Call Me Rocky

Weight class - think boxing. Fighters are matched with their competitors based on their weight. And, let's be honest, that's kind of how dating in New York is too.

We've learned from glorious ol' Millionaire Matchmaker that if you're a five you're not getting a 10. (Or in the case of last week's episode with Crazy McSomeoneInterveneWithHerMakeUp, if you're a three, no way in hell you're getting a ten. Even with money.)

Anyway, like with most of my posts, this lesson is also gleaned from my own dating rejection experience. Let's get the vain part out of the way first.

Two years ago I managed to become incredibly healthy and lose like 15 pounds. Amazing, right? I felt good. I looked good. And I dated the quality of men who I would have previously felt were out of my league (this is the shallow part and therefore I'm not saying that they were good people necessarily, but boy were they dreamy.)

Then things changed, e.g. I moved out of the inner-circle of hell; I got a new job; and I had a steady boyfriend. Little by little it's crept back on. Weight-loss re-gain failure.

At first I ignored it, but now I realize I need a self-intervention if I want to be back in the Champion's ring. I'm like Rocky. I think. I don't know. To be honest, I don't think I've ever actually seen any of those movies, except for snippets on TV or that scene where he runs up those steps in the sweats. But either way, Eye of the Tiger? My new jam.

Side note, I actually saw those steps when I visited Ashley in Philadelphia, but from very far away. The idea of walking all the way there seemed like too much effort. Hmm, perhaps in hindsight I can more clearly see where life's choices might have aided my quest in gaining the weight back. (Especially considering I'm almost positive that we went home to eat an entire container of dip and a bag of chips.)

I digress. The point is, I really want to get back to where I know I can be. I honestly felt the best I ever have. I was athletic, like maybe if you were squinting you'd think I had a six-pack (think Britney, not Madonna), I felt taller, lighter.

And now, instead, I have some pants that don't fit. Along with half of my work clothes. Ugh. They've got the "Snug Slutty" look. Not exactly business casual.

So the first step is incorporating this mantra into my life:

Think Before You Eat

It might sound simple, but you have no idea how hard this is for me to grasp. You see, I have a problem with food (i.e. I'm obsessed). Any and all (except olives!), wherever, whenever. Celebration and self-bribery. In sickness and in health. Can't stop, won't stop.

{Skinny Rachel circa 2009.}

It's so bad that I've directed two of my coworkers who sit closest to the kitchen to monitor my snacking. (One ran to my desk today when he heard "crinkling of wrappers." For the record it was a self-sanctioned low-fat 90 cal Chewy granola bar.)

But "Think Before You Eat" will (hopefully) help me maintain stricter portions, avoid mindless grazing, and make healthy decisions so I can become a better, healthier version of myself.

And it's not just eating. I'm also trying to get back in the habit of walking more instead of relying on the bus or subway. (I know, way to choose the worst month ever to start this.) But I used to walk 30 minutes home almost every day and it felt good to be outside. It literally cleared my head, and I think I need more of that.

Beyond that, I also want to maintain my gym commitment (one thing I excel at, woohoo) and stick to a twice-a-week Pilates routine. I really think it does wonders.

Okay I realize you could probably give a crap about this little pledge, but I need some accountability. So deal with it.

(And I have always recognized that It Takes a Village. Hopefully The Internet pulls its weight.)