Beach time

In the spirit of my upcoming trip, I'ld like to write about one of my favorite and most hated places ever: the Beachski.

I was 17 the first time I went to the beach with friends. It took me 17 years to come to terms with the fact that its okay if I don't look as good in a bathing suit as them.

I get the darkest back and the darkest stomach, but the palest sides because I'd rather bury my face in the sand than lay on my side and expose the world to what it looks like when gravity does its thang. I also have the quickest coverup-off, body-down-on-blanket transition time out of anyone, ever. And if you think you will ever catch me sitting up on a beach, in a bathingsuit, you are, well you are an idiot.

I love Nantastket beach, especially when its low tide because its SO low it feels like just miles and miles of beach. ...Except when I have to walk that distance down to the water. With each step I hate myself, and my thighs, more and more. And you want to just RUN down so you can hurry up and get it over with, but I'd actually rather drown than have people see me running in a bathing suit. One time, at the peak of my self-consciousness, I was down the Cape at a beach with my family and something blew away from our blanket. I was standing so my dad yelled, "Lani, go get it!" I just stared at him with a look of panic, but since he is not a man you argue with, all that was necessary was a louder, "go!" and I was off. But I still wasn't goign to run, Dad can yell as loud as he wants. I powerwalked down that beach with a few quick running steps here and finally caught up with the god damn napkin that thank god we caught. But this was such a terrible, embarrassing situation for me that I remember it and feel it's important enough to blog about. Like I just did. See, a few words back. Right dere.

Walks on the beach are great...with a coverup, obviously. Until a wave splashes you and now you've got just a tiny bit of moisture in between your thighs potentially turning a simple walk into the stroll of torture.

Nothing thrills me more than riding waves on a boogie board. And nothing embarrasses me more than having to peel my wet, heavy body off the wet sand I've been washed up on.

I have successfully escaped any situation that involves me being photographed in a bathingsuit, but to be honest, I'm very woried that streak may come to an end next week. I definitely have to learn the do's and dont's of posing in a bathingsuit ASAP. Arms down or arms on hips? Front leg bent or straight with back leg bent? Face forward, or turn to side? Suck in, but not so much that it's obvious. God, so much to take into consideration while remembering to smile normal. And when it's sunny, I really don't know how people come out normal in pictures. My attempt to look normal while smiling into the sunlight always results in my eyebrows rising as high as physically possible on my forehead.

I guess next week will be a test for me. A test to see if I can put all this self-consciousness, vanity and fear of not looking perfect away for 7 days and actually enjoy what could be the best week of my life. ...Either way, I'm hoping to have some stories for when I get back. At least one awful/funny thing has to happen after spending 168 hours on a beach.

Its crunch time

God dammit. I leave for Mexico in exactly one week, and to no surprise, I have not reached my weight loss goal. I have lost 7 pounds...over the course of like, 2 months. I mean, when other people set out to lose 10-15 lbs over the course of a few months, do they go through with it? Is there something seriously wrong with me?? You'd think trying on bathing suits here and there would keep a bitch motivated, but nope! I said bitch ahaha. So this sends me right into my normal crunch-time panic. I can never decide what to do. I could:

A. Stick strictly to my WeightWatchers points for a full week - Doable but less results
B. Crash diet - Not really doable but better results

...I really want to commit to a crash diet, but I always fail miserably and end up gaining weight for the thing I wanted to lose weight for (weddings, prom, vacations, etc.). Does this happen to other people? Is it THAT hard to commit to a strict diet for a few DAYS at the least? Good god Lani, get control!

One question my family and I are the best at asking eachother is, "How much weight can I realistically lose between now and then?". Like, if I'm 144 today, can I be 140 by the time I step on the plane next week? And if I do that eggwhite-chicken thing, I'm going to blog my way through it in order to keep my sanity. So, look forward to that.

Dressing Rooms

It's a place I love. It's a place I love to hate. It's a place where I can separate myself from the rest of the world with the simple lock of a door.

It's funny, because there is such a mix of emotions when I head down the row to find an open dressing room. It's like, eating cake. I'm excited to eat it but I'll probably feel bad about myself when its over. I pick out clothes I'm excited about and can't wait to try on. As soon as I lock that door, I feel a little pang that says "Uh oh...what if nothing fits? What if NONE of this works?" And when it does work? Well those are the days I convince myself I've been especially blessed by God.

And when nothing does fit, I hate myself and my day is ruined. I also wonder if the dressing room employees are really laughing at me on the inside the way I assume they are. Especially when I've brought 8 different items in with me. "Really girl, you can't find ONE thing that fits?" So sometimes I'll take one or two items back into the store with me and hang them back on the racks myself, just so no one assumes I'm too fat to fit into anything their store has to offer me.

The rooms with the 3-sided mirrors are the best, and the worst. For one thing, I literally spend double the amount of time in there as I should. I look at my body in the clothes from every possible angle. Then I look at my body without the clothes on from every possible angle. Then I look at my profile, from every possible angle as well. It's like a trap! I can't stop, I can't look away, even when I really, reeeally want to.

And I don't know what it is about dressing rooms that suddenly makes me think I am Beyonce and Brittney Spears all rolled into one, but as soon as I lock that broken lock I realize I'm in my safe place where I can break out the moves I'd never dare to show the real world. God forbid anyone see my feet under the door.

Want to know how you can feel the heaviest you've ever felt? Lose your balance in a dressing room and see what it sounds like when you bump against the wall.
And if you're lucky, you walk into a room with flourescent lights so that you make all kinds of new discoveries when it comes to your body and face. How the hell long has this bulge been there? I didn't even know it was possible to get cellulite here! And when did I get sideburns?

So next time you're in a dressing room and you hear a large crash against your wall and can see dancing feet underneath, don't be a stranger.

I'm proud of you!

Yesterday I went out to breakfast, my favorite thing to do in the whole world. I ordered 2 scrambled eggwhites, wheat toast, and one pancake.

A few days earlier I was reading an article on why I should drop out of the Clean Your Plate club. I should always leave something on my plate, it said. Good idea, besides I really don't need to eat the whole meal plus it would make me feel skinny to know that other people saw that I just couldn't possibly finish my meal.

Except I forgot about the article at breakfast and represented the club by acting like it's leader, finishing off my plate completely.

Then the waitress whipped by, glanced down at my plate, bent down and said in a baby voice, "I'M PROUD OF YOUUU". "Thank you," I said.

Ahem, so say hello to the newest member of the Too Thin to Finish my Whole Meal Club.

Idiots.