My neurologist told me to lose weight and I thought, “So, it has come to this, has it?” The last time a doctor told me to lose weight, I weighed about 350 pounds and was preparing to have my gallbladder removed. To make the day even more perfect, the neurologist’s nurse had weighed me on one of those old scales with big metal counterweights that slide left to right. I thought the digital revolution had rid us of those scales and the drawn out torture of watching the nurse politely start at a lower number and then slide, slide, slide, slide you up to a much bigger number.

I know people have various reactions to a doctor telling them they’re fat, but my first thought was, “Yeah, of course I need to lose weight.” Let us not forget the pant-splitting incident in January precipitated by the 50-pounds of headache weight gain (which I actually had forgotten until I was searching the archives for something else and found that entry). And losing weight has been on my mind for at least two years, ever since the headache screwed up so many of my routines. I do find it bizarrely twisted that I gained so much weight because of the headache, and without it I would have no reason to be at a neurologist’s office nor on his ancient scale to begin with. My life is a real-world logic problem.

So, this August I have been making changes, which was another reason I decided to move to Chapel Hill. It is easier to be healthy here. People ride bikes, not just for fun, but to get places. There are walking trails. There are sidewalks. There are trees and creeks and butterflies flitting about all over the place. It is effing idyllic. I fully expect an animated deer to follow me to the grocery store any day now. And now that it’s not 100-freakin-degrees every afternoon, it’s quite lovely to walk around town.

I have been walking daily for almost two weeks now, and I swear to God I try to talk myself out of it every morning. After I roll out of bed and dispense cat food, I sit on the couch for about an hour watching TV and then sit at my laptop going through emails until I eventually put my head down on my desk. Why? Because my doctor also made me give up caffeine and I do not know how human beings remained conscious before noon without it. Actually, I do know—by walking. Going for a 40-minute walk is the only thing that wakes me up now that I can’t suck down coffee. Last Friday I was going to give myself a day off for recovery, but eventually pushed myself out the door because I knew I’d flop on my bed and go back to sleep if I didn’t. And since I haven’t mastered the art of doing work in my sleep, consciousness is required for my continuing financial solvency.

Along with the caffeine killing, my doctor has made me give up artificial sweeteners and preservatives. My neurologist is a whole lot of fun, isn’t he? At my next appointment I suspect he’ll ban dancing and I’ll have to form a secret underground dance club for migraineurs. The diet changes mean I have to eat real food, which means I’ve had to start cooking again. I’ve also had to use real sugar or real honey as sweeteners, which I’ll admit FREAKED ME OUT. I have a sweet tooth, and I was concerned about how I was going to make my food palatable without drizzling it in 50 billion calories. However, as much as I hate to admit this, and I really do hate to admit it because I don’t want it to be true, I think my cravings have decreased now that I’m eating more real food and less Lean Cuisines and Diet Dr. Pepper. (I still love you, Dr. P! Come back to me!) So Goddamn this diet for being good for me. I hate you healthy eating!!

Reflecting on the past month and comparing it to my big weight loss between 2005-2007, I notice one big difference. I am much more resentful about healthy living than I was five years ago. The first time was a happy, fun adventure of self-discovery and change. This time, it’s been a drag-me-by-my-pony-tail-down the trail, begrudging return to healthy habits. I’ve haven’t been doing it because I particularly want to, but because I know I NEED to. And I do know it’s good for me, and I honestly do feel better because of these changes, but Dear Lord I miss my coffee and my sodas and sitting on the couch all day. I suppose this is how people who give up smoking must feel. They know it’s for the best, but they’d still kill a hobo for one last cigarette.

All of which reminds me of the time I saw the film Prince Caspian a while back, and the lion Aslan is talking with Lucy, and according to the Internet she says “Aslan, why didn’t you come roaring in and save us like last time?” and he say “Things never happen the same way twice, dear one.” And when I watched that I paused for a moment and thought, Damn, that stupid fucking lion, but he’s right. Things don’t happen the same way twice. The way I lose weight today is not the same way I lost weight five years ago. I can’t just repeat the things I did before. I’m a different person now, who got a headache, traveled to Europe, and moved to another state. What worked for 25-year-old Jennette is not necessarily what will work for 58-days-until-she’s-30-years-old Jennette. I don’t feel the same way about it all as I did then.

That is the challenge of it all. What works now won’t work forever. You have to keep changing and adapting, because life keeps changing whether you like it or not. So I will take my morning walks and cook food on a stove instead of in the microwave. I don’t like it in the same way that I did five years ago, but I’m starting not to loathe it with the intensity of my back gas burner. I might even start to like it again. Who knows? And if I see that damn talking lion on one of my walks, I’ll tell him thanks.

Lately, that list has become my grocery list. I was doing really well for a week and then, holy shit, I found myself plowing through the fridge at 11 o’clock at night, stirring peanut butter into ricotta cheese just because I wanted to eat SOMETHING. The next day I gave a coworker a ride home and was relieved I hadn’t left any embarrassing music in the CD player, but was less happy that the Krispy Kreme bag from breakfast was lying on the passenger’s side floor. I felt like I’d left a used syringe on the top of the trash, me, the poster girl for weight loss (literally, I have posters) who drank 400 calories of chocolate milk for lunch last week.

Some days I’ve been doing really well and some days it’s been so out of control I’ve felt like there must be something very, very, wrong with my brain. Like, perhaps my never-ending headache has screwed up my brain chemicals in ways I don’t understand and led me down a spiral of compulsive overeating. I’ve been hesitant to blog about this because the book changed things. I didn’t want it to, but it did. It’s a lot harder to be honest about my struggles when I’ve got a book out there with me standing in one leg of my fat pants on the cover.

How might it affect publicity if I admit that I’ve gained 10 pounds? I don’t know. Maybe somebody thinking about doing a story about my book will come here, read this and decide I am not worthy of their air-time and I’ll miss a big sales opportunity. I like to be honest about my struggles, but the simple message of a success story seems like a much easier sell than the complex “I’ve lost a lot of weight but still constantly struggle and will probably always be fucked up around food” story that is the reality.

It’s terribly ironic that at least 5 of those pounds are due to the stress of promoting a weight-loss memoir. The rest I refer to as my “mi-gain,” the weight I’ve gained due to my never-ending headache. But I figure, screw it, I’m not perfect and you’ll all be far less disappointed if I don’t pretend I am. I’m probably being far too hard on myself anyway. I’m nowhere near morbidly obese again, and I could go run a 5K after I finish writing this blog entry, which is more than a lot of skinny people can do. However, I’ve got to stop eating like I have been or else those things will cease to be true. And I REFUSE to buy new pants. I WILL NOT GO BACK TO LANE BRYANT. That bitch is dead to me.

So, Saturday was another fresh start, a day for healthy eating and definitely not donuts. It is disgustingly optimistic of me to say this, but I truly believe you can always start over tomorrow. Even if you eat a half-gallon of ice cream and a loaf of banana bread on Friday night, you can start fresh on Saturday. It is never too late to lose weight. Of course, I tried to be healthy by trying this new muesli-meth mix, but found myself craving it in the evening, so I reached for my desk drawer to indulge my other compulsive habit instead – gum chewing – only to discover – OH MY GOD! I was out of gum! I cannot remember a nanosecond in the past two years that I have been without gum. Ever since my dentist told me chewing gum with Xylitol would help prevent tooth decay, I’ve used it as an excuse to have breath so minty fresh that it would rival a Scope spokesman. (And no, I don’t think the gum chewing is causing the headache, so shut up.)

No gum. Crazy mad cravings. I ate too much muesli. I felt bad. “It’s OK,” I said. “You can make it up tomorrow,” I said, even though I haven’t been doing that lately. “I’ll buy some salad tomorrow and then…OH MY GOD! IT IS NOT OK! It is every letter in the alphabet except O and K! Your pants are tight. Your clothes feel uncomfortable. And you’re speaking at a blogging convention in a month in front of a couple hundred of people! You cannot gain any more weight! This. Must. End!”

So I went for a walk.

Thankfully, it was June 21, the longest day of the year and I think the sun set at midnight. I was able to walk almost 3 miles, and though I don’t have a calorie counter handy I think it worked off the extra muesli, which is now stored in the trunk of my car. (I was going to throw it out, but it is just too good to trash, oh sweet poison.) I don’t want to develop some anal habit where I am compelled to exercise off every extra calorie I eat, but I’m so glad I went for that walk. It made me feel a little bit more in control of my life, and my illness has made me feel anything but in control. It also does good things to my brain chemicals, making me feel a bit happier and less binge-tastic.

And it was a beautiful day. There was mist rising from the sidewalk as the sun evaporated puddles from the recent summer storm. Young couples were holding hands. Old couples were holding hands. Disaffected goth teens were smoking by the canal and I’m sure if I’d taken a photo they would all laugh at what they were wearing and how cool they thought they were in 10 years. I felt like I was part of my community and it reminded me of how much I just like walking. I’ve been doing a lot of running lately, but walking is perfectly good exercise too. You don’t burn as much energy as fast, but it’s calming in a different way and it’s less painful. I think I’m going to try to do more walking, maybe around town at lunch, and definitely AWAY from the food in my kitchen.

I know some women (and men) have spent their whole lives gaining and losing 10 pounds, but it’s something I’ve only been doing for the past year. Before then I just kept gaining 10 pounds and gaining 10 pounds and gaining 10 pounds and oh, lookie there, I weighed almost 400 pounds. It definitely requires a different mindset than the one I had when I blasted off 200 pounds at once. I’ll probably write more about that in detail later, but these past 6 months or so have definitely been the hardest for me. I haven’t been as hardcore about health and fitness. There’s been slippage, slowly, slowly, slowly, eating out more, not exercising quite as much and IT MUST STOP. So, I’m going to be stricter, probably do phase 1 of South Beach again, and there will be lots of walking, because there will NOT be new pants.