"Sorry"

Today I was playing baseball with my favorite 3-year-old, his parents and two of our friends. It was the most beautiful day, and I was so happy to be out there with them.

"Diana, you're catcher," Jack told me, and I obliged.

Jack is an amazing ballplayer. He hits far and pitches like a pro. But when he'd miss, I'd go after the ball and toss it back to his dad, J.J.

With each bad throw, I'd say, "Sorry!" And Jack would look at me quizzically.

Finally he turned around and said, "Why are you sorry?"

I paused. "Because I'm not a very good thrower," I said. He paused, turned back around and was ready for the next pitch.

But what he said hit me hard. Why WAS I sorry? Why do I apologize for every little thing? And when I do, do I confuse little 3-year-olds who are taught to apologize when they do something wrong, only to see me apologize because my toss was a little crooked? Could it make them equate a lack of talent in an area as being "wrong" or "bad"?

Jack mostly hit home-runs. Mom and dad and friends would react clumsily to the ball and miss him as he ran the bases. But one time, dad J.J. tagged him out. And Jack's little face fell into a frown. "I don't WANT to be out," he said.

"But, Jack, everyone gets tagged out every once in awhile. But they get back into the game and try again, right?" I said.

"Riiiiight," he said, his head down. Then he perked back up and was ready for the next pitch.

The next one was out of the park.

So Easy, Yet So Hard

It's amazing how much better you feel, emotionally and physically, when you eat well. I know this. You know this. And yet, for some reason, there's such a resistance to doing so. Why wouldn't we want to feel better?

The answer has become more and more clear to me with each passing year. For me, I don't eat well because, deep down, I don't want to feel better because I don't think I deserve to feel better. That, I believe, is the underlying reason. There is, of course, also addiction.

Having to battle both of these demons is hard. It's exhausting. It's painful. And because it's hard, exhausting and painful, I've reverted back to my old habits time and time again. Apparently, it's so much easier to hate myself than love myself.

It's been a good week so far. Not good in terms of work and relationships and such. But good in terms of ... peace. I'm eating well. I'm walking every other day with bouts of jogging. I'm doing Lenten devotions each morning. I'm working hard at work and sleeping well at night. And I'm making myself think about where this self-hatred, self-sabotage comes from.

I even wore a new dress yesterday that I would never have worn without this feeling of peace inside me. (Horizontal stripes around the hips...that says it all.) It was cute but definitely accentuated my wideness. My thought was, "I am what I am. This dress is cute. I'm going to wear it with confidence." And I did (ish. There were still moments of feeling self-conscious but I tried to nip the internal criticism).

I don't know what tomorrow brings. I don't know if something will happen that will make me snap and revert back to the depressed state that squashes the peace. But I am so grateful for these few days that give me hope.

Who Do You Want to Be?

Last night's 5K was great. Yes, I was the slowest I've ever been. Yes, I was practically last. Yes, I felt some pains afterward I wish I hadn't. BUT. It was a beautiful night. I was able to run/walk the three miles (alternating 1-minute run/4-minute walk). And when I got home, I felt good about myself.

When people ask me why I like to run, it's hard to explain. But I felt something last night that I think sums it up pretty well: When I'm running, I don't feel 260 pounds. Even though it's hard for me to pick up my feet, even though I sweat profusely and have a hard time catching my breath after a bit, there's that moment when I'm running where I feel light as a feather. Like if I could just keep going, I'd take off and be free. When I'm running, I don't picture myself the way I look to the world. I think that's why it's so hard for me to see photos of myself running. I don't feel like a girl who is plodding. I feel like a girl who is flying.

Of course, I AM plodding. And I know I have to be careful about this love of mine. Running is not great for a person my weight. I must really work to take care of my hips, my knees, my ankles. I don't want to be sidelined forever. I had a scare last night when I thought I hurt my ankle. And immediately I pictured myself on crutches, hobbling to work, sitting on the couch and gaining more weight. I prayed all night that I wasn't injured. I need this. I need to be outside and walking and running when I can.

Something I've been meaning to do for years and never did: Compile some "before" and "after"s. Not like the one from my first blog post (which goes from heavy to lighter). This one is the opposite. Photos from my thinner days and photos of me now.

I just printed this out and I'll be putting it up in my apartment with the words "Who Do You Want to Be?"

Do you want to be that girl on the left, or the one on the right? The choice is yours.

Lenten wisdom

I know I've been away a long time and haven't written about my weight or journey for even longer. The reason: This blog has been filled with me starting over and trying again, and then failing, only to return to start over and try again -- at an even greater weight than when I started over and tried again before. I know there aren't many people reading these words, but I have much anxiety and feel quite embarrassed knowing I've disappointed the readers and friends who believed in me. 

Still, if I don't start over and try again, I'm guaranteed to fail. Each time I return, I at least have a glimmer of hope that I can face my demons and win.

Today is the start of two things for me: One, I'm back to ordering the healthy, prepared (and mostly gluten-free) food that's delivered twice a week to my home. I spent the first three months of this year working crazy hours to complete some big freelance projects, and I figured that money could best be spent with two months of healthy eating. I'll start with two, and if the freelance work keeps coming, I'll continue as long as I can afford to.

Also, today begins a month of five 5Ks -- the return of 5K Fridays in Crystal City and another one on a Sunday (if you recall from last year, this was to be the 10-miler I did, but I am in no shape to take that on this year, so I downgraded to the 5K). I'm very, very anxious about these. For awhile I was successful at getting out and walking, but this winter -- and the depression that came along for the ride -- completely derailed me. I will be going to tonight's 5K completely unprepared. I will have to walk this first one. I will likely be last. But it's something to get me out of this house and to get re-energized. At least, I hope it does that for me.

Last weekend, I had a horrifying experience when I saw myself in a group photo. I had gone down to North Carolina for a quick trip to see some friends, and seeing this photo caused me tremendous pain. It's embarrassing. Appalling. And, sadly, seconds after it was taken and I saw the result, it caused me to bow my head and feel immense sadness for the rest of the trip. I will post it here now. To hold myself accountable. All I can say is I'm sorry I let myself get this bad.

A friend of mine at this dinner noticed my depressed state and sent me some daily prayers for Lent. 

This was the start of today's reflection: "There is always a chance to start again, and to return to life."

And for that I am grateful.

Addiction

Like many people, I was crushed earlier this month when I heard that actor Philip Seymour Hoffman had died. Minutes later, when I was reminded that he had battled addiction and likely died from an overdose, I got angry. He was so talented. Had a beautiful family. And drugs brought him down.

But in the hours and days that followed, as friends and strangers mused on his brilliance and questioned why he was so self-destructive, I was quiet. And I read few articles about him. Because how could I be angry at him for succumbing to his addiction when I continued to be brought down by my own?

Drug addiction and food addiction are different. But they're also similar. You live for your next fix/meal. You promise yourself it's the "last time" you'll use/binge. You want to be better, but you can't get out from under the weight of it all. And, for many, adding in a hefty dose of self-hatred makes it that much harder to end the addiction. Part of you doesn't think you deserve to be clean/thin and loved. Part of you wants to die as much as the other part wants to live.

But no matter what kind of self-hatred may have been involved, I'm pretty sure Philip Seymour Hoffman didn't want to die with a needle in his arm on the bathroom floor. Likewise, I don't want to be carted off to the hospital or mortuary on a specially made stretcher, hoisted by a half dozen firefighters straining from the weight of their victim. (That was a hard sentence to write.) I don't want my family to have to order an extra-wide coffin. I don't want the newspaper article to read "... the morbidly obese D'Abruzzo, who spent her lifetime battling her weight ..."

I can't choose how I'm going to die, but I can choose how I'm going to live.

Ten Days In

Hello and Happy New Year!

The start of 2014 was a bit rough for me because of a neck injury that left me in constant pain -- from Christmas Day until about Jan. 4 or so. But I wasn't about to let that be an excuse, and I've been back taking better care of myself for 10 days now. Double digits is great -- it's been a long time since I've made it that far and felt good.

The bitter cold has affected my exercise but I'm OK with that. I did do a 4-mile walk last Saturday on a snow-filled track, but that was as daring as I got in this weather. I have a (revised) detailed regimen for training this year, so at some point I'm going to have to bite the bullet and get out there. Walking/running in 90 degrees is so much more appealing to me than 10 degrees. But you take the weather that God gives you.

I've found one great way to keep myself on track is to get lost in a good book. So instead of coming home and watching the shows I recorded on the DVR, I read myself to sleep. And I never eat and read, so this keeps me from snacking. So far this year, I've completed The Color Purple and The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Now I'm about 80 pages into Gone Girl.

(Reading for pleasure is such an extravagance for me -- only attainable when I'm not freelance book editing. And while I sure could use the money, it is nice taking a break from two jobs.)

Sunday is supposed to be sunny and in the 50s, so I'm looking forward to a walk/run before work. Gotta get moving!

Uncle Mike

That week or so after my birthday was wonderful: I was feeling great, I was on track, I was looking at life in a more positive way.

And then my uncle died.

I didn't crumble right away. In fact, the day I learned of his death, the day I set out for the drive to Pittsburgh for his funeral and the day after I returned, I still went on my scheduled walks. While in Pittsburgh -- by myself and in a very fragile state -- I managed to stick to my food plan for the most part ("for the most part" because I ate some of my aunt's homemade biscotti).

It wasn't until after I returned that I fell apart.

My dad, who passed away in 2007, was one of seven children. He was the oldest, and his death, while sudden and unexpected, wasn't unexpected, if that makes sense. He lived a hard life and did a lot of damage to his body. He suffered many demons -- most I believe brought on by his time in Vietnam -- and, as a result, his family suffered, too. He was 63 when he died, but I think we lost the real Carmen D'Abruzzo decades before.

My Uncle Mike was the youngest boy. He was quiet and hardworking. He wrote poetry and loved the Three Stooges. He would drop everything to help you if you needed him. And he doted on his wife and daughter. He was 57.

His death hit me hard. My heart ached, not only for the loss of a wonderful man, but for the family he left behind. I also was faced with going to the same funeral home, the same church, the same cemetery and the same hall where my father's services were held. And my grandmother's. And my grandfather's. I spent so much energy just trying to hold myself together.

When I got back from Pittsburgh, I noticed that my attitude, my spirit had shifted. I tried to summon those good feelings I had for that short time between Oct. 29 and Nov. 3. But I was spent. I didn't walk at all that week. And by the following weekend, my eating was out of control once again.

Three steps forward, five steps back.

I still haven't gotten out of this dark place, and it's not just affecting my health. At work, every task is taking me three, four times longer than it used to take me. I can't concentrate. And I'm all over the place with my train of thought. It doesn't help, I'm sure, that I'm taking on more duties at the moment. But whereas I used to be able to work at home even after my shift, now I just crash.

It's the vicious cycle -- when I walk and eat well and get a lot of rest, I feel great. When I don't, I feel awful -- but so awful I can't even think about walking or eating right or getting proper sleep. That's why those days at the end of last month were so precious to me. I was feeling like I had the momentum to go all the way. Now I'm back in that place where I can't see a beginning.

I still have my neatly marked calendar leading up to October 2014 detailing the walks I need to get in and the weight I need to lose. While it didn't take me long to get off track, I still have 11 calendar pages left and that's not nothing. I'm praying for the ability to get out of this hole -- once again -- and embrace the good and shoot for the moon.

I'd like to think I have one more angel cheering me on.

The Journey Begins With a Single Step

Happy November, everyone!

The start of my 40th year has been really nice. I spent my birthday around some of my favorite people and was gifted with messages of love from precious friends. Typically, I dread getting older, but this year, I embraced the 39 years because it meant I had 39 years' worth of memories and experiences, and I know I would not have met the people I've met if not for all 39 years. Instead of grieving over the friends I no longer hear from, I made it a point to remember the really great birthdays shared with them in the past. I've come to accept that some people are only in our lives for a short time, but that doesn't take away from our time together. And along those lines, I know that this time I'm spending in D.C. is fleeting, so I try to embrace every moment with these friends while I can.

Depression sometimes takes me into such a deep hole that I can't see how blessed I am. So I truly appreciate those times when I'm outside the hole -- when I can look around and see the people who have accompanied me on different parts of my journey and feel the gratitude I have for them.

The start of my 40th year has also been nice because I'm focusing on making it good. Taking it not just one day at a time, but one moment at a time. Trying to make better choices and view situations differently.

I know it was probably a little jolting to see me return to this blog after such a long time -- and after watching my scale go up and up each time I checked in -- and see that I've chosen such a daunting goal. It's hard to explain why I want to do a marathon. But this 2009 blog post sums it up pretty well. I just love running long distances. And I miss being able to run for hours and feel good. It is truly not about the race but about the journey.

The journey would begin with simply getting out the door and enjoying small walks. A month later, maybe adding a minute of running to those walks. Watching myself be able to run a tiny bit more with each 3-miler. Giving myself very modest weight-loss goals (either 1 or 2 pounds a week) and meeting them by eating the proper fuel my body needs. Increasing those distances on weekends, but not by much. And being realistic about my history, asking myself "Are you on track?" as each month passes, and accepting what it means if I am not.

It's a journey I look forward to. I honestly could not care less about the Marine Corps Marathon medal. But, boy, how I can't wait to run throughout this grand city and beyond.

40th Year

Four years ago, I had the ambitious goal of running the 2009 Marine Corps Marathon. I trained pretty darn hard, going as far as 20 miles in my training (for more on that incredible September-morning run, you can read my giddy blog post). But it wasn't meant to be. I took on a part-time job teaching that same month, my training suffered, my weight went up, and I wasn't as confident as I wanted to be going into my first marathon.

I haven't trained for a marathon since then. I've barely trained for the half marathons I've done.

To be honest, I haven't given the MCM much thought over the past few years, though every October, I do get wistful. Last year on my way into work (my first year working in D.C.), I may have shed a tear or two as I passed the limping men and women wrapped in mylar blankets and decorated in their 26.2 medals get off at my Metro stop.

But with my weight going up and up, the marathon wasn't even worth thinking about.

On Thursday, while waiting for the Metro with a friend, there was an announcement about the transit system opening early Sunday for the 2013 Marine Corps Marathon. And my face lit up (so noticeably that my friend laughed at my reaction). Just hearing about the race makes my heart skip a beat.

Tomorrow is the day, and I plan on heading down to watch part of the race before my work shift begins. It will be early in the marathon (mile 2) when legs are fresh and optimism is high. Then, ideally, I'll head out to the Mall a few hours later and try to catch the truly inspirational parts -- miles 19-20 -- when legs are tired and runners are digging deep within them to find the strength and determination to continue.

My reason for going out there is purely selfish. I want to be inspired.

On Tuesday, I will turn 39 years old. It will begin my 40th year. And while I am not one to have such goals as "Run Marathon By Age 40," I've decided I'd like this to be the year I give it another shot.

Not to be a pessimist, but I realize it's a long shot. I am 60 pounds heavier than I was when I was last training for a marathon. So Part 1 would mean losing at least 40 pounds by the time training begins in April. Doable. But with my history, I know the odds. How many times have I been here before?

The only way I'll gain the confidence I need to train is by making the progress that has eluded me for so many years. And to make that progress I need to keep my eyes on the prize.

Tomorrow, I hope to not just observe those runners, but feel their pain and euphoria, their fear and excitement, their determination and, ultimately, their accomplishment.

I know I will be at that starting line one day -- and that finish line. Whether this is the year remains to be seen. But -- if I may very loosely quote "When Harry Met Sally..." -- when you realize exactly what you want to accomplish in life, you want to start that journey as soon as possible.

So let's just see where it takes me.

Here's to No. 5

Post weekly weigh-ins to hold yourself accountable.

Don't post your weekly weight because it puts too much pressure on you.

Go cold turkey -- it's the only way you can stop overeating junk.

Allow yourself a cheat day -- that way you won't feel deprived.

Run, run, run that weight off.

Be careful about running because you will be hungrier and you'll then eat more and won't lose anything.

Eat six small meals a day so you won't be hungry.

Don't snack in between meals.

Don't weigh yourself every day because it will frustrate you, and your body goes through natural ups and downs. Just weigh in weekly.

Weigh yourself every day so you can see when you've gotten off track.

Don't weigh in ever again because it's not about the number on the scale.

Don't eat carbs.

Don't deprive yourself of anything or be extreme about your diet.

Reward yourself when you hit small goals.

But don't reward yourself with food!

Don't eat after 5 p.m.

Drink a lot of water.

Fill up on fruits and vegetables.

Get a lot of sleep.

Don't forget strength-training.

And people wonder why it's so hard to lose weight. Everyone has an answer -- the key to making the weight fall off. And this girl has tried just about all of them. I mix and match. (One month, it's weigh in daily, have a cheat day, increase the running. Another month, it's blog your weekly weight, go cold turkey, record everything you eat. Then, it's go no-carb, stop weighing in, stop blogging. You get the point.)

I'm 38 years old, I've had a weight problem my entire life, and I've only successfully lost weight four times: seventh grade, 11th grade, 2003-2005 and 2008. The rest of the time, I've been this. But no matter how I look, I'm always, always thinking about my weight.

What a waste of a life.

My latest attempt (a strict schedule of when I sleep, work, eat and exercise) looks great on paper and even kind of worked one day this week. But it didn't take into account the day I had to stay in the office until 10 p.m., then work more at home, then wake up early to work more. There went the running and the early sleep. And then there was the day the workload was large and the deadline small and I couldn't get my last meal in before 5 p.m.

I wish I could say "just be healthy, don't worry about anything, and the weight will take care of itself." But that doesn't really work for someone like me. This 250-pound woman who cares so little about herself and her life that one little upset can take her so far into a depression that she can't dig out from the candy wrappers and pizza boxes she's sought escape in.

So I come up with a strict mix-and-match of the above and hope this time will be the magical fifth success story.

For starters, I'm trying to get more hours out of my day, like I did when I worked the night shift in my former jobs. As it is now, I get up, go to work, come home, eat and go to sleep. So I tweaked my schedule a bit. I get up at 6, run/walk/do something healthy, have breakfast at 9:30, do my freelance work until 11:30, go to work, lunch at 1:30, dinner at 5:30, get home by 8:30 and to bed at 9.

I was successful on Monday with most of this (I ended up falling asleep during the freelance work). But on the other days, even though they didn't work out schedule-wise, I did eat well. And that is the key. Not letting myself get derailed if one part -- or more -- of the schedule goes awry.

Right now my big question mark is if I should allow myself a cheat day. I had planned on allowing myself to eat a dinner out on Wednesdays (trivia night). Today, trivia has been canceled and I'm going to a movie instead. So do I allow myself popcorn? Or do I only allow myself that cheat meal if I go out to dinner? And where does it stop? Can I let myself do anything on Wednesdays? Dessert? Or will that only derail me?

I also am going to try my best to not step on the scale until my next trip out of town. Which means I won't be blogging about my specific progress. But I do want to write. Because I know there's a lot I need to get out, and I hope that will help.

So here's to trying, trying, trying. And involving serious prayer to keep me on my path.