5 Days of Sarah's Birthday: Today, I celebrate my singleness.

The title of this blog is still as appropriate as ever.

Late bloomer.  

I'm going to be 33, and I still feel as though I'm learning like I'm 23.  It's taken me a while to get there, but my 30's have definitely been my time to blossom.  Instead of dwelling on the things about myself that disappoint me, that I want to fix, that I think I haven't done well enough, and all my failures and shortcomings as I usually do, I chose to do a little something different.

On Facebook yesterday, I wrote:

On this, the 5th day before I turn 33, I have decided that I will not judge myself as usual, but instead celebrate who I've become.

Day 5: I am grateful that I exist. I like getting to know me. I like Sarah Bauman. If I weren't her, I'd want to be her pal. You're alright, Sarah Bauman.

I have the greatest friends who were quick to remind me that they've know this all along.  I have the greatest friends - the best friends I've ever had, and I'm so in love with them.  But...  

Something that's been nagging at me a little more recently...  My perpetual singleness.  

Today, on the fourth day before turn 33, I will continue choosing to not judge myself as usual, and celebrate who I've become.

Day 4: I am grateful that I am single, and have really never been otherwise.  There have been many "almost's," many brilliantly random encounters that just don't seem to happen in real life (but they do!) that scream in and disappear just as quickly.  

I'm really glad I've never had my heart shattered after having been in love and lost.  Don't get me wrong - my heart's been broken.  But I don't know what it's like to be in love and lose that.

I'd rather be single than be someone's "maybe."  

I'd rather be single than be in something I know is temporary and futile.  

I'd rather be single than tolerated.  

I'd rather be single than strung along.

I'd rather be single than with someone who, after ages, just can't put a label on it.  

I'd rather be single and a little naive than jaded.

I'd rather be single and, despite how futile it can seem sometimes, still have hope.

I'd rather be single and strong and in love with loving everyone than settle for less than that with one.

Eventually, there will be one.  We'll both come screaming in, in one heck of an epic collision.   Eventually...  But until then, this will do just fine.  

Y'all best appreciate.

Admit it.  You do it, too.

Sometimes we get so focused on the things that we need to work on that we forget to stop and appreciate the things we've already done and what we've got.

Me?

I've got a bum.  Yup.  I've not been the biggest fan of this bum and, in fact, started to focus on trying to trim that little lady down.  But, the street I work on and walk up and down multiple times a day lends itself to forgetting anyone else is on the other side of those windows and checking yourself out in the reflection.  (Seriously - ask my friends who work inside a media hub on the corner, and they'll have a few goodies to share about things people do in those windows' reflections, including me doing the running man while they're in meetings.)

Today, while strutting past those windows, I noticed my bum.  And I also noticed that it's not too bad of a bum.

I'm doin' alright.  You're doin' alright.  And if you aren't doing' alright, then do a little something about it. Take .3 seconds and remind yourself about the things you DO like about you.  There's a lot more good than we take the time to remember. Y'all best appreciate.

Love & do. And don't stop.

I wanted to remember something, so I grabbed my little cork notebook that I carry with me at all times. I suppose it's a journal, but for some reason I have an aversion to the word "journal." It's full of thoughts; sometimes a word, sometimes a few pages.

I opened it up and came across this. I really needed to remember this today, and thought I'd share with you.

You are great. You are unique. You are special. And the same applies to you.

Goodbye, 200's!

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On a work-out date night with
my friend, Lindsey.

I was prepared for my weigh-in Tuesday morning.  It is a huge time of transition, and I must admit – I lost control the last couple of weeks.  I worked out hard, but I am hugely aggravated that, in a mentally and emotionally difficult time, I allowed myself to be comforted by indulging in food.  Well – and a few pretty magical craft beers.

I actually left the 200’s the week prior, but I didn’t want to commit to it because I knew that I’d messed it up.  I was certain.  So, I braced myself, stood on the scale, and to my complete surprise, I saw these numbers:

197.7

ONE HUNDRED ninety seven pointseven pounds…

I’m really not in the 200’s anymore…  My weight really starts with a 1…  Can you even remember the last time you were in the 1’s?  The smallest weight I can remember is 216.  You are really, really for real in the 1’s, Sarah.  You’re really still there.  That sounds…  Normal…

Things are changing; so many things both in and out of my control.  And while there are many different ways these things have manifested, I realized it all boils down to this: 

I am finally okay with being me.

“Why is this a problem?” you ask?  Because more than being content and confident in myself, I have this little voice inside my head telling me to “know my place.” 

“You can’t say you’re pretty, or go for that, or try this, or think great things are possible for you – be humble,” I hear from some cruel, bossy place within me.  That is not humility. That is confusion, doubt, and fear rearing their ugly head. There has been a big, mean battle within me, and I seem to pull no punches.

No more.  I’m done with the 200’s, and I’m done with this battle.

Eat my shorts, 200's.  I kick and I punch.

Here is what has begun to sink in over the last couple of weeks:

I am a beautiful, loveable, smart, confident person who absolutely adores people and life, and has a good head on her shoulders.  I have no reason to doubt myself.  I have no reason to not stick to my guns.  I have no reason to cower.  I have no reason to feel unworthy.  I never used to be this way, I never should have begun, and I am finished with it.  

Moving into the 100’s, I’ve got to tell you – it’s an interesting time.  It’s a little scary.  And sometimes it’s hard.  And sometimes I freak out a little bit because I’m in a transition between who I was for a while, who I am, and who I’m becoming.  

I like who I’m becoming.

From top left to bottom right:  Me at about 320lbs in January 2011, me at over 300lbs in March of 2011, then
me at 60, 70, 80, 90lbs, and 100lbs lost!

If you'd like to catch up on the big milestones since I've started this here blog, feel free to check these out!

Sixty, Shimxty: Another 10lb Benchmark Smashed.
70lbs - Gone To The Fishes.
81lbs Get The Boot.
30's, Here I Come: Gained a year, and lost 90lbs.
Lost 101 Pounds and Found Myself.

Readers, have you already gone through some of these changes or find yourself in an interesting time of transition, yourself?  I would really love to hear from you.  How are you doing?  How did you get through it?  What advice can you give the rest of us, or what advice do you need from others?  There’s a pretty great group of you out there with invaluable life experience, so let’s share.

Fat Archaeology: From dirt to display.

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I wonder if, when mummies were buried, they somehow knew that one day they might be on display.  Maybe they had some kind of will which stated, "I have been, and always will be smokin' and your mummification process had better show it off, or I will come haunt you.  I'm not kidding."  

Archaeologists’ initial intent might not have been simply to discover something so that others could see it.  But regardless of their paleontological aspirations, their dino-skeletons and ancient Egyptian kings have wound up behind glass for anyone who wishes to walk by, inspect, and discover for the first time themselves. 

While taking a leisurely stroll and chatting with my roomie the other night, she brought to light an aspect of Fat Archaeology that I had never anticipated: other people discovering me, too. 

Ouchy.  Did you know there's
a tendon there?!

This laborious, persistent excavation has revealed much more about me than I anticipated.  While scraping back layer by fluffy layer, I’ve come across collar bones, knuckles, knees and shoulder blades.  I’ve accidentally cut myself shaving where bones were once hidden behind a cushy, cushy buffer.  After the dirt’s been brushed aside and artifacts have been exhumed, there is infinitely more to be discovered. 

What is it that makes you want to stop and check out the mummy behind the glass, though?  Yeah, they look cool – but I bet they’ve got an awesome little placard next to them telling you about where they came from, what they did, and other interesting facts about their life.  This is what makes the discovery so appealing, and this is what has made it possible for me, and others, to discover me. 

I’m more open to allowing others to discover me because of all of these wonderful changes I’ve gone through.  I’m enjoying making myself more visible, whether it’s putting makeup on before going skiing so I feel a little sassier because you never know who you’ll bump into, or getting bolder with fashion because I’m confident enough to finally wear what I like.  After I realize that I’ve been checked out, I always find it wonderfully bizarre.  It really is a bit weird.  I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do.  It is good, yes.  But, weird. 

It’s one thing to catch a glimpse of myself walking down the street and think, “Ha – CUTE!!!”  It’s another to walk down the wrong aisle at the grocery store, have a handsome man smile at you as you walk by, and smile back.  Then, said handsome man smiles at you again on the way out, offers to carry your bag knowing full well that all you’re carrying is a box of tin foil.  So, you let him, and he walks you to your car and says goodnight. 

Placard read, subject observed.  Score.  

I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t looking forward to getting to a point where I’d feel better about myself and start having a few people stop, read my placard, and gaze through the glass for a little while.  And, alas, it is happening. 

Here is the beauty of not being a mummy behind glass any longer.  I can smile back.  I can be the exuberant, confident person who is eager to fully participate in life, and let other people admire it, too.   

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Older = Bolder

I may be less than half this woman's age, but I still find the first thing she says to be more and more true, lately.  The older I get, the more comfortable with I become with my style, and fashion becomes a little less apologetic.

If you haven't already gotten wind of the blog Advanced Style, it is about time you did.  For years, the author Ari Seth Cohen has been celebrating our elders' fashion in picture.  This is a clip of him speaking to Rita Hammer about her style.

If my tendency to want to raid my mother's closet is a sign of what's to come for me, I'm in good shape.  Here's to freedom with your style, and I sincerely hope I'm half as fantastic as these women when I get to be their age.

30’s, Here I Come: Gained a year, and lost 90lbs.

This has been a big year.  It hasn’t been all roses, but the cumulative average of greatness this year is pretty darn high.  I set myself a goal on September 19^th of losing 30 more pounds by the time I turned 30 on December 19^th, which would bring me to a total of 90lbs lost since March. I’m delighted to tell you that I have, in fact, lost 93. 

A dream in size large.  I love this dress!

I really couldn’t decide what I wanted to do for my 30^thbirthday.  Apparently, even facebook advertising knew this and kept suggesting I go to Vegas with a bunch of poorly dressed women.  The only things I knew for certain were that I wanted an outfit that made me feel invincibly gorgeous, and to have fun.  And to DJ.

And that I did.

Thanksgiving weekend, my Mom and I stopped in to a boutique during Small Business Saturday and I saw a dress that was just so remarkable I had to try it on.  It was a “normal people” size large.  I really didn’t think it would, but for some reason it fit amazing.  It fit so amazingly that my Mom texted all of “the girls” to show them how neat I looked in the dress.  As much as I loved the dress, it was definitely out of my price range.  I’m not one to pine very much over things I can’t afford, so I decided to enjoy the fact that a gorgeous dress in a regular store had fit me like a dream.

Last week, my Aunt and Cousin came to visit, and some of the closest and most important ladies in my life and I went to dinner, then to see Irving Berlin’s White Christmas.  At dinner, my Mom handed me a lovely gift bag that was really reminiscent of “the” dress, and I thought it was really nice that she’d gotten a bag that reminded us of that dress. 

Yeah. 

I moved the tissue paper to the side, had the most ridiculous, excited, America’s funniest home videos face, and there was the dress.  I cried.  I was honestly stunned.  They’d all chipped in and bought me the dress. 

Saturday was a lovely day.  I slept in, worked out, then was lucky enough to have my friend (and hairdresser) Erika style my hair.  I donned my gorgeous, new frock and headed out for dinner and music with a bunch of my favorite people.  I danced the night away at my favorite dance party, and even DJed for the first time in seven years – a shamefully long time.  It was a fantastic night, and I genuinely felt the most awesome I have in so long that I can’t remember.  I looked and felt fantastic.

T. Rex, Iggy Pop, Beatles, Jimi...  Happy Birthday to me.

A part of me dreaded turning 30.  In your 20’s, it’s so easy to think of all the ways you’ll have failed at life if you haven’t succeeded before they’re over.  I mean, life is practically over at 30.  So if you haven’t made something of yourself by then, you’re doomed.  Really.  Completely and utterly doomed.

I was sorely, wonderfully mistaken. 

My twenties were a time where I found my worth and my confidence in what I did, and when what I did wasn’t very cool anymore, I lost myself.  My 29^th year was a time of preparation for what was to come.  While I may not have made a lot of tangible, visible, or measurable progress, my mind was going through a lot of things that gave way to the amazing changes this year brought.  I’ve been working on taking control of the things that I can and should control, and forcing myself to remember to have a little faith about the things that I just can’t control. 

I am in love.  Not with anyone or anything in particular, but with life and people and everything that could and will happen.  Things seem to really be coming together.  I keep having this feeling that something is just ‘round the corner, but I don’t know what.  Or why…  Or when, even.  I just know that I’m ready for it.

I have a feeling my 30’s are going to be mighty fine.

Owning 30.

Turning 28, dreading 29...

Turning 29, appalled at accomplishing so little at nearly 30...

81 Pounds Get The Boot.

81 pounds!  HA!  

Good God, y’all.  What is it good for?  Aaaaabsolutely –

Well, it’s good for a reason to treat yourself to a sweet new jacket and some rockin’ ankle boots.  That’s what.   I weighed myself this morning and was thrilled to see that I’d lost 5.3 pounds and had moved into the 80’s.  1981, if you will - the year I was born.  There's got to be some double-rainbow-mind-bending significance to that...  

Or not.  

These last couple weeks have been interesting.  I don’t know why, but my body has changed a lot over the last couple of weeks, and it’s been really, really strange for me to try and wrap my mind around some of the things this has stirred up.  The more weight I lose, I am constantly surprised by the ways it affects me, both physically and mentally.  The mind grows, the body gets...  Ehhhhhh, weirder, apparently.  It would seem my body is getting better in some ways, and just plain odd in others.  We'll discuss the weirdness later this week.  It’s not all roses lately, so I've had to keep reminding myself that this is a very good thing.  

We've got a lot to talk about.

But for now, you might be wondering, "Well, Sarah, last time you had sushi to celebrate hitting 70 pounds.  How about this time?!"  

I did have salmon again, but the real celebration came in the form of suede, pleather, and a pleasing view of myself in the mirror.  My feet have finally decided to take part in this whole weight loss thing!  Some ladies are blessed and have lovely little feet and ankles, despite the rest of them not being quite so little.  Not I!

But, that has changed, and I have a rockin' pair of ankle boots to prove it.  I may or may not have also purchased a new pleather jacket at TJ Maxx.  (That, of course, means yes - yes, I did.)  Not only are my new ankle boots just plain awesome, they also happen to be deceptively comfortable.  Huzzah!!!

In honor of having lost 81 pounds, here are some photos of me basking in a brazen, wonderfully vain moment hearing Thin Lizzy's "Jailbreak" in my mind while checking myself out in my new goodies.  

Pleather jacket - can't find brand!  TJ Maxx - $29.99

Zigisoho black ankle boot wedges - $40 at DSW

The "D" Word.

Yeah.  The “D” word.  Go ahead – guess which one it is.

Dresses?  Dorky?  Does she mean a swear word?  No, dumby…  Oh -that’s a D-word, too…

Dating.  I hate that word.  When I think of dating, I think of some awkward, lame thing you do for an evening with some person you’ve barely just met, and a bunch of annoying, stupid things and whatnot.  Do I sound like a bratty little teenager?  WELL – you don’t  date anyone properly for, like, 7 years and we’ll see how far you regress.  I haven’t been interested in anyone in a very, very, verylong time.  It’s partly because I just haven’t, but I’m also pretty sure it’s because I’ve been pulling an ostrich, too. 

The idea of "dating" makes me about as comfortable as this video's business-man-by-day-wild-man-by-night, Maurice, and scrawny-wouldn't-have-made-it-as-a-viking Fred.  For lots of reasons.

Before you lose weight, it’s very easy to think, “Gee, golly – when I lose weight, I’ll be one pretty desirable hepcat!  It’ll be so much easier then!  Everything will just magically work out because I’m thinner – HOORAY!”

Well, I very well may be one desirable hepcat.  But this is another side of me I've kept safely hidden behind my steadily deteriorating wall of flubber.  Like many other things I've talked with you guys about, getting back in touch with it causes more of that annoying but liberating self-realization/growth nonsense.  I really am a pro at keeping things away that might hurt my heart.

I’ve never been one of those girls who embraced their size.  There are plenty of beautiful, strong, fantastic women who have.  I have never been comfortable with my physical body.  I’ve always known how to dress well – hide the funny bits and flatter the good ones…  I’ve never been shy, and I’ve always liked the things that are intrinsically me.  At times, I've thought that my personality and "coolness" were great enough to help people overlook my physical shortcomings, but I don't think I've ever really felt that it's possible for me to find love without fixing my exterior. 

Actually, what I really thought was that there was no way I would be able to meet someone great. I would either have to be single, or put up with someone gross enough to settle for me.  So, I’d rather be alone. 

Do I feel this way about people other people?  No.  Do we all say horrible, awful things to ourselves that we would never say to another person?  Abso-freaking-lutely.  The thought of someone saying things like that to a person I care about gives me the instant urge to cause them physical pain.  A couple of times.  But, somehow, it is always perfectly acceptable when trying to fairly, realistically analyze myself. 

So, I suppose I was right.  My exterior did have to change, but not for the destructive reasons I'd convinced myself of, and not to make me worthy of love.  Things at my core had to be shaken, rearranged, and sorted out so that I could be capable of accepting love should it happen to come my way.

So, when will it happen for me?  When will I finally meet someone again?

Who knows?  I look forward to it, but I don't care when.  For now, I am happy learning to love myself little by little.

Little Victories and Black Eyes

There are little things I do all the time that I would've been too hesitant to do before losing weight.  Sometimes I realize while I'm deciding to do something I haven't done in a while.  Sometimes it's a happy surprise right while I'm in the midst of it.  And other times, I don't realize until afterwards.  Whichever it is, it's always satisfying.  Pushing yourself is rewarding.  You simply must try it.  

"Like what?" you might ask...

Well, Sunday afternoon it was playing on the playset in my parents' back yard like I was five years old again with my five year old cousin.  Up, down, all around.  In the fort, out of the fort.  On the swing, off the swing.  

And...  I got to introduce my little cousin to swinging upside-down.  That adorable little goober will never look at a swing set the same way again.  

I would have been way too timid to do it before.  But now?  What-ev.  It’s not that I was too scared to be upside-down, I just felt less in-control of my body and what might happen.  There was a whole lot of me to handle!  I have so much less self doubt, and so more much physical freedom.  

My little cousin and I ended up swinging, feet up in the air, so that each time we'd swing back, we were facing each other.  So, I said, "Helloooooo, sir!"  And then it went a bit like this...

Me: "Helloooooo, sirrr!"

...swing...

Him: "Hellooo!"

...swing...

Me:  "Mighty fine day we're having, yes?"

...swing...

Him:  "Yes! Are you having a good day?"

...swing..."

Me:  "Yes, indeeeed!"

...swing...

Him:  "Me, tooo!"

...swing...

Me:  "Perfect day for swinging upside-down don't you think?"

...swing...

Him:  "Yes!  Helloooooooo!"

It.  Was.  GREAT!!!  Oh, man, do I ever love kids.  And upside down silliness.  

In all my grand, childish bliss, I did manage to forget how all the blood rushing to my face for - ehhhh, quite a while, could result in blackish eyes and a handful of small blood vessels breaking in my face.  Oh well - well-earned battle scars from my latest little victory!

Life's a Beach.

Today, I was scolded cheekily by a state trooper next to me at the Mattawan, Michigan highway exit for listening to Neil Diamond too loudly. 

This has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but it was awesome and it was absolutely imperative that you know this. 

“A cop scolded you, eh?”

“Yes.  Apparently cops don’t like Neil Diamond singing about women from Kentucky.  THE nerve.  I bet he hates people named Caroline, too…”

But, alas – I digress!  I guess it does fit, because I was listening to Cool 101, my favorite oldies station on the planet, on the way to grab my roommate so we could head off to South Haven for the afternoon.  Michigan summers are sublime, and there’s not much of it left.  So, naturally, we felt it was our duty as Michiganders to go to Lake Michigan today.  With diet green tea and quite a smorgasbord of beef jerky in tow, we did just that. 

The beach has always been, for some reason, a safety zone for me.  Whatever it is about me that I try so desperately to hide the majority of the time seems to fall away as soon as there is water present.  My arms, my thighs, my tummy…  We could all dissect the living daylights out of ourselves, regardless of our size.  But when there is water present – pools, water parks, the beach...  All bets are OFF and it’s swim time. 

Why can’t I apply this reckless abandon more often?  Maybe it’s because the beach is a place where all bets are off for everyone.  Everybody’s vulnerable at the beach, but no one seems to give a hoot.  Bellies jiggle while footballs are thrown and overly-dramatically dove for.  Mistake tramp-stamps from that outrageous high school spring break 10 years ago abound.  And who cares?   Probably no one!  It’s the BEACH! 

I bet even Neil Diamond looks ridiculous at the beach.  Actually, I’m pretty stinkin’ sure Neil Diamond would look ridiculous at the beach…  (Feel free to insert your own outrageous mental picture here.   I’ll save you from mine.)  

I need to let life be a beach more often.  Just, hopefully without the cops getting involved.