and two pieces of cake last night. It was so good, I felt like I was high. Or what I imagine it might feel like to be high. I’ve never smoked anything in my life.
Later . . .
Weight: 126.5
I just got on the scale in Mom’s bathroom.
Mayday.
I was still at 125.5 on Thursday. Then I ran yesterday. I gained a full pound overnight, just from that crappy birthday cake and those damn tacos.
Mom was downstairs making coffee when I went into the kitchen earlier, and she was all chipper and smiling and asking if I wanted to try on the new outfit she bought me. She even wanted to make me breakfast. I poured a mug of coffee and told her I had to wake up before I could eat anything else. The cake was stillsitting out, and she lifted up the tinfoil and swiped a little chunk of it off the side of the plate. Watching her lick the fudge frosting off her fingers almost made me throw up. I sort of wish I had. What was I thinking last night? I ate like I was going to the electric chair.
The worst part is that I know I let Jill down. She was so disciplined and didn’t eat a single bite of cake, but still seemed to be having a great time with the rest of us. That’s just it: I still think I need to eat food to be having fun with everyone else. The truth is, I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want to be different. The reason Jack likes me is not because I look like every other girl; it’s because I look different from any other girl.
Last night, everybody else left around midnight, and I walked him outside to his car. He leaned over and kissed me for a long time, then told me I was different from any girl he’d ever gone out with before.
I intend to stay that way.
As soon as Mom left, I took the cake and dumped it into the kitchen trash can, then hauled the trash bag outside and tossed it into the garbage can on the side of the garage. I don’t need to have that in the house. And Mom certainly doesn’t need to be sneaking bites from it all day and night. She’ll end up eating the whole thing, and more devil’s food on her thighs is not what she needs right now.
My head is pounding. I feel bloated. This is the price I payfor not sticking to my guns yesterday. I’m so stupid. I know better than this. I could see it in Jill’s eyes when I got the second slice of cake and was licking the frosting off my fork. She gave me this little smile, this sad little smile as if she was saying, are you sure this is worth it?
The answer is no .
Nothing is worth feeling like this. There are far better feelings in the world: Jack’s eyes on me as I cross the room. His hands on my body as I slide off his shirt. His lips on mine, breathing me in. Beating Vanessa by a full minute on a five-mile run.
Run .
That’s what I need to do right this minute.
Run .
Sunday, July 1
Weight: 126
I feel so much better tonight. I ran seven miles yesterday, and Jill texted me while I was out. I called her after my run, and started crying on the phone about how I’d messed everything up, and lost control, and told her I was sorry for letting her down. I don’t know how she does it, but Jill is one of the most completely calm people I know—especially when someone else is having a breakdown. She’s in control all the time .
Jill: It’s not a problem. You didn’t let me down.
Me: I just don’t want to end up fat and unhappy like my mom.
Jill: Not a chance.
Me: How do you know?
Jill: Because you called me crying about eating your own birthday cake.
Me: I threw the rest in the trash and ran seven miles just now.
Jill (laughing): See? Take a deep breath and meet me at the park.
So I did.
Jill showed me this aerobic workout she does that you can do anywhere. It’s just isometric exercises mainly that give you some resistance training using your own body weight while also getting your heart rate up. It kicked my butt. She explained that if you do it correctly, it burns three hundred calories in twenty-five minutes. Anytime she feels
Later . . .
Weight: 126.5
I just got on the scale in Mom’s bathroom.
Mayday.
I was still at 125.5 on Thursday. Then I ran yesterday. I gained a full pound overnight, just from that crappy birthday cake and those damn tacos.
Mom was downstairs making coffee when I went into the kitchen earlier, and she was all chipper and smiling and asking if I wanted to try on the new outfit she bought me. She even wanted to make me breakfast. I poured a mug of coffee and told her I had to wake up before I could eat anything else. The cake was stillsitting out, and she lifted up the tinfoil and swiped a little chunk of it off the side of the plate. Watching her lick the fudge frosting off her fingers almost made me throw up. I sort of wish I had. What was I thinking last night? I ate like I was going to the electric chair.
The worst part is that I know I let Jill down. She was so disciplined and didn’t eat a single bite of cake, but still seemed to be having a great time with the rest of us. That’s just it: I still think I need to eat food to be having fun with everyone else. The truth is, I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want to be different. The reason Jack likes me is not because I look like every other girl; it’s because I look different from any other girl.
Last night, everybody else left around midnight, and I walked him outside to his car. He leaned over and kissed me for a long time, then told me I was different from any girl he’d ever gone out with before.
I intend to stay that way.
As soon as Mom left, I took the cake and dumped it into the kitchen trash can, then hauled the trash bag outside and tossed it into the garbage can on the side of the garage. I don’t need to have that in the house. And Mom certainly doesn’t need to be sneaking bites from it all day and night. She’ll end up eating the whole thing, and more devil’s food on her thighs is not what she needs right now.
My head is pounding. I feel bloated. This is the price I payfor not sticking to my guns yesterday. I’m so stupid. I know better than this. I could see it in Jill’s eyes when I got the second slice of cake and was licking the frosting off my fork. She gave me this little smile, this sad little smile as if she was saying, are you sure this is worth it?
The answer is no .
Nothing is worth feeling like this. There are far better feelings in the world: Jack’s eyes on me as I cross the room. His hands on my body as I slide off his shirt. His lips on mine, breathing me in. Beating Vanessa by a full minute on a five-mile run.
Run .
That’s what I need to do right this minute.
Run .
Sunday, July 1
Weight: 126
I feel so much better tonight. I ran seven miles yesterday, and Jill texted me while I was out. I called her after my run, and started crying on the phone about how I’d messed everything up, and lost control, and told her I was sorry for letting her down. I don’t know how she does it, but Jill is one of the most completely calm people I know—especially when someone else is having a breakdown. She’s in control all the time .
Jill: It’s not a problem. You didn’t let me down.
Me: I just don’t want to end up fat and unhappy like my mom.
Jill: Not a chance.
Me: How do you know?
Jill: Because you called me crying about eating your own birthday cake.
Me: I threw the rest in the trash and ran seven miles just now.
Jill (laughing): See? Take a deep breath and meet me at the park.
So I did.
Jill showed me this aerobic workout she does that you can do anywhere. It’s just isometric exercises mainly that give you some resistance training using your own body weight while also getting your heart rate up. It kicked my butt. She explained that if you do it correctly, it burns three hundred calories in twenty-five minutes. Anytime she feels
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