So, I’m walking on the UCLA campus, remembering the feeling of walking in Athens one year ago with Sloane. She and I fantasized about how it would get colder, we’d layer ourselves in bundling – clothes, and as Spring brought warmer weather, we’d peel off the layers to reveal our strong, slim bodies to all of our neighbors who’d watched us begin our plight, walking slowly, sweating profusely, cursing our excess weight. I’m lighter than I was a year ago, but not at the goal I’d once set. Still, I refuse to beat myself up over that fact. Instead, I remind myself that it was only a matter of days, fewer than 100, before I noticed a big difference in my performance on my walks, the looseness of my jeans, and the promise of self-love down the line somewhere.

So, here’s what I’ve done… I’ve mapped out a plan for the 120 days left in 1999. Callanetics every morning and every night, a walk every day, and each bite taken only after answering the question, “Will this make me feel good?” Now, sometimes the answer to that question will be “No,” and I’ll probably go ahead and eat the chocolate anyway… but it will be a conscious decision, not a mindless, numbing process of killing my emotional pain with food. It’s like Dr. Phil says on Oprah, “We do what works.” I put weight on to make myself feel safe from the unwanted advances of unscrupulous men. I choose to keep it on to protect myself in that manner. But I know better, mentally, since I receive just as much attention from the opposite sex at 200 lbs. as at 150 lbs. It’s not a matter of insulation or protection… now it’s a matter of habit (taking care of myself with food).

In these 120 days, I commit to physical activity, including my beloved yoga, and loving choices with regard to food. The whole world can change in less than 120 days. Why not my body? Or at least, at long last, my respect for it.