To the Woman Who Called Me "Thick" on the Bus

Yesterday was Tuesday. It was not a Tuesday of great variation from most Tuesdays, except that I did make good use of my lunch break from work to bake a birthday cake for my friend, Shannon. I'd like to note at this time that the cake was vegan-friendly and would have been made from entirely natural ingredients if I'd had a better liquor to use than Southern Comfort (It was a pear caramel whiskey cake) and was almost entirely fat free. Because you can do that with cake and it can still taste like cake. Tangential, but important to note.

In addition to being Shannon's birthday, it was also my dad's birthday. I called and sang to him prior to mixing up cake batter and later marveled over his willingness to trade in his guitar for a power tie and program his way into upper management with no complaint to support mom and me and the menagerie of animals I've forced him to buy food for in the past 26 years.

After work, I did dishes and put away dishes and scrubbed my stove and vacuumed. Just like any other day. I defrosted meat for Shannon's birthday dinner and passed the dinner making off to Taylor to go get ready, but was of course, still in yoga pants and a tank top when Mollie, Bailey, and Shannon trickled in from the snow. I changed at least 4 times after realizing my initial ensemble choice was not going to be appropriate for the weather. When my hair didn't cooperate, Bailey curled it. When I was trying to decide what lipstick to wear, she let me borrow her new Tom Ford Crimson Noir lipstick to try. We ate and were off to celebrate: 4 pretty ladies and one dapper dude.

On the bus, a woman shoved by us and then some shifting happened and I ended up standing near her, of course. When another woman pointed out an empty seat, woman number 1 said I was too thick to sit in it. And then proceeded to say that my fat ass was blocking the aisle and holding up the bus. I know she was just some woman on the bus with no filter, but my hair looked fabulous and I was wearing $50 lipstick. And I was still just some fat girl on the bus? My knees were weak; I couldn't breathe. I had to get off the bus before hysterical ugly crying happened in front of a bus full of people. And trust me, the sobbing was not the cute, endearing single glistening tear in the streetlight kind of crying.

It was horrible. I mean, I get it. I know exactly how many pounds and ounces and inches I comprise and what dress size that makes me. I am in my body every single second of every day, going to spin class, going running and walking to places that are within a mile, even when I'm tired or cold or sore. Drinking diet coke instead of beer and wine at bars and eating celery instead of wings at wing night. Eating salad while my best friend eats cinnamon rolls on vacation. I really really get it. Do you, ma'am, think that you are enlightening me about what it's like to be in my body?

I have PCOS and I'm insulin resistant and I'm currently spending $150 every single month on medicine to help treat my symptoms. Another $45 on Weight Watchers. And $70 for my membership to the gym across the strest. My endocrinologist costs $50 per visit. Trust me, I'd rather be buying amazing shoes and lovely handbags. I spend roughly 5-7 hours a week at the gym; sometimes more and maybe a little less. I plan my meals every week and track every bite of food that goes into my body. Losing weight is not about my vanity and looking good in some pipe dream of a bikini; it's about making my body a habitable place for tiny lives to grow when I want to have them. Which I'm clearly pretty committed to, judging by the aforementioned statistics. I have been trying to lead my life in a healthy way for a long time, even though until I started taking the meds I'm on now, I hadn't lost any weight. I actually gained weight training for a half marathon and eating 1200-1500 calories per day.

To say it's been frustrating is a gross understatement. It's like throwing yourself at a brick wall. I've been depressed and tired and the only thing that's kept me going is the thought that if I can't lose weight and help my body with exercise and by putting things that are good into it, I'm not going to be able to achieve the one dream I've been carrying with me my whole life. And that is a really scary thing to wake up and face every single morning with your cup of coffee. So, these ten pounds that I've lost make me feel like I've won the lottery. I mean, they are barely noticeable, but they are gone and I feel great about that and last night, as I left the house, feeling awesome about that and my voluminous hair and my crimson lipstick, I was just completely unprepared to be so cut down by someone who knows nothing about me, nothing about my struggle. And it has been an awful struggle. When was the last time someone called you fat in public? You were probably 7 and had hit an early growth spurt. It's worse when you are 26 and 5'2" and have been diligently doing what your doctor says you should be doing to no avail for almost two entire years.

I didn't want that woman to be nice to me or tell me I was beautiful. I don't need people to flatter my vanity; my body is my own to make peace with and feel beautiful about. I didn't want her to notice me. I just wanted her to be, to leave me alone, to not comment on the size of my ass or my hips or my lips or my boobs. To not ask what it's like to sleep with a fatty while I'm walking home from the bar. To not say anything. I know that I'm more than my closet full of Size 16 dresses or a number on a scale, but when that woman called me thick last night, I have never felt more reduced to my physical being. More like a bull squeezing into a chicken coop.

But again, thank you, ma'am. Your interjection really took my night to a place I wanted to go.

I'm glad to say that most of the people in my life don't define me by how I look and remind me that true beauty is an inward trait. That health and strength are qualities to be fought for hard. And so, I will keep doing what I'm doing. What I've been doing. I have too many more battles to fight to get caught up on something that some woman on a bus said.

A Mulligan

On Saturday night, Taylor and I wandered past the restaurant where I was supposed to have a birthday date past and detoured from our Oktoberfest plans to have dinner there, a few years later than intended. We ate and there was merriment and sangria on a patio and a long stroll to follow. The birthday mulligan was perfect, and honestly, with the perfect 20/20 of hindsight, much better than what actually transpired on the real birthday.

It might not have been something important to score a second chance at, but a small act of serendipity presented the chance no less and I had an extra evening of special celebration (Who doesn't want that?). And second chances are something I've learned not to pass up, no matter how big or small. And I know that I've waxed poetic about how awesome Taylor is before (Blah blah blah affectionate attentive responsible etc etc etc), but this tiny idea, the idea of making some past so-so memory better with a new memory was so incredibly sweet and thoughtful that it set my heart aflutter thinking about how lovely the past year and a half has been and how lovely the next year and a few are going to be <3>

Fall

I know. I know. I say it every year.

But I can't help it.

I am just head over heels madly in love with Autumn. Scarves, pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, Taylor's turkey chili, leaves spiraling to the sidewalk for crunching underfoot. There is something about the touch of chill in the air that leaves me weak in knees, desperate for more and more Fall variety adventure.

My new apartment has an adorable courtyard garden. There are benches with trees bending over to shade them, dropping their leaves as they start to change and turn fiery in the Fall sun. It's the perfect spot for a book or sharing M&Ms or finding the aforementioned crunchy leaves.

Just when I think Chicago couldn't possibly wrap my heart up any more, I get distracted by a nook like this and realize exactly why I fell in love with this place to begin with and why I'm still here 5 Falls later.

A Note on Running

I started running so that I could spend more time with my best friend that I was hopelessly in love with in middle school. He pushed me to run faster, harder and never seemed all that ashamed to be palling around with the slowest person on the track team (Listen, who really thought middle distance racing was going to be good for my stubby little legs?).

The 800 m of track turned into cross country and soon there were days when I was running upwards of 9 miles in a day. I even kept running when he moved away, my fifteen year old legs carrying me as far and fast as they could from the heartbreak that was inevitable to accompany the void he'd left behind. My teammates were all taller and tinier and much much faster than I was, but at the end of the night, they still patted me on the back and we stretched together. For once, it didn't matter if I was prone to catching balls with my face or if I got too distracted by grapevines, showtunes and daisy chains to be a good outfielder. There was no catty competition for who would have and keep what solo, no need to smile when your feet felt like they were falling off. And, yet, I would never say I was serious about running. But somehow, lately, with my compression tights and running skorts and lengthy lakefront runs, I think I'm there.

When I ran a 5K on a whim with my new friend, Laura, in April, I hadn't run in ages. My last race had been shortly after moving to the city, followed by a few failed attempts at training for something or another. My legs are as stubby as ever and I'm still just as asthmatic. And now, due to my PCOS, I'm battling insulin resistance. But the 5K was fine. I certainly didn't die. A 5K led to more and then a 10K and yesterday, I ran an 8 mile training run to prepare for the half marathon I'm running next month.

I listen to a lot of music to keep myself peppy during a run. I distract myself from my aching muscles by running close enough to Lake Michigan to see the waves and the endless expanse of shiny, blue water. It's peaceful; I'm peaceful when I'm running. And I'm happy to be feeling the rhythm of my feet striking pavement, the murmur of breathing in and out, the whistle of the breeze ruffling my swishing ponytail. The familiar movements and sounds always take me back to afternoons, running in Rotary Park with some of the most amazing people I've ever met. People that I would love to track down and thank for encouraging me then and for allowing their memories to encourage me now. People who pushed me (sometimes literally) to finish one last mile repeat and sprint to the finish line.

As I rounded into mile 6 yesterday, I was reminded of my third track practice. It was so cold that I came home with icicles in my hair, my shoes soaked through to my socks with icy water. There was nothing to do but laugh about it and warm up and move on. Such is the nature of running. It's best when it's hardest, when the challenge is finally surmounted in victory (For me, always personal; I've never come close to winning a race.) I think that very cold, very wet 14-year old would be amazed at where I am now: In a city, in love, working, passionate and running further than seemed possible when I started so long ago; cheers to getting from there to here.

Right now, my victory will be on October 21, when I run the longest race I've ever run, a long time coming. But every step is a battle, fighting against this PCOS and the insulin resistance that is keeping my size 8 dreams at arm's length. A battle against feeling bad about my body, a battle to remind myself that making myself strong and healthy and peaceful is infinitely more important than the perfect little black dress that only goes up to a Size 12. And that's a really huge battle that I'm trying really hard to win, with every footfall, with every Kanye West song, with every little victorious booty shake at the end of 6,7,8,9 miles. Because any body that can get you that far, sliding rhythmically step by step along the path and still remember to sprint up hills, make the most of downhills and always finish strong (Thanks, even to you, Coach Holladay, of whom I was so terrified, I'm not sure I ever spoke to directly.) deserves all the love in the world.

A Note from the Windy City on the Eve of 2012

Last year, on New Year’s Eve, I laid on a bed, snuggled in sheets I could never afford, in a room I will never be able to afford, tipsy on free champagne I could never afford, collapsed with laughter with my partner in crime, Valerie. High on sparkling possibility, hair windswept from the river and red lipstick worn onto the rocks glasses of Vodka Tonic on the bedside table, we swore to things we would accomplish, promises we would not break for 2011.

We checked out late from our fairytale New Year’s Eve at the Trump Tower, returned promptly to real life in frozen Chicago, starting the new year on the highest of all possible notes – brunch from orange. We earned it after the amount of Ciroc consumed the night prior. We spent the evening sitting on MollieBrandonDavid’s floor, playing never have I ever. Not glamorous, but easily one of my favorite moments of the year. Still, it’s too bad every day can’t be chauffeured by a Bentley, accompanied by 8 course dinners and skyline views.

I’d like to say I accomplished everything on the list; that I lost 40 pounds, that I maintained thanking someone every day in my blog, that I figured out how to not procrastinate in my last quarters of grad school, that 2011 was a breeze. It was not easy by any stretch of the imagination. On a New Year's Eve that will honestly probably never be matched for the rest of my life, Val and I swore to a rule of 4. I won’t tell you what those were; they are super secret and only known by the Donald himself.

What I will tell you is that I accomplished infinitely more than the wide-eyed girl with the red lipstick could possibly have imagined.

I finished grad school, I acquired a big girl job, I survived the worst not quite big girl job on record. I fell in love, I ran, I danced, I sipped too much gin. I fell in love with someone who tolerates the fleecy polka dotted pajamas and thinks it’s adorable when I laugh without my mouth moving. I traveled, I figured out being by myself, I moved on.

Things have settled into a glorious calm. I drink more seltzer than gin and tonic. I make asparagus and salmon and enjoy coffee breaks in my office. I realized how fortunate it is to be able to see your best friend from elementary school do stand up, following her dreams or to sleep on the person’s futon whose known you forever or to sleep on a friendly floor after spending hours wandering and exploring and finding new magic in someone else’s city. I realized it’s ok to be homesick, to cry to your mom on the phone, to flee instead of fight every single battle. I realized how thankful I am that Taylor Swift convinced me to keep believing in fairy-tale-breathless-romance. That I figured out how to keep the stars in my eyes.

Maybe I still don’t know what I want to do in ten years, maybe I don’t know how I’m ever going to manage to save enough money to go to Paris, maybe I don’t know when I want to get married or how many children I want to have or in what increments or if I want to get my PhD.

But I do know, after fighting battles and problems and pickpockets and broken hearts, who I am today, what I want for breakfast tomorrow. I know that it’s impossible to show the amount of gratitude I feel for where my path has brought me, but that a thank you note is always the best way to start. I know that anything is easier when you have someone there to hold your hand. I know that I’m never going to stop trying to go everywhere, trying to do everything, and why would I want to? I swear that sometimes when I wake up for my 7 AM meeting, while I’m drinking my intentionally tepid coffee and sunlight is spilling into my dining nook office and I can hear the softly muffled snores of my roommates, I know I’m ready to take over the world, one comma, one casserole, one more lap on the treadmill at a time.

Adieu with many thanks, 2011. 2012, I’m coming for you.

Wish List

It's Falltime.

Which means that birthday time is approaching. And therefore my mom requested my birthday list.

So, here goes.

1.) A Kindle
2.) Orange Coffee Beans from Orange
3.) The Tiffany Twist Bow Ring



4.) The matching bangle
5.) Wine glasses and champagne flutes
6.) A new bowl for my KitchenAid mixer
7.) Decent Headphones
8.) An African Safari
9.) Peach Cobbler Cupcake from Molly's Cupcakes
10.) Books you think I'll like to read.
11.) ITunes Giftcards to buy music for running.
12.) Cooking Classes
13.) A new Canon Point and Shoot
14.) Dinner and drinks at Maude's
15.) An Adventure, doing something I've never done before
16.) Aerosoles Joyride Boots, Black Combo, Size 8
17.) Urban Decay Eyeshadow
18.) Stila Lipstain
19.) Coffee and Conversation Catch Up
20.) Decent headphones
21.) A trip to turn 25 somewhere that isn't where I spend every day
22.) Monogrammed notecards with matching envelopes for corresponding
23.) Pizza from Art of Pizza
24.) Entry into the Hot Chocolate 5K
25.) Kate Spade Burnside Avenue Metallic Evangeline
26.) Kate Spade Swim Team Statement Earrings
27.) Kate Spade Supercalifragilipstick -- Adventurous or Fuschia Fete
28.) Burberry Brit Perfume
29.) Tarte True Blood Cheek Stain
30.) Nars Orgasm Blush
31.) Macy's Giftcard
32.) Shoes, size 7 1/2 or 8
33.) Scarves, Fashion or Winter Wear
34.) Lululemon Giftcard
35.) New Athletic Type Apparel
36.) Manicures and Pedicures are always welcome
37.) Star Wars Pancake molds
38.) Super Hero Cookie Pressers from Williams Sonoma
39.) A cake decorating class
40.) Kitchen Gadgets
41.) Snow Skiing
42.) Tickets to a Broadway Show
43.) Beach Time
44.) Colts Victoria's Secret Pink Apparel
45.) New Sheets and Pillows
46.) Manpower to hang my pictures
47.) New Nail Polish
48.) Colts Tickets
49.) Brunch at Orange

I think that's a pretty good start...

Making Magic

I have been hardcore nerding out at an increasingly rapid pace to a serious of books called The Dresden Files. Think Harry Potter meets Nancy Drew, tangoes with a trashy romance novel and then like gets mentored by Indiana Jones.

It really couldn't be more awesome.

Most importantly, though, there's magic.

If you know anything about me, then you know how I feel about magic. I begged for pixie dust when I went to Disney World, wished in wishing wells, read Harry Potter as though I could find magic through osmosis, wrote fanfiction with fervor to trigger magic from somewhere within. Because magic is awesome. Duh. And I'm always in constant wonderment of pondering its possibilities, ficitious or otherwise.

And magic isn't all glitter and spells and charms by the book. It's really silly, but reading about magic never ceases to make me notice little things that I find really magical. For example:

1.) A two year old's ability to applaud the 37th time through of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as though it were the opening notes of Carmen.

2.) The way cake batter forms itself into the perfect, tiny cupcake when baked at the correct temperature for the correct time.

3.) The way two tiny moving men can get a couch through a hallway barely big enough for people.

4.) The stillness of a Sunday morning, early, even on busy city streets.

5.) The grandness of Seurat's A Sunday on La Grande Jatte in Gallery 201

6.) The happyexcited feeling when you finally see someone you've been looking forward to seeing.

7.) The promise of always being able to go home.

8.) The breezy moment in the moonlight when you finally say out loud that you are falling in love.

9.) The coin behind the ear trick. I honestly still don't get sleight of hand. It really amazes me.

10.) Sunsets and sunrises. Pinks and purples and oranges and blues and the way the light shimmers on the lake and the beach and reaches up and over to start and end the day.

Anyway, enough with the sappy stuff. I leave you with this.

Faith, trust, pixie dust. Stars and stones. Hell's Bells. Magic is everywhere.