Behind Closed Doors

It all started with a pair of pants.

Those ones, to be exact. Last year in the beginning of my season I bought a new pair of work pants because the ones I brought weren't comfortable. As you can imagine, women's work pants are few and far between, so many women end up buying men's pants. I wore those pants all season and by the end I noticed that I really did need those amazing American flag print suspenders to hold them up. We worked like horses and ate like bigger horses, so I was in a place where I had burned a lot of fat but bulked up, too. When I came home at the end of August I gave those pants to Adam so he could wear them as "everyday" pants. Transitioning back to Boston and into a new job was really stressful, and I wasn't nearly burning the calories I did over the summer. One day in October as I folded freshly dried laundry I came upon those pants and tried to put them on for kicks. 

Not. A Chance. 

This is my anti-weight-loss story. On social media you see people's inspiring weight loss stories, which is great. Good for them (not sarcasm). You never see: "Finally, after all this hard work, I'm 10 pounds heavier!". No one wants to show off the fact they gained weight. My weight gain, like many others, has taken place behind closed doors. 

I was never particularly thin, but also never overweight. I watched my weight like anyone else, but it

wasn't until college when I really dropped weight. I lost it for all the wrong reasons: I was stressed, I wasn't taking care of my body, and the food at my school was terrible. I was perpetually sick. But, for the first time, my pants size dropped. I felt a little more confident "showing off". Then, in 2010, I tore my meniscus and had a small tear in my MCL. I was on crutches, making me a couch potato for about 6 weeks. Once I got off crutches I walked with a bulky knee brace, and a few months later I started physical therapy. I knew I gained weight during that time (who wouldn't?), but when I saw the photo of myself (right) I nearly flipped. It was the first time I realized how much weight I had gained throughout my recovery, and I decided it was time to change that.

I wouldn't say I went to the extreme, but I did start meticulously count calories. A few pounds came off pretty easily, so I upped my time at the gym and kept on my strict calorie limit. When I hit 125 pounds I wanted to get to 120. It was less about my body and more about the sense of accomplishment. In short, it was miserable. I was hungry and irritable. Anyone that has ever dieted knows this. I started to get those joking comments about how thin I was, and to my surprise I wasn't comfortable with it. It was a weird battle in my mind: I was proud of my self-control and not afraid to show off my body, but I felt awkward when people made comments about it (even in a friendly way). It never got out of control, but I did get down to the lower end of a healthy weight for my height. 

Eventually I started to feel like shit and I got sick of it. I was moody and I didn't feel well. I started running and quickly I realized that I needed to cut the crap and fuel my body well. The more I ran the more I needed to eat, and the less I cared about how many calories I ate. 

Finish line & time of my 10k

I started entering 5k fun runs, Spartan races, etc. I think that's when I finally hit the balance of exercise and food that made me a lean, mean, fighting machine. Then I met Adam, who eats more food than anyone I have ever met.

Cupcakes, anyone?

Now, this is not Adam's fault. We're an active pair (though we do enjoy being couch potatoes, too). There's a big difference between cooking for yourself and cooking for two. Meals aren't really an event when you're single. You're just eating to eat. For those that don't know, Adam has 12, yes twelve, food allergies. I had to learn how to cook meals for us and took great pride in being able to make delicious things that he could eat. Did I already mention that he eats more food than anyone I have ever met? He can easily eat quadruple the amount of a normal person... and he weighs about 125 pounds soaking wet. I go could on, but the most important thing is that I started to really enjoy mealtimes again and ate more than usual because I made such huge meals to accommodate Adam's ridiculous appetite. 

I went from 125ish pounds to about 135 pounds from mid-2013 to mid-2014. I didn't weigh myself at all last summer during my field season, but I would guess I gained a few pounds of muscle but was much more toned. I was bulkier but super in shape.

The timeline now takes us to fall of 2014, when I tried to fit into my work pants and almost couldn't get them over my ass.  Everyone in trail work jokes of "getting fat in the off season" because we work so hard all summer and just want to be lazy bums, and of course I said "not me!". I realized then that I was wrong, and I hit my breaking point and had a boo-hoo about it. I did gain weight; fat, not muscle mass. Adam assured me I wasn't fat, and I heard him but none of my pants fit well anymore. I didn't want to be skinny, I just wanted to fit into my damn clothes. After a few weeks I eventually let go of the fact I was not going to fit into those size 0 or size 2 or size 4 pants again, and I got rid of them. For weeks I had eyed my "skinny jeans" (not the cut, but the one pair of jeans everyone has that they fit into at their skinniest) and never dared tried them on. They and their partners are off in the world of clothing donations. 

I was at peace... kind of. I had made half-attempts at losing a few pounds, and nothing worked. I thought maybe this was just my body now. This was just how it would be. I wasn't 18 anymore. It was somewhat liberating, but not satisfying enough.

It wasn't until recently that I opened up to friends about it in a real way, not in a way that mocked myself or joked about how none of my pants fit anymore. I got the sense that a lot of people my age gained weight after college, and they were all having trouble losing it. And it wasn't like they gained 50 pounds, they gained maybe 5, 10, 15 pounds, and the pounds weren't coming off like they used to. 

So now, 10 months after I noticed my pants didn't fit very well anymore, I'm finally starting to be more comfortable. I will say that my current weight of 145ish pounds (it varies between 143-147ish) is still in a healthy weight range for me. As I approach 25 I realize that while I'm still young my body is different than it was seven years ago. I don't want to fight to get back to those size 2 or size 4 pants lingering around into my drawer somewhere, not because I'm lazy but because I don't want to be miserable. Sometimes I still cringe when I buy something one or two sizes bigger than I used to, and I still dread bathing suit season like everyone else does. I wish my thighs didn't rub together, but whatever. I am choosing to stay active and healthy, watch what I eat, and my body will do whatever it will. If I can lose 10 pounds, fine, if I work and work and work and only lose 2 pounds then so be it. I don't take this statement lightly because I know it will be a mental battle and I still may not be comfortable every time I look in the mirror.

Overall, I hope this resonates with some people. Weight loss is always in the spotlight, but weight gain is shunned until it's highlighted on a shows like my 800lb life or whatever it's called. Gaining 5, 10, 15 pounds can also be a struggle when you're trying to lose it and nothing is happening, or you're trying to accept that being ten pounds heavier is okay (as long as it's in a healthy range). We talk about weight loss and significant weight gain, but never the middle ground where so many of us are.

Oh, and I got new work pants ;)

I Would Drive 2,280 Miles, and I Would Drive 0 More.

I don't even really know where to start to describe what the past 24 days (yes, I counted) have been like. I guess I'll start in the best place to start a story: the beginning. Fancy that.

This whole tornadic period started with a 5.5 hour drive to nowheresville, Maine. The first 4.5 hours of driving brought us out of Massachusetts, through New Hampshire, and into sparsely populated areas of Maine. After being off the highway for about an hour with not much in between, we hit Greenville, ME.

I have a beef with Greenville, Maine.

Greenville's ER, 2009. I am sad.

How can I have a beef with a place as small as Greenville (population 1,646)? Well, I never liked Maine growing up because we always went there (I was a brat, and nothing is as good as New Hampshire, especially not its neighbors). I finally decided to give Maine another shot in 2009 when I went up to Moosehead Lake with Idolyn and her family. On our first day of this Let's-Give-Maine-A-Shot vacation, we set up chairs at a small public beach to enjoy the morning lakeside. Almost immediately I was bit by some heinous bug and within the hour my hand was about twice the size. I spent the day in Greenville's excuse for an emergency room, and the rest of the trip I was couch-bound on steroids and Benadryl. So, eight years later I decided once again I had to give Maine a chance and returned to the scene of the crime. Thankfully, we just passed through Greenville on our way to AMC's Gorman Chairback Lodge. 

It took us 4.5 hours to drive the first 274 miles, and one hour to drive the last 19. Gorman Chairback is nestled on a lake near Chairback Mountain and is only accessible by logging roads. We bumped, swerved, and plodded our way meticulously down roads meant for, well, logging trucks... not low-clearance Saturns. Our beloved Ritz got us to our destination, though, and once I saw it I realized instantly that Maine ain't so bad.... at least it's not Vermont.

We enjoyed the views, took out a canoe, went on a short hike, then indulged in a communal dinner and wine before retiring to our cabin for the night. Our one regret was not being able to stay longer. 

Cabin at Gorman Chairback Lodge

The next day it was back to Greenville to poke around town and meet Adam's new coworkers. To get to Adam's new home, what they call "The Farm", requires a 20 mile drive north of Greenville. Eventually the road turns to dirt and brings you down another logging road for about 6 miles to his new home. It's a stressful place to try to navigate, as there are no names for roads, random criss-crossing roads and forks, and no hope of cell service/GPS. I stuck around to settle Adam into his new home, an 8'x10' canvas tent (same thing as I lived in last summer). The moment we had been dreading finally came, and we had to say goodbye.

I had a quiet but peaceful 4.5ish hour drive to northern New Hampshire. I was headed to Camp Dodge for seasonal staff training, the same training I went through up north last year. The route took me past forests, fields, farms, and tiny towns. Thought most of it was very beautiful, the amount of vacant and crumbling houses made it clear that rural poverty is very prevalent in northern New England. At one point I decided I was hungry and began looking for places to stop. 30 minutes later the only food establishment I had seen was crumbling to the ground and had a "closed" sign crookedly tacked to a door. The next few were in gas stations that simply stated "FOOD" may be inside. Once I saw a sign for Subway, but it was 14 miles in the wrong direction. Finally I resigned to eating a $2 slice of pizza at a gas station.

New beginnings 

I celebrated my one-year anniversary of working with the AMC. Really, I just celebrated in my own head, but it was cool to return to the place I started this journey one year ago. I've always felt at home in the White Mountains, and same as last year it eased the transition I was going through.

In AMC tradition, I got my double-bit axe for my second season leading. I busted out my new work gloves and went to town restoring and hanging that axe, and rehanging my single bit (boohoo). The double bit took 6 hours to hang, the single bit took 30 minutes (AGAIN). Every axe is different, I suppose.

It was a great first week and I got to catch up with old friends and meet new ones. I opted to stay for the first half of the second week when the hands-on trail work training was happening, mostly because I wanted to improve my skills but also because it was a great excuse to stay up north.

Can't beat it

I took part in and helped lead a rock work training. Non-trails folks give me a funny look when I saw rock work. The short explanation means we're building structures with rock (as opposed to timber or just soil). The two days leading up to the start of the week had been rainy, grey, wet, and in the 40s. Even before the rain came it was regularly low 40s-high 30s at night. We got dumped on for two more days with highs in 40s. The long story short is that my group's work site turned into a total slop pit. I've worked mud, I've worked in bad mud, and this was the deepest mud I've worked in. It was to our calves in some spots. Imagine trying to move a 300+ pound rock in calf deep mud. Sometimes it's so terrible it's comical.

Midweek we got a call that Adam's uncle was taking a turn for the worse. After some running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get in touch with him in the field we finally arranged for me to leave early and go get him in Maine. I retraced my steps back to Maine for a bittersweet reunion.

My favorite backwoods Maine "billboard"

I still had some obligations in MA over the weekend, including leading to days of volunteer events for National Trails Day. Life was kind of a whirlwind, we were happy to be together by grieving a death in the family, but I was excited for these events because we were posting the signs I scouted and ordered over the winter. AMC's sign shop made the signs early this year and they finally went in the ground! It was great to see the tangible result of one of my projects, and get praises from trail users the minute they went in the ground.

Once the weekend ended we drove 10 hours to the Pittsburgh area to be with family and attend funeral services for Adam's uncle. Funerals are great at bringing people together for shitty reasons.  Soon enough we were back in the car for another 10 hour drive to Boston, where I had to come back and work for two days before bringing Adam back to Maine.

Now, at this point we had both just about had it with sitting our asses in the car for long periods of time. I became really good at entertaining myself for long periods of time. I downloaded a bucketload of podcasts, I put lots of thought into the most optimal position to sit in (and tested them ALL), I pondered the meaning of life, the usual. We drove back to Maine on Friday and visited Bangor (not a whole lot to see) before meeting up with Adam's coworkers to see Jurrasic World. I desperately tried to stay awake on our hour and a half drive from Bangor to the Farm (nothing in Maine is close. Nothing) in hopes of seeing a moose. It's been years since I've seen a moose, and reportedly they were seeing them almost daily. Suddenly, Adam roused me from my optimal car-sleeping-position (something I have also studied intently) to see a young but still very large moose in the middle of the road. I was instantly excited but mildly horrified that we might be about to die via moose into the windshield. That moose ran off the road soon after, and 60 seconds later I woke up to Adam slamming on the breaks as we saw an even bigger moose run, skid to a stop, and run back into the woods, almost hitting the car in front of us in the process. 

The next day Adam showed me around camp more before we went into town. Before we even made it 5 minutes down the road, Adam realized we had a coolant leak in the car. I don't know much about cars, but it seemed like if this leak was coming from the wrong place (engine block or something) then we were screwed. I said to myself "Well, Molly, you might live in Maine now". We got to the car parts store 30 minutes before they closed to get some... something, whatever it was, hoping that it would work or else I would have a very interesting drive home. Before I faced what seemed to be inevitable doom in a car fire, we walked checked out a craft fair and grabbed some lunch. My absolute favorite part of the craft fair was this old dude rocking an American flag shirt, camo pants, and a Veterans hat. He made all the walking sticks you see. AMERICA. 

So, it was back to the car, and this time a car that may potentially explode. I put on my zen-long-distance-driving-cap and made it home fine. Whatever quick fix we did seemed to work. 

We drove 2,280 miles since the first time I dropped him off, which is like driving from Boston to the Colorado/Utah border. I'm glad the driving is over, but now I'm back, and back for real. My time at Dodge was like summer camp, and if I got lonely I could just walk 30 seconds and hang out with people. Here I'm living in our apartment by myself, and it's way too quiet. It's been a rough two days trying to transition back, but hopefully it will get easier. My goal is to stay as busy as possible and surround myself with my friends and family as much as I can.