The Battle of Evermore
Y'know, I've been reading over some of my past posts. And they're kinda boring. So now I'm going to discuss something everyone can relate to: weight and the battle of the bulge, as it were.
I've always been fat. No, I should say I became fat when I discovered food, which was about when I was nine or 10. Pictures of myself when I was a kid reveal that I was tiny. I'm talking short and thin.
Then I discovered my lifelong love affair with sweets, specifically chocolate, and it was all downhill from there.
I still have a bit of a horror about shopping for clothes in Sears because I have been traumatized by memories of my mom buying me clothes in the "Pretty Plus" department. I was F-A-T from the time I was about 11 or 12 until I was 17. Then I decided that enough was enough, in the words of Donna Summer, and went on a diet and began to exercize. It worked — I dropped about 20-30 pounds. And I got my first boyfriend, the before-mentioned asshole ex, at age 19. Coincidence? I think not. Growing up fat and shy, you don't exactly draw the guys like flies, knowwhutImean?
I kept my weight down, even through the really nasty (first of many) breakup with said ex, until I was 20. Then I went away to school. I stupidly designed my schedule so I was in solid classes until 5 p.m. By that time, I was practically faint with hunger, so having access to the all-you-can-eat dining halls was like being a kid in a candy store. Of course, one meal a day is not enough for anyone, so I usually ordered Chinese or pizza late at night. Baaad move. I quickly packed on a bunch of weight, and when I went home for break, my mom pulled me aside and said, "Christine, I love you, but this is the heaviest I have ever seen you." I looked at myself in the mirror, really looked at myself, and cried.
I continued to struggle with my weight for the rest of my time at Syracuse — those are pictures my husband has never seen, and let's keep it that way — and sort of pecked at my weight here and there. But I was fat again, and very discouraged. When I met M, I was pushing maximum density. I began to watch what I ate, and when we got engaged, I went on a mission to lose weight. No way was I going to be a big fat bride at my wedding. I went to Weight Watchers, and dropped a buttload of weight. I felt and looked good. For the first time, I was a size 10!
I kept my weight down for a few years, then we went to Italy earlier this year. And M's relatives were constantly like, "Eat! Eat! Diet when you go home!" I let it become a free-for-all. And I packed on the weight. You think you can't do much damage in a week? Think again. It sort of set me up to start eating a lot again. And I put on about 10 pounds. Maybe not a lot of weight to you, but when you're only 4'11", it shows.
Someone at work brought Weight Watchers around again, and I decided to join. Best thing I ever did. I've now dropped about 10 pounds, and I really think I can get to goal, which is 15 to 20 more. When I think about it in the grand scheme of things, it's not a buttload of weight. But it will make all the difference. I'm back on the thinner (and of course, more difficult) side of the fence again. Is it worth it? Most days, yes. Am I bad sometimes? Yes, but I'm also a human being, and I'm trying to take things more "one day at a time" and not feel so much guilt about slipups. My fat past and yo-yoing is over. Only I can make things better — and thinner — for myself. I feel good, my clothes fit better, and my asthma is more under control. Plus it's doin' good things for my love life...
My mom, a lifelong Weight Watcher, once told me, "It's a decision you have to make. What you eat, or how you look. Because you can't have both." For now, it's how I look. And I pray for the strength to keep on fighting and to stay on this side of the fence. The strength to fight the battle of evermore.
Y'know, I've been reading over some of my past posts. And they're kinda boring. So now I'm going to discuss something everyone can relate to: weight and the battle of the bulge, as it were.
I've always been fat. No, I should say I became fat when I discovered food, which was about when I was nine or 10. Pictures of myself when I was a kid reveal that I was tiny. I'm talking short and thin.
Then I discovered my lifelong love affair with sweets, specifically chocolate, and it was all downhill from there.
I still have a bit of a horror about shopping for clothes in Sears because I have been traumatized by memories of my mom buying me clothes in the "Pretty Plus" department. I was F-A-T from the time I was about 11 or 12 until I was 17. Then I decided that enough was enough, in the words of Donna Summer, and went on a diet and began to exercize. It worked — I dropped about 20-30 pounds. And I got my first boyfriend, the before-mentioned asshole ex, at age 19. Coincidence? I think not. Growing up fat and shy, you don't exactly draw the guys like flies, knowwhutImean?
I kept my weight down, even through the really nasty (first of many) breakup with said ex, until I was 20. Then I went away to school. I stupidly designed my schedule so I was in solid classes until 5 p.m. By that time, I was practically faint with hunger, so having access to the all-you-can-eat dining halls was like being a kid in a candy store. Of course, one meal a day is not enough for anyone, so I usually ordered Chinese or pizza late at night. Baaad move. I quickly packed on a bunch of weight, and when I went home for break, my mom pulled me aside and said, "Christine, I love you, but this is the heaviest I have ever seen you." I looked at myself in the mirror, really looked at myself, and cried.
I continued to struggle with my weight for the rest of my time at Syracuse — those are pictures my husband has never seen, and let's keep it that way — and sort of pecked at my weight here and there. But I was fat again, and very discouraged. When I met M, I was pushing maximum density. I began to watch what I ate, and when we got engaged, I went on a mission to lose weight. No way was I going to be a big fat bride at my wedding. I went to Weight Watchers, and dropped a buttload of weight. I felt and looked good. For the first time, I was a size 10!
I kept my weight down for a few years, then we went to Italy earlier this year. And M's relatives were constantly like, "Eat! Eat! Diet when you go home!" I let it become a free-for-all. And I packed on the weight. You think you can't do much damage in a week? Think again. It sort of set me up to start eating a lot again. And I put on about 10 pounds. Maybe not a lot of weight to you, but when you're only 4'11", it shows.
Someone at work brought Weight Watchers around again, and I decided to join. Best thing I ever did. I've now dropped about 10 pounds, and I really think I can get to goal, which is 15 to 20 more. When I think about it in the grand scheme of things, it's not a buttload of weight. But it will make all the difference. I'm back on the thinner (and of course, more difficult) side of the fence again. Is it worth it? Most days, yes. Am I bad sometimes? Yes, but I'm also a human being, and I'm trying to take things more "one day at a time" and not feel so much guilt about slipups. My fat past and yo-yoing is over. Only I can make things better — and thinner — for myself. I feel good, my clothes fit better, and my asthma is more under control. Plus it's doin' good things for my love life...
My mom, a lifelong Weight Watcher, once told me, "It's a decision you have to make. What you eat, or how you look. Because you can't have both." For now, it's how I look. And I pray for the strength to keep on fighting and to stay on this side of the fence. The strength to fight the battle of evermore.
Labels: weight loss
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