Why I Couldn’t Join a Weightloss Challenge

Two words: I'm Hungry.

No, really, about 5 hours ago all I wanted was a Burger King Original Chicken Sandwich with gobs of their 210 calorie mayonnaise oozing out from under the bun. That sounds disgusting, I know, but it's just so freakin' good!

I resisted the urge. I couldn't do it. I've worked out everyday for 2 weeks straight and I couldn't ruin it all for a slab of microwaved chicken covered in the world's unhealthiest mayo. Nope, I ordered a cheese burger with ketchup, mustard, and pickles instead, and at only 340 calories, it was a much healthier choice. Baby steps, I guess.

All in all I'm getting a little discouraged by the scale's unwillingness to budge anymore than 3 pounds lower, but I've learned a very valuable lesson: exercise makes me feel wonderful. I feel healthy, optimistic, and, wait for it...happy...all the time. I swear 2 weeks worth of positivity is a new record for me. Who knew that when Psychiatrist Number 4 recommended yoga as a cure for my depression he actually knew what he was talking about?

While the scale may not be moving much I am noticing very subtle changes in my body like the return of my quadriceps whose appearance went MIA about 6 years ago--I can actually see them again. Oh, and my butt is lifting, looking a little more round. I've practically had to beat my husband off with a stick on more than one occasion in these last couple of weeks. I haven't seen much of a change in the spare tire though, but I'm holding out hope that it will start deflating soon.

I guess in the big scheme of things being hungry and denying myself the food that I should have been swearing off all along is small potatoes. And whether or not I lose 3 pounds or 20 pounds doesn't really matter as long as I'm taking care of myself, being the healthiest I can be, and feeling more confident, which I do and I am.

Now if only Burger King would fall off the face of the Earth I might have a chance at reaching that 22 pound goal...19 more to go.

Sunday Letters Vol. 5

Dear Kristin,

Today is your 21^st birthday! Jon and I met you and a few of your friends down in the valley at midnight last night and we stood next to each other as you nursed a Long Island Iced Tea and we sipped a couple of warm beers. Jon and I debated on the way home as to what was worse; the shot the three of us had together that tasted like Sprite and tart liquor, or the seemingly heated Coors Light and Corona that felt like it was curdling everything in our bellies. I think the warm beer won as worst drink of the night, but we really didn't have much desire to complain. No, for the most part, we were too busy texting and calling people about having a drink less than 10 feet away from LeBron James! Dude had it going on even in his Yankees cap as he sipped a Vitamin Water at a bumping bar. Thanks for inviting us, and for giving us a great story to tell when we go back to work tomorrow.

Boy, you and I sure have come a long way, haven't we? How often do two sisters fight so much that their grandmother, who lives three states over and visits once or twice a year, begins all of her check-in phone conversations by asking "How are Katie and Kristin getting along?" Life in our house was an all out war between you and I. I wanted privacy, you wanted attention, we both knew which buttons to push at just the right moment to make the other one fly off the deep end. You had the advantage though, because I was older and I should have known better, blah, blah, blah…you could have suffocated me in my sleep and Mom and Dad would have still blamed me, because I didn't love you enough or something equally absurd.

I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am that the constant bickering is over. Everyone said we would grow out of it, but to be completely honest, I had some serious doubts we would ever get along. I mean, c'mon, when you were 6-years-old you took the screen out of our bedroom window and threw all of my stuff out into the rain. You painted my bed and dresser with bright red nail polish. I still don't know how I ever forgave you.

A turning point came for me one day when you were able to look at Jon and say, "I hate you because you took my best friend away." You must have been 11 or 12 at the time, and the way you said it, as if you truly believed that we had ever been friends, let alone best friends, almost knocked me off of my feet. All those years I spent despising you, ridiculing you, pushing you away, and you still thought we were friends. It was at that point that I decided to let you in a little at a time, and we've been going strong ever since. I still cry whenever I come across a picture you drew for me, or an award you made for me, proclaiming me as The World's Best Big Sister, because I was never that kind to you.

That being said, Thank You, Kristin, for sticking around long enough to become one of my best friends--for being one of the very few people who I feel completely comfortable around, and for not judging me. Thank you for honoring Jon and I as Godparents to Isaiah, and of course, thanks for inviting us to that bar last night where we got stare at the back of LeBron James' head.

Happy Birthday!

Your big sis,

Kate

Sunday? Letters Vol. 4

Dear Rob,

If I didn't know you I would be tempted to apologize to you since this letter was supposed to have been written and posted a week ago, but since I do know you, I know that the existence of this letter will only annoy or embarrass you for bringing unwanted attention your way, so I'll save myself an apology. Actually, I can see it now…should this letter ever be known to you your eyes will slowly roll back in to your head and a soft "psscht" will escape from between your teeth just for knowing that I'm writing about you without your permission. This knowledge has plagued me all week as I wrote drafts one, two, three, and four of this letter, but I've finally come to the conclusion that, you know what? I'm on an important mission to write letters to those who have made a big impact on my life, and whether you like it or not, you've made one of the biggest impressions on me, so you'll just have to accept my sign of appreciation the only way I know how to show it, and let me go with the flow.

I have this tiny notebook--I think it used to be red but it has turned to more of a burnt orange color with age. It's covered in pictures of white roses and the shiny smiley face stickers that were so popular back in 8th grade. The notebook was given to me as a Christmas gift from my Sunday School instructor and I chose to use it as a "Book of My Thoughts and Opinions"--that's a direct quote from one of the first few pages. I wrote that I didn't want to use the terms diary or journal because everyone else does that and I wanted to be different--that was so like me back in the 90s', wasn't it? Anyway, it was my first attempt at writing anything autobiographical outside of school, my first "journal", and you played both the protagonist and antagonist in the second journal entry I ever wrote.

I won't rehash all of the painful details but I will say it was about a certain night back in February of 1996 when you obviously found yourself in a very dark and lonely hole without any hope of finding your way out, and so you took the only road that appeared plausible at the time. And the words I used to describe that particular night were obviously those of a naive 14-year-old girl who hadn't yet experienced true despair or hopelessness, but however inexperienced or caddy my words may have been, one thing was made very clear in my page and a half entry--I loved you immensely, and I was scared out of my wits that you were going to leave me alone in this tough world that I couldn't even begin to know how to navigate. Television sitcoms promised me that high school would be an exciting adventure full of boys, dances, football games, and driver's licenses, and your two week stint in the hospital was reason for me to not believe everything I saw on TV.

I overheard you and Mom talking one night, many years ago, debating whether or not watching you suffer through high school was the culprit for my own anxiety, and truth be told, I still don't know if my depression was brought on by a very timely chemical imbalance or if that particular night in February is guilty of ripping the rose-colored glasses from my eyes and showing me the world for what it really is. Either way, whatever happened to me, whatever darkness took over the both of us in our teenage years, I am thankful for it. It is those years, albeit trying and uncomfortable, that turned me into the thoughtful, observant, sensible woman that I am today. If I'd had it easy in high school there's a good possibility that I never would have found the means of dipping into my emotions and the desire to write them down. I can't even think, don't want to think, about the person I would be without the ability or drive to express myself on paper. It's too big a part of me to even fathom my life without writing.

It's been over 12 years since I wrote my first "Thoughts and Opinions" entry, and believe it or not, you're up there with Mom and Jon for most commonly used character. You've always been someone for me to look up to, someone who is so down-to-earth, intelligent, accepting, who has incredible taste in music, and someone who is so laidback that everyone loves to be around you. You are sarcastic, funny, wise beyond your years, and so smart that you can do something I'll never be able to do--think on your feet. You are the epitome of cool without even realizing it, which makes you even more cool.

I went in search of a husband who held all of your amazing qualities and you know what I discovered? You are one of a kind. So, I had to settle for the next best thing--a friend of yours. Give yourself credit where credit is deserved, and for God's sake, let yourself be loved.

Your sister,

Kate

Somebody Needs a Girlfriend

The phone rang last night around 7:00 and the caller I.D. came up as Private. I only know of one private number that calls us and that's my older sister, so I answered the phone with an extra chipper "Hello?" and waited.

The person on the other end of the line didn't share my enthusiasm, instead they were crying and gasping for breath, and raggedly repeating, "Help me...please...help me..."

"Who is this?"

"...gasp...help me...gasp...please...help..."

By this point I'm almost convinced it's my sister having a massive panic attack--images of her crippled on the ground somewhere, convulsing, and struggling to catch a decent breath of air--unable to reach our mother and settling for me instead, but the voice was so breathy and painful that it was almost impossible to tell and I thought maybe it could be one of her daughters, or an elderly lady who dialed the wrong number instead.

"gasp...please...gasp...help..."

"Who is this? I can help you! Where are you?!"

"...gasp...gasp...gasp..."

Now I was frantic. Whoever was on the other end of the phone call was getting worse with each plea and they were convinced I could recognize their voice and I couldn't, and I didn't know where they were, and I had to help them and I didn't know how. I was hanging on to the receiver for dear life as I paced back and forth in the family room, and I was almost crying out of frustration.

"I can send help for you, but you have to tell me your name and where they can find you! "

"gasp...I don't have a name..."

I hit the off button on the phone. I was shaking and I had goosebumps, and I was fucking livid.

The phone rang again, it was private, again, but I let it go to the answering machine.

"Ma'am, this is the prank calling company, and you were going to win a Grand Prize trip to Hawaii...FORGETITNOW!!"

If I ever find that stupid punk ass kid I will personally slap the shit out of him for crying wolf, and then I'll give him a pat on the back for devoting himself to the role. It was pretty good acting, I really thought someone was dying. Almost 24 hours later and the creepiness is still following me around like a dark cloud.

Sunday Letters Vol. 3

This was written on Friday and I struggled with the choice between posting it early on Saturday morning, or posting it today since Jon and I wouldn't be home all weekend, and since I forgot to post it before we left bright and early on Saturday, I guess it'll be late. What's that saying? Better late then never?

Dear Jon,

We've been through a lot in the 10 years we've known each other, and when I think back to the beginning, on the very first day I met you, only one phrase comes to mind: "It smells like a damn salon in here." It's the first thing you ever said to me, and you said it just after I climbed into the front seat of your 1989 Chrysler LeBaron.

We were on our way to a picnic in the middle of February with a few mutual friends and I could have decked them for sticking me in the front seat with the likes of you. You see, your comment told me two things: a) you were a cocky SOB with no manners, and b) you preferred girls who smelled like dog crap as opposed to expensive shampoo. And as if that weren't bad enough, you spent the entire time at the outing comparing me to some girl named Jen (we had the same hair color, we both liked Dr. Pepper, we had very similar mannerisms, etc.) and I would later learn that she was the girl you wanted, and the girl you could never have.

I managed to bare with you during the picnic, even the next few times you came over to hang out with my brother, but I made no attempt to get to know you because I was harboring a grudge for that one, stupid comment you made. What can I say? I was 16, immature, and much like I am to this day, was very turned off by arrogant know-it-alls.

Then one day in July we all made plans to go to The Great Lakes Medieval Faire and you were going to meet the rest of us there. The image is still incredibly clear in my mind. You must have been almost 30 yards away but you stood out like a sore thumb--dressed in a t-shirt, plaid shorts, a pair of Birkenstocks, and a hat that was almost the exact replica of Gilligan's from Gilligan's Island. You were a character from a 1960s sitcom surrounded by 16^th century knights and gypsies. I can't say that that's when I knew I wanted to marry you, but that is when all of my predetermined notions went out the window, and I developed a little crush on you.

Our relationship didn't really come about the way I had planned. I know now that you don't do subtle. You need everything to be short and to the point. You need the abbreviated version without back stories or subplots. If I had known that back then I would have just said, "You're my new boyfriend," while we rode the medieval version of the tea cups together. Instead, I spent the next 6 months nudging my way into your life, inviting myself into your plans, and even convincing you to move in to the apartment 2 doors down from my parents house. You became my best friend--you even told me that you loved me once and I almost melted even though you were sick and vulnerable and I knew you meant it in a totally friendly way.

I got my point across eventually, though. I needed a little encouragement from Kathi to just come out with it, and I did, but in a very over-the-river-and-through-the-woods-and-down-in-the-valley-and-up-the-mountain kind of way, until in the end you were all…are you saying that you like me? I had done it again. I gave you a long story with twists and plots and characters who hadn't been introduced yet, and you were following, but barely. So I answered your question--yes, I was saying that I liked you. We declared ourselves a couple later that day.

Almost 9 and a half years later we're still here, only happily married, with 2 adorable children, err…dogs. We've had our problems, usually revolving around the same communication barrier--me struggling to be blunt, you struggling to read my mind, but I don't think anyone could ever understand me the way you do. You know me better than I know myself most of the time, and while it usually annoys me at first, I've come to appreciate that you can identify one of my panic attacks or unnecessary worrying before they get the best of me. You've seen me at some of my most vulnerable moments, you've watched my body grow softer with age, you know my every little fault, and yet you love me more with each day.

You've taught me so much over the years through just accepting yourself and never holding yourself back. We all make light of your lack of an internal monologue, but as someone who always censors herself once, twice, three times over, I admire your ability and confidence to just say whatever is on your mind without worrying what other people will think of you.

You've taught me to relax and go with the flow and that no matter what, everything will work itself out.

You've taught me how to give love and accept love without having to worry about the millions of what ifs.

You've taught me that all I have to do is be myself and the world will become a much easier place to be.

I love you more than I could ever say in a letter, more than I could ever say in a life time…

Even if you don't like the way my hair smells.

Yours truly,

Kate

Nothing About Us Is Uniform

Purchases we made yesterday:

1 Wii Fit - Is it sad that I'm sore? My trainer was relentless...and a little bitchy.

1 Toilet Seat - Hopefully Wii Fit (and buying a more expensive seat) will help us to not break them so often! Now that is sad.

2 Deluxe Camping Chairs - When we asked if we could sit in one to see how comfortable it was the store associate who helped us waited until my butt was only inches from the seat to say, in a very serious tone, "I think they say it can hold up to 100 pounds..." My butt remained suspended in the air until the guy started laughing and said he was just messing with me. Didn't anyone teach him it can be deadly to joke about a woman's weight?

1 Cooler - It shouldn't have taken 30 minutes to pick out the very basic model we ended up leaving with, but Jon had to test-push each one half way around the store before deciding that the smaller cooler, the one that wasn't on sale, had nicer wheels and an all around better feel.

2 Car Airfresheners - Cucumber melon was the least offensive scent and it fit perfectly snug in the backseat cup holder in my car. Jon spent a couple of hours detailing my car last night and with the addition of the airfreshener I am hereby banned from smoking in it again. I think I can live with that.

Sunday Letters Vol. 2

Dear Ben & Jerry,

I'm writing in regards to your Cinnamon Buns flavored ice cream. It came highly recommended to me by multiple friends, so when I was finally able to locate this elusive flavor at the local grocery store with the description of Caramel Ice Cream with Cinnamon Bun Dough and a Cinnamon Streusel Swirl, I was beyond elated. For the first time in my life I didn't think twice about spending nearly $5 on a tiny pint of ice cream.

Later that night I pulled the day's only splurge from the freezer and sat down to watch an episode of Lost while enjoying my Cinnamon Buns. I figured I could do what I usually do with your ice cream--eat 2 of the ½ cup servings, and just before the ice cream starts to melt around the edges of the container, put it back in the freezer for another day. But what happened on this particular night was devastating--your Cinnamon Buns flavored ice cream was so delicious, so flavorful, and tasted so much like real iced cinnamon buns that I ate the entire pint in 15 minutes. I ate all 4 servings and all 1,160 calories in 15 minutes and I still frantically scraped at the sides of the cardboard container for just a little more.

I can see how you would think this is wonderful news, after all, how can it be bad for business when someone was able to enjoy your ice cream so much? Well, I have to tell you that 5 minutes after finishing the pint of ice cream, after the sugar induced euphoria went away, I was riddled with guilt and it felt much like I would imagine a usually responsible woman does after her first drunken one night stand. In hindsight, eating your ice cream was like waking up with an explosive headache and turning over to find a naked stranger in bed next to me. At that moment all you can think is, What the fuck have I done?

So, in conclusion, it's obvious that I think your product is absolutely and amazingly delicious, but I can't help but think of it as Eve's apple in the Garden of Eden--uncontrollably tempting, but extremely dangerous. You are playing with fire in a world of Weight Watcher's, 100 calorie snack packs, and 0 trans fat. If you are not careful all of those innocent people who have joined the 50 Million Pound Challenge will gain back the 2 million pounds they have lost already just by eating your ice cream. Do you really want that on your conscience? I know I wouldn't.

Sincerely,

Katie