I'm tired. And my feet hurt. I have walked about a million miles since I got to New York on Tuesday. Now anyone who's ever been to New York knows that unless you hire your own personal driver you're going to have to walk. But I have been walking about 10 times more than that.

When I moved to San Diego I weighed 180 pounds, which is a great weight for someone 6'0" tall. In truth I was in almost the best shape of my life. I had spent the year before running and working out almost everyday. Of course it's easy when your boyfriend gets up every morning to go to the gym and drags your lazy ass with him. So it hadn't been a lot of work. I have always been very aware of my body and have never had the best self image. So when I say I was looking good. I was looking good. So much so that when I got to San Diego I spent a month on Black's Beach, the nude beach, before school started.

The catch to all of this is that I had broken my foot in July before I moved to San Diego, so any kind of physical activity was limited and I was stuck on crutches for almost 2 months. So needless to say there wasn't much running or working out. Thus started the weight gain. Now I have battled my weight my whole life. When I graduated from undergrad I weighed 237. And then lost it. When I moved to NYC the first time I weighed 268. I managed to get that off and keep it off in the first year thanks to my friend M.L. But that's a story for another day.

By the time I got back to New York for Christmas I had gained enough weight to notice. At least that's what my boyfriend D.L.C. said. The first words out of his mouth when I opened the door were "You've gotten fat." A hello or I've missed you would have been nice but that was not the case. Then December 20th rolled around and after being sick all weekend my appendix burst and I ended up in St. Vincent's Hospital where I was to remain for 8 days. Now if any of you have ever suffered thru this I don't need to tell you the pain. If you haven't. When it started I thought I was giving birth to quadruplets...at the same time. After the surgery, not so much pain thanks to a clever little morphine drip. I was so high that week that I don't remember much of anything from the first two of three days.

When I was released from the hospital I was forbidden once again to do any physical activity and with the pain that I was still feeling I wouldn't have considered it. It was almost three months before all the effects of the appendix and surgery were gone and it was now almost nine months since I had last worked out. I had put on more weight.

By the time I got back to NYC for the summer I had gained a total of about 25-30 pounds. D.L.C. was not happy about it. He didn't say much but would throw out little barbs every so often. The reason he didn't say much, he was saving it up. On the morning before I was to leave to go back to San Diego to start my second year of school, he tells me he is breaking up with me because of the weight that I have gained. He gave me about 15 minutes to process this and then the car picked me up and took me to the airport. (I have never seen him again.)

By the time I got back to San Diego I was a mess. And I remained a mess for almost 3 months. How does someone who has told me he loves me, break up with me for such a little reason. There is more to the story but I'll share that later.

Fastforward almost two years. I have returned to New York and now I weigh what I think is more than 270 pounds. I refuse to step on a scale. I hate the way I look and do everything I can to hide it. But it's hard to hide a cow under a shirt. The point is I am tired of it. It's time to be thin again.

Back to the walking. I don't have the money for a gym membership right now. And I am too fat to run. So I walk. I have been walking several extra miles a day since I got back. I don't know how long it will take. But this is something that I have to do. I don't like looking like this. I don't like seeing people I knew before I moved seeing me like this now. And more than anything I don't want D.L.C. to see me like this. It will only prove his point and my pride won't allow that.

So wish me luck. And I'll keep you guys posted as to how it's going. As I said I don't know about weight loss because I don't want to know what I weigh. However, soon the clothes will be fitting looser and I start to look better, which will make me feel better, and before you know it, I'll be my old happy thin self.