My boyfriend is a fan of the TV show Doctor Who. In case you're not familiar with the show format, every time one actor is done playing the main character ("The Doctor"), the show continues, but with a new actor as "The Doctor." In order to explain the sudden difference in appearance, the Doctor, whose character is usually old or dying at the time of the switch, goes through "regeneration" and transforms into a new body and sometimes a slightly different personality.

Right now, after nine months of "dying," I'm finally experiencing my regeneration. Finally. And it all began last week.

Some back story is needed in this case. Nine months ago, in June, I became unemployed. I already had been so depressed at the time that I hadn't run in about seven months (since November 2013). The unemployment was a huge blow. For the past nine months, I basically spent all day at home, not wanting to leave the house, move, eat properly, exercise, run errands, pay my bills, none of that. I was a totally empty shell of a person. I wasn't working and I wasn't running, so I basically had lost every part of myself that makes me who I am.

I felt like a fraud whenever I got a message from someone who had read my story saying that I was an inspiration. Because the fact is, over those nine months, I gained back nearly 40 lbs. Yes, me, who had once taken such pride in my accomplishments, from finishing half marathons to losing 90 lbs. Every time someone wrote a nice message to me, I'd look down at my stomach and feel completely sad, like I'd let everyone down, including myself.

I should say (because it's true) that I would never have made it through the last nine months like I have without a chance meeting on July 4, 2014. On that day, I found love at first sight. As I sat at a 4th of July picnic with friends, a friend of the organizer walked up to join the party. I'd never met him before, but both of us just looked at each other and knew. He has been my boyfriend for almost nine months now, and has totally been my rock throughout this whole mess. He too has been going through his own hard time, and we've been able to lean on each other. Were it not for him, I might never have gotten back in the gym and I might never have gotten my eating under control again. 

Additionally, my sister will be getting married this July, and I refuse to be the biggest girl standing up at the altar with her. My boyfriend and I both resolved to return to the gym to get in shape for the wedding. I left LA Fitness (which was too expensive and frankly the location near me I hated) and joined a brand new, local Planet Fitness in December.

So, it begins. My regeneration. About a month ago, I was totally ready to get going again. I went to the gym and started up a Couch to 10K program again to get myself back into running shape. I was being consistent and doing well and was on Week 3 when the inevitable struck. It wasn't even a running injury, it was a freak thing. I have a very slippery rug in my main hallway in my condo (I have to get rug grippers for that thing, I swear). I slid on it one night and straight-up Supermanned onto the hallway floor. I got my right elbow out in time to break my fall, but my left elbow didn't quite make it fast enough. The left side of my ribs took the brunt of the fall.

It was sore for the first few days, then the muscle spasms started, and I knew I had bruised one or more ribs on my left side. The spasms were so unbearable and constant and so debilitating that I could barely walk or dress myself.

I was totally gutted. I'd been on such a roll and then immediately, I had to stop. Running was totally out of the question -- as I mentioned, I could barely walk as it was. A few weeks after the fall, I went back to the gym, even though I was still spasming, and tried just to walk slowly on the treadmill. I felt great right afterwards, but then as soon as I got home, the spasms set in with a vengeance. I tried another time some time after that to even run a little bit, and I could barely get 30 seconds of running in before the pain demanded I stop.

Well, here I am again. Back to the race reviews. And right back to a half marathon! Without training. Whee!

I signed up for the Magnificent Mile Women's Half Marathon earlier this year, mainly because I thought it was a very cool concept. It's the first race ever in Chicago to shut down the Magnificent Mile section of Michigan Avenue. I thought it sounded pretty sweet for a Labor Day weekend race, so I signed up.

Then, de-motivation hit. I ran a 10K near the end of July, but had run about, oh, three miles since then. I was nervous as hell the night before the race, terrified that I'd hurt myself. But I thought I made my bed, now I had to lie in it. I was not missing this race just because I didn't train. I'd take it slow, listen to my body, and not pay attention to my result. The objective was finishing.

A variety of thoughts and emotions went through my head during this race, so I've decided to give the breakdown by mile marker.

Pre-race:
My boyfriend and I arrived at the race site around 6:30am (race began at 7:00am). I was sort of surprised at the small number of entries. It just looked like there were only a few thousand people there, which surprised me, since there was also a 5K running alongside this race. But I checked my bag, got a few stretches in, headed to my corral, and told my boyfriend I'd see him in a few hours. Lauren Fleshman (an ambassador for the race) said a few words at the beginning and shortly after getting the word from Chicago Police that the Mag Mile was cleared, we were off.

Miles 1 & 2:
We snaked our way around to the Mag Mile. It was so surreal (and awesome) to run down the middle of Michigan Avenue, which is always so busy 24/7 and have there be no cars. I ran for the first two miles, as I didn't want to be just moseying down Michigan Avenue. Surrounded by tall buildings and the most expensive shops in Chicago, we rounded the corner at Superior to head back to Randolph.

Miles 3 & 4:
I ran probably another mile or so and started employing a run/walk combo until around Mile 7. I hit the second aid station, and they were quickly changing the emergency alert system flags from green to yellow, due to the temperature rising beyond what the organizers had anticipated. The organizers had projected temps during the race to hit the mid-70s, but quickly they were rising into the 80s with little cloud cover and a whole lot of direct sunlight. As I rounded the corner to Mile 4, there was a beautiful view of the Chicago skyline and I had to stop and take a picture.

Miles 5 & 6:
My thighs started getting a little heavy so I slowed my run. Elites started passing by on the return loop, and I cheered on the first woman I saw. It seemed a little unfair to me that men were #1 and #2 overall in a women's half marathon, and first woman was third overall. But I digress.

Miles 7 & 8:
My fuel started burning off and I was starting to regret the fact that I'd forgotten to pack a Gu. But I figured I could still press on. By this point, I was mostly speedwalking, and soon we rounded the corner to head back up the out-and-back course.

Miles 9 & 10:
These were really my scariest miles yet. At one point, I looked down and noticed that my right hand's fingers were hugely swollen to sausages and my whole hand was completely numb. The numbness was slowly spreading up my arm and I started getting really worried, thinking there was something terribly wrong. Of course, the worst possible scenarios went through my head. I envisioned them immediately transporting me to the hospital and leaving my boyfriend hanging at the finish line (I did have my RoadID on, but that lists my mom's and my sister's contacts). I had irrational visions of my hand having to be amputated, etc. I stopped off at the medical tent at the next aid station. This marks the first time I have ever visited a medical tent during a race. The paramedic asked me if I had any cardiac issues, which I don't. She took my pulse and said it was normal, so concluded that it was just the Gatorade I had drank was causing retentive water to pool in my extremities. She advised that I'd be fine, I'd just have to "pee it out." (For the record, once I did, the swelling went down and I was fine.)

This week, Women's Health Magazine took notice to a tweet I posted regarding an article I read from them about weight loss and depression. Just days after I posted the tweet, I got an email from Women's Health social media department asking to interview me. I spoke with Kenny from Women's Health for a while over two days and the result is the below interview. I'm quite proud to be featured by a magazine that I have subscribed to for some time, and I'm happy to bring attention to the realities of weight loss as well as depression.

I'm really proud of the result and I invite you to read! Thanks!

(click the photo below to view the article)

One year ago today, on April 16, 2013, I stepped onto the scale in the morning and saw 139.5 -- 0.5 pounds below my goal weight of 140 lbs. One year ago today, I reached goal.

Today, I'm not 139.5 lbs. To be completely honest, I've probably gained 15-20 pounds in the past six months. Because what no one tells you after losing so much weight is that it's not only the weight loss that is hard: the maintenance is hard too.

My problem was a steep drop in motivation to exercise, to the point where I basically didn't run a single mile for about three months. Largely, it was because the last six or so months have been extremely difficult for me personally. Emotionally, I was going through a very low point and during it, the activity that sounded least fun to me was running. At the same time, I was doing a pretty terrible job of resisting temptations: if someone had a birthday at work, I accepted that giant slab of cake. Then I would have another piece after lunch the day following. I'd reverted to the way I had previously dealt with stress: eating instead of exercising.

I think my wake-up call came when I realized that even after going back up a pants size, I'm showing off some serious love handles. I recently ran my local runners club race, which I PRed last year, and ran it nearly 10 minutes slower. I've bought clothes that I say will "fit better when I lose my slump weight." Except I still wasn't doing anything.

Now, I kind of hate to say that my life turned around because of a guy, but it sort of did. My dating life had been pretty terrible since my last boyfriend, but I recently met a guy with whom I've really connected. He has been fully supportive of my weight-consciousness and my running, and even said he wanted to train with me. For some reason, I have the motivation to train again partially because of him. Not to mention I have a half marathon at the end of August and dammit I'm going to run it!

All doom and gloom and gushiness aside, I think about the past year and all the adversity I've faced, and I think that I would have handled every tough situation so differently if I were still obese. I've learned how to handle myself confidently and assertively, and I don't stand for people who don't treat me with respect.

Though I've had my slip-ups, for the most part, I continue to eat the usual healthy stuff that I have been, and I still haven't set foot near a Chipotle or Five Guys in over two years.

I remember all that I accomplished and on this day, my "goaliversary" I've dubbed it, I've re-committed myself. I made a promise to my dying grandfather that I'd keep running, and I'm going to keep that promise and get back to training for my August half. I'm going to resist temptation for the sweet things at the office, because sure, I'd like that slice of cake, but I won't like the guilt I'm going to feel after I eat it.

I ran in my neighborhood this evening, my first non-race run outside of the season. Mile 1 was a toughie with some shin tenderness, but after I hit that one mile mark, a good song came on my running playlist, and I felt positively jubilant, despite the strong winds blowing directly in my face and fogging up sunglasses from the low-50s temperatures and my sweaty face. I remember how good 140 lbs felt, and I'm going to go back to that. I've learned my lesson, and I know full well how I can maintain. And now, I'm going to do it.

Today, I woke up to termperatures in the mid-20s and wind chills dipping into the single digits. With winds of over 15 mph. It had also snowed an inch last night. I ran a 10K in it. Actually, after picking up my packet, I nearly didn't run it, as the harsh winds as I waited in line were so unbearable that I almost thought of throwing in the towel and heading home. But thankfully, I didn't.

Why do I subject myself to such harsh conditions? Why do I live in Chicago?

Because no where else can you run a 10K along the frozen lakefront in observance of Casimir Pulaski Day and get fresh pierogis from a pierogi food truck at the finish.

I love this town.

Brief history lesson, as those outside of Illinois are probably thinking, "Who in the hell is Casimir Pulaski and why does he have his own day?" Casimir Pulaski immigrated to the United States from Poland to fight in the Revolutionary War. Despite barely speaking English, he rose to the rank of Brigadier General and is most well known for his exceptional training and organization of the cavalry he led. For this, he is known as "the father of the American cavalry." He even saved George Washington's life in battle by successfully detecting and strategizing a counterattack of a British ambush at Brandywine. In cities with large Polish populations, of which Chicago is definitely one, Pulaski is a pretty big deal.

So, Illinois is the only state to observe Casimir Pulaski Day as a state holiday. Some cities elsewhere in the country celebrate a city holiday, but Illinois' commemoration is the only one that is state-wide. When I was a kid, we used to get Pulaski Day off from school. Alas, that holiday was taken away from us when I was in middle school, but Chicago Public Schools (and state/city government bodies) are closed on the first Monday of March.

This year, Casimir Pulaski Day is Monday, March 3. Thus, the inaugural running of the Pulaski 10K took place on the Saturday prior, March 1.

The race was a tad complicated by something I observed driving on Lake Shore Drive headed north to Montrose Harbor, the start/finish of the race. A massive car accident had several lanes blocked on the Fullerton Avenue Bridge. At the moment I passed the multitude of fire engines and ambulances, a person on a gurney was being wheeled up to the doors of the waiting ambulance.

Apparently (based on my estimation from tire treads in the snow), a car had careened off the road and crashed into a portion of the lakefront trail beyond the bridge wall separating the roadway from the pedway. In fact, as we runners crossed the Fullerton Bridge a few miles into the race, a whole, smashed car door leaned against the wall of the pedway bridge.

The race crew actually helped police and other emergency crews with the cleanup effort, as the crash left a large puddle of transmission fluid square in the middle of the lakefront trail on which we were supposed to run. They sanded over it and told us to avoid that particular spot of pavement. Due to the accident, the race start was delayed by 10 minutes. I just hope everyone from the crash is OK.

Despite the bone-chilling wind and uneven packed snow in the first half-mile of the race, I was in high spirits for the first half of the race. Nearing the end of Mile 1, there was a woman running in the opposite direction on the path. I noticed her immediately because of her odd stride. Then I realized that she was a blade runner. Her left leg was amputated probably mid-thigh, and she ran with a blade prosthesis, and with a smile on her face. The image lifted my spirits so much. I thought about how lucky I was to be able to run as I can when there are people out there that do not have two legs to run upon and do anyway, and happily.

Shortly thereafter, I hit the first water station. The cup that was handed to me was full of Gatorade slushie. The cold temperatures had almost completely frozen the water station refreshments. I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. I jaunted along for the next two miles, thankful that feeling returned in my fingers once I got running, and happy as a clam that I was out running, and evidently having a grand old time doing it.

My cheery spirit continued -- until the turnaround point of the out and back course. As soon as I turned the corner, I ran smack into a brick wall of brutally cold wind, now blowing directly in my face at nearly 20 mph. I was running due north, and the winds were coming from, you guessed it, the north. Immediately, my eyes were pouring tears from the strong winds, and it became not only harder to see, but harder to run because of the sheer resistance.

I soldiered on, despite hitting a wall at around Mile 5 that caused me to have to walk about three times to slow down my heart rate, which I felt getting just a little too high for comfort. I ran for the last mile, unwilling to let myself stop, because if I stopped, I would only be done that much later, leaving me in the cold longer. I also wanted desperately to do better than my last 10K, which was my worst time at the distance.

Thankfully, after an incident in which I nearly broke my ankle stepping wrong in that aforementioned half-mile of uneven packed snow on the way back, I beat my February 10K time by about a minute, despite the tough conditions and sacrificing a toenail to the running gods. I crossed the finish line in 1:07:20 and collected my medal and a cup of hot chocolate.

Then, being the Chicagoan I am, I got in line for the Pierogi Wagon.

I ordered the braised beef pierogis with sour cream, and after taking the box of food, hurried back to my car to eat them in the warmth.

They were amazing, and only the second most Polish thing I'd done in the day, despite not even being Polish (I'm of German and British decent, actually). But the race and the day in general really reminded me of what is is to be Chicagoan, and what it is to be a runner.

I did probably one of the most Chicagoan things ever -- running along the lakefront in frigid temperatures, and doing it for Casimir Pulaski and pierogis. I also remembered what it is to be a runner. Seeing the blade runner woman and drinking a frozen Gatorade, grinning like mad as I ran, throwing my arms in the air with a victorious "WOOO!" at a cameraman, I remembered how important running is. I remembered how running can make me feel like hell, but it can also elate me to the point of smiling like an idiot while running in inhumane temperatures along an icy trail.

That's what running is about. It's about doing what seems insane to other people. About challenging yourself to the extreme. About doing what makes you happy, and no one else. About achieving greatness, even if it's only greatness to your standards. That's really all that matters.

Completed:
Pulaski 10K
March 1, 2014
Chicago, IL
1:07:20

Have you ever been so excited for a race that you wake up in the middle of the night in a panic because you think you've overslept? I had that feeling when I gasped awake at 4:50am this morning, well before my alarm. When my alarm actually did go off a little after 5am, I inexplicably turned it off and flopped back onto the bed.

Cue me shocking back awake at 6:45am. My race starts at 8:15am. And its location is an hour away from where I live. I did BOTH -- I jolted awake because I thought I was going to miss it, and then I nearly did miss it.

Thank god for being an anal runner and packing a race bag and laying out clothes the night before. I rushed into my clothes, threw some white bread in the toaster and popped a tea K-Cup in my Keurig to prepare a travel mug. I hurriedly smeared some peanut butter on the toasted bread, wrapped it in a paper towel, slung my race bag over my back and jetted out the door.

I got to my car at about 7:15am. Alas, it snowed last night and I lost some time furiously cleaning off my car. I became one of those people I totally hate -- you know, the ones that leave a ton of snow piled on top of their car so that when they drive off, god forbid if you're behind them and you're blinded by a drift.

Very luckily, it was obviously 7:00 on a Sunday morning, so traffic was smooth sailing. I made it to Highland Park, Illinois in record time -- just over 40 minutes. Last year, parking was a big issue for me, but this time, I had no problems finding a spot convenient to the race location. Then, with some time to relax a little and bring down my heart rate, I set about gearing up. Because you see, at the time of my arrival at the race, 20 minutes before the gun, my car showed the temperature in the photo to the left.

Tech beanie: check. Gaiter: check. Sunglasses: check (since not only is it bright, but also to keep my eyes from watering on the cold wind gusts). Gloves: check. When all the extra winter gear was on, I slightly resembled a burglar. But at least I was warm through the whole race.

I left the warmth of my car and jogged to the start line. A few minutes later, we were off, and the second running of what had been my first ever 10K last year was underway. But things were a little different this year. Last year, I had trained properly for this race and came up with a PR that still stands today. This year, I'd run about five miles cumulatively since October.

I knew it was going to be a tough running. And it was. At around Mile 4, I got really tired. Not like, in my breathing or in my muscles, but more "I just want to take a nap" tired. But then I got some motivation from an unexpected source.

A version of Rihanna and Jay-Z's "Run This Town" came on my phone, and there is one lyric that made me straighten my back and snap out of my tired fog. Rihanna sings:

"Victory's within the mile, almost there, don't give up now."

My ears pricked up. The lyric is followed by Jay-Z shouting "Move!" and I followed instruction. I remembered the importance of this race and I got my butt in gear. I tried my best to keep some semblance of a regular, consistent pace. I got through an ice-free Mile 5 -- a departure from last year, though the entirety of the course was, obviously, snowy and slushy and tough treading. When I turned the last corner and saw the finish line in the distance (which, much to my horror, seemed to move farther and farther away as I ran toward it).

I crossed the finish line iin 1:08:11 -- my worst 10K time ever. And yet, I couldn't be happier. With barely a scrape of running in the past four months, I made it through 6.2 miles relatively unscathed. My knee, ankle and back were a bit twingey, but not debilitatingly so. Though my GERD coughing was acting up, I managed to avoid the respiratory distress I've experienced before. And I found a new pre-race dinner that was not only delicious but also (sorry, a little TMI but a runner will understand) ensured that I had ZERO GI distress after the race, which barely ever happens.

Most importantly, this race reminded me why I'm a runner. It makes me feel powerful. It makes me feel strong. It makes me feel different (in a good way) and important. It makes me appreciate the power of both the human body and nature. It sounds so cheesy but it's true: running reminds me that I am alive.

Completed:
North Shore Cupid's Love Dash 10K
February 9, 2014
Highland Park, IL
1:08:11

I have a 10K on Sunday. It is my first race since my half marathon in October. And in the last four months, I have run less than 5 miles. Cumulatively.

Am I going to back out, since the temperature willl be in the teens with snowfall the day before and wind chills below zero, plus I haven't even run a total of 6 miles in the past four months? No. Absolutely not. Will this race hurt? I'm certain it will. But in an odd way, I need it to hurt.

What exactly do I mean? Well, my problem lately has been motivation. I haven't had a race to strive for, I haven't had the energy to go to the gym or go for a run after work, and the weather has been so unpleasant that running outside or even driving to the gym has often been far too treacherous to be worth it.

When I even mildly considered skipping the race, staring in my bathroom mirror tonight, I got angry. No. I am not skipping this race. First of all, this race has incredible meaning to me. This is the North Shore Cupid's Love Dash 10K. In 2013, it became the first 10K I ever ran. And despite freezing rain throughout the entire race and an ice-coated Mile 5, it is still my 10K PR, four 10Ks later.

It is my 10K race anniversary. I don't care how I do, I don't care how cold it is, I cannot miss this. Initially, I had been hoping to break my PR one year later at the very race at which I set my PR. However, given my lack of running, even though I really wanted to beat my PR this year, I know I won't.

But when I stared at myself in the mirror, I said to myself, "I don't care what the temperature is. You will be sore afterward and I do not care that you will be sore. I don't care how much this will hurt. You need this in order to get back to yourself."

And it's true, I do. I have three races lined up in the next two months, and I need the races to keep me motivated to actually run and train. I have another 10K in March, and my running club's annual 5K in April just for starters. I'm anticipating registering for the Chicago Women's Half Marathon at the end of August over Labor Day Weekend. I discovered long ago that races are what keep me motivated to run, and so I need to continue racing. If nothing else, it'll keep me running even when motivation is low. I think that's why I ran a race in pretty much every month in 2013. Not just because I wanted to, but just to keep me working toward something.

Sure, races can be expensive, but at this point, these races keep me healthy. They keep me working hard, training toward something at which I want to excel. I remember that now, and dread a little bit what my horrible time will be at my 10K this weekend when I had so been hoping for a PR before my motivation went totally AWOL. But doing something will be better than doing nothing, which is what I'm doing now. The weight is very obviously creeping back on again, and I know that my lack of running is to blame.

I need to start running again not only for my health, but also because I promised my grandfather on his literal death bed that I would run. When I said goodbye to my grandfather in December when he was moved to hospice care, he told me he loved me and to "keep running." I told him I would. But since his death, I have not kept that promise. I feel terribly guilty about that, and that's another reminder for me that I need to be running -- it is part of me.

I am looking forward to the pain of this 10K. I really need to be reminded of the pain. And of the reward that the pain can bring. And just how powerful the runner's high is.

If you follow @fatgirlrunns on Twitter, my latest running slump is no secret.  Namely in the fact that I have not tweeted on that account a whole lot, and when I have, I've noted that I haven't been running. That's a bit of an understatement. The fact is, after I finished my half marathon, I fell out of love with running. From my half marathon at the end of October to the end of November, I ran twice. From the end of November to January 19, I did not run a single step.

The reason for my hiatus was largely a lot of motivational and emotional issues that prevented me from having the desire to run. Working so much and being in school, when I got home at the end of the day, I just wanted to do absolutely nothing. Thankfully, unlike when I was obese, doing nothing at home at the end of the day did not mean eating horrible stuff. But it did mean not running.

Then, on December 31, life took another turn. I suffered a concussion and of course with a traumatic brain injury, you cannot do any physical activity. While I was out of commission with the concussion, about a week after it happened, I suddenly had my "come to Jesus" moment and wanted to run again. But I couldn't. It was a little bit excruciating. I couldn't even play with my kettlebell or hand weights. No physical activity means NO physical activity.

Today, I had my follow-up appointment with my doctor's office to get concussion clearance. I have felt completely fine the past two weeks or so (I only felt symptoms for the first few days after my concussion) but I was still nervous that I would not be cleared. But I passed my neurological exam and I was officially cleared.

I said on Twitter that if I passed, I would run to celebrate. And I did. Chicago was expecting a snowstorm this evening, so I decided after my appointment that I would depart for the gym as soon as possible.

And I did it. I went to the gym for the first time since early November. I put the spandex back on and drove to the gym. Once I got there, the treadmills were pretty stacked with resolutioners, but I managed to find one available. Once I stepped up and stretched a bit, I realized that the treadmill's TV was not working. Initially, I was bummed, but it ended up being the best thing for me in my first foray into running in several months.

Instead of alternately staring at the TV and the run clock, I focused on my own reflection in the unlit television screen. And I ran.

I was planning to take it easy after the brain injury and the layoff, so I started off at a 10-minute mile. But only a few minutes into the run, I literally found myself bumping into the front of the treadmill -- I was trying to run faster than the tread speed. I still felt fine, so I upped the speed a bit. And upped it again. And again.

About 20 minutes into my run, I was feeling a little tired, but I was managing a 9:20 mile on my first real paced run since my half. When I looked at my reflection in the unlit TV screen, I saw a strong woman. I saw a determined woman, a committed woman who wanted to do this. It was probably one of the better runs I've ever had.

So I did it. I was planning on a 30 minute, 3 mile run. I did so, even with a 1:30 walking start. I felt so alive. I felt so happy. I felt invigorated. Today, I remembered that I was made for running. Running makes me happy and makes me feel invincible. I'm back on the horse. I'm back in the game. And hopefully, I'll never stop again.

For today's Elf 4 Health challenge, the charge was self-love times six. Meaning list six things you love about yourself.

This is again an opportune time for this challenge, since I have had the aforementioned motivation troubles and some body hate since I've gained weight (really only a handful of pounds as I've found out) since I haven't been running lately.

So, with this in mind, I will do some self-gratification and be anti-humility and talk about me for a while.

So what do I love about myself?

1. My strength and resolve. Three years ago, I don't think I ever would have imagined having the strength to lose the weight I did. I didn't have the drive, I didn't have the desire, I was in a deep hole of "well, I can't do anything about this, I guess I'll just always be fat." Losing weight and challenging myself revealed to me a tremendous amount about myself. I am stronger and more determined than I could ever know.

2. I have to say, I love my humor. I can walk into a conversation and get people laughing. I'm funnier on the fly, so writing it might not come across as much since I overthink my writing, but in conversation, I'm a quick wit. I'm grateful for that. I think a sense of humor is so important.

3. My strength in my profession. I am damn good at what I do, and everyone in my organization knows it.

4. My determination. A lot of people would balk at the prospect of working full-time (sometimes over 50 hours a week) and also going to graduate school at an institution like Northwestern University while juggling 20-some miles a week (when I run), but I do it. I don't know how, but I do it. I do it because I know all of it will make me better.

5. My body. Yep, I'll say it. Nope, it's absolutely not perfect. Far from it. Since losing weight, I've got loose skin all over the place, I've got the ghosts of old stretch marks from gaining weight, and I don't think my thighs will ever be smaller than they are (blame the childhood of figure skating) but it is a whole lot better than it was. It's more fun to shop for this body too. And I worked really hard to get it. It feels sort of nice to have worked for this rather than be one of those people who just has those genes where they can eat a whole pizza and not gain a pound. While that would be nice, working for it ensures that you don't take it for granted.

6. This sometimes is also a fault, but my unfailing need to not disappoint people. Disappointing people is one of my very least favorite things in the world. It is a horrible feeling to know you've disappointed someone, particularly if it is someone close to you like a family member, friend, or even a coworker. I try very hard to make sure I don't disappoint people. It is a fault at times like I mentioned beause it means that I can really overextend myself in terms of the lengths to which I go in order to make sure I don't disappoint people. However, it does mean that I'm at least a mildly decent person to not want to disappoint anyone!

And there we have it. You know, going through that self-love list and really thinking about my answers, I got a little ego boost. It felt nice to think about things that I am really good at or that are really good qualities about myself.

What do you love about yourself?

Today's #Elf4Health challenge is to write a list of 20 things for which we are grateful. It's perfect timing for this challenge.

I haven't written a lot of posts lately mainly because I haven't run a lot lately. I've run maybe three times in the past month. I'm struggling with motivation right now and am going through a rough patch mentally and stress-wise.

Additionally, for the past few weeks, my 91-year-old grandfather (my father's father) has been in the hospital. He is my last remaining grandparent, as we have already lost both my mother's parents (in 2001 and 2004) and my father's mother (2006).

My grandfather lost one kidney's function several years ago. Last week, after being in the hospital for a few days, doctors discovered three tumors on his remaining kidney, which was working at less than 50% function. It's the reason he had been bleeding and losing several units of blood a day. He was being kept alive with constant transfusions, but after the tumor discovery, the treatment options were quite limited for a 91-year-old. Surgery would be probably uselessly invasive and who knows how someone at his age and weakened state would react to anesthesia.

The decision was made to move him to hospice, which occurred yesterday. His move to hospice meant the immediate end of the transfusions. Doctors said that once the transfusions ended, he would pass within 2-5 days.

He lives in nearby Northwest Indiana, so I had been planning to make the visit to say goodbye on Saturday as it was. They moved him to hospice in the morning (we'd been expecting an afternoon move) so once my mother and I arrived, he was just settled into the hospice room.

He slept the whole day, but he woke long enough for me to talk to him for a bit. I am so grateful to have that last time with him. The first thing he did was thank me for the card, which I'd written to him as part of the "Write a hand-written note" Elf 4 Health challenge earlier this week. He told me to keep running, and I said I would. I intend to keep that promise.

Amazingly, despite his weakened state, he still had a lot of his wit about him. At one point he opened his eyes, looked at my uncle Art and said, "Art, you would have been a great athlete." As we were all cracking up, he paused and then said, "But you were too smart."

He was spouting out one-liners all day, albeit slowly and in a muffled tone that at times was difficult to understand. It just shows you the kind of man my grandfather is. Barely conscious and he's still as sarcastic as ever. He is a wonderful man, so generous and compassionate and kind. He will be very much missed.

With that in mind, here is my gratitude list. I am grateful for:

1. The time I had with my grandfather before his passing.
2. My wonderful family, who I got to spend a lot of time with yesterday. There are some family members that I had not seen in a long time because of how far away they live. Particularly my uncle Art and aunt Trisha. My uncle Art just had surgery last week to remove his prostate due to prostate cancer, and he still got on a plane from Boston to say goodbye to his father. My family is truly remarkable and I'm so happy to have had that time.
3. My beautiful home, which I own.
4. My great job, at which I am truly valued and trusted.
5. My friends, who have shown an outpouring of wonderful support during this tough time.
6. My health, which I worked hard to achieve.
7. This beautiful city in which I live (OK fine so I live like a mile from the Chicago city border, close enough) and the community here in my town, particularly my running club.
8. My graduate school program, which is helping toward my dream of working in sports.
   
9. On to the slightly more frivolous things: the Washington Capitals.
10. Alex Ovechkin.
    
11. Coffee.
12. Relatedly, my Keurig.
    
13. Books and music.
14. Wine.
15. The Walking Dead.
16. Having a warm home on this snowy day.
17. Brooks running shoes.
18. My new printer that I just got which is pretty baller and you know, works.
19. Photography.
20. Musicals.

What are you grateful for this holiday season?