HOW I GOT HERE

I was reading another blog (which is insanely, AMAZINGLY well written and overwhelming in the best possible way) in which the author posted about her struggle with weight and how she had felt various feelings of inadequacy, loathing, despair and hatred regarding her body for most of her life. It blew me away. Because I thought that all those thoughts were just in my head.

When I was five my mom took me to the pediatrician because she was concerned about my weight. I don't know what I weighed at five, but if you look at pictures of me then I look like a pretty normal kid. Tall for my age, but not fat. Not even chubby. Just a kid.

When I was seven we moved across the state. I didn't fit in from day one. I was taller than almost every kid in my class. A trend that would continue until junior high when the boys started to catch up with me. By now if you look at pictures of me I am still carrying around some baby fat, but still not a fat kid. We also didn't have a lot of money. I didn't realize that then, but I found out much later as an adult that we were barely making ends meet for several years after we moved.

I had a hard time making friends after we moved. Kids can be cruel and they were relentless. I was not a very coordinated kid. I wasn't very good at sports, so I avoided them. I loved to read. So I did. All the time. A fact that didn't aid in making a whole lot of friends. Well the librarian and I were good buddies, but she was like 80! I wore out-of-style, hand me down clothes from friends because money was tight. I quickly became a target. I was labeled a geek, a nerd, white trash, poor, fat, stupid, smelly (because OBVIOUSLY fat and smelly go hand in hand! Didn't you know that?), etc. I know now that all of those labels were just that, labels, but at the time they HURT. And at the time, I believed them.

By 11 I was 5'10". I stood out like a sore thumb. My lack of coordination had turned into full blown awkwardness. If I could trip over, it I did. If I could drop it, I would. If it could be spilled or knocked over, count on me. And by then I had no friends other than books. I HATED physical activity because I was so bad at every sport I encountered, and teased constantly for my poor performance when I did participate. I found food and it found me. And every pound that went with it. I went from a little chubby to fat my 5th grade year. I think I was at about 175 by the end of the school year.

My parents, with only the best of intentions, told me how unhappy I would be if I didn't loose weight. I was already unhappy, so that wasn't really a news flash. My mother told me that if I would not gain any more weight she would buy me a new wardrobe. Then by 6th grade she told me that if I would just loose 30 pounds (I was up to 185) she would take me to Portland (5 hours away) to buy me a new wardrobe with no limits on the cost. Nothing motivated me to change. I didn't know that there was a relation between what I ate and weight gain. The fact that I kept packing on the pounds was truly baffling to me. I was only 12! Nutrition wasn't taught in school then. And I don't think my parents really had a good grasp on nutrition at the time. They just knew that what I was doing didn't work.

At this point my parents decided to take matters into their own hands. If I couldn't control myself, they would do it for me. When the family had dessert, I was excused. If my brothers had soda, I had water. If seconds were available, I had none. I retaliated by sneaking food. I had a part time job delivering newspapers by then. I should have been loosing weight like crazy because I was walking 2 miles a day delivering papers. But I was also eating like a maniac. I had to collect monthly payment from each of my customers. Most paid cash. My route took me through the college campus. The land of vending machines. I knew how much I had to pay the newspaper every month to purchase my papers. The rest was mine. The rest went into the vending machines. I stashed chips, candy bars, gummi bears, fruit pies, licorice, snack cakes and more under my bed and in the closet. Every time my parents denied me what my brothers got I went into my stash. Every time I had a bad day, I went to the stash. Every time I had a fight with my mom, I went to the stash. This went on for two years. I packed on about 35 pounds.


I remember a family gathering where we all went out to dinner. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, the whole shebang. I stared at the menu forever. My mother was getting frustrated with me because I wanted fish and chips. I was told to pick the "Diet Plate" (Yes, the actual name of the menu item was the DIET PLATE) or a salad. I was in tears. I couldn't bring myself to say the words "Diet Plate" to the server. My mom ordered the Diet Plate for me. And now that I was crying and all eyes were on me, she announced EVERYONE that they (my parents) were so concerned about my weight and that I was going to look so different the next time they all saw me. Talk about MORTIFIED! Funny thing is, I recently saw pictures that were taken of me on that vacation. I am not fat. In fact, I am about 15-20 pounds over what my goal weight is now in those photos. A little chubby, yes. Fat no. But if you would have asked me then, I was HUGE. And a complete and utter failure as a human being.


8th grade year I made "friends" with a group of girls and their eating disorders. The leader of this little entourage was into beauty pageants. She had been since she was a little girl. She had all sorts of rules and regulations regarding admittance into the "group". She decided what you could eat. When you could eat. Where you could eat. There were rules about how many times a bite had to be chewed. The fork couldn't touch your lips. How many bites of each thing you could take. Failure to comply was not tolerated. Punishment was swift. You decided to eat dinner? You can be persona non grata for the day. Got caught sneaking an extra bite? Don't plan on eating lunch tomorrow. Not that "lunch" would actually qualify as a meal. 8 bites of salad. Chewed 30 times each. 1/2 a carton of school sized milk. 3 bites of the main entree (again with the chewing) and you were done!

So what snapped me out of it? We had a unit on eating disorders in health class. What little of my brain still functioned in the land of reality FREAKED OUT the day we watched some ABC Afterschool Special about Karen Carpenter. I just wanted to have people like me and get to wear cute clothes. I didn't want to DIE! I quit following the "rules" and my "friends" dumped me. In the mean time, I had dropped about 50 pounds. My mother couldn't have been prouder of me. She told EVERYONE how fantastic I looked. How proud she was that I had buckled down and worked hard. That I was wonderful. If she only knew. Needless to say, the weight didn't stay off. My mother quit talking about how great I was. *

By high school I think my parents had given up. I FINALLY made some friends. I was happier. I figured my weight didn't matter. I felt accepted. For a while. I had learned to cope with the cruel comments. The snickers when I walked down the hall. The notes shoved in my locker that outlined in detail what a worthless failure and sorry excuse of a human being I was. Then my senior year, my parents made one last effort to rein in my weight. I was at about 225 by then. They sent me to a dietician. I took off about 35 pounds before I graduated. My mother, happy again, but cautious.

I went to college. 6 hours away. My parents only saw me on holidays and breaks. Food was whatever I wanted it to be. By the time I got out I was at about 250. I started my first job and got my first apartment. I worked crazy hours and HATED my job. Sounded like a good reason to eat crap to me! At 275 I had no clothes that fit. I joined Jenny Craig. I dropped 50 pounds before I got fed up with prepackaged food. The weight came back. Again.

At my heaviest I was at 285 pounds. My long term boyfriend (now my husband) and I broke up. I went on the misery diet. Not really a planned attempt to diet, so much as being so miserable I couldn't eat for about 4 months. Weight came off like melted butter. Lots of counseling and a restored relationship later, the weight was more than happy to come back. We got married and we were fat and happy. Well, I was fat. We both were happy. =)

My husband loved me fat or not as fat. I finally however started to have physical side effects from the weight. My knees and back hurt. I had heart burn. My blood pressure was just shy of being dangerous. And we wanted to get pregnant. My doctor told me not to think about it until I took off at least 100 pounds. I started Weight Watchers. I didn't think it would work. To my surprise it did. And for the first time in my life, despite previous failures, I actually thought that this would work. And it did. Right up until I quit following the plan.

So I am back again. Working the plan. Confident that it will work as long as I work the plan. Make a lifestyle change. Commit to reclaiming my life. One day at a time.

And for the first time in my life I actually believe that I deserve to be healthy. Not that I deserve to be thin. (Although I will gladly take thin as a 'side effect' of getting healthy) I deserve to be healthy. And I will be.


*I know that my mom sounds horrible in this post. She isn't. She did the best she could at the time. She only wanted the best for me. She was fat in grade school. Not because of poor eating habits, but because she had Rheumatic Fever and had to take steroids as part of her treatment. She was REALLY swollen for about two years after from the drugs. She never forgot how horribly she was teased and didn't want me to go through the same thing. In hindsight she agrees that her methods were not good. She is very supportive of me now. Feels terrible about what happened and would change it if she could. I just tell her to keep loving me and help me to not make the same mistakes with my kids if I ever have them. And she does. Love ya mom!

CRAVINGS

So I made it through the first full day of being OP (on plan). I did pretty well. Got all my water in and wrote everything down. Was ravenous after 8pm. My usual time to graze through the cupboards and fridge. Eating anything and everything carb related. I held off. Went to bed around 1am. Convinced that I would be STARVING in the morning.

To my surprise...woke up not hungry. In fact, I just knocked off a bowl of Cherrios for lunch. Strange thing the brain and hunger. I was seriously considering blowing my first day of OP last night and making a Jack in the Box run. (Mmmmm, Jumbo Jack with Cheese and 3 Egg Rolls) I was totally irrational. The fact that DH was not asleep yet prevented me from going. The conversation that would have ensued was not one I was interested in perusing. (BTW: Check out just how many calories/fat that would have been. 26 Points! 5 points less than my total days allotment!!!)

So if we had that conversation it would have gone something like this...
DH: Where ya going?
Me: Just out for a little bit.
DH: At midnight?!? To where? You are going somewhere to be bad aren't you?
Me: (sheepish) maybe.
DH: Seriously, on your first day? You don't want to do that. I know you don't.
Me: (defensive for NO good reason) Are you being the food police?!?
DH: (fed up. throws hands in the air. rolls eyes. walking away.) Forget it. Do what you want. I can't do this for you. You have to want to do it. I just can't believe that you think this is what you really want. Cause that's not what you told me you wanted!

*sigh* I am annoyed just writing the conversation that never happened. Not at DH. At me. I am SOOO freaking unpredictable/out of control/not committed to this process. I WANT to be committed. (maybe i need to be committed. to an institution!) I just get so distracted. And who knew that a crappy fast food cheese burger could be so damn distracting. I mean, a good cheese burger....maybe. But JITB burgers? So not worth it. Not after I have one anyway. When I am going through the drive-thru it is the best idea ever! When I am eating it.....the best idea ever! Afterwards.....COMPLETELY STUPID!

So I guess that is the first NSV (non scale victory) of this journey. I chose to go to bed instead of going to the drive-thru at 12am. And why are drive-thrus open all night? Cause that doesn't help at all! I mean, who NEEDS fries and a coke at that hour? Oh wait, I guess a lot of people. Otherwise they wouldn't be open.

Enough of my rant. It isn't raining (yet) and I have lots to do today. Got to get a move on.

STARTING POINT

It' s late and I have not posted yet. Wanted to be sure to record my results for the first official WI (Weigh In)

And...I was right. I have gained back everything I lost. Plus half a pound. I am looking at it this way. It could have been worse. It could have been 10 extra pounds!

So we are starting over at 283.6. I am trying not to compare this time to last, but if I do as well as I did last time I should be down 50 lbs by Thanksgiving. So if I stick to the plan I could be below 200 by my birthday next year. And that would be something. I have not seen a number below 200 on the scale since High School.

Wow.

BIG IS NOT BEAUTIFUL

Big is NOT Beautiful! Really. Yes, I know that there is a push in the U.S. for "Fat Acceptance". And that my friends crock of shit. Now don't get me wrong, I don't think intolerance toward others is acceptable for any reason. Color of skin, age, gender, sexual orientation, where you live, what you do for a living, how many tattoos or peircings you have, and size have nothing to do with your value as a person. There is no justification for treating others as less than just because they don't look like your ideal.

However, big is NOT beautiful and fat should not be accpeted as a way of life. Fat is a disease! Just like cancer, Alzheimers and AIDS. No one is running around supporting accpetance of Cancer. Saying stupid things like, "We just need to accept Alzheimers as the way some people are". FAT is an illness. We need to fight it because it is killing us! Not accept it and invite it in as a friend to hang out and stay a while. To quote Rosemary Green from her book The Diary of a Fat Housewife, "I have yet to hear one advertisement on how to increase the size of your fat rolls or multiply the number of your chins! Nope! Nobody spends money to get fatter. Why? Because it's UGLY!" Yet people spend BILLIONS every year on weight loss products, surgery and plastics reconstruction all in an effort to be something other than BIG.

Furthermore, the argument that "it is my body and I am not hurting anyone but me" is a bunch of crap as well. At least if you buy into that nonsense you recognize that you are hurting yourself. Your risk of weight related disease like diabetes, high blood pressure, heart attack, stroke, arthritis, joint damage, high cholesterol, cancer, and alzheimers grow with every extra pound. But you aren't the only one that your weight effects. When you are overweight it effects everyone.

Your family is effected by your weight related illnesses. Your inability to participate fully in life. Your premature death. The general public pays for your extra pounds with increased insurance premiums to cover the medical treatment that you need. Your fat is others concern because it effects them. Emotionally, physically and financially.

So I owe it to my husband to do something about the extra person I am hauling around with me. I don't want to leave him early. I don't want him to have to care for me if I suffer a heart attack or stroke. I don't want to leave our kids without a mother. I want to be able to have kids period. My doctor has told me not to even consider getting pregnant until I am under 190. To much risk for complicated pregnancy and gestational diabetes.

I owe it to society to quit adding to the cost of health care. I am a health insurance agent for heavens sake! I know the statistics. I know that the care of the obese and overweight effects the cost of health care astronomically. It increases every year. I am tired of being part of that statistic. I have been lucky. I don't have any weight related illnesses. Yet. It is only a matter of time though. If I continue on this path, I will be part of those numbers. The body is not meant to carry around this kind of weight indefinitely.

Tomorrow I weigh in. Then we will know, numerically just how far I have to go. I don't think this journey can be quantified physically or emotionally though. I know that I am capable. I have done it before. Now I need to do it again.

AGAIN

So why would I blog about my trip down the path of weight loss yet again? Good question.

For one thing, I am hoping that if I throw my journey out here for the world to see that I will stay honest with myself. Something I am notoriously BAD at. Also, I know there are plenty of others out there that struggle with weight and body issues. How could there not be? I just heard on the news yesterday that the most recent figures estimate that 65% of Americans are overweight and 38% of those are considered obese.

And do I expect that I will get some nasty comments from people? Of course. I am sure that I will hear about how fat, disgusting, horrific I am. Including but not limited to the beast that ate Chicago comments. Go ahead. If you think I don't have those conversations with myself on a regular basis, you are even more dense than I expected. Fat is an interesting subject. It enrages people. It depresses people. It terrifies people. It is a subject that the fatties don't want to talk about with the skinnies. Although believe you me, we talk about it with the other fatties!

I am in the 38% category. I am not sure what my exact weight is right now. I don't own a scale. I pitched it the last time I embarked on a major life modification adventure. Which worked. As long as I worked the plan. About a year ago I was down 54 pounds. I had 76 more to go. Then life happened. I had to quit my job due to ongoing harassment that my employer said she was not willing to change because I was the only female who worked on the shop floor and it wasn't "fair" that the guys should have to change their ways for one person. Lawsuit is pending.

Then I embarked on a new career as a self employed insurance agent with Aflac. (Read no benefits, 100% commission, sink or swim baby!) At the same time my husbands job was in limbo. The owner of the dealership he worked for was bailing out. No business plan in place. Money drying up faster than we could imagine.

Fast forward to now. Hubby has a new job. Pay is regular. My pay is improved, but not up to maximum potential. Things are leveling out. Time for a reality check. Although I have not been on a scale in months, I am fairly confident that every pound I have lost is back and maybe with friends. Also, life is not perfect. I am not perfect. Life cannot be an excuse for poor behavior and lousy habits on my part.

So I am starting over. Thursday night I am headed back to Weight Watchers. I have been on many a weight loss program in my life. Pills, shakes, fads, pre-packaged food, even some behavior in middle school, that in hindsight, looked a lot like eating disorders. Weight Watchers was the most realistic and consistent for me to follow. As long as I followed it ALL the time and not just when I felt like it.

So Thursday I am going to face the scale. Face my fears. Face my mistakes. Face the future.
And yes, since part of the reason I am posting is for my own personal accountability, I WILL be posting my weekly weight changes. For good or bad.