Gordita II.

Now it's time for part two. Possibly the more embarrassing post... but again, I'm going to "keep it 100," as the youth say nowadays (by "youth" I mean "much more legit people than this nerdy, med-school drop-out").
No day more fitting for this post, considering it was exactly one year ago today that I embarked on this wild weight-loss... journey.

Without further ado, part deux:

So uh... I've been having this weight issue for the majority of my life... at least, the important years.

Yeah, I played basketball in high school... and if you ask me, and based on photos I've seen of myself form back then, I was fucking normal... just not the petite look most boys dig and most girls aspire to. 

I wasn't short, and I wasn't bony. I was 5'8" and 196 pounds (imagine my freaking horror when I saw coaches from ALL schools in our division got that information and kept it in their clipboards to study! Absolutely HORRIFYING! I kid you not when I say I barfed). My job was to take the shots from the top of the key (because I could not/ CANNOT make a layup to save my life), but more often (and more importantly), to stand there and take the charge... like some damn rhino... a hippo... Shaq (I love you, Shaq!).

Hit me, homie. Come at me, little point guard, I bet you I ain't going nowhere!

And while I DID have a couple of boys who'd look past that, the number of boys who overlooked me because I wasn't skinny enough FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR surpassed the number who gave me a chance.

And it wasn't just in the romantic sense where I was rejected because of my size... I was also rejected by girls as a friend, family members left me out of parties because I was too "big."

All kinds of people overlooked me because I was... big.

I can't recall when I crossed the 200 mark... because I stopped weighing myself once I entered college.

College... ahhh... good times, good times.

I DO know I was no longer fitting in clothes. Shopping was hell. It was a punch in my (evidently very enormous) gut. I'd come out of the experience in tears.

All of my pants (which were about... five pairs, max) were torn in the thigh area, from the massive friction my thunder thighs caused.

[I had been shopping in the "junior" department at stores since FOURTH GRADE. I was a size 13 in sixth grade... and I remember bulging out of thirteens once I entered eighth grade. Shitty part about that was that in those years (1998-99), society was not too sympathetic to us "fatties" and "regular" stores still weren't catching up with the plus sizes. I basically had to pray not to get any bigger... or else I'd have to... well, I don't know what I would have had to resort to. Homeschool? Early embracing of the Hermit lifestyle? I did rip two of my pants in my high school days. That was embarrassing... and loud... homeschool would have avoided me that trauma]

In college-- my first year, to be exact-- I was a size 15. I knew when I'd gain weigh based on how snuggly my pants fit.

Being (against my will) a Biology major, my schedule was hectic and stressful. No time to eat properly, much less workout... and why lie, if I DID have time to do any of that, I chose not to... I preferred to sleep... or weep, atop that stupid Organic Chemistry/Molecular Biology/Mammalian Physiology book.
It never really struck me how much damage I was doing to my body with my late nights and shitty diet (cheese, cheese, and more cheese. And bread. And pasta. And quesadillas... oh man, quesadillas! And Buffalo Wild Wings! Oh yeah, that place hit the spot every Thursday, pre-lab)... not until I hit a monumental birthday.

By the time I hit the big 2-1... as in, the moment I became legal... I didn't turn into the "typical" Vegas local. I didn't hit the clubs with a vengeance. Why didn't I? Because two months after turning 21, I attended my friend's 21st birthday party at Tao. She was throwing a joint party with one of my high school's "popular" girls... a very pretty girl, a very nice girl... but one who had a very fucking jerky boyfriend. A total piece of shit asshole. 

What happened at this party? 

Well,
One: when it came to letting us in the damn club, the line was stopped directly in front of me... that was fucking nice. 

Two: I became the bag girl... you know, the girl all the other girls toss their purses to while mouthing "Can you keep an eye on this for me?" and proceed to disappear into the night. Yeah, sure, I'm not going anywhere.

And the last straw: As I sat watching the stupid bags (seriously, girls, WHY the fuck do you take a BAG to a club if you don't expect to keep your own fucking eyes on it?), I noticed the popular birthday girl arguing with her boyfriend directly in front of me. He was asking her who the fuck we (I was sitting there with my bestie) were and why we were sitting in their VIP area. She told him we were the other birthday girl's friends. The jackass looked at us, and very loudly laughed (hysterically) while pointing directly at us.

It was quite humiliating... and it cut me deep.

I only continued to balloon after that. A year after that, my final year of college in '07, I barely fit in size 18s.
Yes.
One day... I don't know what exactly possessed me to do this, but I decided to get on the scale.
I saw the number, and immediately jumped off... as if a cobra had just swiped at me.
245.
Ouch.
It was a rough wake-up call... but not hard enough to push me into the gym. Don't get me wrong, I BAWLED my ass off that night... but I didn't do anything other than that.
Then May of '07 rolled around, and a friend finally gave me enough courage to join a local gym... with the promise of a very cute instructor.
I told myself I was going to change.

This is where the "fun" part starts. The photographic proof. Now, if it were up to me, there would be NO photographic proof whatsoever, however, my friends were typical FRIENDS who want nothing more than permanent reminders of the good times.
'07... how did I look in '07?
Ok... deep breath... here we go (guys... this is what I imagine a mouthful of battery acid going down my throat feels like. Not fun. Painfully embarrassing):

The week I joined the gym.
I remember this because I was in a world of pain here.

This one hurts my eyes... and my stomach. And my heart.

I'm hyperventilating by now...

The friend who lured me to the gym with the promise of a ridiculously handsome adonis for instructor.

Oh my God... is it over yet?! I can't look!
:(
...
Ok... I'm good to talk now.
Ok, so '07 I join the gym with the promise to get better... but my diet doesn't change, neither do my sleeping habits... and my consistency isn't great either.

'08 rolls around, and how do I look?

Those are s'mores in my hand, FYI

... ah geeze...

time of my life... time of indulgence.

No words, really. 

Those ta-tas are now gone... bummeroo.

... I see this and wonder how anyone could love me.
Bless his heart.

However, by now I'm out of college, so I don't care. I'm in the honeymoon stage where everything is daffodils and rainbows... I sleep until my back hurts... I have no care in the world! I have a biology degree, no job... it's the first taste of absolute freedom I have since August 1990 (the time I entered kindergarten).
I travel to Europe... I travel around the US and Mexico... I fall in love... the world is my fucking oyster, and who gives a shit if I'm 245 pounds (or more?).
The next time I check my weight, I'm at 225... a win, I think, because I feel it's good considering I'm living the life of a bum.

Around this time I'm completely enamored with the idea of moving to the bay area because my dude is out there... and considering I have a biology degree, getting a job out there and furthering my education practically in the bag.

As I work out the details, personal issues arise... deaths in the family occur, and my move to the bay does not work out.

Through all of this, 2009 comes and goes in a sad haze... enter 2010.
My relationship with the bay area guy ends BADLY in March of that year.
I'm a depressed mess.
How do I recover? I resort to my true love: writing.
A love I discovered my sophomore year of college, but never pursued due to my lovely parents' dream of me becoming a doctor (I guess I should mention I tried... my my heart and body refused... so in the middle of my application to various schools, I quit. I acquired the biology degree, but I refused to enter medical school).
Now that I had zero interest in going to the bay... and a new found interest for following my dreams, I decided to finally gun for that star: I was going to attend grad school... for creative writing.

I prepared all of 2010 for grad school... I zoned in on that sucker the entire year.
At this point, I was hitting the gym consistently. I had noticed my attention span was longer if I worked out... and I retained information much easier.
Was I eating right?
Hell no. Not when there's Buffalo Wild Wings down the road... and Yard House two minutes away... and all-you-can-eat sushi on nearly every busy street!
By December of 2010, I had submitted my applications... and I played the waiting game... often envisioning my life in New York as I worked on my tricep pushups.
I wonder if they have cheap gyms in New York...

Then March 17th, 2011 rolled around.
The infamous emails.
Rejected.
By every single school.

"Not a big deal" you might think... but see... I'm a nerd. I've always been a nerd. Princeton contacted ME when I was in high school due to my AP exam scores. I had NEVER been rejected.
And this was my DREAM. My wildest fucking dream. A dream I allowed others to hear... a dream I was now going to have to admit to being too... lofty.
My soul was crushed.
I got lost.
I lost the will to live... since I no longer really had a reason... I no longer knew who I was.

March 29th, 2011 rolled around, and after days of not eating... or sleeping... and only crying... I decided I was finally going to cave.
I was finally going to DIEt.
Would it work? Who knows. Who fucking cares.
Would I die? Who knows? Who fucking cares?

I jumped, head-first, into the depths of the unknown... not caring what April 30th, 2011 was going to look like, much less how I was going to look like...
and never imagining I'd make it to March 29th, 2012... especially not looking like this:

Do those pants look familiar to you?

I'll leave the rest for Part III. This was WAY too long.
Please don't stare at the photos for too long... you have no idea how embarrassing they are...