Week One and a weak one.

Hi. My name is Stephanie. And I am in love with food. In a dirty, nasty, back alley kind of way.

I am overweight. I wouldn't classify myself as obese or morbidly obese but if you ask my jeans, they might disagree. On November 28, I committed myself to working out for 30 straight days. I decided that some daily blogging would probably keep me accountable to the few people who will read this while I attempt to carve the skinny out of this fat girl mold it's in.

A backstory.

I just got married. And when I say I just got married, I mean that I am a fresh newlywed, less than two months, no 'expiration' or 'use by' date in site. It's been wonderful and all that, we've enjoyed being married. We enjoyed the wedding, I loved the planning, obsessed over it even. The most important part to me (besides the food, cue fat girl remarks) was the photography. I needed an epic photographer to capture all this great stuff I was planning to do and how truly great my wedding was going to be. 

And I found one. Lauren Clark was it for me. No questions asked. Sign me up, I'm in love. Everyone of the weddings she blogged were so good. Deliciously beautiful, and all her brides were the same way. Gorgeous and care free and thin and happy and thin and in love, etc. So, I figured that no matter how harried (or large) I looked on that day, her magic would fix me. She was the Wizard and I was Dorothy sans the little man that told me I couldn't see her. 

She was wonderful and kind and beautiful and did all the engagement pictures and the bridal portraits and the wedding and we waited with bated breath to see what glorious, editorial, romance-cover novel portraits she would produce for us.

...and then, they came. I squeeled out of sheer elation. I was a Lauren Clark Bride. I had arrived.

Now, I know that I am not a thin woman. I never have been. Just for some mental aid, I am five feet seven inches tall and currently, I think I probably weigh around 185 pounds. That's right. Let that sit a minute. Here's a picture of me in all my glory.

That's me on the far fat left there. In all my pooch glory. I left my other two friends in because they're about the same height as me, so there you go for comparison. (This picture was taken at my Christmas shower, thrown by my sweet (and fabulously thin) friend Blake. She's in the middle. Beautiful, right? So, anyway, don't judge my outfit. It was festive.)

So anyway, back to the wedding pictures and bated breath and all that. We popped this beautiful disc in the ole Mac and waited for it to load all 583 pictures that would chronicle the best day of my life.

What I saw horrified me. I panicked. I could feel my pulse quicken, my breathing got faster, my eyes started to water. The true sign of this slight nervous breakdown was when I went reaching for anything I could find to eat to calm me down. Fat girl mentality.

This is what I saw:

Yowsa. Please note the fat arms, baby-bump-like bulge, the enormo arms and the closed eyes (which is what I usually look like while eating something as delicious as a Patsy Hart cake, hello.) all while scarfing down some cake.

And this is how I felt:

Yup. It was that bad. And you're welcome for this pretty terrible picture.

I did not look like a model on the cover of Brides. I was not Style Me Pretty worthy. My bridesmaids looked thinner and more bridal and gorgeous than I did. Their hair was better. I was mortified. And I knew everyone would see these pictures and there was nothing I could do about it. Public humiliation on a grand scale.

Did I still get married? Yes. I am just as married as I would've been had I been gorgeous and thin. My husband is still stuck with me. : ] And I'm still a Lauren Clark Bride. But, changes are necessary. I can't feel this way every time I see a picture of myself. Am I fabulous? Sure. Do I need to lose some freakin' weight? Absolutely.

I began to question things I had professed to be passionate about. I love life. I love to live every day and travel and eat and see what new adventures the day will offer. I hate mediocrity and complacency. The paradox here is that I profess to love life, but I love love love to eat. I'm a nurse and I take care of people every day who chose gluttony and laziness over life. Loving to eat is a double-edged sword. It can mean choosing to kick out early. 

So, I said to myself, Stephanie, when you have the ability and means necessary to change something that you're unhappy with, why wouldn't you? If you know better, why don't you do better? Because you lack the self-control?

To me, it seemed lazy.... complacent, mediocre. How awful does it sound to continually settle for whatever is easiest? It sounds boring. And life is too short to live bored. 

So, I am here to confess to you that my life is complicated in a way that's hard to untangle. I have a love affair with food that is romance novel worthy. I idolize Paula Deen, and I hate Samantha Brown for having the best job in television the world. My husband cooks for foreplay and I let him. 

I also have this crazy desire to be one of those marathon runners. To like working out and sweating for the sake of working out and sweating. To look like the girls on Nike commercials and be just as passionate about being healthy and in shape as I am about a good plate of pasta and the delicious dessert that follows. To learn to love an apple and wheat germ like I love cheese and bread.

It's complex. And after years of trying to no-carb diet and work out off and on, I have failed. 

I have the means necessary. I am healthy. I have access to a gym that's usually warm and dry. I have the support of a husband who would love me no matter what. I have worked out for one week solid and after a lengthy deep-tissue massage and on the advice on a woman smarter than I (my massage therapist, Kay Davis) I am taking tonight off. I will go again tomorrow.

Are you going to the gym tonight? It's ok if you're not... just asking.

Until tomorrow I'll still be... fat and fabulous,

 Steph