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" \nAs I got ready for my 25th birthday party, I looked in the mirror and burst into tears. I&amp;#039;d bought a dress for the occasion\u2014a short, black, slinky number. Under the warm lighting of the store, I&amp;#039;d been fooled into thinking that I looked great and I could mask my discontent in a layer of silk. Back in my apartment, I saw the truth: I was overweight and unhappy.  I&amp;#039;d been a normal weight and active growing up, doing gymnastics and playing tennis in high school. But once I graduated college, my workouts were reduced to half-hearted Spinning sessions, and it would have taken a miraculous metabolism to combat my new love for Chinese takeout and beer. By my birthday, I was carrying close to 200 pounds on my 5-foot-5 frame.  I forced myself to go out that night\u2014I couldn&amp;#039;t skip my own party!\u2014but spent it watching my girlfriends flirt with the guys whom I wanted to be talking to. Why would they talk to chubby me? The night ended as it started: with me sobbing.  It wasn&amp;#039;t only about my weight: I hated where I was professionally. I spent my days at a dry-as-dust trade magazine when I wanted to be at a glossy magazine like the one you&amp;#039;re reading now. If I could change one thing, I thought, maybe I could be as carefree as other girls. So I zeroed in on my weight. I dropped a few pounds and bought a pair of Citizens of Humanity jeans\u2014the biggest size buttoned, a victory I hadn&amp;#039;t tasted in years. I vowed to make them actually fit by my 26th birthday, so I wouldn&amp;#039;t have to spend another party hating myself. It wasn&amp;#039;t the first time I said it, and I&amp;#039;m sure nobody believed me. I wasn&amp;#039;t sure I believed myself.  I went to my gym and asked for the trainer who would kick my ass. They set me up with Joel, a small but buff guy. He put me on the scale, and it was brutal: 189 pounds. &amp;quot;What do I need to lose?&amp;quot; I asked. &amp;quot;Fifty pounds,&amp;quot; he told me. I knew I was overweight, but seriously? I asked if I could aim for 160 instead. &amp;quot;Nope,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;You can do this.&amp;quot;  We lifted weights twice a week, and Joel wrote out instructions for three or four more workouts I was to do on my own. I was terrified of trying the StepMill and intervals on a treadmill, but he shrugged off my excuses. I&amp;#039;d step off, beet red and drenched, embarrassed that what was probably an easy workout to everyone else felt impossible to me.  Joel also put me on a strict diet, swapping the fried and processed food I&amp;#039;d lived on for tons of vegetables and lean protein. I fought him kicking and screaming\u2014until it started working. I held myself to one or two drinks on Friday nights, knowing that I had an early training session Saturday mornings. It was nice not to wake up hungover and, instead, do something that felt awesome. I floated home from the gym, knowing that every workout was getting me closer to my goal. A Pinch-Me Period The pounds were falling off, and it gave me a confidence that extended far beyond my appearance\u2014or maybe unearthed a confidence and discipline I didn&amp;#039;t realize had been there. I was making new friends and dating. I started a blog, Losing Weight in the City, and it was well-received\u2014so many readers could relate to my struggles. Soon, I managed to parlay my blog into a job doing social-media strategy for one of those glossy magazines I had always dreamed about.  Just two years after I spent my 25th birthday crying, I was living the happy life that had seemed so elusive that night. I had actually lost 50 pounds. The websites that wouldn&amp;#039;t even give me an interview were now writing stories about me. Fitness studios were inviting me for private classes to review on my blog. The girl who thought her friends were crazy for running was training for a marathon. Blog readers I&amp;#039;d never met were asking me questions about weight loss and fitness. Eventually, I found a new job doing social media at a PR agency. I volunteered to handle social media for the 3,000-volunteer New York Junior League, and I began training for my third marathon, hoping to slice 20 minutes off my personal best. And Then a Crash For a while, it seemed like I could handle it all. I learned to stretch my physical limits and take on more, always with a cheery, ready-to-excel attitude. If I could lose 50 pounds, I could do anything, right?  But I couldn&amp;#039;t. Last September, I had a series of crippling panic attacks. I was sitting at my desk at work, and the weight of everything I&amp;#039;d taken on suddenly felt physically crushing\u2014my heart raced, and my breathing became shallow. I somehow got myself to my doctor; even sitting in the waiting room made my anxiety skyrocket. By the time I saw the nurse, my blood pressure was 150/90. When she handed me a prescription for Xanax, the tears started to flow again.  That night, my parents and two friends came over, and we talked all night. I hadn&amp;#039;t wanted to share my anxiety\u2014I was supposed to be a healthy role model\u2014but the more we talked, the more I realized my friends had felt the same thing. And when I posted about my panic on my blog, the comments rolled in, and I realized I wasn&amp;#039;t remotely alone. I started seeing a therapist, who reminded me that losing 50 pounds hadn&amp;#039;t made me into Superwoman. I didn&amp;#039;t have to be perfect, say yes to every invitation, or take on every project. My therapist also helped me manage my anxiety with deep breathing and meditation, and I haven&amp;#039;t had any major panic attacks since the first. I&amp;#039;m also trying to stick to my exercise routine, because it helps control my stress too. That night in front of the mirror, I felt powerless to change. I shifted my life into drive when I lost weight and then into overdrive when I tasted success and recognized my potential and how much I was capable of. I hold myself to higher standards now\u2014but sometimes too high.  Still, if the high of losing weight pushed me close to the edge, it was also what helped pull me back. When I feel anxious or overwhelmed, I remind myself of the real lesson of losing 50 pounds: Not that I can do everything, but that I deserve to put myself first. Sometimes that means doing less, saying no. I may never put my life on cruise control, but I&amp;#039;m recognizing that sometimes, I need to hit the brakes. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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