Stone Feathers

EDIT: If this post is a mess, it's because I just basically hurled my feelings at the wall and wrote whatever stuck. It's raw and real that way. So...there.

I had a good 5K run today. I've improved 4:04 minutes since the Classic last June!

I'm excited to do it again this year. In the past couple of weeks, running outdoors has become a mainstay. I can run longer, take hills easier, and I even have to pick up my speed at times because I realize I'm running gently, breathing easy. Run hard. That's all.

One day, my fitness goal is to run 5K in under half an hour. Until then, I have a couple of races to keep me on my toes, and to give me something to fight for. One being the Waterloo Classic, and the second one, being a run for a good cause: the Pride and Remembrance Run 5K. (GAYS AND RUNNING? SIGN ME UP!...Oh. Wait. I totally already did dat.)

It's the Saturday before Pride Parade Sunday and donations this year are going to LGBT Youth Line (which I already volunteer for as a blogger) and HALCO. It's really a worthy cause and I'm thrilled to be a part of it. In fact, I'm already looking forward to having a good dash! If you're in the Toronto area and you want to sign up or want more info, you can check out details: here.

And if you're interested in contributing, I'm accepting pledges here...every little bit helps.

My motto for this run is Give Them Hope. It's kind of become a mini campaign in my head. In my daydreams, I see big change and customized t-shirts and video entries and guest bloggers. I know that I'm one person, and that maybe this dream or this micro-crusade of mine never gets off of the ground, but I know that if nothing else, I'll be running. I'll be doing my part.

I'm running for myself: When I run, I shatter the barriers of my own expectations. When I look at where I'm going and the miles that I have come to be where I am, I'm on wings. Lifted, when I used to be carved of heavy stone, threatening to crumble into nothing. I stop using the words 'I can't' and instead say, 'I will.' I've earned EVERY SINGLE STEP that I've taken across hard ground, across the sidewalks in my neighborhood, and across finish lines. When I run-- I am more than I have ever imagined I could be. The pain and the speed and the aches and the tears are worth the power and the animal joy that comes when I find myself exhausted, but gunning to the finish. When I'm out of life and motive, but I get up the next day, run again, and keep on living. I'm romanticizing it hard, yeah but... shit. It's true. All of it. It's my hope.

I'm running for others: Harvey Milk said it best. Without hope, the us's give up. I talk about him here time and time again, because he's right. It is SO important that people understand their power is their potential. Participating in the run also supports the gay community in Toronto and the idea that we are here to take care of each other. Love one another. Potential as power is crucial, but it is even more important, I think, to feel like part of something, part of a community. A community is power, and potential, and it's all based off of love. When I run on June 30th, I'm going to be putting out every step because of love. Because I want to spread the love, open my heart to the world and send a message across the globe. You're not alone. You're beautiful and you're loved. I'm not the only one who feels this way. And when you spread that love and you give them hope, you turn stone to feathers, and chains to wings.

....That's all I'd want for someone else, too.

Rules and Regulations

It feels really good to be back here blogging and having conversations about life with y'all. I do love me some NaNoWriMo, but I had so many ideas and so much happening that it was hard at times to not update to keep my faithful readers in the loop.

FIRST THING'S FIRST, the most exciting news, I got a job as a freelance writer for The Magazine. That's right. I'm about to be paid for writing things. I'm going to cross the line between, "I'm going to be a writer" and "I write for a few magazines." You know how awesome that is? REALLY AWESOME. The fact that it's for kids makes it even more cool. My first assignment is to write a list of the top ten teams of superheroes. How cool is that?! That is the line between pretension and success. Between talking big and playing hard.

SECONDLY, Jill and I have made up a big system to help me get on the physical fitness track. In three weeks of November alone I lost 6lbs! Basically, my secret is every single weight loss tip you've ever heard. I work out a minimum of 3x a week, alternating between running and yoga to keep it interesting. I eat healthy 6 of the 7 days as much as I can, but I have a cheat day/meal once a week. I drink water and snack on veggies and whole grains and blah blah blah. I have weekly weigh ins and we're taking pictures once a month to photograph the process.

Either way. I know you all didn't come here to read about my writing or my goals, you probably came here to check out my sweet style.

So here it is. Recently, I worked for 9 days in a row, but in between, I got to head into Toronto to see some of my friends, FINALLY. It was a night of magic (literally, we went to a charity magic show) and Thai food, and staying up really late only to get up early.
All the outfit photos were taken by my darling friend Josh, who is as excellent a photographer as he is a quoter of things, a finder of good deals and an eater of delicious foods. Thank you Josh!

Blazer: My mom's closet.
Crop Top: Forever 21
Jeans: Forever 21+
Necklace: Forever 21
Boots: Aldo
Bag: Matt and Nat "Karen O" bag

Notes on this outfit:
I know there are certain fashion rules that some people like to abide by. As a current 'plus-sized' or as I say, curvaceous lady, I feel as though sometimes more of these rules are supposed to be applied to my body. Supposed to be are the three key words there.

Among these rules are the idea that I'm not supposed to wear cropped tops or jeans that aren't dark wash. Part of the reason I love outfit (besides James Dean's beautiful face being right next to my boobs) is because it flips the bird to both. I know what my body looks like, and I'm dressing how I want to, not to disguise it.

This is important to me right now because one of the things I've been fighting lately is being able to like myself at the size I am while still being on a self improvement path. It borderlines on hypocritical sometimes... It bothers me to read profiles of people who have lost tons of weight in Women's Health or SELF and they're suddenly buckets happier. I'm sure when I get where I want to be, I'll be happy as hell, but I'm going to still have moments of wobbly insecurity, just like always. This is a band aid fix for confidence. I won't be a gung-ho-calorie-counting-perky-as-hell chick. I will still eat whole eggs instead of just egg whites.

I'm getting really off track here but the point is that...I know I'm not unfortunate. I have lots going for me. (If you're staring at my ass in the second picture instead of reading this, I don't blame you.) But it's hard to find an identity or a home for yourself when you're still traveling down the road.

Blanket Burning

Awhile ago, I read a great post about the F word over at Bonjour Gazel. That's right, we're talking about FAT again. (If you haven't checked out Gazel's blog, do it. She has stellar taste and she writes eloquently about everything.) Basically, the summary of the post was that your weight and health is YOUR business, not anyone else's. Anyone who thinks it's their right to ask you how much you weigh, or judge you, or give you advice deserves a flip of a big different kind of F word.

I'm hoping to make something clear, because over the next couple of months, I'm going to be working out and losing some weight, building myself some healthy ass-kicking habits.
This is just what I need to do, personally.

I have come miles and miles in terms of understanding who I am and accepting myself and thinking I'm beautiful, but I still feel the need to get fit. This isn't because I want to look like a billboard or a girl in a perfume ad (bitch, please, curves are where it's at!), but I want to be more like me.

If watching TV teaches us anything, it's that apparently ALL fat people would be more beautiful if they lost weight. That they all secretly yearn to be thin, that they ALL eat badly. They all want to be saved by the church of skinny and cry on TV. Well, I'm calling complete BULLSHIT on that.

I have met and seen SO MANY amazing, beautiful, stylish, gorgeous people who just happen to be plus sized. They are loud and proud and they rock the world. These wonderful people have made me realize that being FAT isn't the issue. Personal confidence is the issue. If you want to be large or small it doesn't matter, EMBRACE yourself. Do what you want, no matter if that's running a 5K, eating a cupcake (or two!), or wearing horizontal stripes.

If I could walk around and NOT care about what other people thought about me, I wouldn't feel the need to go to the gym and work out. But that's not the person I am. I am glad I grew up fat, for all the pain it caused me, it also taught me a bunch of things I might NEVER have learned. I would be a different person. I learned compassion, humility and I'm sure it sparked a passion for writing in me, but there are some things that are still holding me back. Being fat also taught me anger, and bitterness and resentment, things I never want to feel towards people I truly care about. It brings out the worst in me, and the worst now needs to be taken care of. Now that I have realized the beauty that fat has given me, I need to handle the darkness it has given me too. Wow, cue the dramatic music...

I can't get over this idea, that what is holding me back from living my life is my own body. What's holding me back, is me. I've been told I have a bold personality, but there is a difference between volume, and action. I can live now, but I'd be hiding inside myself, wrapped in my security blanket. So that's what is going to have to happen now: bear hunting and blanket burning.

What do you love about yourself about today? What do you wish other people could learn to embrace more?

Confessions: The F Word [Part II]

If you haven't read Part I, you can take in my teenage angst and the before pictures here. Life rolled on. I couldn't find a job because of the recession that summer and my motivation disappeared. Some of the pounds came back, school started again. Ho hum!

After the holidays that year, I met a boy. I liked him, he liked me back. He told me I was beautiful, we went on dates and one crazy day, I suddenly had my first boyfriend. It was even Facebook official, gasp! We had the same sense of humour and music addiction. The same wild imagination, and the same night owl disease. I felt as if I'd known him for my whole crazy life.

We both had a weird appreciation for Garth Brooks. I can't really explain it much more than that.

Sadly, the fat girl I used to be was still around. I had no relationship experience. It was painful how uncomfortable I was letting someone into my personal space. He was understanding, and we took things slow. It backfired- we ended up feeling like friends. So after 3 months, I broke it off. I'll never know what would have happened if I had been normal when we started. What if are two of the worst words I can think of.

After that, lost for answers, I gained 10lbs in only a month. That's 35,000 calories. Enter my royal rumble with the life long problem of Binge Eating Disorder, aka BED. When I first heard about it, I thought it was bull- how could eating too much be a mental disease? I googled, I took books out at the library. Every account, every symptom sounded just like me.

I'd eat without stopping until I was ready to throw up. Sometimes a couple times a week, if it was bad, maybe every day. I forgot what being hungry felt like. Autopilot. Realizing I had a real problem, that's how I crash landed onto my psychologist's couch. I went through two months of weekly therapy sessions. Worked my issues. I learned about what I was doing to myself. More importantly, I figured out why.

When I got to feel hunger, it made me excited. How I had taken that feeling for granted! At the end of the summer, Rebekah and I took a trip to Montreal. While I was there I got a Nightingale tattoo to remind me of all the things I was above doing to myself. How I would be so light I could fly. How I was free. (Dear mom, if this is how you find out about my second tattoo, I'm sorry...)
I've been on and off the wagon since then. There are days when giving up and eating the whole pizza feels like the best solution to any and all of my problems, except for one. That's my ongoing weight loss. Beyond the total aesthetic of being slimmer and feeling good, my family has a history of diabetes on one side. I don't want that for myself. I know I've got one hell of a fight left to get to a decent BMI and a stable state of mind.

I'm writing this just in case someone like me reads it and needs to know they aren't alone. I want them to know there's always hope left. I've been going on for four years and I won't stop. A few days ago, my roommates put me up to a personal challenge. To lose 25-30lbs by my 21st birthday. I accepted, gladly. So you can expect to see a fitness/health post here every now and again! With that, I think I've run out of storytelling fodder. If you want to follow my weight loss odyssey in more detail, you can check out my other blog Sleek G33k.

As is at the moment!

The Soft Kitty Shirt

This shirt is a symbol of a small inner rebellion and fuzzy cuddly things. Rebekah held it up one day at the thrift store, joking. Instantly, I knew it had to be mine.

OMG TOO MUCH AWESOME.

It stayed in my closet for a year without seeing the front lines. When clothes were being shipped off to charity bins, this shirt made the cut and stayed in my closet.

I wore it once, around the apartment and both roommates thought it was hilarious and cute. Not awesome, like I knew it was, and certainly not chic. I was un-phased. Or at least I thought I was, until I realized the four little kitties went right back into the closet the next day and hibernated.

A little over a month ago I had a revelation. I stumbled onto Young, Fat and Fabulous, a blog written by a young woman who rocks out loud and takes no prisoners when it comes to her clothes. This girl has more panache than a wedding cake has buttercream. I was inspired. Suddenly I was armed with the knowledge that bigger girls could dress to impress. I carried that knowledge like a tommy gun.

As the changes started, I started getting compliments on my wardrobe from my roommates, my sisters, total strangers. It was like having an IV of awesome.

Then one day, I fulfilled my destiny. As though I could hear them purring my name, I knew it was time, so I wore the shirt. Not around the apartment. Not down to check the mail. I wore it out to an interview shoot for the documentary film I'm co-producing. I loved every second. I rocked it, even.

That's why when I look at it, besides seeing two pairs of snuggling, purring kittens, I see total bad-assery. I see sticking to my guns, and newly gained self assurance. I see Clint Eastwood.
The moral of the story: you make the shirt, the shirt doesn't make you, baby.

Tell me about your own soft kitty shirt experience... What have you done you weren't sure you were capable of?