The Pushover

Over the last few weeks, as I've congratulated friend after friend on their engagement, I've pondered the idea of personal gain. What brings people to achieve their highest goals? What does it mean to "have it all" and who decides who actually has it?

I have a good friend who did not get a job as a student cantor this year. As a result of wanting to be sensitive and allow this friend to have a feeling of equality and importance, I let her take many of the opportunities I wanted for myself. I selflessly allowed her to be class representative on our student government (even when another classmate decided she too wanted the position and forced my friend to share her position) and then backed away from a shot at interning in our summer program in Israel this summer because she and her fiance wanted to go for it. I wanted both of those things, and because I wanted to do what I thought was the kindest thing to do for her, I backed off.

I was a total idiot.

This friend is engaged. She has the time to take extra classes and do yoga and see her family on the weekends when she doesn't work. She has everything that I am currently missing from my life, and instead of being happy with my decisions to give her said opportunities, I only feel resentment. Especially when I know she will have everything that I currently have (in addition to the aforementioned bonuses) when she applies for jobs for the coming year.

Instead of being a martyr, I was a pushover. For that, I feel like the ultimate idiot.

What is it that led me to make these decisions that put others before myself? Why did I allow feelings of guilt (when, in fact, I did nothing wrong in the first place) to let my friend have these things I desperately want?

What else am I allowing myself to push away, either for the sake of others or for the sake of other opportunities?

I've been feeling very stretched by work and school lately, in a way that doesn't allow me to make room for the other important things in my life. I spent 5 wonderful days with amazing friends in California, consistently checking my Blackberry as not to disconnect completely from my professional obligations. I took time and attention away from people who love me in order to answer silly emails about the Purim schpiel and the choir I'm trying to create for the temple. In the end, they noticed. And they weren't happy about it.

How much can I push my personal life away for my professional life?

How often can I allow guilt to push me to make even the tiniest decisions that affect my life in any capacity?

Is this part of the reason I haven't been able to find love, the one thing I'm aching for more than anything else right now? Or is it an excuse for the other reasons why I push love away?

I want to invite love in to my life, along with the right amounts of opportunity. I want to feel satisfied so I can push away feelings of guilt and resentment towards people I care about. I want to usher happiness into my soul and obtain the things I've always dreamed I'd someday find--the things that have nothing to do with becoming a cantor or losing weight.

I want to feel as though the work I do and the people I have in my life are equal in comparison to everyone else's so I can put the scale away once and for all.

Good goals for 2010.

***

I want to be able to talk to my friends again. I want to talk to them about how it hurts to be alone, surrounded by people in love. I want to talk to them about how I've realized so deeply that I don't want to be alone anymore. I want to admit that I miss the way things were before everyone I knew was coupled up, when I could talk about missing a certain someone and they would understand because they were there too.

I want to tell them that it feels strange complaining about my lack of love life when they are supposed to be relishing in the love they've committed their lives to. How isolating and wrong it feels to not want to talk to your friends for fear of lovey-dovey crap or conversations about wedding colors. How every time I hear an engagement story or see a shower invite my heart sinks a little more. How selfish I feel for feeling this way at all.

This loneliness is an odd place to be in right now. I'm no stranger to feeling alone, but I'm used to being on my own surrounded by other lonely people who know the drill. Now it feels like no one gets it anymore, and no one ever will again.

The Biggest Loser

I recently came across this article about The Biggest Loser in the NY Times. As someone who hates the show for a myriad of reasons, I wanted to share it tonight as the world was introduced the the newest Biggest Loser.

Hey people, why don't you try losing weight the healthy way? I have no sympathy for your endless workouts and dehydration. If you want to make yourself sick to be thin, go ahead...but I won't cry for you and I won't watch as you do it.

What do you all think?

Another engagement.

That makes 4 friends getting engaged within a 2 week period.

That's a lot of 'mazal tovs' and 'congratulations' and 'I'm so happy for you!'s That's a lot of engagement stories and squealing and ring showing and wedding talk.

And, for those of us who are single and wish we weren't, that's a lot of feeling sorry for ourselves.

I joke on my gchat status that friend's engagements are part happiness, part wanting to drink myself into a coma. As my friends have become engaged, I find that the happiness fades away and the desire to drink myself silly increases and increases. Not because I'm not thrilled that my friends have found the love most of us yearn for. Not even because I'm jealous and want everything they have to be for myself.

It's because every friend I've had who's ever gotten engaged, I've lost. I lose them to the "we only want to hang out with other couples" club. I lose them because a 3rd wheel is awkward for everyone, whether or not the status applies to them.

They tend to keep me around throughout the engagement process, where I am expected to squeal alongside every decision the bride makes. Once they're married, it's bye-bye boring single girl. They don't intend to drop me, and most of them make sincere claims that they never will, but regardless, it always happens.

They are another reminder of how alone I really am in this world when I ache not to be. They are the ones who tell me "someone wonderful is coming your way, I just know it" and expect me to go around thinking that just because they say it it will actually happen. In actuality, that statement only brings to light the fact that while it's happening for everyone else, it isn't happening for me. It also feels like their excuse for dropping me like a bad habit--like their blind faith makes up for the fact that once they're married, I'm outta the picture.

I know it's all me and it has nothing to do with them. I have absolutely no idea how to push my own issues aside and just be happy for them. I wish like hell that I could do that. I also wish I could be comfortable envisioning a world where it is just me, no husband or boyfriend. Right now the thought of being alone forever is too scary to face.

Please don't respond to this post with "you'll find him eventually" or "I'll always be here, even when I get married." Those really aren't the kinds of things I want to be hearing right now. If you want to tell me "I'll meet you at the bar, shots of tequila in hand," I'll be your friend for life.

HELP

Oh, readers.

I need to start over. Rededicate my life to healthy eating, exercise, weight loss, and overall personal health and well-being.

It's been a long time since I've felt driven to be here, writing in this space. Partly because I thought very sincerely that I was okay, partly because I knew all along that I wasn't. Denial is a bitch.

I don't know what's going on with me this semester--I'm not sure if it's the fact that I've been working like a madwoman or coping with stress by eating, drinking and doing all the wrong things--but it's been impossible to be the Tracy I want to be.

The Tracy I've been for the last 2 years.

I so desperately want to find that place again where I was doing all the right things. I was busy and stressed in Israel, yet I found the time to chop veggies and exercise on my living room floor. Maybe it was my community, both in the HUC world and at Weight Watchers that kept me so committed and focused. Maybe it was the excitement of Israel and a new life and the next 5 years that guided me in the right direction.

I miss that girl who spent her summers exercising at least 1 hour a day. I miss the sweat and tears and endorphins that come with good exercise. I miss making an ass out of myself at Zumba and fighting like hell with my brother to make sure he was home from work in time for me to make it to class.

I miss writing here and having a small, wonderful community of loyal readers who supported my every step, even if I was just bitching about something petty.

How do I make time to be healthy in the midst of being a full time student and working 2 jobs?

How do I stay connected to ME when it feels like I spend my days doing things for everyone else?

How do I find that girl who was so determined to accomplish this dream that she'd turn a blind eye to pizza, falafel, ice cream without a second thought?

I miss that me.

I miss losing weight and feeling good about myself.

I miss feeling like I'm accomplishing something, especially because I know I have so much more I want to accomplish.

I need you, readers, in what feels like the most important way I've ever needed you. I need you to pull the food out of my hands and kitchen, to force me to exercise, to yell at me to keep going because this is not over yet. If any of you are still out there, please help.

The thought of going back to where I was 2.5 years ago scares the shit out of me.

At Peace

It's been a really long time since I last posted.

Yes, I'm just getting past the craziest time of a Jewish clergy person's year. The High Holy Days take up a HUGE amount of time and energy and there isn't much room for anything else. That said, it's not the real reason I haven't posted.

I haven't abandoned my good habits, either. In fact, I lost 2 pounds during the month of September, which included a practicum, a first pulpit visit, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. '

It's strange that for the first time in a long time, I'm feeling very at peace with myself and my body. I haven't had time or energy to stop and think about my eating or exercise or personal junk, and I'm strangely OK with that. I really haven't missed blogging because there hasn't been anything extraordinary to blog about.

Maybe this sense of peace is a turning point, a huge moment of progress, or a natural part of the self-exploration process--whatever it is, I don't really care. I'm comfy in this place, and I haven't been comfy in a long time, or, well...ever.

I guess my time away is/was just some time to dwell in that comfy place, a place I like to be right now. Maybe I'll stay for awhile...or maybe I won't.

The only reason I'm even posting at all is because I think this happy place is worthy of journaling for future reference. It's a good thing.

We Are Not Alone

Yesterday, during my school's annual Kallah (a welcome back retreat, always held at a camp in beautiful upstate NY), one of my favorite professors talked on a panel about self-care. There, she admitted something that shocked many of us: she has issues with food.

This woman is a widely known cantor, teacher, and composer of Jewish music. She is married to a rabbi and together they share a shul, a home and 3 beautiful children. Always put together and on the ball, she is as talented a community organizer as she is a musician.

Never in a million years would I have guessed she had issues with eating.

She didn't go into details about her issues, but if I had to guess, I'd venture to say that she fits onto the opposite end of the spectrum as I. Instead of dealing with eating too much food, I'm assuming she struggles to allow herself to eat enough. She's been pencil thin as long as I've known her, and I've often wondered how she managed to maintain her beautiful figure after giving birth 3 times.

I've felt a connection to this professor for as long as I've known her--even in my audition, when we were literally strangers. There was something in her eyes that just told me our stories were somehow going to intersect, that she was going to be one of those people who are so much more than just a teacher. Until yesterday, I thought it was merely our shared love of music and Judaism that brought us together.

While I've never experienced anorexia or bulimia, I've often felt the ties between those who undereat and those who overeat. It's a matter of agonizing over every bite of food that goes near your mouth. It's a matter of feeling ugly, judged, hated by everyone around you. It's a matter of seeing yourself as completely different than you actually are. It's a matter of using food--whether eating too much or too little--as a way of controlling the chaotic world around you. It's a matter of finding comfort inside of a world that feels safe even when you know it isn't.

Today, as I was leaving breakfast to head out for a walk by a beautiful babbling stream, I bumped into this professor. I thanked her for her candor and sensitivity in sharing a snippet of her story with us. I told her that it made me--someone with my own food issues--feel good to know that I wasn't alone. I mentioned that I felt an even closer bond with her for telling us about this. We got to talking about how sometimes it is sharing our FAULTS with our communities that sometimes allows us to be the best cantors we can be. I shared with her that I've always believed our congregants like to see that their clergy are NORMAL people who make mistakes and bad choices from time to time. Though we've chosen to be role models for our communities, we are still everyday people--our congregants like to see that just like them, we struggle with everyday life issues, too. It brings a certain level of humility to a profession that is sometimes seen as overly dramatic or egotistical. She admitted that until our conversation, she'd never thought about it that way, and that I was right. It was nice to think that my words stirred her brilliant brain just a little bit.

It's kind of amazing how at the same time as I chose to open up about myself to my community, this wonderful woman chose to open up about herself, too. Maybe the Universe is trying to tell me that this I'm doing the right thing at the right time. As I open up about myself, I become more aware and accepting about the struggles in the lives of those around me.

It is at times like these where I am 100% sure that God exists, that there is something so much more powerful than science that brings our souls together.

A Slideshow

It really is incredible everytime I see it for myself. I don't want to belabor the point of my last post, but I think this time line of pictures speaks for itself.

It's not just one person, or 2 people, but 4 (!!) different people.

One year before leaving for Israel:


One week after arriving in Israel:


My 26th birthday, one month after returning from Israel:


My 27th birthday, one month after the conclusion of year 2 of cantorial school:

Pictures

Last night, in an effort to chill out after an intense day of practicum rehearsals and High Holy Day prep, I was playing around on Facebook. I clicked the "View Photos of Me" link on my profile, where I looked through all 546 photos of me placed on Facebook since my account was created my senior year of college.

What you are about to read will either sound completely crazy or completely identifiable to you: There is a night and day difference between the person I was in college and the person I am now. Here's the crazy part--I didn't notice it until I looked at my pictures last night.

As of yesterday, I have lost 117 pounds since June 27, 2007, the day I left for Israel.

Until I looked at those pictures, I had no idea just how much weight that really is.

117 pounds.

That's a PERSON.

I literally carried the weight of another human being on my bones for 25 years.

The person I am now and the person I was then feel like 2 completely separate people, even though they're both me. The old Tracy feels so far removed when I look at those pictures. Yet I look in the mirror and still don't see the Tracy I see in the "now" pictures. My body is living 100% in the moment. My brain is not.

It's very confusing.

As I was lying in bed last night, I kept thinking about the reasons why I haven't told very many people outside my 3rd year class at HUC about my weight loss. I couldn't think of a single reason why I had to keep silent anymore. When I casually mentioned it to the rabbi I'm working with this year (in hopes of advice on how to ask congregants to cook food I can eat whenever I join them for dinner), he said "Tracy, you should be shouting that from the rooftops!"

There is a part of me, a part I keep buried way down deep, that is embarrassed to admit that magic number of 117. While it is fun to watch people's eyes light up when I tell them, there's also a moment when they realize (and I am reminded) that I once weighed over 300 pounds. That while 117 pounds is an amazing achievement, I still have a long way to go, therefore I must have been REALLY heavy. That I once really was the girl you see in the pictures from college and before I left for Israel.

The thought of that makes me so sad.

It's hard to look at those pictures nostalgically, thinking about the good times and friends I had in college. Instead, I cringe, seeing only the morbidly obese woman trying desperately to detract attention from her weight by coloring her hair and hiding behind friends. It's hard to think of the sweet memories when all I can think about is that girl who was hiding under a blanket of 117 pounds, praying no one would notice, praying I looked different to the outside world than I did in those photographs.

The really strange thing? Very heavy people tend to see themselves in their minds as thinner than they really are. Now that I'm not as heavy, I see myself FATTER than I really am.

My mind was messed up even then, in a way that is exactly the same even though it is very different. When I looked at pictures back then, I was always shocked and ashamed at how big I really way. When I look at pictures now, I'm still shocked, but in awe--in a good way--of the way I look.

I am 20 pounds away from weighing under 200 pounds.
I haven't weighed under 200 pounds since I was a CHILD--literally, I weighed around this same weight when I was in the 3rd grade.

Today, when I was at school working on my practicum, I told 4 people about my magic number. One of my favorite professors, one of my 4th year colleagues, and 2 of the new 2nd year students I had just met (who happened to overhear my conversation with my 4th year friend.)

I loved watching their eyes light up in amazement.
I didn't allow myself to pay attention when they put two and two together.
I wanted to enjoy those moments without the icky stuff getting in the way.

I think I am going to start spreading the word, naturally, when the right moments pop up. It's time that people know about the huge part of me that's simultaneously missing and yet very present in my life, whether or not they want to literally picture it for themselves.

Though, to my loyal readers and support system, I invite you to check out the "then" pictures. I think you'll be quite shocked also, even though you've been along for the ride the entire time.

I'm really doing this. It's working and sticking and I'm healthier and stronger and happier than ever.

Who'd have pictured it?

T'filot Haderech

Tonight I pray for a good night's sleep, free of the tossing and turning that has afflicted me the last week or so.
And a clear mind to remember all the little things I'm bound to forget: my cell phone and camera chargers, my water bottle that I need to wash in the morning, the box of checks on my dresser.

Tomorrow I pray for many things:
An easy goodbye to my family, dog and house that have hosted me so lovingly this summer.
An easy trip through Lambert, with no gate agents yelling at me about my overweight bags.
Safe and easy travels through Chicago and onto New York.
A brief, if not easy, journey through LaGuardia with my overweight luggage and guitar in tow.
A friendly cab driver who does not cheat me out of any money and helps me put my suitcases in the car at the airport and take them out once at my apartment.
A welcoming feeling as I walk through the lobby of my building.
A peaceful, calm mind as I slowly turn the key to my apartment.
My apartment waiting for me just as I left it, only a little dustier.
A shiny kitchen floor, free of "visitors" of any kind.
A successful attempt to put my window air-conditioning units back in my windows.
A speedy yet thorough cleansing of the entire apartment to free it from the dust.
A feeling of home, comfort, and happiness.
A feeling of completeness and purpose to energize me through the challenging, exciting year ahead.
A feeling of peace.

It's been a wonderful summer in St Louis, my hometown, my favorite place in the world.
But new doors can't open until you close old ones, even temporarily.
It's time to head back, scary and isolating as it may be.

As silly as I feel for posting an entry that is so overly-emotional about a simple trip back to school, it feels good to put my prayers out into the void. NYC is rough and difficult, and heading back there to be around people who love it so much is even more rough and difficult.

Please send love and good energy my way tonight and tomorrow, as I begin my 3rd year of school and continue on this journey to my best self. May this school year be the best year yet, full of learning and laughter, friendship and happiness, music and good health, goodness and peace.

Ken y'hi ratzon.

Low Lows and High Highs

Is it normal to walk into the gym, start up your normal routine, and just feel and think over and over again that it's just not happening?

That totally happened today, while I was attempting to do my cardio routine.

I hopped on an Elliptical trainer, a different one than I normally use because they were all taken. I set the resistance and incline and took off. 10 minutes later, I stopped because it was too intense. I re-set the machine at another resistance and incline for another 30 minutes, and took off again. Once again, I just was not feeling it. Rather than continue, I decided to give myself a break and go home.

In the car, I started crying. I don't know why, exactly, but it was a mixture of disappointment, fear and anxiety over my upcoming return to NYC, exhaustion (I haven't been sleeping well lately) and possibly overworking at yesterday's gym session, doing too much too soon after a few days off.

The tears were short lived, but necessary. I'm thinking the build up of bad energy in my body led to my lethargy at the gym. I felt better after lunch and a haircut, so I went shopping for some new, cheap bimah and school clothes.

I am now a size 14/16 in tops. I WEAR THE SMALLEST SIZE LANE BRYANT CARRIES IN THEIR STORES. It's so strange to think that it's true, yet the tags speak perfectly well for themselves. I also tried on a size 16 skirt and pair of pants, and while I couldn't breathe in either, they both buttoned and zipped completely. A small feat, but a big exciting moment in the story of my life.

2 years ago I could hardly fit into the largest size Lane Bryant carries, and now I'm the smallest.

By next year, it's entirely possible that Lane Bryant clothes will be too big for me.

It will be the first time since I was 8 YEARS OLD that I will need to shop in a regular store.

Strange.

I've shopped in that store for the majority of my life. To think about shopping anywhere else is unthinkable and strange. I literally can not imagine never needing to walk into that store again because their clothes are too big. Literally, as I type this, my brain can't wrap itself around the idea.

I'm slowly beginning to shop at stores that aren't specifically plus-size. I almost bought a skirt at New York and Co the other day when I was in Cincinnati, but didn't because it was too expensive. It was a size 18, but who cares...it was from NY and Co.

Thinking back on my day, it was strange to experience such low lows and high highs in the same day, both concerning the same thing. I guess sometimes we have to recognize the reasons why we struggle with eating and exercise--that smaller size, that skirt from the "normal" store--both reasons to sweat it out and struggle through hard days of exercise.

More than anything, self-love and forgiveness is key. We all have off days that we can somehow turn on again. In the long run, today's 20 minute workout compared to my normal 50 minute workout just doesn't matter.

The day of gloom that turned into a day of celebration totally DOES matter, in the short term and in the long term.

More to Love?

Last week, a new matchmaking reality TV show came on the air. The premise of this particular show is identical to all of the others; 25 girls come to a house, kick, scream, fight, cry, hoochie-it-up, and "fall in love" with a token hot male.

This show, however, is different. On the new "More to Love" contestants are all fat women. And by 'fat', I mean they weigh slightly more than the average girl. Most are around 200 pounds, give or take, depending on height, and all wear entirely too much makeup and have hair sized comparably to Dolly Parton's. The guy? Over 6 feet tall and 320 pounds. Hunky and successful, charming and so warmly understanding of these girls struggle to fit in and find true love.

I wanted to wait until I'd watched this week's episode to write about my thoughts and feelings about this TV show. I felt that I needed 2 episodes to really determine if it is worth watching in it's entirety, or if I should just watch the finale in a fit of laughter and sarcasm as I do all the other reality matchmaking shows. Here are my comments:

First of all, if I hear one more contestant say to camera or to THE GUY HIMSELF, "I've always been too fat to love, I've never been in a relationship, I've never had a man give me the time of day" or blah, blah blah, I think I am going to throw up. I was willing to put up with it the first episode, since they didn't know the guy or what they were getting themselves into. I do 100% understand their feelings of feeling invisible and unlovable to the opposite sex. HOWEVER--after awhile, that guy is going to get sick of you telling him that. Shut up, please, and start loving yourself enough to acknowledge that you made it onto the show and at the very least will get your 15 minutes of hair-pulling, snot-nosed fame. Basically--we get the point, already; you've never loved yourself enough to be loved by someone else. Even a sweet guy like Luke is going to ditch you if you keep bringing that up in every single conversation and interview.

Second of all, this show is not helping to change society's viewpoint of the average overweight woman. As these contestants appear more and more desperate, lonely, naive and depressed, they are only confirming the stereotypes already put upon overweight women. Instead of allowing these stereotypes to ring true, how about showing the world that it is possible for an overweight woman to be classy, beautiful (on her own, without a mask of makeup and hair extensions) successful and happy.

ALSO, since the guy is also heavy, this show is telling the world that the only men who could ever love and appreciate fat women are men who are fat themselves. According to this show, only fat people can love other fat people. It's ridiculous, and I refuse to believe that this is true for everyone. True love knows no physical barriers.

I will say that the one thing I do appreciate about this show is the guy, who constantly reminds us that he finds real, curvy women to be beautiful and sexy. The world needs more guys like him...especially of the Jewish, successful and "finds Tracy to be the most beautiful woman in the world" variety. If you know of any of these, you know how to reach me.

Am I going to keep watching the show? Probably. I'm interested to see what happens and how the media reacts to the fat-flying frenzy that will be the final episode.

I should also say that I do find it interesting that the heaviest girl on this show weighs around 230 pounds, right around where I currently weigh. To make things even more realistic and interesting, I would have thrown in a beautiful 300 pound woman to see if the world could handle her potentially finding love. If society finds a 230-lb woman to be "ugly", I'd be curious to see how it would handle someone who is very seriously obese.

Someone I used to be.

If you're one of my readers who's been watching the show, please comment and tell me what you think. I'm curious to see the reaction of someone who isn't overweight and who has never been overweight. Do you find the idea of a fat man loving a fat woman to be appropriate? Is it possible for normal-sized men to love larger women? I'm honestly curious, so don't be shy--no offense will be taken by what you have to say.

Why Zumba is the Best Thing Ever

In light of my attempts to live in the moment and dwell in the joys of being home in St Louis, I wanted to share one of my favorite discoveries of the summer: Zumba. I just returned home from a class with my favorite instructor (Zumba is 3 days a week, each day with a different instructor. They're all good, but Monday night Zumba is my fave.)

For fun, and to spread awareness about an amazing (and fun!) workout, I present you with a list of reasons why Zumba is the greatest workout ever:

1. You learn cool dances like the Mambo, Salsa and Cha-Cha, so your workout feels more like you're on the set of Dirty Dancing than in a gym burning calories.
2. The music is fun and exciting, and it energizes you to get through the sometimes challenging routines.
3. Your core muscles are engaged the entire time, since your hips and midsection are constant moving to the Latin beat.
   
4. The workout goes fast, unlike time spent on the elliptical (which drags on forever, at least for me.)
5. No two classes are exactly the same; the instructors are always thinking up new routines to keep the workout fresh and your muscles from adjusting to one constant routine.
6. You can make an ass out of yourself and fit right in with the other people who are doing exactly the same thing as you--prior knowledge of dance is not required.
   
7. The people (mostly women, but I've seen some men as well) are upbeat, laughing, and having a good time. No competition--just a group of people coming together to workout and have fun.
8. Dancing is fun. You definitely realize the joys of movement and how amazing it is that the body can dance, jump, stretch, turn, etc.
9. Someone told me the average person burns 500-750 calories in a single class. I think this is probably untrue, but I leave each class a sweaty mess, so I know I've done my body a lot of good in one hour.
10. I can't explain why, and this is going to sound really disgusting, but I love the way the skin on my arms, neck and face looks when it's glowing with sweat. Maybe it's because I know I'm working hard? Maybe because I'm releasing toxins as I sweat? Who knows, but I take pride in walking out of each class drenched. I'm a weirdo, I know.
11. It doesn't feel like exercise, but it is--and good exercise, at that.

I could probably think of a million more, but I need to eat dinner and get some work done.

I haven't written much about the GOOD things that have happened this summer (I save most of it for my other blog) but Zumba--and my weight lifting routine--are definitely two highlights.

Gain or lose, my body is responding so beautifully to this exercise.

Love it.

August 11

My aunt booked my ticket back to New York today.
She has the magic touch; I tried finding fares a few times, and never had the kind of pricing luck that she had today. She found a great deal on a one-way ticket and I'll be back in NYC for under $100.

As soon as the ticket was booked, I wondered why it worked for her and not for me.
Maybe God was trying to tell me not to go back there, that I belong here in St Louis with my friends and family.
And not alone in New York.
Maybe God thought she was booking the ticket for herself...even God gets confused sometimes.

It's hitting me hard that I have to go back to NY soon.
I've had a wonderful summer (for the most part) rediscovering St Louis and realizing just how much I love it here. Even with the craziness that is my family, it's wonderful to have people to come home to who love me and want to know how my day was.
I've loved my summer job; singing with my little bits, seeing their excited eyes and the love they share when they smother me with sticky popsicle-laden hugs is such a joy.
I've loved my exercise routine, and I am looking and feeling stronger and stronger as the weeks go by. I flexed my arms in the mirror today and actually saw muscles where there once was just flab. It felt great, even though I'm still far from where I want to be. I feel strong and healthy and happy, and the JCC provides me with the most beautiful, positive energy to take good care of myself.
I've loved the life cycle events I've had the privilege of singing for and attending. Even singing my first funeral, which was sad and scary, was a good experience for this cantor-in-training.

It makes me so sad to think that I have to leave all of this behind to come back to my empty apartment in NYC. It makes me even sadder to think that I'm leaving behind this city of so much love, that feels so perfect for where I am right now.

I don't want to be alone in New York anymore.
I don't want to feel like the outsider, trying to keep up and fit in when I know in my heart that I never will.
I don't my only social life to come from HUC.
I don't want to schlep to Brooklyn to see friends who won't schlep to Queens to see me.
I don't want to pay the horrendous price for the apartment that is nowhere near worth the $1,463 I pay in rent every month.
Or play with the mice that have probably had a field day in my kitchen since I've been gone.

I'm terrified to walk into my apartment alone in 16 days.
I'm scared that I will walk into my kitchen and see dead mice all over the floors.
I'm scared that someone will have broken in and ransacked the place (though thank goodness I took everything of value--especially sentimental value--with me to St Louis.)
I'm scared to try to put my window unit air conditioners back in my windows by myself, for fear of them falling out the windows (silly, I know.)
I'm scared to spend the first night alone, crying with homesickness and loneliness.

I am going to have to be stronger than ever on that day, and try to allow the cleaning and unpacking and readjusting carry me through the sadness.

Lately it's been getting harder to resist the food I've been resisting for a long time. I've been eating way too many sweets, and comforting myself with food. I need help to get this emotional eating under control, before it consumes me and I slip up. Thank God I've been exercising and therefore not gaining any weight, but I can't keep doing this to myself.

I sometimes wonder what exactly it was that carried me through my Year in Israel, where this journey to my healthiest self began. I so easily sad 'no' to the bad foods and stuck to my diet plan like glue. I'm sure the support from my roomie, WW gang and everyone else was the key; without them I don't have much willpower. Or maybe it was the energy and vibrancy of Jerusalem. Whatever it was, I miss that magic and I so desperately need it back.

Please pray for me in the coming weeks, as I pack up my wonderful St Louis life and head back to the intensity and isolation that equals New York City.
Pray that I find some sort of magic in NYC that can help me bridge the widening gap between my two homes, and help me to find contentment and comfort without the help of food.
Pray that I meet a friend, boyfriend, or anyone who can pull me out of my NY slump, and into a place of happiness.
Pray that I find no mice on my kitchen floor, that my apartment is safe and in one piece, and my AC's don't fall out of my windows.
Pray that I can feel good about moving back there and not cry every time I think about it.

Pray that I can live in the moment and enjoy my last 16 days in St Louis, surrounded by love and positivity.

Sometimes I wish my "best" friend could just understand where I'm coming from.

When she has successful and intelligent parents, no sibling to share a car for a summer with, and an attitude of "my way is the only good way", it's impossible to be the kind of best friend I need her to be.

We're going out to celebrate my birthday tonight, and I'd rather stay home and cook my own dinner for myself, despite the fact that my mother currently thinks I'm the worst daughter in the world and my brother is pissed that I'm going out and can't be at his beckon call to pick him up from work.

I'm so tired of trying to fulfill all these roles I never asked to take on. It's a lot of pressure to be someone's daughter, sister, "best" friend (when apparently my ideas are stupid) and a mother/husband to my own mother.

It was supposed to be a fun night out to celebrate my 27th. Now, it's a huge pain in the ass.

An Emotional Outburst

All of the sudden it's hit me that I have to move back to NYC in about a month.

Just the thought of it makes my heart pound and my eyes well up with tears.

I've had a wonderful summer at home, surrounded by my family, good friends, and a community that deeply cares about me. I am so much happier here than I've ever been in NY--I don't care if I can't see Broadway shows whenever or order food 24/7. The thought of going back to my empty apartment, feeling so distant from the people that I love most, and living my life with only my school acquaintances makes me very sad.

I want so badly to smile as I step off of the airplane at LaGuardia, knowing I'm going to see people I haven't seen in a few months and once again begin studying what I love. Maybe I will try to do just that, even though it will be a cover up for what I'm really feeling; the fear, sadness, and loneliness that comes from living in such an isolated city.

This summer I've realized that life would be so much better in NY if I had someone to share it all with. As I've attended wedding after wedding, and continued my role as cheerleader for my friends' relationships, I've noticed that I really want to have someone for myself. After a year of what feels like solitude, I want someone to come home to, who can rub my shoulders and watch bad TV with me and help me bear with a city that I hate.

I'm also noticing more and more that I want to punch people who brag about their amazing relationships. Yes, I'm happy for you. Yes, I know that you're floating on air. Yes, I know he/she is the most amazing thing on the planet. Guess what? I GET IT. Shut the hell up and go and BE happy instead of bragging about it.

Now that that's said and done...

I know I'll be the same way if and when it ever happens. But I'll try to be a little more sensitive on behalf of those who, like I am feeling right now, would rather not talk to you than hear about your amazing boyfriend in every single conversation we have.

It's been a fun week of putting all my pent-up hostility into my workouts. I pretend I'm running away from the annoying people whenever I'm on the ET. You really should try it sometime (if any of you who read this are single, and now that I think about it, you're almost all taken.)

Bastards (please note the sarcasm...)

Working Out My Workouts

This summer, I've been spending lots and lots of time at the JCC. Today, I was there for almost 2 hours.

I have become what my friend Leah would call an "exercise hosebeast." It's a term of endearment, in case there was any question.

I love and adore my strength-training workouts, where I use free-weights and machines and my body's own amazing power to create muscle where there once was flab. It's been almost a month now since I've started my training, and already I feel stronger, more alive, so much more aware of what my body can do. Even my posture has improved, thanks to the core-working exercises I've been doing. Gotta love those bicycle crunches that nearly kill me every single time I complete a set. I also have big plans to continue to add kickboxing into my routine, along with whatever new classes I courageously decide to step into.

The scale, however, does not seem to be as excited as I am. For all the hours I'm putting into working hard, I've hardly lost a pound this summer.

I know I'm gaining muscle, which weighs more than fat.
I also know my body is trying to adjust to the shock of leaving it's city-walking "routine" and keeping up with 6-days of intense exercising a week.
It needs more fuel to do this properly (right?), and I am still trying to figure out the right balance of calories and the best kinds of foods to sustain my working body through these hard workouts.

I am also aware that at this point, my body needs less food overall than it used to.
I have a feeling that the days of eating over 2,000 calories and still losing weight are long gone.
My eating habits are once again in need of a change--this time, to smaller portions, which is unbelievably difficult for me. This girl likes to eat, no matter what kind of food it is.

This journey really is ever-unfolding. Every time I think I'm getting a handle on things, something needs to change so I can keep going. I know it's all part of learning who this body and this person both are, but it's frustrating. I keep waiting for results of my hard work to show up on the scale, but every week I get the same number.

At this point, I really am feeling a little lost. I know I can continue to reach my goals and learn the right things to do for my body, but I feel a little clueless at the moment.

I'm wondering if a good nutritionist can help me strike the balance between eating and exercise. Thoughts?

For now, I'm going to keep exercising like a madwoman, because it makes me feel good, strong and healthy. Not because the numbers on the scale are rapidly decreasing.

That alone--the desire to workout because it makes me feel GOOD-- is an amazing milestone in this journey. At this point, I'll take whatever I can get.

Operation Beautiful

I came across this video this afternoon and started to cry. What an amazing gift these people are giving to the world.

The Woman in the Mirror

This is going to sound strange, so I hope no one reads it the wrong way.

I have a strange fascination with other womens bodies. It's not at all a sexual thing, as I am not so intrigued by the naughty bits as I am with other parts of the female body.

I know it's normal for women to compare themselves to other women, but I sometimes wonder if I take it over the edge. I'm constantly watching women; the way they move, their shape, their ability to put their bodies/sexuality out there, how their bodies change with age, etc. Those things really do fascinate me.

OK, so my curiosity probably has something to do with the fact that I am indeed comparing myself to other women, trying to figure out if my body will ever look like that of women in my age bracket. At this point, I'm realizing that without major surgery, my body is going to look more like that of an alien than of a lovely young woman.

As strange as it feels to think this, I sometimes wish my body could return to what it was 100+ pounds ago. At least then, my curves were filled out, my boobs weren't saggy and gross, the dead skin of my thighs and arms didn't hang like chicken skin. I certainly didn't like my body then, but it was much less scary than it is right now.

It's funny how I wasn't happy then, and I'm still not happy now. Even with all I know my body can do and how it can move, on the outside it ain't pretty. As superficial as it may be to say, I wish it were.

At dinner with a friend last week, she mentioned that I'll probably need to have surgery to remove a lot of excess skin (and therefore, a lot of excess poundage.) 2 years ago, I never would have even thought about plastic surgery--suddenly, I'm obsessed with the idea.

I'm not looking for perfection, as I think perfection comes from the flaws that make people unique. It would be nice, however, to look at another 26 year old and think "Hey, I look somewhat like her." Right now, that's what I think whenever I the 80 year old Russian women I see at the gym.

I've heard acceptance comes with time and loving yourself. I'm working on the latter, but I've given the time thing quite a bit of...well, time. How much longer do I need to wait to feel as beautiful as people say I am? And how much more time will it take until I can look at my body and truly think that it is a beautiful creation made by God? I've discovered just what the INSIDES can do, but when will I feel as enamored by the outsides?

Someday?

Bad News, Good News, and a Little Revelation

Let's get the bad news out of the way first:

I've gained 3 lbs since coming home. It sucks, but I'm trying to keep in mind the 3 weddings and readjustment to suburban life and all the pleasures that come from coming home. It's no big deal, but it's a little bit of a bummer.

Now for some good news:

Thanks to my summer job, I have a free membership to the JCC for the summer. The J has just reopened after a massive remodeling job, and is completely new and high-tech, with amazing machines and the latest and greatest in fitness technology. It also offers all of the classes for free (a change from last summer, where a yoga class was $15.)

I got my membership card last Thursday, and have been back almost every day since. I'm trying to reshape my routine so that I don't fall into the same plateau that I fell into last summer--I've since learned that doing the same thing everyday doesn't really help much with weight loss. I'm trying to mix things up, doing intense cardio some days, classes some days (Zumba is my new favorite thing--who knew exercise could be fun???) and, as of today, a new routine on the weight machines. I also took yesterday off from the gym and took a long, fast walk with a friend around Forest Park. I want to try to move in some way every day and not get into any patterns so my body doesn't get too adjusted to an exercise routine.

And the revelation:

One thing that hit me during my walk yesterday (between huffs and puffs) was the simple joy that comes from moving my body. The abilities to walk and dance and run and lift and push and breathe and MOVE are ones that I now realize I need to thank God for. The body--my body--is a beautiful, amazing thing that works in incredible ways. It amazes me that I can now do all of these things to protect it and improve the wonders that already exist within it. To move is to LIVE, and I finally feel like I'm living the life I deserve to live, the life my body deserves to live.

Judaism teaches that every human being is created B'tzelem Elohim, in the image of God. Is there any better way to show love to God than to take care of the person created in God's likeness?

God's pretty good at this God thing, huh?

Blogaversary

It was really on March 27, but better late than never.

To commemorate the day (which I had not even realized, probably out of the craziness that was this awful semester) a sweet friend who's been following the blog since it's creation sent me the following email:

Hello Dear!

I just wanted to point out that 1 year ago today, you sent out this email [about your blog], sharing your (very personal) story with us, and I wanted to tell you 2 things.

1. You are so brave for letting all of us in and allowing us a chance to see this side of you that we never knew. You struggle with the same things that lots of us go through, but you are willing to put it out there and share with the rest of us. I wanted you to know how much I appreciate you doing this. Thank you!

2. You have come a long way, Baby! If you go back and read older posts and then read recent posts, your mentality has changed so much. This incredible journey that you are on will lead you in a good direction. You want to know how I know that? You are lead by God and not just selfish-human wants and desires, and that will take you so far in this life.

I love you, Friend.

She's so right, and I can't believe it's taken me 14 months to acknowledge it.

To my sweet friend who remembered even when I had forgotten, I love you. Thank you for your endless support and always appropriate words.

Thanks to all of you who read this and cheer me on, even when I can't cheer myself on.

I just got home from the most amazing walk ever. Just me, my iPod, some water, and 3+ miles of pavement. And the disgustingly humid STL summertime air, of course.

My new walking routine is HARD. It starts off easy, mostly flat and on sidewalks. Then it comes to a point where the sidewalks disappear due to construction, leaving me to either walk in the middle of the street or on the grassy, muddy areas next to where the sidewalks would be. To avoid potential death, I chose the grassy side. Then the hills begin--about 1 mile of going mostly uphill, with a few breaks for relief. Then, to complete the 3 miles, I have to walk past my house--just a little--but enough to leave me looking back longingly for my air-conditioned, vegetable-filled oasis.

I walked in the door this afternoon feeling so empowered and amazing. As I was walking, I thought back to last year, when the almost 2 flat miles seemed like the perfect and appropriate workout. Now, 40 pounds lighter, I return home knowing THIS walk is so much better for where I am now, and proud of myself for getting to this point. AND--knowing I could go further if I wanted to.

And I will, when I'm ready.

I'm excited to start working again, mostly so I can see if this same feeling rings true in the gym as well (my job comes with a free gym membership.)

I still sometimes have moments where I'm shocked at where I really am. Even now, 110 pounds thinner than I was when I began almost 2 years ago, I can't believe this lifestyle I'm living. There is a part of me that doesn't believe I am exercising daily and making food choices based on amounts of fiber and protein and nutrients (and ENJOYING it!) That said, it's hard to imagine life any other way. I don't even remember the times when I ate fast-food almost daily and would spend countless hours sitting on the couch. It's incredibly confusing, knowing that the person I was then is not the person I am now while simultaneously not believing this lifestyle I am actually leading. Is that even clear? Sigh.

For now, this is just a blip on my journey to who I am and where I'm going. The trip is kinda fun, actually...

An Interesting Observation

Whenever I'm home in St Louis, the first thing I do when walking in the door is head straight to the kitchen, walk into the pantry, and eat something. No matter where I returned from or what I was doing, the first thing I need to do when I get home is eat.

I noticed this for the first time yesterday, after walking through the door after both lunch and dinner, when I was perfectly satisfied food-wise. There was absolutely no reason for this mindless munching.

Must work on tweaking this habit. When I think about what I ate, I must have had at least 200 completely unnecessary calories each time.

I don't want to become a freak about this stuff, and if I'm hungry I'll eat--but I consider it a positive that I noticed the behavior and want to work to fix it. I also decided that I am not going to put a feeling behind the behavior.

No guilt allowed this summer.

Summer Goals

I've been so bad about keeping up with this blog this semester, for no reason other than the busy-ness factor. It's been an exhausting semester that's ended on several really wonderful notes: a productive and educational finals week, successful comprehensive exams, a beautiful concert and goodbye in South Bend, a choir concert in Albany, etc etc etc. All good things that helped make up for a really crappy semester.

I do have to admit, though, that through all the successes of the past 4 weeks, my diet has not been one of them. As we drove back from Albany last night, McDonalds ice cream cone in hand, I had the shocking realization that I was doing exactly what I didn't want to be doing. There I was, eating an ice cream cone, not even 2 hours after enjoying cake, a cookie, chocolate, fruit, etc. at the beautiful reception the temple threw after our concert. I bought that ice cream without the slightest thought that I a.) didn't need it and b.) didn't really want it that badly. I just bought it and ate it for no reason.

It was scary, because it was a return to the Tracy that I was 2 years ago. I realized last night that I've had a lot of those moments lately, and while they're not showing up on the scale right now, they eventually will. Therefore, my goal for the summer is to get myself back on track and back into my healthy, happy groove. In honor of my summer goal, I present a list of goals to strive for this summer:

1. Shop at the farmer's market as often as possible for the freshest and most delicious summer produce.
2. Continue my goal to eat all the produce without letting any go to waste.
3. GO TO THE GYM. My summer job provides me with a free membership (yay!) so I have no excuses for not getting my ass in gear.
4. Scrape up the money to work with a trainer, even if just a few times, to teach me how to properly use the weight machines. It's time to tone!
5. See a therapist if/when necessary to allievate the stress that comes with living at home.
6. Get back on my supplements (sorry Stef...I jumped off the bandwagon for awhile...but I'm ready to hop back on!)
7. Use this space to express myself and my successes and frustrations with the evolution of my best self.
7. Continue to be gentle with myself, forgiving mistakes and remembering that I am created betzelem Elohim (in the image of God) no matter how much I weigh.

Happy summertime!

-109

It amazes me that I've managed to lose weight this semester.

OK, so it's about 7 lbs (well, more like 12 I think, since I had to re-lose some weight I gained over the holidays.) It's not much, and I could have done better, but after the shitty semester I've had, I'm THRILLED with 7 lbs.

And I'm inspired to get back on track and keep going, which I haven't been in a long, long time.

We'll see what happens from here...but if I can lose weight through this, I can lose weight through anything.

Lessons From a Stranger

I treated myself to brunch at one of my favorite places in the neighborhood today. A cute, super-casual diner by the subway, with hot food and fresh-squeezed juices. It's the perfect place to eat a healthy and filling brunch on a crisp, sunny Saturday morning.

As I happily munched on my egg-white, spinach and tomato omelette (with dry rye toast and a few bites of the incredibly delicious potatoes that accompanied it) a man came in and sat down with his newspaper. He was a large man, not much older than me, and the waiter knew automatically what he wanted. I casually watched this man as the waiter brought him an iced coffee, to which he added 5 packets of sugar and a good couple of tablespoons of cream. He was then delivered a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, 2 huge sausages, and scrambled eggs with cheese. He ate quickly and seemed more focused on his paper than on what he was eating.

This man was striking for two reasons. The first of which was the reminder that THAT USED TO BE ME. Not so long ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about ordering a breakfast like that, telling myself that it was good food and I'd do better later. The second was much more judgemental, in that I wanted to go over to him and beg him to change his ways and save his life. His breakfast was probably well over 2,000 calories and had so little nutritional value. I wanted to tell him my story and how his life could be so different if he'd just open himself up to the possibilities of healthy living. I wanted to show him what a healthy, productive life he could live if only he'd swap his food choices for healthier ones. I wanted to tell him that it's okay to love and take care of himself, despite what the rest of the world might say or think.

I feel awful for judging this person based on one meal, especially because we all indulge on occasion. What if Saturday is his one day of eating exactly as he wants to? What if he's perfectly healthy and happy and content just how he is? What if he's tried and tried to change his ways, and life just prevents him from doing so? What if he already feels terrible enough as it is, and me rubbing it in his face is just another source of pain from the outside world?

I've learned through the years that you can't change people, and you can't make them do something against their will. I wouldn't have said anything to this man even if I hadn't learned that lesson, but I feel kind of bad for feeling bad for him. I sometimes don't realize how much things have changed in the last couple of years, so sometimes it shocks me to see how people live and eat. I wish I could help everyone to love to eat fresh, healthy foods like I do, but I know I can't.

And I also know I'm not a saint. I know I'm no better than that man at the diner today. I slip up, I make many mistakes, and I'm not always as healthy as I claim to be.

But I know where I've been, and I know where I'm going, even if I don't always know where I am at the present moment.

Maybe that man at the diner knew where he was at the moment; just enjoying his breakfast, without concern for the future or the consequences of eating it.

Sometimes I wish I could do that.

It's been awhile since I've posted here. I can't really tell you why, except for the fact that I just haven't felt pulled to this space lately. I don't know if it's because my eating habits have been less than stellar, or because I've just been too busy to think about things, or if something deeper is keeping me away. I have lots of thoughts, lots to catch up on, though I feel the need to move forward than reflect on what's already happened.

Today in my voice lesson I became incredibly frustrated as I tried to hold my body up correctly, re-teach myself to sing a piece I know well for an important audition this weekend, and incorporate all of the vocal technique my teacher has worked so hard to teach me. After the lesson, I sat in the ladies room crying over the fact that I was completely overwhelmed by it all.

I realized that it was more than just overwhelm--it was a feeling of not having a clue who I am. I feel like I'm in this body that feels so unfamiliar and is so ugly (all this extra skin is really starting to get to me.) More than that, I don't see this body when I look in the mirror; I see the person I was 18 months ago, before I lost any weight. It's very confusing to see the opposite of what you are in the present moment, especially when you know others are looking at you in a completely different way. It's almost like a loss of control over how I put myself out to the world; as much as I try to dress and stand proudly, how is the world going to perceive me when on the inside I still feel like that 300 pound woman?

As my singing has changed in response to this new body, I've basically had to re-learn how to sing. Music has always been my saving grace, the one place I've been confident and comfortable, and now I have no idea who I am as a singer. It's frustrating and dizzying to lose that confidence in myself, particularly at a time like this.

I keep searching to find out who I am and what I am supposed to be. I keep planning for the future and ironing out the past while still feeling totally confused about my present. I'm waiting for God to show me how and what God wants me to be...I just wish I could figure it all out already.

This Sunday we are all auditioning for new pulpits for next year. It's an awful market for cantors right now, as several of the regular student pulpits have withdrawn their applications due to the crappy economy. There are roughly 16 jobs for the 20 of us who are searching, so it's inevitable that some of us won't get jobs next year. I'm applying for several positions, but the one I want is at one of the biggest congregations in NYC. My chances of actually getting the job are tiny, as I am applying with the brightest and the best that HUC has to offer.

I really wanted to go into these interviews confident and proud, though I'm not entirely sure I can do that after today's lesson. I need to work next year, so I'm hoping and praying these rabbis and cantors will find something in me that I don't see so well in myself.

Keep your fingers crossed.

I'm contemplating the idea of taking a year off, moving home, and thinking about things.

I really don't think I can survive another 3 1/2 years here.

Thoughts?

The mouse is gone.
At least for now.

My brother was here until yesterday, helping me to mouse-proof my apartment and kill the one that was driving me crazy the last few weeks. Thank God he was here and helped me to catch the sucker.

But I'm still afraid to go into my kitchen, especially at night. My super never came to repair the holes all over my kitchen walls that are letting the damn mice in. I'll make sure he does eventually, but until then, my kitchen is an uncomfy place to be.

It's so strange, this feeling of being"on-guard" all the time.
Of feeling like you're paranoid, like someone or something is out to get you at all times, like the other shoe is just waiting to drop.
I feel the weight of all of this tension all over my body, especially in my shoulders.
I am unable to relax, to trust anything or anyone, especially myself.

Today, I was looking for something at the Walgreens in Times Square. As I was walking out, a man tripped and reached for my shopping bags to catch himself.
But I thought he was reaching into my bags to steal the new shoes I'd just purchased, and I whipped my bags away, causing him to fall to the ground.
This man happened to be African American, and I'm sure he thought I was scared of him only because he was black and therefore, trying to steal from me.
I apologized profusely as soon as I realized exactly what had happened, knowing that I would have done it no matter the person who tripped in that moment.

I felt awful afterwards, and realized just then how jumpy I've been lately.
How I can't seem to just be.

I'm no stranger to anxiety issues, but this is a completely different set. I've never felt this paranoid before; the other times, it was much more physical and a different kind of emotional, where I just couldn't calm myself down.

Now, I'm totally calm, but carry the weight of the city on my shoulders.
I feel the tension all over my body, from my jaw to my toes.
My voice teacher and I have had to work extra hard to help my face and upper body muscles to relax for other reasons, and all of that hard work is going out the window.

I began taking private Feldenkrais lessons last week, with my wonderful music theory professor who happens to be a Feldenkrais practitioner.
I'm hoping he can help me to relax and remind me how my body is naturally supposed to feel.
At our first lesson, I learned exactly what tension feels like and where I tend to hold it (seems like common sense, huh? I was surprised at how easy it is to just ignore the tension that's always there, because we don't know any different.)
And how certain parts of my body respond negatively to touch, causing tension in muscles that wouldn't otherwise hold it.
I'm hoping and praying this helps me to learn to feel tension and therefore release it.
And also help me to find inner poise and calm.

I'm thinking about seeing a therapist again, perhaps someone who can put me on some anti-anxiety meds.
I hate to go back on anxiety medications, but if they might help, I'm willing to try them again.
At some point in time, I will need to learn how to survive living here.

I'm playing with the idea that I might never be happy in this city.
Can I be content with discontent?
Can letting myself not feel bad about feeling bad allow me to just BE?
Or will it just invite more negativity in, causing more unhappiness?

The funny thing about being on-guard all the time is that it's almost fun to choose certain things to be off-guard towards.
Like eating, for example.
My "fuck-it-all" attitude towards food has been rearing it's ugly head lately.
For example, I had pizza, a beer, a cookie AND a piece of cheesecake for dinner the other night, after inhaling a falafel bowl and birthday cake for lunch earlier that day.

It feels good to let go of something when everything else seems to be so hard to let go of.
Funny how for me, it's food and my good habits.
Makes total sense, though I wish I could choose to let go of some of this paranoia instead.
But, no matter how many mantras I say, or how many mice I kill, I can't let it go.

How do you let positivity back in when negativity so easily fills your home and body and mind?

Of Mice and Women

I have mice in my kitchen.
And I want them gone.

These tiny little mice are taking over my life and my sanity. I know I'm letting them do it. I know I can control both the mice and how I respond to them. Yes, I know that I am slightly bigger than these mice that weigh no more than 2 ounces. And yes, I know that they are more afraid of me than I am of them and I need to just get over it and live my life already.

I've discovered this week that I am insanely afraid of mice.
Whenever I see one running along the wall I freak out, and my ability to accomplish anything in the hours that follow is almost completely diminished.
They are keeping me out of my kitchen, and probably making the Chinese food restaurant happy to know me.

I haven't cooked a meal in my kitchen in over a week.
I love to cook, and I feel like a part of my identity has been taken away.

I haven't felt safe in my own home in over a week, and I have yet to let my guard down and truly relax.
I haven't been sleeping well and my emotions are running high.

I'm doing surprisingly well with my eating, ordering a lot salads and steamed chicken and veggies from the Chinese place that loves me so much.
And the damn mice keep me out of my kitchen pretty much all of the time, so I'm not mindlessly munching away on food I don't really need.
I guess that's the good thing that's come out of this.

But I can't order food forever, for the sake of my wallet and my sanity I need to be cooking again.
I tried that tonight, until I saw a mouse stuck to the glue traps the exterminator set out today.
I didn't realize I'd be the one to actually kill the damn things, and I was looking for the most humane method possible, so I doused it with 409 cleaner.
Stupid me, that only allowed the mouse to free itself and run under my sink.
And then I freaked out, had an anxiety attack, and have been hiding in my bedroom ever since.

These goddamn mice are a constant reminder of how much I hate living in this city.
And how bitter I am that the rabbinical students have some say in where they can go, while cantorial students are forced to come to this hellhole of a city, go into debt simply to have a roof over our heads, and deal with bullshit like this.
It makes me angry and miserable.

I had a breakdown in t'fillah yesterday, partly because of the mice, partly because it's been a shitty week overall.
My favorite professor chewed me out over some pieces I sang in class, pieces I thought I sang well.
I looked like a moron conducting in choir the other day, screwing up my patterns and stumbling my words like I always do because I can't speak for shit.
I turned to the wrong page as I was sight-singing in music theory, causing the girls to laugh at me. They thought it was in fun, and I laughed to look like I was laughing with them when I actually felt like a total loser.
My mom tried to get me to come home for the long weekend, and then guilt tripped me up the wazoo when I told her why I couldn't. (Now I wish I had, of course.)

I wonder sometimes if I'll ever feel safe here.
If I'll ever feel at home.
If I'll ever have anyone else here besides me.
If I'll decide to give up this space and my independence and move to Brooklyn to be closer to everyone else.
If I'll ever be able to let my guard down and relax again.

Right now, I just want to go home and be with my family and crazy little dog.
Or transfer to Cincinnati and become a rabbinical student (this isn't the first time I've thought about it...not at all because I want to be a rabbi, but because I don't want to commit myself to 3 more years in this hellhole...probably not a good enough reason to switch programs.)

Dave commented on one of my earlier posts that he'd meet me in Times Square when hell freezes over.
Well, Dave, NYC is hell, and it's pretty damn cold here, so I'll meet you there in a few.

Fucking mice.

WTF?

After posting last night, I decided to step on the scale again. It was a number that was 4lbs higher than I wanted it to be.

I weighed myself again this morning, just to see what happens, and I weighed exactly 4lbs less than I did last night.

I know you weigh less in the morning than you do at night...but 4lbs less? I'm wearing the same exact clothes (I weighed myself in my PJ's last night and this morning.) I know I haven't eaten yet today, but still...weird...

Maybe it's just my scale? I'll be pissed if that's the case, considering I paid a hefty price for that scale.

I also went to sleep last night feeling like a terrible, horrible person for gaining 4 more pounds. I'm starting to feel like I did when I was a child, after a bad WW meeting or a scolding from my grandpa. All I could think about as I was trying to fall asleep were ridiculous ways to lose that weight and then some. I'd never try any of what I thought about, but it's scary to know I'm thinking about it at all.

Maybe I need a shrink?

I'm going to try really hard to be gentle with myself, to tell myself that my body is still readjusting from vacation and time away from it's normal routine and lifestyle. It's really, really hard, however, as I discovered last night. I've been in this place before, where I've gained a little and let it discourage me enough to gain it all back. I don't want to be in that place again, especially after so much hard work and dedication to this.

And the fact that I love and respect myself in a way I never have before...I don't want to lose that.

I also realized that--as of last night's numbers--I've gained back 7.4% of the 100lbs I've lost. That's a big number and it makes me feel awful.

Realizations

Sugar is addicting, as are refined carbohydrates. I'd done so well at removing them from my diet the last year and a half that it's taken me nearly 2 months to get out of the habit of eating them every single day. Over winter break and on my vacation I might as well have poured a big bag of sugar down my throat--between cookies, chocolate, fancy desserts at every meal, pastiries--I was a walking 238 pound bag of sugar.

Thank goodness my body is back to the point where I'm not craving sweets ALL THE TIME.

The other big news? I stepped the scale for the first time since November. I went up 3.4 pounds, which, while rather sucky, is better than I'd anticipated. I should mention that it took every ounce of courage in my body to step on that scale. I felt like I was back in elementary school again, when the gym teachers were recording our heights and weights and body fat percentage. Torturous.

I'm also in the process of trying to figure out how to get off my ass and move a little. I'm very conflicted over this, as I have several choices and all of them have pros and cons. Here's a list:

NYU Gym
PROS: It's CHEAP--$100/semester. It's also close to school, meaning I could go before/after school when I'm not working
CONS: It's close to school, meaning it isn't close to home and I wouldn't go on my days off. It's also kinda shady, and the other NYU gym is farther away, meaning I'd never go. It's also full of college kids, including the sorostitute-types that used to laugh at me when I'd hit the gym in college.

CURVES
PROS: It's on my block. It's also women-only, with women of every shape, size, age, nationality, etc. I'm familiar with it, as I was a member in St Louis before I started school.
CONS: It's EXPENSIVE. $75 registration fee and $50/month if I sign up for 12 months. It also doesn't seem like the kind of workout I'm looking for, but I don't really know what I'm talking about in that department. The hours aren't always convenient.

FELDENKRAIS
PROS: For my singing, it's exactly what I need to be doing right now. I also think it'd be extremely helpful for my inner-poise and confidence, and it's amazingly relaxing. My music theory professor, who is adorable, would be one of my teachers.
CONS: It's also very expensive, much more so than Curves. It isn't really a "workout", which means I'd have to implement it with something else. It's addicting, meaning I'd have to keep shelling out the bucks if I want to continue.

What is a fat girl to do when she is addicted to sugar and can't make up her mind about how to burn it all off?

Suggestions are welcome.

And Spinrads, if you feel like moving to NYC next year instead of Cinci, I'd happily hire Dave to train me and throw in some free hours of babysitting Little Miss D. Can I tempt you to change your mind from Cinci to the Big Apple???

"It's hard to find people who will love you no matter what."

From that damned Sex and the City.

Why is that line resonating with me today?

My story in Self Magazine? Maybe!

Through this blog, I came across an opportunity to submit my weight-loss story to Self Magazine. For whatever reason, something in my gut is telling me to send this in, to maybe have the opportunity to share my story with others, and maybe inspire someone who was once in my shoes. Please--tell me what you think, if it's appropriate, if I'm leaving anything out, if anything should be grammatically changed, etc. I'm really excited to be doing this. Thanks in advance for your help!

I've been fat my entire life; I was born at almost 9 pounds, and continued to be obese throughout my childhood, adolescence and adulthood. Being "The Fat Girl" was always the biggest part of my identity, outweighing (pardon my pun) the other parts of myself that were just as important. My parents have always both struggled with weight, as have other members of my family, and I'd just accepted the fact that I'd be obese for the rest of my life. It wasn't until I'd gotten into my dream graduate school that my mind--and my life--began to change. By that point, I was 24 years old and weighed 337 pounds.

The first year of my graduate program required us to spend a year living and going to school in Jerusalem, Israel. Jerusalem--a city of hills, beautiful white stone, and boisterous people--was an overwhelming change from my quiet Midwestern life. I found myself huffing and puffing my way through the streets, longing to be in my apartment while my classmates enjoyed life in the amazing city. I decided very early on during my time in Jerusalem that my health needed to move much, much higher on my priority list.

I joined Weight Watchers in Israel, which is very different from it's American counterpart in that discussions are based on the challenges of the JEWISH calendar year. I found myself quickly wrapped in a group of the most supportive, loving men and women of all ages and religions, who were always excited to hear the results of my latest weigh-in. I changed my perspective about the hills of the city; instead of being the reason I stayed home, they became the reason I went out--not only would they allow me to see the city, but they'd allow me to get an amazing workout at the same time. I also found a personal trainer, a wonderful student colleague of mine with 10 years in the fitness industry. To tackle the emotional side of my overeating, I started writing in a mostly-private blog that I continue to this day. With the help of these things, along with my amazing roommate and friends and family in Israel and in America, I managed to lose 75 pounds by the time I returned to the United States in late May.

The summer was a blur or reacquainting myself with America and the overwhelming portion sizes and inexpensive fast food options available around the clock. I learned to stay far away from the drive-thru's, to track my Weight Watcher's points carefully, and to incorporate exercise into my life 5-6 times a week. My health and well being quickly took top priority, and I loved the way I looked and felt because of it. As I prepared to move to New York City to continue my education, I knew I'd need all the stamina and strength I could get. I also knew it would be yet another change in lifestyle, this one bigger and more challenging than any that had come before it.

I have to admit, I'm still learning how to survive in this huge crazy city. I decided early on to take a break from Weight Watchers, as I needed time to figure out the basics of my new life in New York City. With it's endless bakeries, delis, pizzerias, diners, coffeehouses, etc., it's certainly a challenge to stay on my game. I've realized, however, that my healthy habits have turned into a healthy lifestyle; not only do I only keep healthy foods in my apartment, I try to walk to whatever I can, whenever I can. I've also learned to be gentle with myself, realizing that one Black and White cookie or piece of pizza will not cause me to fall of the healthy-lifestyle wagon completely. Even with a few hiccups, I'm still well on my way towards becoming the best Tracy I can be.

To date, I've lost 102 pounds. I have another 80 pounds to go before I reach my goal weight of 150 pounds. The challenges and triumphs of this already amazing achievement are with me everyday, and will continue to guide me through the rest of my journey. Through this process, I've learned so much about who I am, what I can do, and what I really want for my life, and I discover new and exciting pieces of myself each and every day. My life is dramatically different today than it was 18 months ago when I began this process, and I can't wait to see where I end up in another 18 months. Until then, I keep going--knowing that the only secret to weight loss is that there is no secret--all the while enjoying healthy and delicious food, embracing the incredible workings of my body, and empowering my soul and spirit with every step I take along this lifelong journey.

Damn

Oh, the things we learn on vacation, when we're not supposed to be studying anything but blue skies and calm ocean breezes.

My family and I went on a cruise last week, which offered unlimited food 24-hours a day, a beautiful pool and pool deck, great adventures, and a fantastic gym overlooking the ocean.

Do you think I took advantage of the gym?

OK, so I did once, and got a good workout in. That in and of itself shows significant progress in my lifestyle. However, I also took advantage of the unlimited food around me all the time, that seemed to always be calling my name. Huge breakfasts, complete with delicious pastries that I never let myself eat at home (because they're never as good.) 4-course lunches in the dining room with full-sized desserts and coffee. A snack while lounging at the pool or walking around the port. My daily 5:30 feast of surprisingly good sushi. ENORMOUS dinners in the dining room every night, where I feasted on rich, buttery sauces and delicious breads and at least one dessert every night (and 3 on one night when I couldn't choose and a bite of each just wasn't enough...I know, I know...)

And then there were the small snacks eaten because I was passing by them...the warm baby croissants, the cheese platters, the cookies, the freshly fried tortilla chips, pretty baby desserts that always look better than they taste (though I ate them anyways.)

I realized something on this vacation: I am addicted to food. OK, so maybe I've realized it all along and haven't wanted to admit it, but there's no denying it now. It's definitely the problem that will plague me for the rest of my life.

I am addicted to food the way others are addicted to cigarettes or alcohol. I want it, I need it, I crave it, and once it's in my presence, there's no stopping me. I HAVE to eat it. Even during the times I restrain myself, my first and foremost thought is of how I can get that food into my mouth.

I've spent the last 18 months learning how to control myself when it comes to food. When I'm at home, I control what I eat and when I eat it. No one but me does the grocery shopping, so I take the easy way out by keeping the crap outside of the house. But when it comes to situations where the control of what's around is NOT in my hands, I'm still a bloody mess.

I also came to realize that there will never, ever be a time in my life where I'm not a slave to food and the emotions that come with it. I will never eat a croissant on vacation without feeling guilty, or stop being proud of myself for making good food choices. I will never be able to slip up without feeling like a failure, and I will ALWAYS have to work to put myself back on track. I'll never be one of those people who eats healthfully and exercises all the time just because they enjoy it. For me, a healthy lifestyle will always mean putting up with moments like those on the ship and struggling my way through them and feeling guilty when I give in.

I have to admit, I've been wishing lately that I was one of those people who was just naturally skinny and beautiful. One of those people who never has to think about the consequences of the food that passes through their lips. I'll never be that way, and no matter how much weight I lose, I'll always struggle with food.

I know everyone has their issues, but sometimes I'd rather mine not be this one. People are supposed to enjoy food, right? I'm a little (OK, a lot) pissed off that that privilege will always be taken away from me due to my emotional attachment to food.

Damn.

Bear with me as I struggle to climb back on board with this whole weight-loss thing. I need support and love more than ever right now.

Tension and Release

I had the conversation with my rabbi today. I was strangely confident and articulate, as I usually am NOT when I'm nervous or really just talking in general. I guess I've had enough time to think about this by now that I really knew what I wanted to say.

The talk was fine, I guess, though my rabbi didn't really allow me to express myself the way I wanted to. He kept interrupting me with silly asides that had nothing to do with the conversation at hand. I went in trying to be a professional, and while I felt good about the way I tried to convey my thoughts, I could tell how he still very much views me as a kid of the congregation. To him, I doubt I'll ever be a real Jewish professional. Understandable, but frustrating nonetheless.

I went in to tell him that while I'm still very hurt and angry about the decision (read this if you haven't already) I understand his and the board's reasons for it. I can see and appreciate how much trouble the temple was/is in, and how this personnel cut will help alleviate the problem. I also expressed my fears that the congregation will now view the role of cantor as somethign disposable, something that the professional staff can throw out when times are tough. I told him that the decision will do the congregation a huge disservice, especially come High Holy Days. I told him that while the assistant rabbi is indeed musical and talented, she is a RABBI and not a CANTOR. There is, of course, a reason why HUC and every other Jewish seminary have seperate rabbinical and cantorial programs. She can not, nor can any rabbi (as good as she or he may be), create the kind of mood and spirituality that a good cantor can create using music.

It took a lot of guts for me to go and talk to him this morning--guts I'm not sure I would have had 18 months ago. As crappy a situation as this truly is, I'm glad that I at least learned something and allowed my passion for this career to grow even stronger. I'm happy that I talked to the people I talked to and learned things I never wanted to learn. I'm proud that I stuck up for my passion and career choice, even to the person I was most afraid to confront. Most of all, I'm excited to see myself as a competant and driven person, defending what I love even when it hurts.

We're leaving in a few hours for a 5 day cruise vacation to the Caribbean. It's been so long since I've taken a vacation or seen the ocean, and I feel like I've had so much drama in my life the last few months. It will be wonderful to let the ocean waves rock me to sleep every night and explore some of the beautiful scenery around me. I plan on spending a little time by the ocean everyday--whether on the deck of the ship or on a beautiful sandy beach. I always manage to find God when I'm by the water, so it will be a nice way to find some private time with the Dude, especially when my mother and brother are driving me crazy.

And then I have to go back to NYC, which kind of makes me want to cry.

But for now, I plan on wrapping myself in beauty and God, eating some good food (in moderation, of course) and enjoying my family.

See you back in NYC on Friday.

New Blog Name

I never liked the title "Heavy Stuff", not even from the birth of my blog. It always sounded negative, like losing weight was nothing but a pain in the ass. I've wanted to change it for a long time and never got around to it, so I figured new year, new blog name! I like the pairing of the terms, as I've grown on the inside more in the last 18 months than in my entire life while shrinking on the outside. I also think this more positively states the reason for my blog and how I want it to continue from here on out.

In other news, but I've been thinking about starting yet another blog, this time dedicated only to the food I eat. The last few months I've been reading a lot of blogs that focus on nutrition, where people who are in my boat with weight loss, or who just want to keep track of their own nutrition, take pictures and post everything they eat everyday. It's a whole community of people who support each other's desires for a healthy lifestyle in a healthy way; I've seen some blogs dedicated to anorexics who share tips with each other and such, and this is in no way like that. I learn about healthy eating and exercise from real people (some of them who are studying to become Registered Dietitians) and become inspired by their ideas.

I don't know if I have the dedication to stick to it, as I wouldn't always be comfortable with taking pictures of my food everywhere I go, and it does sometimes seem a little obsessive-compulsive to me (no offense to anyone who does this!) However, it's a great way to keep track of my food intake, and a good way to share my lifestyle with all those who ask me how I've managed to lose over 100 lbs. I also have this blog and my other blog (dedicated to school and such) and it would be a lot of work to maintain all 3 blogs.

For those of you who food-blog, do you think it's a good idea for me to start? What are your challenges and obstacles with doing this? Does it take up as much time as it seems to?

Here's to starting 2009 in a positive direction, whichever that direction may be :)