This is the first time I have ever blogged about anything, but this feels important enough to be my first. When I was in junior high I used to keep a journal that I would write in every night before bed, chronicling all of that days’ dramas, boys, frustrations, and other pent up feelings. It was a way for me to find out who I was at such an important time in my life. It was the only place where I could put all my crappy worries and true feelings and not have to jusify them to anyone. When I was 16, I gave up writing and traded up for a car. Now when I was frustrated or lonely or mad, I could literally go away. Who needs to write about things and develop a thumb cramp every night to escape when you can just…. drive…. away? So that’s what I did, I drove away and went to the grocery store to pick up a Three Musketeer bar or to McD’s for a cheeseburger or Oreo McFlurry. Why not? I was young and free!
Fast foward 10 years to modern day life. I’m a happy woman. I have a great husband who really knows and loves me, an unbelievably cool kid who can make me smile at the drop of a dime, and I literally live in paradise. I’ve moved, changed jobs, changed friends, got married, moved again, bought a house, had a baby, sold the house, moved again… you get the idea. But the one constant, the one center I have always had in my life is my weight. In all my 26 years of living, I have ALWAYS been overweight, sometimes more than others. In the effort of bluntness, there has never been a time in my life that my thighs have not touched. Never went to the beach in a bikini, never ran more than a mile and a half, (gym class, and I didn’t even run the whole thing) never wore anything in a single digit. Okay, I lied… At my skinniest in 10th grade I was able to squeeze into a hideous pair of size 8 jeans. They were the type that was popular for a flash in 2000, like bell bottoms on crack, measuring 60 inches on the bottom leg hem, and were way too expensive for my student budget, but just because I could squeeze into them, I had to buy them. Granted I only wore them once, but kept them for five more years…I needed to keep the proof that anything was possible! I grew up in a house with two older sisters, Amy and Amanda, and a younger brother, Brandon. Amy was always the pretty one, Amanda the smart one, and I was always the funny but fat one. And I was okay with that…let’s face it, living in America, I am not in the minority…I am the norm, the medium, the accepted. 61.3% of American people are either overweight or obese, and I was just one of the crowd! I went years not knowing how much I weighed…I didn’t think it mattered because my husband was still loving me, my family never said anything, and I was happy…who cares if I have to buy new pants every other month because I was growing out of them, or rubbing through the inside of them. It wasn’t until my first check up in my pregnancy that I found out the extent of my lax lifestyle. The nurse asked me how much I weighed before I got pregnant and I had to do some quick math in my head. ‘Now lets see, right before I got married I was 175, and I know that I have gained some weight in the four years since then, so, rounding up, let’s say 220.’ “220!” I tell the nurse as I step on the scale. “Okay…” she says, “Have you gained a lot in the 13 weeks so far? because I have you at 267.” My jaw fell open…for the first time in my life I was speechless and was in a daze the rest of the appointment, just repeating in my head, ‘ 267, 267, what the crap happened? 267, oh my gosh!’ I went home and cried. Nothing I could do about it at that point, I was already knocked up, so massive amounts of hard core exercise with eating 800 calories a day wouldn’t work…had to think about the seahorse now residing in my belly. After a tramatic premature birth and weeks in the NICU for my new son, I resolved to do something about it.
So, just like the first step in any addict’s recovery program is admitting you have a problem, I finally admit it and believe it. No more denying the fact that I am big…I’ve done that for too long, and look at where it has gotten me. Now, the scary part…telling other people my problem, the statistics of my situation…you ready? I am 26 years old, 5’61/2 inches tall and the last time I weighed myself, I was 261 pounds. Holy Hades, that is at the same time terrifying and liberating to say. Terrifying because you do not have to be a scientist or a dietician or a physicist to realize that that (261) is HUGE! Liberating because believe it or not, that is not the heaviest I’ve been… (we’ll save that number for later!)
I’m done with it…I want to be healthy, I want to go shopping and not go to the XL sizes right away; the selections are so much better in medium! I want my son to grow up and run with me, want to play soccer and football with me, not be embarrassed at parent-teacher conferences that his mom can’t fit in his desk. I want my husband to be able to pick me up if he wants to, to catch his breath when I walk into a room, to be wary of other men I talk to because he thinks they could be checking me out. I want to be an example to my family of someone who finally lost the weight and got healthy despite the crappy genetics we were given. But above all, I want my thighs to stop touching…it’s enough already! So come along, hold me accountable, laugh at me, push me, because I’m finally ready, and I know that I will do whatever it takes to lose it and be who I feel like I was meant to be…inside and out!