Why?

Well, I'm back from vacation, and vacation is always a good thing. Of all the things I can do, I vacation really well. And I tan really well. (With sunscreen.) I read, I eat, I drink, and I sweat from sitting on the beach. Now, I'll stop bragging.

Of all the things I don't do well, balancing my eating habits is at the top. So is regularly exercising. I reflect well, but I often reflect too late. So, I told Mac about an idea I had, because, let's face it: I need to keep trying things or do something.

I took three index cards and wrote "Why" on the front of them with a black Sharpie. Nice and bold. On the back of each card, I wrote suggestions or questions, like "Clean" or "Turn off the tv" or "Is this an emotional decision?". I really feel like I need to ask myself "Why" in the moments that I want food, or want to just slouch on the couch. I understand there are times for that, but not everyday. So, I told Mac I'm going to tape them in a couple key locations in our apartment. The #1 location is the mantle. I'll see that one the most, bc it's in the main room. The other two will be placed in the kitchen. I realize this may sound stupid, but I'm hoping if I can just reflect for a little bit and force myself to answer the tough questions, maybe I'll change, just a little bit.

One of the most important questions on the back of the cards is more personal than the others. "Is this what you promised on your anniversary?" Last night, Mac and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary, and while at dinner, we continued a little tradition we have. We discuss our favorite parts about the past year, and share our goals, as individuals and a couple for the next year. The goals can be big or small; it doesn't matter. So far, we've accomplished most of our goals each year. Our goals might seem small to other people (like when we got four matching kitchen chairs one year to replace the 3 random non-matching yellow ones), but they're important to us. Little by little, we're adding more grown up things to our apartment which we're hoping to place in a house soon.

So last night, as we were discussing our goals for this coming year, we each shared that we want to become healthier for ourselves and for the other person. We've said this before, but not on an anniversary. (Maybe that makes it more serious? Fingers crossed.) If we want to live long, happy and healthy lives, we should be more proactive than we are right now. If we want to look better for the other person, we should be more proactive. If we want to be happier as individuals, we should be more proactive.

So hopefully, with the help of three index cards, I'm going to be like that ridiculous toddler who asks "Why?" repeatedly.

p.s. I realize this may sound like the dumbest thing in the world. What chach needs to put index cards in their home to remind them of good behavior? This chach, apparently.

The Neighbor

Two out of five mornings this school year I would see a neighbor getting into his car, a van parked in the handicapped spot outside our apartment building. We live on opposite sides of the building, so it's not really appropriate to yell "HI!" at the stranger. Anyways, this man opens the sliding door on the side of the van and gets in as the driver. Next, a man in a wheelchair uses the ramp into the van and situates himself into the passenger spot. I have never seen the man in the wheelchair up close. I don't even think I've seen his face. Again, we're too far away from each other for a polite "Good morning!". I find myself wondering why he is in the wheelchair. Was he paralyzed at some point? Does he have some sort of a condition that affects him in more than just physical ways? Maybe he was born with Cerebral Palsy and has always lived his life in a wheelchair. Maybe he has arthritis and has trouble walking, so it's easier to use a wheelchair. I have no idea, but I found myself internalizing a lot more.

For whatever reason, this man is in a wheelchair. I certainly don't pity him, and I've heard that that's not what people want: pity. But here I am, fortunately gifted with an able body. And I don't always take care of it to the best of my ability. What if this man could walk... would he run? Would he treat his body as some sort of temple and really take care of it? Would he judge me if he knew how often I sat on the couch? Do I take my body for granted?

The answer is so obvious it's like a slap in the face. Yes, I take my body for granted. I don't mean to, it just happens. In the past week, I've tried to take advantage of my body's abilities. That's all I can do... try. Take advantage of my capabilities. I don't know if this all sounds self-involved; I certainly don't mean to. It's just that sometimes I see things and I want to do more. When I watch sports on tv, I want to play them. (Those stupid athletes make things look so easy.) On field day this year, watching over the hockey game between kids, I wanted to get in there and actually HIT THE BALL. When I've taught music to special ed kids, I wanted to keep them moving, because it clearly brought them so much joy. So yeah, when I see this neighbor in the wheelchair, it is thought-provoking to say the least.

Side note: check out this story... it's amazing. http://www.teamhoyt.com/

It's about a father and son who run marathons together. It's so awesome.

In case you're wondering, I'm totally NOT training for a marathon. I'm just DOING more physical activity. At least for a week. I should star this freaking post to remind myself on days when I don't feel like doing anything.

Here's what I've done this past week:

- Driving range
- Worked out a couple days at home with lunges, squats, sit ups, etc.
- Arm exercises using a full wine bottle :)
- Walked a few miles on a nearby trail
- Been to the pool a bunch. Finished "Inferno" and started "The Scarlet Pimpernel." Such a scholar. :)
- Got my ass kicked by Bridget at the gym
- Eaten a lot better, not perfect, but better
- Lost the five pounds I had shamefully gained. I got on the scale 3 times this morning to double check. I'm still confused.

And just so you know I'm not a completely changed person...

I met my friend Mary for happy hour at a Mexican bar. She drove, I had 3 margaritas and didn't realize how GOOFY I was until I got home. I face planted on the couch, and Mac insisted on me trying a "Burger Cookie" from Baltimore, a chocolate treat. He put a little piece in my mouth, I devoured it, and promptly fell asleep, face down. The next day, I noticed a spot on the couch, and if you know us, you know we're a little insane about our furniture. I leaned down, realized it was chocolate and almost screamed. I had obviously DROOLED part of the Burger Cookie out onto the couch. That's right. Epic fail.

The Great Outdoors

Well things have been pretty stagnant for a little while. Especially my attitude and motivation. Until today.

I just got back from Colorado, where I spent time with Mac and 6 of our best friends. The 8 of us have been doing trips almost every summer together for a little while, and a few in between summers. I've known some of these kids for 12 years now, which is pretty amazing. What's also amazing is how they still seem to like me, because my sarcastic, bratty side has been revealed more than a few times. The older I get, the bitchier I get. It's also amazing that they still talk to me as if nothing has changed. Are they really blind to the fact that I've gained 1,000 pounds? Do they even remember the younger, thinner Megan? Or do I really come off as basically the same person? Sometimes, it's hard to tell.

In case you couldn't tell, I'm also a bit self-involved and paranoid about my appearance. A few weeks ago, I went out for Mexican with a few girlfriends. I looked straight at one of them and brought up the inevitable.

M: Is my blog like the white elephant in the room?
G: What?
M: I mean, here I am, writing this stupid blog for almost 2 stupid years, and we're drinking margaritas. Hypocrite.
G: Oh, no, I don't think that at all.
M: Yeah right. Everyone probably thinks, there goes Megan, talking about wanting to lose weight again, and here we are, dipping chips into queso. (Which, ironically, when I order it, the Mexican waiter always replies, "Cheese Dip?" Um ya, did I not say it right? I'm trying to help you out here buddy by using 1 of the 2 Spanish words I know.)
G: Well, I can tell you I'm not thinking at all about you because I'm thinking about myself.
M: Huh?
G: People won't focus on you because they're too concerned with themselves.
M: << Biggest sigh of relief ever. >>

I can't tell you how great that made me feel. I believe her, and now I try not to be as paranoid. At least not when I'm with other people. I'm still incredibly self-conscious when I see pictures of myself. Isn't everyone?

Anyways, back to Colorado and why my attitude has potentially changed. I'd never been that far west in this country, and I've got to say it was just beautiful. I am so fortunate that we got to go, and I'd never seen anything like it. The Rockies make the Appalachians look like rolling hills. (Turns out Kendra was right all those years. ;) )

The first full day there we decided to hike up to Emerald Lake in Estes Park, which is part of Rocky Mountain National Park. It's almost a 4 mile hike, and in my East coast mind, I thought, ok, this will take about 2 hours. Half hour per mile. HA. What an idiot. It took FOUR HOURS. (With stopping and visiting other lakes on the way.) The elevation is about 600 feet. Now, it goes without saying that I'm not in, um, tip-top shape. I also have asthma, but I only take my inhaler when I need it, and I never take it before I need it, because it jacks me up like a 5 year old on Christmas. I had to stop a bunch on the trail. I certainly wasn't the only one though. The altitude change, mixed with enough stairs for three lighthouses, plus snow led me to take my inhaler at probably not even half a mile into the hike. The worst part? The 60 year olds that were passing our group like IT WAS NOTHING. Excuse us, we Coloradans came prepared with boots and poles, and you out-of-towners are behaving like pansies. Bend your knees and effing walk through the snow. You're blocking the path. No joke, these people are pros and probably warmed up on this trail before flying out to the base of Everest and climbing it in 2 hours.

So, I've given you the worst part. The best part? Everything. It was just breathtaking. These pictures just can't do it justice. Go now and see this amazing part of the US.

You may wonder where the stairs are that I spoke of. Or, why am I telling you it was tough for me because the trail looks so flat? That's because when walking up a hill, a hundred stairs or through a slim section of snow/mud/tree roots, the last thing Mac wanted to hear was me going, "Stop! Let me get the camera out of the backpack!" Trust me, once I got momentum going to get through certain sections, I wasn't going to stop.

So, the whole reason for my current attitude change is the "outside bug" that bit me while out there. I have always loved being outside, but man, this was awesome. The fresh air, lack of technology and exercise were a perfect combination for pure happiness. I'm no tree-hugger, but I get it. Being outside, taking in fresh air is awesome. Exercise is awesome. And for me, lack of technology is awesome. (If you know me, you know how much I detest smart phones at times. I get their place in today's world, but a few years ago, when Mac and I upgraded phones, I thought about getting one. It was the best decision not to. I don't NEED a smart phone. My work doesn't demand it, and quite frankly, if I had one of those in my hands, I'd probably be ignoring everything else around me. I'm arrogant, but not too arrogant to realize that I couldn't multitask being on a device and interacting with a human being at the same time. And if you think you can multitask your smartphone and a conversation with me, I will politely tell you how wrong you are. And to everyone who excuses themselves to answer a call, text, etc. I appreciate it. :) I will be a terrible old fogie one day, because this is how brazen I am at 30. By the way, could you turn on your GPS? I just got lost. ;) )

So, now, I want to be outside. I came home so happy and so relaxed that I want to continue it over the summer. So, here's to staying outside as much as possible during the summer. Now, who wants to go kayaking in the Potomac, paddle-boating in the Tidal Basin or hiking in Virginia? I promise I won't throw your smartphone anywhere.

Why is Abercrombie & Fitch in the news?

Well, nowadays, you can't say anything without offending someone. But, this guy, Mike Jeffries, the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch done offended A LOT OF PEOPLE. If you haven't heard of him, google him right now. Or read this article: http://www.businessinsider.com/abercrombie-wants-thin-customers-2013-5

Well, you know he's pissed off every other woman on the planet. Moms are outraged, teenagers are confused and people like myself, well, I am lucky I am comfortable with who I am, to an extent.

I shopped at Abercrombie in college. I bought size 8 jeans, and they were the most I'd ever spent on jeans. Maybe $40 or $50 a pair, and I wore them for all four years of college. Three different shades, same style. When I looked through the racks for my size, it never crossed my mind that I was sifting through the skinny sizes to get to mine. I just knew my size, and I went for it. That has never, ever bothered me. I was a size 2 for about 2 seconds, when I transitioned from The Limited Too to Gap. Again, these things did not bother me. Not then, not now.



After college, I stopped going in the store, probably because their stupid cologne seemed to attack me in the hallways of the mall, in a more offensive way than Yankee Candle. Even though I was only 22, I'm pretty sure I looked at their naked people posters and thought, wtf? Why are naked people selling clothes? That's more than backwards. I still wore the jeans I had though. Those were well worn in, and they still fit, so who cares?

I eventually accepted that I was more comfortable in a size 10, especially for teaching. That size just seemed more appropriate. Again, no big deal. I didn't start feeling upset about my weight until I was a 14/16. 12 didn't even bother me. You know what I'm grateful for though? My insecurities about my weight didn't occur until I was in a happy, stable relationship with Mac, I was a proud teacher, and I was pretty firm in my beliefs. So, at least I had a strong backbone to hold these hips up.

What if I was a teenager with weight issues and all my friends shopped at Abercrombie? What if I couldn't fit into their clothes, and every time we went to the mall, I just had to wait outside their dressing room while my skinny friends tried on clothes? Wouldn't that be awful?! I would be so hurt, confused and angry. I'd probably even resent my friends to an extent.

The thing is though, what he said about size doesn't bother me NEAR AS MUCH as what he said about "cool kids." He associates fit people with being cool and attractive. Let's be serious. We all know people who fit and break these molds. This is what bothers me... this quote right here:

“In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids,” he told the site. “Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."

I'm still shaking my head when I read that. What a douche canoe. Now, let me tell you some crazy valuable advice my mom gave me when I was younger.

Frannie used to talk about the "fast crowd" when Ashley and I were growing up. Nobody's names were ever mentioned, but we got the idea. Whenever Ashley or I wanted to be friends with someone who didn't really reciprocate, my mom would often bring up this idea of a "fast crowd." The fast crowd did everything before Ashley and I did. They stayed home by themselves, they got a phone in their room, a tv in their room, they had a later curfew and they were always picked first for kickball. They were the first to kiss boys, they smoked cigarettes earlier than everyone, and they were allowed to drink underage in their parents' presence. Now, by no means were Ashley and I angels. But, for the most part, we were pretty good kids. Because it was preached to us, over and over, that we don't want to be part of the "fast crowd." Those kids might not go to college, they might not have successful careers, they might look like they've been around the block a few times by the time we were 18 (Dad's line).

So, Ash and I did the best we could. And you know what? Turns out, Mom and Dad were right. Shocking. Some of those kids who were in the fast crowd didn't do so well. Most of the kids who weren't in the fast crowd... they did pretty well. Ironically, the kids who stayed after school and did activities, like band, softball, cheerleading, swimming, yearbook, RAK... I can't think of too many who veered off the path of "decency." But the kids who lingered in the parking lot and went home where there were no parents... I can't answer for them.

Lastly, I was working one summer for a neighbor. Her son, who I'd grown up with since elementary school, came in one afternoon and we started talking. I had just finished my freshman year of college, and we are the same age. He did not go away to school. (I'm not sure what reason; I'm sure he could have gone wherever he wanted to.) Anyways, he asked how Elon was treating me, and I was obviously glowing. College fit me like a glove. I absolutely loved it. When I asked him about his year, he didn't have the same look on his face. He told me his year was ok, but a lot of his friends stayed in town, and it was really boring. I think he wished he had gone away. He told me I was smart to have gone away. Now, this kid was part of the "fast crowd," but always so nice, always. I don't know what he's up to now, but I bet he is successful. He's just too good of a person not to be. But I bet it shocked him to see so many of his friends quickly go from the top of the food chain to the bottom.

ANYWAYS, the reason I've rambled. I may be overweight. I might be "uncool." (Please, as if.) As a person who went to band camp, I probably never should have walked into Abercrombie and Fitch. It appears this douche, Mike Jeffries wants the fast crowd to shop at his store. And you know what... I'm proud to not be a part of that.



And p.s. to any young girls from Wexford who I used to babysit.. you're beautiful. You always have been, you are now, and you always will be. Don't let some douchebag like this, or any other douchebag, get under your skin. You're cool in my book.

Like father, like daughter

I've thought about a lot of things to write, but it seemed so silly to write when I actually have nothing to update. I mean, I'm trying, but obviously not hard enough. I've gone walking, done exercise videos and hit balls at the driving range. I eat everything I should eat during the day, as far as food categories. Protein, veggies, fruits, etc. My problem is, and probably always has been snacking. I don't have just one reason for snacking... I do it for all sorts of reasons... food tastes good, I'm bored, I'm watching tv, it's in the house, emotional eating, etc. I still have every excuse in the book.

Snacking isn't genetic, but let me tell a "like father, like daughter" story.

I love my dad so much. He is a snacker. He has a technique for eating a dozen donuts in one day. He talks about sweets and pastries so much that when friends fly down from NJ, they bring sticky buns from McMillan's bakery. Seriously. When he comes up to visit us any time, he wants me to get the sugar cookies from Shoppers that have the cherries in the middle. He's pretty specific.

So, a few weeks ago, we're on the phone, my dad and I. He's asking me what's new, and I'm trying to tell him about things that he'll appreciate. He doesn't want to hear about what I wore, etc. I talk to him about dad stuff, like what kind of lawn mower Mac and I should buy, how I did ok at the driving range or what the weather's like. So, we're on the phone, and I'm tailoring my stories to him, and he just keeps saying "uh huh, uh huh, yeah, right." Dude, I know what that means. But I let it slide. Keep talking. Finish my stories, and I say, "Well that's about it, Dad." He replied, "Listen, Megan, I'm about to eat a donut, could you keep talking for a little bit?" Oof. So I keep babbling. When I tell him I've got nothing else to say, he starts to ask me about my father-in-law's neighborhood. "You know Dave's house?" Yes. "You know the stores behind that development?" Yes Dad, I lived there for two years. "Listen, is that bakery behind Dave's house there any good?" Argh. Talking to my dad that day was a lost cause. Eventually, he goes out into the garage for a cigarette and my mom gets on the phone. Before she can even get going, I tell her I feel like Dad is not listening to me when we talk on the phone, and she confirmed it. He wasn't listening to me. She told me he was distracted, because HE WAS LOOKING FOR THE DONUT and needed her help finding it. Sigh. Then she told me I better not bring him down any treats from that bakery for Easter. His love for pastries is out of control, and I am not to feed the habit. Ok. But this whole thing? This wouldn't be the last time this happened.

A few days later Dad and I are chatting it up again, and we're talking about me coming down for Easter. Decent conversation. Mom gets on the phone; she and I talk for a little bit. We're getting ready to hang up, and she says my dad forgot to tell me something. My ears perk up... this never happens. Would he talk to me about sports? His golf game? The boat? My car? Mac? "Hey Megan, listen, you remember those coconut cream eggs we used to get at Bayards Chocolate House for Easter? Yeah, they don't sell them in South Carolina, so could you look around up there for some?"

Drats. More food talk. As if I need a coconut cream easter egg with me during an 8 hour drive. I'm a SNACKER Dad. Just like you. Except your metabolism works a little differently than mine. Ahem. A lot differently. As in, I'd be 400 pounds if I ate like you do. But I still love you. :)

The pocket test and the Easter dress

Well, I officially lost two pounds at my school's biggest loser challenge, although my scale stays the same. I also shattered someone's dream when I told her that the results weren't real. The nurse told me I lost 4 pounds, which would be great, if she hadn't had us all weigh with our shoes on the first time. So I took off my Danskos, which I had worn the first day, and they weighed 2 pounds. Ergo, I only lost two pounds. Well, this poor other teacher weighed her shoes, and discovered she had only lost 7 pounds instead of 9. I sure did burst her bubble. Oops.

Anyways, the pocket test.

There are at least two males (who shall remain nameless for protection) who created a "pocket test" almost ten years ago. According to one of the guys though, he alone came up with it while standing in line at a sandwich shop in college. The pocket test is a non-verbal test on how back pockets fit a girl's derriere.

Here is how you pass the test:
- Jeans are preferred. Test will not work as well with dress pants or khakis.
- Jeans should always have back pockets.
- Jeans should not be bedazzled.
- No faux, half or tiny pockets. A hand should be able to fit down into the pocket.
- Size of derriere doesn't necessarily matter, but how it is shaped does.
- A "shelf" of some sort is preferred.
- Entire pocket should fit on the cheek. No sagging.
- Typically, the bottom of the pocket will be at the bottom of the cheek.
- Do not have a flat bottom. You will fail if you have a flat bottom.

Here is your quiz... which of these pictures passes the test?

A

B

C

D







The answer is......................















D.

Next, the Easter dress. Sometimes fitting into clothes one year after I've worn them feels like a victory for me, since I had so many years of just gaining weight. So for Easter, I am wearing the same dress I wore last year, and I am actually very excited about it. Success, if you will.

Happy Easter and dear bunny, please bring spring!

p.s. You have no idea how many bad images I had to sift through on google before selecting those four options.

Random

I am somewhat random. Scatterbrained. I bring up things at awkward moments, I disclaim and justify EVERYTHING, and I often have very quirky thoughts running through my head. (re: nesting doll bridesmaid reference a few posts ago)

So this post will contain some more of my random thoughts pertaining to my insulation.

1. If we lived in olden times, I'd be considered wealthy, and all those skinny bitches would be considered poor. ;)

2. The "waif" look of 90s models (and some current ones) scares me, and it's hard for me to look at them. I wonder if it's hard for them to look at me.

3. The other night I walked into REI. When I'm in there, I envision myself as a tree-hugging cyclist who likes to camp, hike, run, kayak and swim. I always leave inspired to do all those things at ONE time.

4. The huge problem with walking into REI is that it is next to the Chinese restaurant, and I had fifteen minutes to waste until my crab rangoon was ready. Huge fail. I should have thrown out the crab rangoon and bought a pair of hiking boots, a backpack and a tent.

5. I miss swimming a lot.

6. I've had a couple people ask me to do 5Ks between now and summer. I'm kind of excited, but a little intimidated too.

7. I am "hippy." During my first year of teaching I was teaching a 7th grade class how to mark time, which means marching in place. We were prepping for the Christmas parade. One girl, in all seriousness, asked me if when they marched, should their hips swing back and forth like mine? I told her no, but just wait. One day they would.

8. I can still touch my toes, which I credit to doing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" with little kids.

9. When I walk in heels, I scare myself and anyone around me. To say I'm a "heavy walker" is putting it nicely. I walk like a damn elephant.

10. My dad is an excellent golf coach. He is very patient, and he explains everything really well. Several years ago, we were at the driving range (one of my favorite places), and he kept telling me I was "lifting up." No shit, I missed the ball. Of course I lifted up. He had me move closer to the ball (I was learning with my new clubs, and I had originally practiced with his, which were too tall, but they were better than Frannie's, which are seriously cut down). I moved closer. I had a lot of trouble keeping my arms straight. He kept telling me, "Megan, you've got to straighten your arms." I kept telling him I couldn't. We went back and forth for a few minutes before I flipped, yelling, "I can't straighten my arms anymore, Dad! My chest is in the way!" He walked away and smoked a cigarette.

11. I keep fighting with the same three pounds and it's pissing me off. :)