How is there still fat there?!?  I am always amazed after I work out to the point of a) passing out, b) throwing up or c) rupturing something...that I don't look different afterwards. Of course, there must be muscle under all these layers but I can't help but feel a little like an onion...you keep peeling layer after layer, thinking it will be the last one, only to find 20 more.  Oh, and you cry alot. Peel a little, cry a little, peel a little, cry a little, cheep, cheep, cheep, cry a lot, peel a little more.    

I worked out so hard today, I felt like Popeye (after spinach, of course).  I thought my arms were going to fall off. Tomorrow, I won't be able to hold my toothbrush.  I'll just have to set it down next to the bathroom sink and move my teeth back and forth over it. Forget reaching, pointing or waving.  Good thing I'll be on a plane to Texas tomorrow, because I don't think I can drive.

I saw an episode of Oprah a few years ago.  Bob Green, Oprah's trainer, was speaking to a frustrated audience, most of whom felt like they'd done everything to lose weight but just couldn't.  He said something so interesting. According to Bob, most people have tried to diet and most people have tried to exercise but rarely do they focus on the two equally and simultaneously.  

I smell what you're steppin' in, Bob!  I watch episodes of the Biggest Loser and see their five-hour-a-day workouts and pine for the opportunity to have someone push me like that.  But the thought of planning, preparing and cooking healthy meals sounds about as fun to me as watching paint dry.  Actually, depending on the color, watching paint dry might be more fun.  I cannot recall a happy memory from childhood that did not involve food.  When I was little, my mother (a single parent) worked full time and my grandfather would pick me up from school everyday.  I can still remember the glee of running out the door of Emerson Elementary to see his white Oldsmobile parked at the curb.  Before we went home, we always stopped at Baskin-Robbins for ice cream.  This was when Baskin-Robbins had orange floors and pink chairs...and when they actually had 31 flavors.  I can still remember pressing myself against the ice cream freezers...the glass would be cold but you could feel the heat from the motors blowing at your feet.  He would get vanilla and I would get mint chocolate chip.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  For Einstein, E=mc2.  For me, mint chocolate chip=happiness.

But I digress.  I promised I would introduce you to John Street, my hairdresser, and show you the worst photo ever taken of me (that I haven't immediately destroyed, at least).  I am only showing you because a) you can't have a weight loss slash life transformation blog without a "before" photo and b) I am confident that the "after" photos will make up for the initial horror.

I met John a couple of years ago when I first moved to Pasadena. He was a kid really, but already owned his own salon.  I immediately adored him because:

a) He is adorable

b) He is from Texas (I traveled 1100 miles to find a California hairdresser from Texas)

c) He has four kids and still wears his hair "party in the front and business in the back"

and

d) I can talk to John about anything.  Nothing is off limits.  We actually talked about the pros and cons of bikini waxing last visit. I don't know...there's something about a man washing your hair that makes you feel comfortable talking about anything.