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| Spring 2008: At my fattest, 218 pounds |
I knew because it's been a long time since anyone has told me how good I look and when I see old friends or family after a few month period they no longer ask me if I've lost weight. They say noncommittal things like, "That's a cute top!" or "I love your glasses!"
Before I left, the scale had climbed up 7 pounds in the past month.
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| October 2010: Probably 192 (Fewer chins! Hallelujah!) |
My week-long vacation binge had only added 3 pounds to the total. But it was enough: I now officially weigh 200 pounds. Again.
Just then, TJ came home to find me standing naked in the bathroom doorway. "This!" I announced, "is 200 pounds of woman!"
"You're so sexy," he said. "I love you."
Truly, the perfect man.
I've always been fat — look, let's not mince words. I'm 5'7"ish and weigh 200 pounds. That's fat no matter how you slice it. Yes, I carry it pretty well (i.e, in my boobs!) and I have this enormous personality that is a happy little shield to how insecure I truly am. You just don't get to be a fat little girl that grows into an overweight teenager and then an obese adult and get to have self-esteem. That's how America works.
Four years ago upon graduating from college, I weighed nearly 220 pounds (It was all those damn cookies I ate when I was stoner). I moved to South Dakota and embraced the opportunity to create a new me that you only get when you move somewhere where nobody knows you. I joined Weight Watchers and lost 28 pounds in a year.
It was the most liberating thing that had ever happened to me. I become a total fashonista — living at Kohl's and buying things I'd never experienced before — PATTERNS! COLORS! FLORALS! HEELS! My god! It was heaven.
And I was pretty friggin' happy to weigh 190, even if I was still "fat." So I sort of quit. And then I got married and started cooking for two and writing a food blog. And then we moved back to the Pacific Northwest and started thinking about things like "family planning."
I knew I still had 20 pounds to go (at least). I knew that I wanted to at least hit 180 — officially the lowest weight of my adult life. (I used to weigh-in at 185 and was a size 12, and my ex would berate me for being so fat. He was such a gem)
But when you're thinking about getting pregnant, weight loss makes no sense at all. Why lose weight just to get fat on purpose? Maybe I'll get lucky and be one of those women who is really sick the first few months and loses a ton of weight. And then breast feeding burns like 500 calories a day, so it shouldn't be too hard to get rid of it, right?
And then I saw that 2-0-0 flashing green on my scale. And I had a vision of me as one of those pregnant women that just gets bloated and ugly and looks like a beached whale rather than someone producing life. I'll have to get a T-shirt that says, "I'm not fat! I'm creating a miracle in here!"
So I signed back up for Weight Watchers. $42.95 a month, my meetings are at 5:30 on Monday nights. I even downloaded all of their apps so I can track on my phone and scan barcodes to find out Points values of things. TJ is even going to go with me to the first meeting to see if he wants to join, too.
My first goal is 5% of my body weight: 5 pounds. Then 10% (when they give you a key chain — although I still have mine from my first round). Then 20%. I want to lose 20 pounds by fall — 5 months, that's 4 pounds a month or 1 pound a week. That's totally doable and healthy.
And then because I've gained back 10 of my original 28, my total from My Fattest is 38 pounds lost. That's a toddler. Or my coworker's dog. Off my body. More importantly, it's about what my friend Kendi has lost on WeightWatchers, which is epic. And if I don't start losing again, she's going to weigh less than me.
So here we go. That baby is just going to have to wait until Momma is in good enough shape to carry it around for 9 months without looking like the Hindenburg.
And if my husband thinks I'm sexy now ... well, won't he be surprised by how much better this gets!
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