On the Road Again

I've always been fat.

Let's not waste time qualifying it, OK? Or working on justifications or reassurances. Hands down, no lies. I have always been fat. I was always one of the bigger kids in the class in elementary school. Never the hugely obese kid, but the kid that was bigger than the popular girls. And when you're in elementary (middle, high) school, that's enough. It's enough to be different.

After high school, I got a little thinner. Or rather, I came into my own in adulthood and developed my own style, my own look. I passed as "healthy" if not "skinny." Except at home, where my finance shamed me regularly about my weight. Somehow, that didn't exactly make things any better.

Post-breakup, I found a lot of comfort in a lot of marijuana, alcohol and cookies. I just got fatter. But the time I graduated from college, I was 215 and not exactly thrilled about it.

So the weight loss journey began. In South Dakota, I joined Weight Watchers for the first time and lost 30 pounds in a year. I felt free. I felt in control. I felt sexy. I found confidence I didn't know I didn't have.

I got married.

And together, TJ and I settled into bliss and happily gained weight together.

Through the years, I've gone up and down. I've been on Weight Watchers (WW) and off. The constantly changing program and shifting rules led me to be not as successful as I was my first round. And somewhere on the road, I lost any motivation for what I was doing. As a happily married woman, did it matter anymore? What was I still trying to prove? And who was I trying to prove it to?

In pregnancy, I gained 70 pounds. That's one 9 pound, 3 ounce baby, a 10-pound placenta, like 5 extra pounds of blood, a ton of fluid and, yes, some new fat. On the other side of pregnancy, I dropped down to near my pre-pregnancy ( still fat) weight, but my body wasn't the same.

Nearly four years later, it's still not. My belly distends down in front like a third breast. Or a deflated balloon. My boobs will just never recover from 18 months of breastfeeding. My pelvic floor -- well, let's not talk about it.

But I knew I didn't want to go back to WW again. I'm tired of counting and obsessing and logging. I need something simpler. Also, I'm over 30 now, and food alone isn't going to cut it. I have to find a way to be FIT too.

So when my friend this summer invited people to join her in a 21-day fitness challenge, I said, "Yup. It's time." And hopped in. I'm in round 3 now, and that belly is starting to pull back up, and come in a little. I'm stronger. I feel more confident. And if nothing else, I've got 30 minutes a day that is time for me. Time that I spend sweating and grunting along with the TV and listening to the trainer reassure me that I'm getting stronger. That I'm getting better.

I've lost a whopping three pounds, but nearly five inches all around me -- an inch off each thigh, and an inch and a half from my hips. It's not over. But it's a start.

My fellow workers in our Facebook group ask each other what we're working for. What motivates us. And finally, what motivates me isn't to be skinny. It's not to be able to see my ex some day and be stunning. It's not to keep my man. It's not to prove my worth.

What motivates me is me. The idea that I am worth spending 30 minutes a day with myself. That I can be strong. That I control this body, it doesn't control me. That it's OK to be soft and have floppy bits and not be under 200 pounds. That it's OK to be one of the big girls. It's OK. I'm OK. But I finally found that piece inside that said, "You can change if you want to."

You CAN change -- if you want to. Not because you need to. Not because there is some bread-loving skinny chick inside you (thank you, Oprah), dying to get out. But because you are you the way you are and you have the strength to shape yourself. Your future. Your health. Your body.

So I'm on the road again. I don't know for how long. But for right now, I like this road. I like these moments of putting myself first. I like showing my son that it's worthwhile to take time for fitness. I like him seeing that his momma is strong.

I want him to know that all bodies are good bodies. Strong bodies. Fat bodies. Skinny bodies. It doesn't matter. What matters is those moments in which we make the choice we want to make that's best for us.