One comment still resonates a few months later.

As I was making the rounds and saying goodbye to my family, my uncle pulled me close.

“You look great, mija. But no more… don’t lose anymore.”

I didn’t say anything as I did the quick calculations of how much I still needed to reach my goal, or even be within the healthy weight range for my height.

“Um, thanks tío,” I said softly and then continued on to say goodbye to my other tíos and cousins.

A few months later, my uncles words still ring in my head, especially as I’m getting closer to the number I arbitrarily set for my goal weight and I’m not sure how I’ll feel once I’m there. I’m also tired of having to buy new clothes, especially with the cooler temperatures.

Maybe I should set a different goal: being able to share clothes with my sister. (My mom already passed down a bunch of skirts.)

Progress photos after the jump.

L-R (click any link below to see a larger version of each picture)
1. 122008, 2. 011509, 3. 013109, 4. 021409
5. 031509, 6. 041809, 7. 052709, 8. 060609
9. 061409, 10. 070109, 11. 070509, 12. 072109
13. 073109, 14. 080309, 15. 080709, 16. 081409
17. 083009, 18. 093009, 19. 091409, 20. 092309

I love that my friends and family take pictures when they find the elusive 31. My cousin, Vanny, took this photo at the San Diego Zoo.

Today’s karaoke scorecard: Me Voy (Julieta Venegas), Hopelessly Devoted to You (Olivia Newton John, Grease), Tú, Solo Tu (Selena version), Tragos Amargo (Ramón Ayala), I Will Follow You Into the Dark (Death Cab for Cutie), and First of the Gang to Die (Morrissey). [I picked songs to fit the sad song theme. Also, I'm already making a list of songs I need to sing next time I do karaoke.]

The boyfriend shares a birthday with Tiffany. I share one with Debbie Gibson. We were meant to be…

Cindy is is equal parts Marcha de Zacatecas and Camino de Guanajuato.

What do you call June Gloom during August? [The best responses were Fogust and "a runners dream" (from Lori). I'm tired of the overcast mornings. I like my August hot.]

Am I the only one who thinks cupcake shops use WAY too much icing? I take off like 95% of it. [I remove most of the icing from cakes too. I enjoy cake most when it's just out of the oven. I like the "pansa" or the rounded top. My aunt's would cut off this part to make the cake nice and level. The pansa was always a little bit crunchy.]

I want someone to make me pancakes or chilaquiles. [After a night of partying. I got my pancakes when I met up with a friend for brunch.]

I hate when I discover the true meaning of a song long after I’ve gleefully sung along many times. You can still be embarrassed way after-the-fact.

I should probably post something new at the blog considering LA Observed called me “venerable”… yikes.

Dear freshmen, it is not okay to call me at 8:15 am.

When I do laundry, I wonder how I got so much pink (dark shade) clothes. I’m not a fan. Then I recall that it was all marked down.

I like when guys notice little details and accessories, e.g. how my fingernails and toenails match my purse/earrings/bracelet/pendant. [I've decided aqua/turquoise and brown are my colors for the summer.]

I’m on Chicana time 90% of the time. I’m on time for flights and family events (mom tells me the wrong time). Movies too.

I made a really bad decision today. God saved me. I have to be good now.

My brother wants to use my frequent flyer miles to make a pilgrimage to different hot dog spots (e.g., Hot Dougs in Chicago).

When Bell Biv Devoe sang “never trust a big butt and a smile” did that rule apply to Chicanas too?

If these look familiar to some, that’s because they’ve all been recent updates on Facebook and Twitter.

The photos are a nice companion of the other signs of my progress: the line graph charting my weight loss from week to week; the bags of clothes I’ve removed from my closet and given to Mamá Toni to take to Tijuana; the new clothes I’ve had to buy; my endurance and strength increasing; skin clearing up as I put healthier food in my body; and unexpected cravings (e.g., my mom’s oatmeal, calabaza).

I’m not quite at my goal yet, so the photos below are not representing before and after. It’s more like before, current and in-between. As you’ll see, they’re all focusing on my face, I’ll get around to full-length photos later.

Each row represents a different month, the photos were taken about two weeks apart (less in some cases, see dates and links below).

Links to larger versions of each photo on Flickr:
1. 011209, 2. 011909, 3. 020709, 4. 022609, 5. 031309, 6. 032009, 7. 040309, 8. 042109, 9. 050609, 10. 052009, 11. 060209, 12. 061109, 13. 070309, 14. 070909

*Earlier posts on this topic: hand-holding, el pan para la noche and reflections

Later, I went shopping for jeans that fit and didn’t make me look like a teenage guy sagging his pants. Once again, I stared at my reflection in the mirror trying to notice the changes.

Where is the weight coming off? My legs? My thighs? My butt? My arms? My stomach? My breasts? My face?

All of the above.

My friends and family notice the changes too. Some of the comments are funny (are you doing speed?), some make me feel self-conscious (have you had to buy a new wardrobe yet?), and some confuse me.

A few days ago my tía Martha asked, “¿Estás enamorada?”

“Yeah,” I told her, not quite sure what being in love had to do with weight loss. I heard the same question once before several years ago from my roommate’s mom. Is this a Mexican saying? Does it have something to do with being so smitten or broken-hearted that you can’t eat?

There are some things that don’t change. I went shopping yesterday to search for a dress to wear to MEChA de UCLA’s 40th anniversary dinner. I tried on several dresses at a few different stores, but I came home empty-handed. I still don’t like shopping* (shoes excluded).

* Attributed to a combination of (a) not willing to pay $168 for a dress I’ll wear a few times; (b) my codo, see (a); and (c) selection sucks, especially for short women.

1. I dislike menudo.

2. I pick onions out of most of my food, if at all possible.

3. When I was a kid, I wouldn’t eat chorizo because I found it too spicy.

1. When I was 6 years old, I got beaned in the head with an eight ball after getting caught in the crossfire of an impromptu billiards ball fight between my brother and his friend.

2. When I was 4 years old, I was having a grand old time jumping on my mom’s bed with Danny until he bumped into me. I fell and hit my head against the corner of the dresser. I had to get a few stitches for the cut on my head.

3. I broke my wrist while roller skating when I was 12 years old.

“El pan para la noche,” she says imitating me and giggles. “No te recuerdas?”

I shake my head no. All I remember of my trip to El Cargadero that summer was the excitement of being on a plane without my parents, running around the large plaza in front of Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni’s house playing games with the neighborhood kids, and getting hooked on Rosa Salvaje. I must have blocked out my love for pan dulce and the result.

When Danny and I returned from El Cargadero, I had gained weight. Again, I don’t remember this, but my mom and Mamá Toni insist that El Cargadero was the turning point. I was no longer average. From ’88 on I was chubby/chunky/fat/whatever/insert your own euphemism.

While I don’t remember the result of my trip to Zacatecas, I do remember my First Communion the next spring. I wore the white custom-made dress I wore as a flower girl for my Tía Nellie’s wedding just a few weeks earlier. While waiting for the ceremony to begin, mom talked to Mrs. Millan, my Brownie troop leader. Mrs. Millan complained about finding a dress for her small and skinny daughter. Mom told her she had the opposite problem, but was lucky I had the flower girl dress. I was embarrassed and felt like hiding.

I did hide. Mainly behind my hair. I let it grow long thinking that I could cover more of my body, face. I got over that when I started college. But I still had issues. I just didn’t talk about them. I wasn’t one of those girls constantly complaining to her friends, “I’m so fat. I really need to go on a diet.”

In fact, I never went on a diet. I did change my bad eating habits, with some success. Then I’d lapse back into frequently skipping breakfast and other meals. I added regular exercise, like jogging at the high school track by my apartment. I lost weight, but it wasn’t my immediate goal. I just wanted to jog.

I gained weight again when I started graduate school. Suddenly the jeans I’d been wearing since I was 21 no longer fit. No one said anything about, except an uncle in Guanajuato. I commented that my young cousins had grown a lot. My tío quipped, “y tú también.” Ouch.

I never made a sustained effort because I was scared of failing. If I didn’t try, I couldn’t fail, right?

I finally tried and faced the possibility of success or failure.

I signed up for Weight Watchers in January. For the first week, I kept my decision to myself, even though I knew I should ask for help from my family and close friends. I figured that possible failure would be worse if my family and close friends knew.

I broke down at my second meeting after seeing the new, lower number of the scale. I had to share my mini-victory and called my dad.

“Great! I’m so proud of you, mija,” he said in the warm and tender tone he reserves for these type of father/daughter moments. It was the same tone he used when I called him at work to tell him I’d just been admitted to UCLA and UC Berkeley after being crushed when I was not admitted to my “safety school,” UC San Diego.

I’ve kept my circle of support small so far, just family and DB. I’m not sure I need much more as my parents are the best cheerleaders I can ask for and the siblings can be pseudo personal trainers. As for DB, he’s been understanding and supportive… even as I’ve let out my frustrations on him.

I’m doing good so far. Now, if I could only get a hang of this breakfast thing.

Adrian asked, “Can you put me down as a referrer so I get he next month free? What if you add me to Lori’s family plan. I want to pay less too.”

“No,” Philip said and explained that I couldn’t be counted as a referred because Lori was not technically new and I was being added to a pair/family plan. He was nice about it though, and joked with my siblings whom he both recognized as regulars at the gym.

A few days later I was alone and without my sibling to hold my hand through my first session at the gym. While I consider myself fairly independent and willing to do most things alone, I was intimidated by the gym and any workout that wasn’t simple jogging around the local high school track or swimming.

I called Lori for some advice.

“Um… I’m going to the gym. I don’t know what to do. Help!”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“Cardio, I guess.”

“Okay.” She listed off a started routine: five-minute warmup; stretching; 15 minutes on the treadmill; 15 minutes on the elliptical; 15 minutes on the step machine; and 2 sets each of 15 sit-ups.

It sounded easy enough.

Once at the gym, I started off smooth and learned that I was smart enough to operate a treadmill. Everything was going fine until someone spoke to me.

“How’s your workout going?” asked the guy who had just started walking on the treadmill beside me.

“Fine. Just started.”

“I’m winding down, taking it easy now.”

I kept jogging.

A moment later, he said something, but I couldn’t hear well.

“What?”

“I see you have the thickness.”

“Um… I’m trying to work on that.”

“No! That’s the way we like it.”

I smiled and made a mental note to remember my iPod.

Later, I found Lori on IM. She laughed when I told her someone hit on me during my first visit to the gym and added that it wasn’t typical.

“It was a long time before anyone spoke to me in the gym… other than the occasional ‘Are you done with that?’”

I was surprised by that considering that Lori has to practically beat the guys away with a stick. At the same time, the competitive sister in me feels a little bit triumphant. Sure, she can run a half marathon, but I got hit on during my first trip to the gym. Hah.

The nice sister in me is super appreciative of Lori’s support. I can’t wait to work out with her, even though I know I can’t keep up (at least yet). Adrian is less helpful. He just told me to read the Governator’s Bible of bodybuilding. Silly brother.

Birthday Activity Page by Rio Yañez

I think Rio could have found cooler people for that trivia section. I share a birthday with with tía Luisa, Sara Ramirez, Hideo Nomo, Eldridge Cleaver and Queen Rania of Jordan.

Also, on this day in 1985, Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker, was captured by residents in Boyle Heights as he tried to steal a car. Yeah, it’s creepy, but it’s East LA and Chicano centric.

I hate the pressure of birthdays.

Everyone asks, “what are you doing?” as if you’re supposed to have an elaborate, day, evening, weekend, week or even month planned. (Side note: August has been pretty awesome so far.)

I always give in to the pressure, even if it’s tough to plan a big party over Labor Day weekend. I can’t just let the day pass like it’s any other Sunday. It’s the 31st! I have to celebrate it if only for that reason.

I decided on Wednesday to hold a BBQ/tardeada at my parent’s house. Maybe I’ll pass out last year’s birthday activity sheet made by Rio. Sadly, I won’t have a bouncy castle. Sorry kids.

Invitation by DB. He’s a [patient] Photoshop pro.