feel I'm not making progress at the gym, I feel I have nothing to post.

The sadness over not being able to run has been overwhelming. I made do with a few visits to the bike at the gym, logging nearly sixty miles, each mile feeling more desperate than the one before. Pedaling away the hours, yearning to reach that wonderful endorphin rush that I've come to know so well.

I don't know if a "biker's high" exists. If it does, I sure didn't find it.

To compensate for the days off I was going to take last week, I changed up my diet. I knew I needed to get serious about it if I were to keep my weight down while not hitting the treadmill every day.

Enter: The Salad.

I hate salads. I really, really hate them. I don't really like vegetables, I certainly don't like vinaigrettes, and if it doesn't have melted cheese, what's the point?

You're seeing now why I gained this weight in the first place, aren't you. It's okay. You can nod.

Anyway. A few weeks ago, I was browsing the organic section of the local grocery store and I saw this bottle of dressing sitting on an endcap of clearance items. Even the word "garlic" makes my taste buds start to samba. So I bought it, figuring that I might one day decide to eat a salad.

You never know.

Last weekend, with this idea in my head of buckling down on my diet while I rested my foot, I decided to buy some lettuce. Only when I got to the produce department, I remembered that, oh yeah, lettuce is boring and dumb. So I picked up a bag of greens consisting of mixed spring greens and baby spinach, and I found some marinated butter herb chicken breasts that were just begging to be bought.

A bowl of greens with two tablespoons of dressing and a chicken breast for lunch, every day. (Okay, not Friday. I had cookies for lunch. I was under a lot of stress.) Some days, I had it for dinner, too. It was... edible. Maybe not great, but by the end of the week, I could say that it was actually good. I even started looking forward to it.

And when I stepped on the scale on Saturday morning, I had lost two pounds.

200 pounds. Right there, on the scale. I stared at it, dumbfounded. I didn't understand.

I'm struggling to resist the urge to stop at the gym every morning before work, just to check. I weighed myself before and after training today, just in case.

Every pound is a milestone, but this pound, this one little pound... it means something even more.

It's almost here.

A bit of inspiration from the ol' tee-vee

"I did it! I ate one cookie! I'm one of those people. Oh my gosh!"

Cassandra, a contestant on this season of The Biggest Loser, said this on last night's episode. The contestants are in the midst of a mid-season home visit, where they face the challenges of integrating some new habits into their normal lives, and she was enjoying the cookies she'd just baked with her family.

She said it with such excitement and disbelief that it nearly brought tears to my eyes.

I understood.

After nearly four months, my own food compulsion is almost gone. I have bad days when I make poor food choices, or more likely, when I eat a little too much of an otherwise acceptable food, but I haven't lost control.

Do you know how long it's been since I ate myself half sick on garbage? I don't, either. I don't even remember. And this amazes me.

Even weeks without pounds lost are worth it. Some days, it's hard to remember, but that doesn't make it less true.

Is it March yet?

Guys.

Do you know how hard it is to not drink soda all the time? It's killing me. Do you see this? Right here? This is me, dying.

My diet has been a little less controlled in the past few days, which doesn't surprise me. Swapping all but one drink a day to water was a huge change, and when I make that sort of change, other things tend to give. But I know it'll get better.

Took a spill on the ice the other day, so I'm off the treadmill while the soreness abates. It's just as well, really. My mile is down to 12:12 now and I was seriously in danger of beating myself up on the treadmill again. Unfortunately, it means that my goal of running 2-3mi every weekend won't be met this weekend.

Life gets in the way sometimes. Alas.

Onward and upward!

Changing my destructive impulsiveness

I had a doughnut today.

An hour later, I got sick, so I rather wish I hadn't eaten one. But I was okay with that choice. So what makes it different from last weekend, when a single S'more sent me into fits?

This one was a choice.

I've always been an impulsive person. Case in point: a little while ago, at 11:30pm on a Saturday night, I got halfway through a DVD of mine when the movie stopped playing. The DVD was damaged. Rather than accept that, oh well, I can't finish watching a movie I've already seen numerous times, I went to the store in my pajamas to buy a replacement. And here I am, back on my couch, continuing with "Watchmen".

This sort of impulsive behavior isn't always destructive. When it comes to food, though, it usually is. I never decided to over-eat or load up on junk. I never sat down and said to myself, "You know what? I should really do my best to eat 3000 calories a day of mostly refined sugars and fats." It was an impulse, a spur-of-the-moment idea that sounded good, so I did it.

Today's doughnut was planned. I decided on my way to work that I was going to treat myself to the snacks we had at the office. This was in stark contrast to the snacks I had last weekend, which were eaten because I had a craving and I just plain wanted to.

Learning to say no to these impulses is hard. It's undoing a lifetime of behavioral programming with no guarantee of a reward.

But it's worth it, every time.

Cheating, without cheating

I'm tired of protein bars, guys. I still do my protein shakes almost every night, but I can hold my breath while I gulp those down. I can't pull that off with the chewy, unappetizing bars on my shelf. I need a break from these things.

So this week, I tried a new option.



These Snackwell's Cereal Bars don't stack up to protein bars, not really. At only 8g of protein, they're less than half what my other bars provide. But what they lack in protein power they make up for in yumminess. I've eaten these all week for my mid-morning snack and have yet to tire of them.

One of these with my Cherry Coke Zero (very convincing!) and I almost forget I'm on a freaking diet in the first place.

I also stopped and sampled a new fast food option tonight. I've been cooking my dinners all week and decided, after my post-gym grocery shopping, that what I really wanted was a burger. So I had one of these:



That's a Hardee's Turkey Burger on a whole wheat bun, and I had mine with cheese, ketchup, and pickles. The Hardee's website doesn't let me break down the ingredients, so I could only estimate, but these turkey burgers have well under half the fat of a typical 1/4-lb burger and less than 500 calories.

The flavor was a little bland, which is my opinion of most turkey products that don't come with loads of gravy and mashed potatoes on the side. But this was the right texture for a burger, and when loaded with my favorite condiments, it was exactly what I was looking for.

I have these new foods loaded into my calorie counter, ready for the next time I need a candy bar or a burger. I think that's one of the neatest things about this part of the journey: the opportunity to try new foods that I wouldn't have considered before. Why would I have? I liked my fatty foods and I was going to keep eating them. I didn't need to change. Now, there are so many other possibilities.

Confessional time!

I have some friends who are under the mistaken impression that I'm really good at this "diet" thing. They think I have incredible willpower and that they, somehow weaker than I, could never do it.

So we're going to get real here.

Earlier, I said that my diet today was on track. That was true.

Was.

Then I decided I really needed chocolate. I made the mistake of believing myself. I gave in.

I didn't even have something worth eating. I don't keep snack foods in the house, as a general rule, because I am weak. I have odds and ends, some of which I forget about, none of which I would think of putting together. Tonight, I found some marshmallows on a high shelf in my kitchen. I combined these with graham crackers and a handful of chocolate chips to have S'mores.

Any of you who've ever struggled with weight loss know what comes next.

I hated myself. That's what I felt, first. Part of this journey is understanding (and respecting) the fact that calories matter and only by creating a calorie deficit can I lose weight. And so putting another who-knows-how-many calories into my body makes me upset. I hated myself because I've created more work.

I hated myself because I know how hard these cravings are to beat, and every time I give in, the next time is that much harder to fight. It's petty, but I hated myself for giving in.

And then, I felt something else. Nausea. That's where I am right now. I'm still angry, but mostly I just feel barfy, partly from the sugar and partly from the overwhelming frustration. I'm so sick to my stomach right now, guys.

S'mores are not worth it.

This is why, when people tell me "It's okay to cheat", I get so irritated. Because for me, it's not. These are rules I set for myself, with hopes and dreams riding on the backs of those rules. No, it's not the end of the world. Yes, I'll still get up tomorrow and go to the gym, and I'll hit it extra hard to make up for tonight. It'll all be okay.

Meanwhile, I'll be having words with myself about promises and not breaking them, even when the promises were only to myself.

Oh, and right now? I'm throwing those chocolate chips away, and I'll flex my massive biceps in an intimidating fashion while doing it. That'll show 'em.

Humility, part 2

I like to think that I'm completely in control of this "exercise" thing. I go when I want, I work as hard as I want, and I come home when I decide I'm good and ready. This is how I get fit.

But sometimes, I forget that there are other pieces to this puzzle. Pieces I should have known about, and probably did, once upon a time.

First point: When you feed yourself crap, you perform like crap.

Second point: When you overtrain, you cannot train yourself out of it.

I'm feeling both of these today.

Yesterday, being my birthday, I allowed myself a no-counting day. I don't usually do this, but I was out and about for my meals, so I didn't have the means to record and calculate what I was eating. I had an ice cream cone and way too much Mountain Dew - my biggest weakness. I knew I'd be back on track today, and back to the gym, so I allowed myself the transgression.

I didn't realize what a bad choice this was until I was on the treadmill today. Many runners will tell you that the first few minutes are the hardest, and you need to buckle down and concentrate on breaking through the wall holding back those wonderful, beautiful endorphins. That's when it gets easier. Only that part never kicked in.

Making it worse was the fatigue I was feeling. Having been a legs day on Monday, I spent most of my week with sore quads, which makes me limp, and when I limp, my left hip flexors get sore. Then my right shin starts to ache. None of this is the end of the world, but if I push too hard, it all starts to come apart.

So instead of the triumphant return to the gym after a birthday overindulgence, today's session was a limping, sweating, panting, achy mess. As I hobbled to my car, "ow"ing with every step, all I could think of was climbing onto the couch and icing my entire body.

My diet is back on track today, a small comfort. My legs are being iced, I'm drinking water like it's my job, and I'm hitting the supplements and anti-inflammatories hard. I may need to take a few days off from the treadmill, to let my legs finally recover.

The lesson here is that I'm still in control of this journey, but I need to remember every part of it. I can't reach my potential today if I abused myself yesterday. That includes eating garbage and overworking myself.

It's all connected. Lesson learned, again. Until I forget, again.

I'm a cheater

I've started treating my supplements as a crutch.

Instead of eating well all day, I've found myself eating sorta well and resorting to the protein shakes at the end of the day if I have calories left and need more protein. This has led me to make questionable choices.

As long as my ratios are okay, that's the point, right?

Maybe. But it's a dangerous road to go down. While I may be ending the day at the numbers I want, telling myself I can have a carbtastic pasta lunch if I choke down a shake later isn't doing me any favors. It's teaching me to fake it.

Food is a battle for me. It's a battle for many of us. Short-cuts like this allow me to undermine my own progress and make choices I otherwise wouldn't have.

Here's a much-needed reminder to myself: This is a long road. No short-cuts allowed.

So far, so good

The new year is off to a solid start. It's only the 5th, but credit where credit is due.

This week's lineup is a little tamer than usual, with the legs session on Monday having put a dent in my cardio. My goal of 30mi on the treadmill this month is stuck in neutral, so I know I'm going to have an uphill battle with this week out of contention.

I accomplished two days of independent weight training, Sunday and tonight, and I'm pretty stinkin' happy about it. Would really like to do legs, but I'm still a little broken, so I've been stuck with arms.

The diet has been good, though challenging. The cravings have been persistent over the past few days, I feel desperate for sugar around 10am despite being full from breakfast. I think I need to rethink my breakfast, eat less, and pack some kind of protein snack for the morning. I still haven't found a protein bar I like, but I may need to suck it up and have one anyway.

I gave in today at lunch and had a scoop of ice cream. My calories are still good today, my ratios aren't completely destroyed, but I'm disappointed that I gave in. I also got a little sick afterward, which didn't really surprise me.

Every day is still a battle with food. My friends pat me on the back for not snacking all day like I used to, for saying "no" to treats that are passed around the office. They couldn't do it, they say. It makes me feel especially brave.

Sometimes, though, they say it's okay if I just have one. I know they mean well.

But what they don't understand is that I'm afraid. I'm afraid that eating that one piece of candy will make me need it all the time. I'm afraid of the compulsion, I'm afraid of the food obsession. I'm afraid of undoing everything I've done. I don't want to be that person anymore, and every day I'm terrified I will be again.

I know that one piece of candy doesn't have enough calories to do me in. Some days, I'll even eat it. But most days, it's not about the one piece of candy that I can't have. It's about the rest of the bag I would finish off if I went back to being that woman I was before.

I won't let that happen. Tomorrow, I work to fix my food plan to fight those cravings better. I keep saying "no". I keep moving forward.

For Christmas, I got myself a hangover

I know you're jealous.

This year's Christmas was unconventional, a buffet of snacky foods taken at a destination with all members of the family accounted for. It was nice to come and go as I pleased, eating whatever sounded good whenever it sounded best.

But alas, 75% of the foods on display included some form of chocolate. Brownies, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate-covered Oreos, chocolate chip bars, chocolate-dipped pretzels, chocolate fudge, chocolate candies of all varieties, etc etc. It was a cheat day, I told myself, so it would be okay to just eat and not count the calories.

I was half right. It is okay to eat sometimes and not worry about the calories. We're all allowed to take a break from the micromanaging.

Where I was wrong was that it really isn't okay to eat whatever I want. When I forget this, my body reminds me.

And so it did early this morning, around 6am, when I first woke up and laid in bed feeling entirely nauseous. It was the sort of barfy feeling where you're not sure that the act of vomiting would help, and so you need to accept that it isn't getting better and you just need to deal with it. I dealt with it by curling up in a ball in an armchair all morning, apathetically watching the ensuing post-Christmas festivities continue around me.

These lessons are hard to learn. This was my second time being acquainted with what garbage food does to the body. I remember being very upset the first time, but hey, it was a new concept. Why I thought I could get away with again, I don't know.

NEWS FLASH! It didn't work. It won't work next time, either, and there will be a next time. And a time after that. But someday, these lessons will stick.

Until then, there will be these posts.

One more weekend left of the holiday season. One more weekend of indulgence to endure before life is back to normal. I think I'm ready.

Fast food hangovers and why I can't feel like that again

Yea verily, I have sinned.

On Wednesday, I took the day off from the gym, as I do every week. I caved in and ate a cheeseburger on lunch break; it just sounded so good! I counted my little calories, scolded myself, and promised to do better.

I should know better than to trust that voice. Sometimes, it's just a little too conciliatory.

Thursday, this week masquerading as Thanksgiving, was another work day for me. I like to volunteer for holidays, since my family does our celebrating on the weekend following. Nevertheless, I was in holiday mode, and I made my first bad choice of the day when I elected to buy a Mountain Dew from the vending machine. I knew better. I really did. But I promised to do better, later.

On the way home at the end of the day, I thought I might grab a few groceries and made the move to turn into the local big box on my way home. The parking lot was packed, in anticipation of the Black Friday sales. I aborted the mission and instead, sighing, turned into McDonald's to get some dinner. I was hungry, it was fast, and besides, they have salads.

And then I ordered a cheeseburger.

I'm not sure what I was thinking and I can only assume that I simply wasn't thinking. The gym had closed mid-day, due to the holiday, and I knew the deck was already stacked against me. So what did I do? Gave myself a 650-calorie pile of grease on a bun. Good choice.

When the feeling of sickness came on, I thought maybe I was just cranky. It had been a long day - long week, actually - and I felt very disordered. I was out-of-sorts from not having the chance to go to the gym. But the feeling got worse.

It wasn't a stomach ache, exactly. More of a fuzzy, nauseous feeling. I felt flushed, a little dizzy, a bit like my mind just wasn't processing things normally. Five hours after that cheeseburger, it was still sitting like a rock in my stomach, and I felt like I'd been hit by a bus. It was the most miserable feeling of recent memory.

My trainer had mentioned the "fast food hangover" to me, as something he feels if he tries to get away with eating garbage foods, and I chuckled at the terminology. I figured he was exaggerating.

No, he wasn't.

Half a gallon of Powerade and nearly half a gallon of water later, I was feeling closer to human. But that vaguely-wrong "hangover" feeling stuck with me all day today. By mid-afternoon, I was desperate for the gym. Desperate.

Now at home, gymmed and fed with food that wasn't a cheeseburger, I can reflect on what happened. Two days in a row without the gym and with garbage for food. I made bad choices, yes. Do I forgive myself? Of course.

But was it okay? Not really. I knew better, and I know from previous experience that when I become to permissive about my own bad behavior, it gets worse. See: this whole entry.

What I'm saying is that I am a petulant child. It's true.

So I fell off the wagon this week. It's going to happen plenty of times in this journey. But today was a new day, tomorrow is another new one, and every day I have a new chance to do things right.

And I will.

Changing my relationship with food

Food is fuel.

I wanted to get that out of the way, because it's something I need to tell myself every single day. My relationship with food has been less a sensible partnership and more a torrid love affair, and changing that relationship has been a long, difficult road.

Name a food vice and I've probably had it. I over-eat my favorite foods to the point of making myself sick. I eat when bored. I eat when emotional. I give into cravings. I'm that person who'll leave the house at 2am to get a candy bar at the grocery store, and after buying it, will eat it shamefaced in the car and hate myself ten minutes later.

At least, I was that person.

When starting a fitness program, I can't change everything at once. I start with exercise, and I let myself eat normally for the first few weeks while I'm gearing up. That's when I notice the first major change in myself: I stop craving garbage. I firmly believe that the body often craves what it needs, and when I'm hitting the gym, the only thing I can think about eating afterward is a big piece of chicken. And let me tell you, I give in to every one of those good cravings. I need to capitalize on them, reward myself for them.

Once I'm finding myself in a groove with going to the gym and having some good cravings, I take steps to change the rest of my diet. I start replacing my calorie-laden beverages with water. I replace my mid-morning candy bar with a granola bar. I eat an apple an hour before going to the gym not because I want to, but because I should.

An interesting thing happens once you make these changes. You start craving these foods. The body starts expecting them. So even though I don't like granola bars, I don't particularly like water, and apples have never been at the top of my snack list, I start to look forward to them.

There are days when the food-obsessed version of me comes out again. Some days, I'll grab a hot fudge sundae along with my plain grilled chicken wrap. I'll have a big slice of cake (or two) when I feel I need it. But like with everything else, I need to be honest with myself. Why am I eating this? Will I feel better for having eaten it? Am I acting reasonably right now?

And always, when I let myself indulge, I still count my calories. Just because I'm cheating doesn't mean I give up, and my storied history with food has shown me that I can still make progress on the days I exceed my desired calorie count. If I eat 2200 calories on Wednesday (Pizza Night, hello!) all is not lost. I still have six other days of the week to make a difference.

The important thing for me to remember is that a slice of cake doesn't undo all the good I've done since I started down this path. It may be a stumbling block, but if there's one thing I've learned it's that stumbling doesn't mean falling.

I'll never be cured of my food obsessions. It's a constant battle, this relationship. But every day I can log my calories with a smile on my face is a major accomplishment, something to be proud of.