i've stopped meditating. i've stopped writing.
i started lifting heavier at circuit training and started eating carbs again.
friends have come and gone and come again and gone again. houseguests are fun. they fill your time with interesting conversations and good food and books and adventures.
my parents came to visit for my birthday and portland decided to give them the most amazing weather before turning into satan's butthole. (approx 111 degrees)
i learned that i'm still at the mercy of my knee and that my footwear matters more than ever or my PT will have none of my complaining about pain.
i took time off. i got a sunburn in orange county and swam to my little heart's content. i saw old friends. i went to la. i saw malcy. i'm the last person he knows who still calls him that. he's letting me keep that one thing. i saw my old neighborhood. hollywood is weird and different. it almost feels like la never happened to me, that life feels so far away. how did i do it? i don't remember this person who used to work on sunset blvd and live in the hotel california with the broken elevator that always had dog pee in it.
i just remember baggy raver clothing, bad attempts at bleaching my own hair and keeping shared cartons of cigarettes in the freezer.
there wasn't much social media back then and i was using a landline so the awkward raver days (not to be confused with the awkward heavy metal days) go mostly undocumented.
which is the best for everyone really.
i went back to work and lost myself in it trying to catch up. there were a couple of yoga classes, some strength circuits and one rogue spin class that made me realize how much i am no longer a cardio person.
i used to be solely a cardio person.
who are all these weird foreign people i used to be?
maybe i'll be a cardio person again later in life. maybe not. maybe ufo skirts and jenko jeans will come back into fashion and i'll start writing crazy essays about the spiritualness of house music again.
i've been spending most of my days in some form of bathing suit since the weather has turned into something akin to the inside of a microwaved hot pocket. we bought a kiddie pool and filled it with water for afternoon cold soaks in an attempt to feel normal. (nothing feels normal.)
i am surprisingly ok hanging out in my bikini.
i am more disturbed by how much i dislike the word bikini and how white my belly is.
next week the hotpocalypse continues and jeff heads to the bay area leaving me alone with the dogs to bake in this weather. i imagine the dogs and i will continue to set up camp in the cool-ish basement and i can shame watch reality television, read manga and eat poke bowls for every meal.
i wrote about my recent photo shoot with cheyenne gil and how august is the anniversary of my prevention magazine article. I couldn't stop thinking about how much noise and praise people lavish upon you when you lose weight. They openly admire your dedication and your discipline to fitness and diet. They congratulate you for making what they consider are good decisions. All the while having no idea how badly you need to eat a sandwich and take a nap.
this person i remember more clearly. this person is still fresh in my brain. she's not buried somewhere deep like jersey or hollywood. she's still hanging around saying things like "you remember me because you want to be me again, right? people loved me because i was so good at going to the gym. people wanted to know me and write about me because i stopped being fat for a hot second. why wouldn't you want to be me again? it's really easy."
she's right. it's really easy.
it's harder to really know what i need to do to take care of myself. it's harder to cancel a workout than it is to go to the gym when i know my body hasn't recovered yet from the last one. it's harder to be soft. to be gentle with myself.
it's really easy to look at yourself and list all the things you hate about yourself.
it's harder to say this is how i love you, this is how i love you, let me count the ways.