Since BGG2WL turned a year the other day, I know people are like “A year, er… congratulations?” But I’m serious! A year is a big deal!

If the question is “what can I accomplish in a year with knowing nothing at first?” then my answer is “a hell of a lot if you are patient, open-minded, and willing to put in some work. A year is research, learning how to cook, learning how to cook well, learning how to enjoy life outside of food… learning how to enjoy life with food sprinkled on top. Which do you enjoy more – the ice cream or the sprinkles? The sprinkles are not the same without the ice cream, but the ice cream is that much better with the right kind of sprinkles. A year allowed me to learn what kind of sprinkles I like. Sounds like a little, but it is a huge deal.

And just to prove that a lot can take place in a year’s time… here are 12 photos to show just what kind of difference a year makes!

From May, 2009 to April, 2010:

No jokes on my ensemble... you wiiiiill respect my fresh!

You’re looking at approximately 89 inches total lost, with about 110lbs lost. Sure, I could’ve “dieted” and lost the weight faster, but I didn’t want to starve myself or unreasonably deprive myself, either. I didn’t want to lose weight in a fashion that would cause me to gain it back. I wanted to incorporate healthy living, healthy and reasonable indulgences, as well as room for mistakes in my life. I wanted to learn a new life… in a way that would prevent me from reverting back to my old one. Basically, I wanted a permanent lifestyle change, and I was willing to make a few mistakes in order to learn how to build it from scratch.

There’s so very little information out there – in comparison to the amount of information pushing supplements, pills, products, programs and who knows what other kind of crap – about how to live and be and remain healthy. I used the support of my friend – the only fitness-savvy friend I had – and every book and magazine I could find to learn how to do this.

I went through periods where I believed that “organic means okay,” “as long as I cook it at home, even if it’s a quadruple layer chocolate cake, its okay to eat however much of it whenever I want,” and even had an “Oh, I’m losing… this means I can go back to the crap food” period. I appreciate all three of those “how to screw up royally” moments, because they taught me lessons that I can carry with me for a lifetime.

In the end, I look at it like this – I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world. I’m looking forward to what the next year will bring me in fitness (pole fitness and figure competitions, for the win!) and in terms of the site, as well.

Now, as far as what I look like now? Eh…. you’ll see someday. Here’s a little hint, though:

And yes, that IS electrical tape... what I look like putting holes in my wall? LOL!

Let’s just say that I’ve graduated from the progress dress… to the progress bikini.

Calorie counting helped me see... that this one pot pie is two servings. Yes. TWO.

I get so annoyed by people who say things like, “Oh, I don’t believe in calorie counting.” or “Calorie counting is silly.” I always ask them, “Well, why?” It’s almost always some dumb answer like, “Well, I don’t want to know how many calories my favorite foods are.” or “I’m not going to prevent myself from enjoying my favorite foods because of a few calories,” or even “I just think it’s stupid.”

Um, so that’s supposed to be enough to convince me – ME – to give up what I’m doing? Because you don’t like it?

Let me explain to you the reason why calorie counting is a practice that I believe in. I can sum it up in one word.

Awareness.

When I first started my journey, I believed that my eating habits were wholly unrelated to my exercise. I was told “Exercise, and the weight will come off.” I wasn’t told “Exercise and consciously limit your intake to reasonable levels appropriate for what your body needs, and the weight will come off.” I got incomplete advice, and that was to my detriment.

It wasn’t until months later that I realized that regardless of my exercise habits, if I wasn’t putting crap in my mouth on such a regular basis, my body couldn’t possibly keep putting on the weight that I was as quickly as I was. If I wasn’t eating as poorly as I was, I wouldn’t be overeating in search of that “belly full” feeling. If I wasn’t clinging to such poorly made foods, I couldn’t possibly overeat the way I was, and consume the amount of calries I was consuming.

That’s not the message you get every day.

And I’m not gonna lie – there are some people who don’t come from that kind of meager understanding of food. There might be people out there who understand that concept of “It’s ok to indulge, but you do it moderately.” There might be people who understand that the “true” definition of “moderately” means “a couple of bites, then push it away.” Someone like me, who had never understood the concept of “moderately” or never really embraced the concept of “limiting myself,” “clean eating” or even “conscious eating”… don’t take away the one thing I cling to – calorie counting – because you think it “sounds silly.”

Calorie counting empowered me. It taught me the true understanding of what each plate, each dish, each serving and each bite did to my body – this body, this temple that, although over the years has collected a few piercings and a tattoo or two, I have grown to love and appreciate and admire. It taught me that a handful of my favorite snack food was the calorie equivalent of a hearty lunch. It taught me that my favorite juice drink had the caloric equivalent of what I eat for breakfast. It taught me that it’s probably not a good idea to get a giant jug of said favorite juice drink and drink it throughout the day.

Calorie counting taught me to understand the relationship between how much I eat in a day, and how much my body burns in that day.

Calorie counting taught me the patterns for identifying “harmful” dishes (dishes harmful to my daily calorie count) when I have to dine out.

Calorie counting taught me, in a roundabout way, that the fastest way to fill myself without slaughtering my calorie count was to indulge on vegetables. Calorie counting taught me to come up with creative ways to cook those vegetables, lest I be bored to death by my 365th serving of broccoli.

Calorie counting gave me a basic foundation that I could use to develop my own understanding of food… a foundation that I could build from and one day not need to cling to calorie counting anymore.

There are people in this world who have healthy relationships with food. There are people who were born into families who helped teach them that. Considering the number of Americans who are currently overweight, and the number of us who have eating disorders on either extreme of the continuum… I’m not sure there are more people with healthier relationships than there are people without.

So, as this challenge draws to a close, I say this:

If you truly participated in the challenge, I hope you re-read this post, take the numbers you collected and really evaluate your eating habits and start trying to identify your patterns. If you started, became discouraged and stopped… I implore you to start again, because it may be you who needs to develop this kind of understanding more than anything. If you chose to not participate at all, and find the things I’ve written even remotely intriguing, perhaps giving it a shot for a few days may get you what you desire.

The awareness that I received from calorie counting is invaluable. It’s not about nitpicky numbers – it’s about the ability to know and identify. It’s about an awakening and understanding that I never had before. And someone who doesn’t understand that or just has that “naturally healthy” understanding of food will never get that. But I know my needs, and I know my weaknesses. Calorie counting helped me cure that, and I hope it could do the same for you.

Yesterday afternoon, I had the pleasure of doing an interview with LoveTALK Radio to discuss BGG2WL, weight loss, emotional eating and how my lifestyle has affected my relationships with loved ones. If you get a little free time, you should definitely check it out – it was an awesome interview and it definitely doesn’t disappoint!

If you’ve got an appearance you’d like me to make, don’t hesitate to drop me a line!

All this writing about calories and challenges… that was almost three weeks straight of posting every day. And nothing about me, huh?

Taken: February 26th, 2009

I like writing about the things I’ve learned and struggled with along my way. The things that I’ve used this site to reinforce for myself, the things I’ve used this site to remind myself of along the way and the things I’ve used this site to rant about. This site has served as my backbone in a way, because I’ve certainly had to remind myself of a few things in my own moment of weakness.

But without writing about myself… I suppose I’d be doing the very thing that I’ve always claimed is so harmful, and that’s pushing myself to the back burner instead of keeping myself and my own betterment in the forefront. So.. let’s talk about me, where I’ve been and where I’m going.

My tummy trying to tighten back up!

Mentally, I had began to settle a little too much into the idea that I was happy with where I’d gone with my figure. I’d gotten so close to my goals, perhaps I’d felt like I was going to just slide right on through. It didn’t help that so many people were so surprised with all the weight I’d lost, that I kept getting the compliments. It starts to seep in, so to speak. I was dangerously close to believing my own hype. If you know that you have so far to go, give yourself credit for your journey thus far but you shouldn’t be impressed with yourself until you get there.

Then.. I decided that maybe… juuuuuuuust maybe… I’d want to compete in a figure competition. For no other reason than to be “The Formerly 330lb Girl Who Now Can Compete In A Figure Competition.” It was the awakening and goal shift that I’d needed.

So… I’ve spent the past few months shifting my energy toward muscle building. I need my skin to conform to an actual figure once it finally does what it’s supposed to do. I’ve spent time trying to step my game up in the cardio level, because my last major challenge is defeating this fear I’ve had of getting my heart rate too high. An awful experience with a prescription medication left me with a fearful response to my heart rate creeping a little too high. Learning how my heart behaves and training it to endure a little more will help me be a better marathon runner. I’m embracing that challenge head on.

My goals have shifted, and though I am happy with what I have now and am thankful, I look forward to the challenges that my new goals present. What’s more, is that I am thankful that I have this site and posts like this to remind me to always take steps to reclaim my humility – to never get so high off your own hype that you forget how hard you worked and how much harder you will have to work to get there. To act with my goals ever present in my mind, and formulate each step so that it always brings me closer to where I’m going. Not just walking to watch myself… though I do look good walking. (#justsayin’)

We all have different goals, no doubt, but I think that’s an important point: to not get so high off of our own hype, or so comfortable that we fail to realize how hard we need to work to achieve our goals. So no matter how crazysexycool we may think we are now, we have realistic goals worth our realistic effort. What are your goals? Just a little belly pouch? More toned thighs? Let’s hear ‘em!

So… I’m not completely against an occasional treat. I limit myself because, well, I have very little sense when no one’s looking.

I mean, I’m sayin’. I’m workin’ on it, but who regularly sticks their head in the lion’s mouth without expecting to be bitten every now and again?

For Mothers’ Day 2010, I rushed out and bought a vase, some red stones, lots of red ribbon and red and pink food coloring. My daughter picked out a bunch of silk flowers (my mother, who loves plants, hates floral arrangements because “They die. I’own need dyin’ stuff around me.”) and together, we made an awesome little floral arrangement.

Hidden inside, were three “cake pops,” made of red velvet cupcake and homemade cream cheese frosting.

Do they take a while? Yep. But when I tell you they were worth every single bite, were filling, and made everyone happy? Believe me.

So… my Mothers’ Day gift to you… is my red velvet cake pop recipe. Enjoy!

1 cup organic flour
1 cup sugar
1tbsp cocoa powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 egg
1/2 cup oil
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 & 1/2tsp vinegar
1/2 tsp vanilla
1oz red food coloring

For the cream cheese frosting:

1 8oz pkg of cream cheese
1/3 cup of butter
2 cups confectioner’s sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract

Note: If you’re making the cake pops, you’ll need to visit a hobby store and pick up these. If you’re going to do it the way I did, you’ll also need these, this and these.

Pre-heat your oven on 350 degrees. Pull out all of your cream cheese frosting ingredients, and let them sit and warm up a bit. (I put them in a bowl on top of the oven to help melt a little more.)

Spray your cupcake pan with a little non-stick spray or oil.

Blend all of your wet ingredients in one bowl, except for your food coloring.

In a separate bowl, blend your dry ingredients.

Combine both bowls and your food coloring, blending out any lumps or air bubbles.

Pour in your cupcake mix, filling each one only about half way.

Shove it in the oven. Give it about 20 minutes before you check on ‘em – you should be able to stick a toothpick in the center of your cupcake and have no cupcake stick to it when you pull it out.

If you’re only making cupcakes, then you’re done. Those of you out there who are cake ballin’, we’ve got a long way to go.

Pull your cupcakes out of the oven, drop them out of the pan, and let them sit until they’re cool to the touch. You might even put them in the fridge for a while. You’ll be reusing this cupcake pan, so be sure to clean it out.

Take 6 of your cupcakes, and break them into crumbs. (The horror!)

At this time, mix up your cream cheese frosting. Take about a third of your frosting, and dump it into about half of your crumbs. Blend them up together until you have a really thick, but still somewhat smooth mix. Slowly add more crumbs to the mix. You want it to be malleable enough to stick together, but you don’t want it to be all cream cheese, either.

Take your lollipop sticks and your cupcake pan, and get them ready next to your crumb and cream cheese bowl.

Start ballin’! Grab yourself a handful of the mixture, and roll it into a doughy ball with your hands. Stick ‘em on top of your lollipop stick. Hopefully, yours will look a little better than this:

Sit it, stick-side-up, in the cupcake pan.

(This is a lot of work, ain’t it? Sheesh…)

After you make the ones you want, go ahead and sit them in the freezer.

Grab the rest of your cream cheese frosting, and drop a little food coloring in there. Mix in about two tablespoons of gum paste in your frosting, and give it about 10 minutes to sit. The paste will thicken the frosting to the point where it won’t be as runny.

Get your pops out of the freezer, and one by one, start coating ‘em up.

I used a spoon to help coat the very tops of my pops. Once fully coated, put it back in the cupcake pan.

Repeat until your stuff looks like this:

Once coated, stick ‘em back in the freezer, and let ‘em hang out for a few hours. Above, you’ll see my pops post-freezing.

Then, you can get creative with ‘em and use your wrapping, your ribbon, your whatever-you-want.

So… after all that work, you get a very rich, very yummy recipe that will possibly fill your belly and remind you why you shouldn’t eat sweets so often. All that sugar? I mean, of course you’re not going to eat the entire batch (or are you? Ha!) but baking is something you do out of love… not boredom. Love wouldn’t compel me to bake with this much effort that often! Ha! And aside from the fact that there IS a lot of sugar in the entire recipe, there’s a lot of real food – not chemicals – in it, as well. You will be full after one pop. Don’t be compelled to overindulge… or you will feel it later. I promise.

I love baking, but there are maybe four times a year when I do major baking – Homecoming, Mothers’ Day, my daughter’s birthday and the winter holiday season. My mother, who I’ve been putting through the nutritional ringer as of late, has deserved every hour of hard work I put into these and enjoyed every bite. I hope you enjoy, as well.

Many thanks to The Kitchn for the tip! And their pictures are WAY better than mine!

The bouquet I put together for my Mother, complete with a surprise inside!

You know, mommyhood rocks.

I get to be jostled out of my bed every morning by a very moody little girl demanding cheerios with blueberries. I get to be awaken from my naps by sloppy kiddie kisses and hot toddler breath. I even get to watch as she runs across the house, completely pantsless.. and before I can question where the pants went, I see our puppy running behind her… pants in mouth.

I get crayons on my wall. I get food on the ceiling (don’t ask – I sure didn’t.) I even get big spongy alphabet tub toys in my toilet. I get all that… and she’s only 3, for crying out loud.

Alas… I get the most important thing of all. I get life.

My daughter has given me this sense of vibrancy that I don’t think I would’ve had otherwise. I value watching her drink down her milk with one hand, because I remember when she first reached for her bottle as an infant. I love watching her read, because I remember how frustrated I was trying to teach her the alphabet. As mad as I was watching the puppy chase my pantsless daughter across the house, I still laugh a little because I remember the first time she started walking, and I actually cried. Like a total punk. I mean boo hoo, no-kleenex-can-save-my-face-so-get-me-a-washcloth tears. She teaches me just how growth can change a person for the better, forever. She’s an everyday reminder.. right there in my face. Begging for goldfish crackers.

She’s fearless, too. Fearless like nosedive from the bed; jumping up from four feet in the air (and staying there); putting up her dukes and scrapping with the equally fearless puppy; climbing the jungle gym, sitting all the way up, and screaming “This is my world!” I mean, she’s a super hero.

Before her, I was just content. My daughter taught me how to live. That I could run, jump, play, become excited by something other than food and geek stuff and just overall be the person I was born to be.. the person I accidentally raised in her.

The person who, as I type this, just demanded that I play that darn “I’mma Be” song on my iPhone. ‘Cause that’s what I really need in the morning… the Black Eyed Peas. (I won’t lie.. her dancing is downright hilarious.)

So today, on Mothers’ Day, I’m celebrating what being a Mommy has given to me. The photos, the memories, the crayon-covered walls… but most importantly, the motivation to live. Because now, I have many many many more years to spend with her… repaying the favor with my own brand of hilariously embarrassing dancing. I’m saving that for her teenage years.

What are you doing to celebrate Mothers’ Day?

So… it’s Friday. For those who’ve been following their hardest since Sunday, you’re probably feeling the pinch. You’re probably recognizing the way your life has changed – how much more time you devote to food; how different your food tastes; how differently your body feels after you eat; how, ahem… regular you are now from eating cleaner foods.

How does it feel? (I’d cue D’Angelo here, but I’m gonna respect the fellas who visit the site. For now.)

I’ve got to tell you… the closer to “the source” I eat, the better off I am. The better I feel. The more energetic I feel. I feel like I’m living… as opposed to grabbing a 900 calorie slice of cheesecake and shrugging it off with, “You only live once.” I live through living… not eating.

My first venture off into living cleaner actually started around this time in 2009. Recognizing that limiting the things in my life that seemed to control me, as opposed to me controlling it… it helped me feel free. Like I could live without spending my day floating from vice to vice. I wasn’t making lunch and thinking about dinner. I wasn’t making dinner and scoping out the freezer for dessert.

I spent months – months – trying to scope out a plan that worked best for me. I spent time as a raw vegan which, while I felt wonderful and very well may go back to that lifestyle, I wanted to know if my body was responding poorly to meat altogether or if it was something in the way I was cooking that was causing my body to pack on the pounds. So, I slowly started adding back dairy and meat to my diet. That’s when I realized… I was always stalled when I indulged in foods of the “manufactured” nature.

Running the challenge during this week is not only valuable because the challenge prep ran during Earth Week, but because it signifies the 1 year anniversary of when I learned how to eat like I had some sense. That was also well over 100 pounds ago. I learned that if I couldn’t afford the time needed to cook scalloped potatoes from scratch, I probably shouldn’t have them. If I couldn’t afford the well-kept and healthy beef, I probably shouldn’t have any… which is fine, because the last time I had red meat was a few years ago in high school. Life is simplified. I value and appreciate that, now.

As we make it through day 6, I hope that day 7 is that much easier for you: that your sugar cravings are lessened, your creativity in creating delish dishes has expanded, and your portion sizes reflect what you’re actually wanting to eat… not just what’s in the box or what was in the pan.

So, baby, let’s cruise…  – sorry, can’t help the D’Angelo references – into day 7 and enjoy another day living, loving, and eating clean! Tell me – how does it feel? Struggling? Coasting? Slippin’ up? Let’s hear it!

A little while ago, I asked the wonderful, amazingly awesome readers of this site who they allow to bring their weight to their attention. Lots of great comments, with a couple of standouts below:

I think people who really have your best intentions at heart are allowed to express their concerns to you about becoming healthier; however, there is a thing called tact! – Chanel

i’d rather not have anyone call me fat except for me. I decide when I need to hit the gym and i decide when and if i am happy with how I look. – Elledub

Honestly, though I may dislike hearing it, I think my family and friends should be allowed to call me fat. I’ll tell you why. As I’ve stated before (maybe not here, but on my blog or Twitter), I didn’t really notice the weight gain. I knew it was creeping up, but I still looked (in my mind) pretty good. When people started making comments, inclusive of a student that had absolutely NO tact whatsoever, I took stock in what they were saying and decided that I needed to do something about it. – Tracy

Honestly, anyone who loves me had better tell me if I’m picking up weight. – Winnie

I wish to God one of my friends or family members had had the courage to tell me I needed to do something about my weight a few years ago. [...] Now that most of the excess weight is gone, everyone is all “OMG, you look great”, but I can’t help but to wish someone had remarked on my weight before. But that’s easy to say on the other side of the fence… – Sister Toldja

I think that “other side of the fence” is a big part of this. As I wrote about the conversation between my Mother and my sister, it’s hard for me to think about what my response would’ve been to someone telling me I was gaining too much weight. I mean, I was a snappy chick… quick to rain jokes down upon the head of anyone who was willing to step to me about my weight. I could only imagine what kind of torrential terrible twenties tantrum fit I might’ve thrown had someone told me that I was any less sexy, dope, amazingly gorgeous, downright stunning and perfect than I believed I was in my own head.

And that’s not to say that being overweight means that I couldn’t be sexy, dope, amazingly gorgeous, downright stunning and perfect. It means that since I saw “fat” as a flaw (and let’s face it, most of us do), having someone remind me of a flaw I was diligently ignoring felt like the chink in my armor turning into a hole. And that’s, well… unacceptable.

I think of the countless times my girls tried to get me to hit the gym with them. My best friend, an avid runner, actually offered to walk with me one day. (Do you know how hard it is to get a runner to slow down for your slow behind?) My mother made side salads for dinner, while making sure that the more calorie-heavy parts of the meal were “all gone” by the time I’d go to fix my plate. Apparently, everyone had something to say… but no one was saying it. Meanwhile, I was gaining weight at a rate of about 20lbs a year.

Am I making that gain everyone else’s fault? Nope. It’s my body, my responsibility to learn how to care for it, and care for it properly. However, what kind of climate was I creating where the people around me couldn’t even tell me – in love and in kindness – that something was going on with me? Couldn’t express their concern for me?

Frankly, I ain’t the one. I can’t afford to be the one.

Let’s say that you and your girls are getting ready to hit a major event. Before you all walk out the door, you check each other out to make sure you’re all looking good. Isn’t the expectation that one of them will tell you if you’re the one looking a mess? We expect our friends to tell us if we’re looking a fool before we walk out of our houses, but they can’t tell us we’ve put on too much weight?

Is it the fact that we, as women, tend to be so objectified – everything has to do with sexuality and sexual appeal – that we’ve equated “you’re gaining weight” with “you’re unattractive?” Are we so used to everything being about attraction, that being told we’re packin’ on the pounds must also be about being attractive (or, in this case, less than attractive?) It couldn’t simply be a “Hey… check on your health.” type situation? It has to be about “cute?”

Or is it the fact that everyone’s threshold is different? Southerners have a different definition of “putting on weight” than Northerners. Miami’s definition is different from Houston. Mississippi wouldn’t understand California. An extra ten pounds vs an extra hundred or so. For someone to acknowledge that I’ve put on the pounds, when “put on the pounds” means “ten pounds” to them? I won’t even lie. They just might get the finger.

I think about myself now. I get at least one comment/email/tweet/anonymous whatever a week calling me a “fat bitch.” I usually laugh, but every now and again I raise my eyebrow and wonder… “Once upon a time, I couldn’t get people I love to tell me I was too big. Now, I’ve got strangers telling me I’m fat? What part of the game is that?” 330lb Erika might not’ve had that reaction. 180lb Erika, however… is tickled.

It goes back to that “other side of the fence” note I made earlier. Looking at the person I am today, I can acknowledge that this is the person I needed to be to get to where I am. Allowing the people I love to feel comfortable addressing my flaws might’ve helped me become this person much earlier on in my life. If I keep them close to me because I trust their influence to make me “better,” why exclude health? Why exclude weight? If the people who love me want to offer me solutions, why not be open to them? What do I have to lose?

And let me clarify.. I’m talking about people who love you. The ones invested in you as a person. The ones who are there for you at your worst. They deserve to be able to help make you better, and enjoy you at your best. We can talk about “haters,” but I fully believe they’re not worth talking about. Nor are they worth thinking about. People who mean you no positivity aren’t worth time or brainspace.

No, really. I mean that. So those family members who insist on spitefully bringing up your weight – the ones you know mean you no earthly good, and usually never have any support to offer you beyond “Yo booty gettin’ kinda big” – you can give them a polite “I’ll take that under consideration,” and change the subject… while mentally giving them the finger.

My plea is just that we not shut out the people who we trust to see the worst of us. Don’t prevent them from helping to develop the best in you: the healthy you! I’m talkin’ about those people who – like my friends (who, I’ll have you know, are still my tried and true friends fat or skinny) – are willing to walk through the fire with you, support you and offer you solutions to help you get to where you want to go. Where you need to go.

This journey isn’t one that we can go on alone. You will always need a support system that will giggle with you at your failures, cheer you on through your successes, and help you learn from both. You trust them to have your back, so trust them to tell you about something you might be overlooking… like your weight. If you love them and they love you (and you know it), give them a chance. They very well may have the answers, resources and support you need.

Be happy, but most importantly… be healthy.

I made the awful – awful, awful, awful – decision to return back home to Indiana. I was basically leaving Miami in the middle of their cold snap, only to travel up North for a cold snap that actually involves snow. Really, this was a horrible idea.

The last time I saw my Mother, I weighed somewhere around 280lbs. Really, the last time I saw a lot of these people, I was somewhere around 300lbs. There’s something a little complicated in trying to explain to someone that even though they’re looking at a physically different representation of the person you are… you still are… the person you are.

Alas, the first words out of my Mother’s mouth were, “I feel like I’m staring at a stranger in my own home!”

When my Mother first laid eyes on me, I was sitting on the floor, legs folded, trying to figure out how to gerry-rig the broadband to accommodate my laptop. “Get up! I want to see!” I only looked at her with a face that said, “I want to roll my eyes, but since I don’t wanna hear it, I won’t.”

She definitely got a little teary eyed… leaned back, put her hand over her mouth and said “You know, it was to the point where I thought you were sick. I mean, you were out there.” You know how you use your hands to draw a globe that’s bigger than you? Imagine someone doing this, and talking about your body. Sigh. Yeah. She’s excited… so I’ma let that one go.

She asked me what it was like to have made such a drastic change in my size. I told her the truth — that it was hard to see because I look at me every day. That I don’t just think of “Month-ago-me” and compare her to “today me.” It doesn’t work that way for me, personally, and that it’s to my downfall.

“So, wait – you mean to tell me that you don’t remember what you looked like?”

I told her, “I just always think I looked this way.” Clearly, I was downplaying it… or deluding myself. The picture above is definitely me circa 2007.

At this point… she reached for a few photos to show me just how much of a change I’d made in myself. I won’t even lie – these photos hurt my feelings. Maybe because I can understand the magnitude of what’s happening in the photos — my waist was, well.. I didn’t have a waist. My face was full with nice gloriously fat cheeks. I mean, I didn’t have any shape what-so-ever, but you couldn’t tell me squat! I was all kinds of fine!

I was still morbidly obese, “pre-diabetic” and in dire need of a supportive shoulder. But I was fine, and apparently that’s all that mattered.

She watched me get a little teary-eyed, myself. I guess I didn’t think I was “that different.” I have long since avoided this moment, where I could compare where I am now to where I was then.. but I knew it was coming.

Having this moment also magnified the purpose behind why I opted to return back to Indiana, anyhow. With all the knowledge I’ve gained in the form of health and fitness… if I can’t use it to save the people who mean the most to me, it doesn’t mean quite as much as I thought it would.

I haven’t really seen anyone else since I’ve returned, and that’s fine. I’m not really here for everyone else. I’m just here for Mom. It was hard enough to listen to her talk about the changes I’ve made… so let’s hope we can share the same smiles and tears when it comes time to evaluate the changes she’s made.

I make no bones about the fact that I love our First Lady. Did I adore Laura Bush? Yes, but something about Michelle Obama just rocks to me.

Maybe it’s just her arms.

I’m not playing either. She looks like she puts effort – actual effort – into those bad boys!

I know that the media had a field day with her figure. She was too toned. Women are supposed to be soft, curvaceous [but not too curvy, lawdy lawdy heaven forbid we see too much of a curve], and reflect no form of masculinity. Like muscles.

Forget all that. I am soft. I am feminine. But if I leave these arms the way that my weight loss left them, I’m going to look like an old beat up pillow. Unacceptable. I want arms like hers… not cotton-stuffed appendages like what I’d been stuck with.

For me, I know that in order for me to get my arms looking normal again after this weight loss, I’m going to have to build some serious muscle. There was never any bulk there before – only fat. Honestly, it used to make me uncomfortable – if I really took a good look at myself before I left the house some days, I’d stop and turn sideways… try to flex my arm in hopes that some shape would appear… sigh and shrug it off… then go on about my partying. Not like I could build muscle in ten minutes before doing what I had to do, right?

I must admit, the past 8 months have been exciting for my upper body. I can finally see my collarbone. My spare tire is fading away, and an actual slope is appearing in my backside. My back fat is shrinking, and my breasts have shrunk (from a 42DD to a 34C.) How am I doing on my journey?

I’m sure the next question is, “HOW?” The answer, really, is not a silly shake weight or a “perfect push up” machine.

Between yoga and push ups, I’ve been able to tone up my arms, my back, and even keep the skin of my breasts taut. Why? If you take a look at one of the yoga episodes I’ve posted on the site, you’ll be able to identify how much you have to lift, stretch, pull and tug those arms. The plank position – a common yoga pose that looks a lot like a push up without the drop down – works not only your back, but the ligaments in your chest that tighten and lift your breasts. Add to that the fact that it works both your biceps and your triceps (your outer and inner upper arm area?) You’re in there like swimwear.

For me, these are the best options. These are things that I can do at home without purchasing any equipment and without needing to be at a gym. I just click “play” on a yoga video on this site, and I go for it. I’m still a little flabbier than I’d like for myself, but I’m pretty proud of how far I’ve come.

So, in the meantime… I’m going to continue to stare lovingly at these photos of a sleeveless First Lady Obama (not in a creepy way, though) and keep on with my push-ups and my yoga routine.. and hope that you’ll join me!

Got tips? Questions? Ideas? Share ‘em!

If you couldn’t tell, I’ve always been a bit of a writer. Beside my desk, I have a bookshelf with a slew of old binders, composition notebooks, all kinds of note pads. Notes I’ve scribbled about events, ideas, places, people… myself.

I was well over 200lbs graduating high school. I often wore sweats because I didn’t want to try too hard to dress like/look like everyone else, and then get mocked for being “so fat” and trying “so hard.” (This photo is me, at a very happy 240lbs.)

I remember my mother’s frustration with my size – I was a size 9 in the 4th grade, and we thought it was kinda funny that I was built like a grown woman… until I started getting grown woman attention. Sure enough, that was the point where I started trying to hide myself. Before I knew it, my Mom moved us to a more upper-class area where everyone was healthy, and I was so busy trying to hide myself that I simply never noticed. I never noticed that I put on about 60lbs throughout high school.

I mentioned that I’ve always been a bit of a writer, because I wrote to myself about a day in gym class that I’d endured. Yes, endured. It was the dreaded one mile run for the Presidential fitness test. Everyone was lapping me. It took me 17minutes to make one mile. One fella – I even remember his name, and we’re still friends although I believe he’s long forgotten – crept up to me (with his friends giggling behind me) and asked me how much I weighed, and I said 191. I was lying – I’d shaved off about 25lbs from that. That was all he needed, and he went back to his football player friends giggling about it. I’d written it off, and just kept on walking my mile.

I’d written to myself that I didn’t need to be skinny to be a person of value to my community, my country, or my world. I mean, for crying out loud – skinniness isn’t what makes a person phenomenal! I don’t need to be skinny to be dynamic! I don’t need skinny to rock your world! Being skinny isn’t what makes a chick bangin’! I can do ALL of that without being a single-digit size. I WILL do all of that without a single-digit size.

And… off I went.

College was first. I was all OVER the place. Involed in this, running this, name in the paper, elected to that. When I finally started dating (’cause I didn’t do that until I left Mom’s house), I was NEVER single… happily involved, healthy long-term relationships. And I was on it. You couldn’t go to an event without seeing me. Why? Because I was focused on proving wrong that high school mentality that I couldn’t shake – that I didn’t need to be skinny to be dynamic.

Well, years later, during the time I should’ve been getting to know and love and learn how to take care of ME, I realized that I didn’t do much of that at ALL. I was a broken person trying to prove wrong an outside stigma that existed long before me, and would probably exist long after I’m dead and gone. And to top it all off, I was now the mother of a beautiful baby girl… and the thought of passing my broken understanding of how to be a healthily-happy-with-herself Black girl to her made my spine tighten up in pain.

I surrounded myself with women who were healthy and extremely patient… not wanting to damage our friendships but wanting to point out a need to take care of myself, how to learn. It wasn’t until one helped me realize the nutritional error of my ways, that I finally started going east instead of west. It all just started to make sense.

As I’ve mentioned before, by the time I’d hit the 300lb mark, I was dealing with pitting edema. Doctors were fearing I’d developed diabetes. It felt like everything was crashing down on me, and damn if I had any idea how to address it I would. I just didn’t know. If I hadn’t made a change, I can’t imagine where I’d be right now.

In hindsight, looking at what I wrote to myself – “I don’t need to be skinny to be dynamic! I don’t need skinny to rock your world! Being skinny isn’t what makes a chick bangin’!” – I didn’t lie! I was dynamic! I was awesome blossom! I didn’t need skinny to have, be or do anything that my heart desired. Being a wonderfully humble and modest individual isn’t predicated upon size or level of attractiveness. It has nothing to do with that. And it took me trying to hold myself up as the exception and almost killing myself in the process to realize that.

I couldn’t get past that childish mentality that said “I’m already cute, and I’m already happy and successful. I’own need to lose weight to be hot.” I wish I could grab Young Erika by the shoulders, slap her one good time and say, “This ain’t about being hot to a bunch of idiotic teenagers. This is about not having so much fluid in your legs, your blood can’t circulate properly in about 6 years. This is about being healthy and making sure that you’re around long enough to see your babies have babies. This is about developing and maintaining a lifestyle that nurtures and nourishes the best of you. This is about not spending your life trying to prove your value to a society that doesn’t care anyway. It’s about not letting a dysfunctional society succeed in devaluing you in the first place! It’s about believing in the worth you were given at birth, and ensuring that you’re around for as long as possible to make sure that you can put that worth to USE!”

I can look back and say, now, why I openly and outwardly failed to address my weight loss concerns. Because I knew that my efforts would be met with dismal results. I wouldn’t be prepared. I wouldn’t be knowledgeable. I wouldn’t understand. I would lose. I would fail. I’d be embarking on a 20 mile hike in a jungle, and would forget something simple and stupid – like water – get set back, have to go home, and never get the motivation to get up and have another go at it. I’d only be disappointing myself, so why bother?

The funny thing is, once I finally began to address my emotional barriers to weight loss, I hit another road block. I set myself up with excuse after excuse. I can’t afford to eat healthy. I can’t afford a gym membership. My insurance won’t cover a nutritionist. I don’t want to sweat my hair out. I have clients to tend to. It takes too much time. I have a daughter to raise. I’m hosting the Pope at my house, and I’ve got to bake pastries. All kinds of crap. It made me question what purpose those original barriers served in the first place. Was that just to protect me from the emotional letdown of failure?

I never really set out on some dynamic goal. I didn’t start at 330lbs with a goal of losing 150lbs. Remember, I tried the gym thing and felt like I was doing TOO much with no reward, and I gave up. Changing my eating habits wasn’t about losing weight – I had already, at that point, accepted that I wasn’t going to do that – it was about just eating healthier. The weight FELL off at that point. THAT is when my focus shifted… when I discovered my achilles heel. When I saw that it WAS possible. For those who don’t follow this site regularly, I started at 328. Today, I’m at 185lbs. Trust me, that wasn’t in the plan.

To think that I denied myself health because of some goal to prove that I could be of value without being skinny… to think that I denied myself health because of a fear of disappointing myself… to think that I denied myself being who I am because I was afraid of what being that person would bring me… all the years I wasted, all the time I lost. How dreadful I was to myself. Using meaningless external excuses to justify allowing my body – my gift – to suffer at the hands of my bad habits.

So, I put all this out here to say… losing weight isn’t about… well, losing weight. A healthy outlook on this whole thing is having a goal of changing your lifestyle. The effort should be placed within making small changes to eat and live healthier. The end result of doing these successfully is weight loss. Any effort to skate around that will fail you in the long run, and will bring about the disappointment that we all fear. Don’t defeat yourself before you begin. And definitely don’t make excuses for complacency… because it can ultimately kill you. Let me reiterate that – the goal is not weight loss. It is a healthier lifestyle. Please believe you can lose weight by unhealthy means, and wind up worse off health-wise than you began.

I had healthy goals – eating healthier, being more active – that gave me healthy results. My goals weren’t rooted in vanity, they were rooted in a desire to not have my daughter grow up as confused and emotionally stunted as I was. I want her to have a healthy relationship with food, and a respect for herself that included knowing how and when to take care of onesself. I’m proud that I’ve started that within her, all while re-teaching it to myself. (this picture of me is from Thanksgiving. You know you love my ‘fro!) Now, I’m considering more vain aspects of my physical appearance because, quite frankly, I can. I now know that I can healthily focus on me without punishing myself for “not being what I covet,” but “respectfully pushing myself.” Because I learned early that my value isn’t in my new-found physique, I still develop my intelligence, my ability to give to my community and my ability to love. It makes me that much better of a person, because I no longer fear tackling my issues head on… because I now have new-found faith in my ability to take care of ME. I don’t question my value because I know where it is, and because I value me… I care for me like I care for my child. Because I love myself… like I love my child.

1,600 words all to say… resolve to love yourself. Resolve to care for yourself. I’ve always been happy. I was always successful. But I looked at the way I love my child and wondered why I didn’t pour that same effort into myself.. and once I did, my world changed and my life lit up beyond what I could’ve imagined. Show yourself that kind of love, and see how your life changes.