Feeling Resolute

I remember the first time I ever felt fat.

Growing up, I didn't really have a weight problem, though I was aware of them as many members of my family and friends struggled. But I kept mostly active as a child, playing soccer and softball -- and a short-lived stint on my middle school's track team, where I was without a doubt the worst member (I think my best-ever mile was 9:10). 

In high school, I stopped soccer, but continued cheerleading (basketball), which despite what you think about the sport, kept me in AWESOME shape. I seriously had a six pack.

But after freshman year I quit cheerleading, and went from about a 1-2 to a 3-4, obviously still in the 'thin' category, but I wasn't really paying attention. I'd never had to think about my weight.

Junior year, I got a boyfriend. Not my first boyfriend, but my first 'real' boyfriend. Since there's not a lot you can do with a high school boyfriend, a lot of the 'dates' involved going out to eat. In the summer, we'd go out for ice cream every night. We found a pizza place that made an amazing buffalo chicken calzone. During the school year, I'd ride the bus to his house and raid his fridge, then go home to eat dinner.

It made him sick. It made me fat.

Still, I didn't notice.

I didn't even really think twice when I went school shopping senior year and the size sixes didn't fit. Neither did the size eights. Oh well, I guess I'm a 10 now. No worries.

Then one day ...

I happened upon the first-draft of the school yearbook. Like many schools, we had one of those those pictures on the inside pages where the entire senior class gathers on the front steps to take a picture. Where was I? There I am, up in the corner.

Ugh. What? When the hell did I get so fat?

It was pretty jarring and the feeling came only from me. Still, I wanted it gone. I had finally gotten my braces off and discovered contacts ... and now I was just going to be fat instead?

No way. So I started dieting. I would eat a normal breakfast (cereal, oatmeal). At school I would have a package of peanut M&Ms and a bottle of water for lunch. For dinner I would have whatever square meal my mom had made. And I limited myself to only hot chocolate for dessert. For exercise, I spent an hour every night walking at a very medium pace on our treadmill and a few minutes doing crunches. Not the world's greatest fitness plan, but it worked.

When I weighed myself at the beginning I was 142 pounds. (Side note: the scale I used to weigh myself was the one outside the nutrition store in the Warwick Mall. Yeah, the one you put a quarter in and it prints out your weight on a little slip of paper. I was so dedicated to that scale I once drove in a blizzard just to weigh myself there. Sad.) 

I started in January and by April I was down to 133. I felt gooood. I wore tighter clothes. I bought a bathing suit from the Victoria's Secret catalogue. I stopped worrying about my weight.

I maintained that peace until middler year of college. I had broken up with high school boyfriend a year before. Jeff and I had started dating, then broke up. I decided to be done with 'relationships' and do 'the college thing.' I drank. I ate cheeseburgers. I got fat again.

I was up to 158. Katie, my best friend and roommate who had been doing 'the college thing' with me, and I decided to get serious, join the Y and lose the weight. So I started dieting again. I exercised 3-4 times a week. And I lost 14 pounds. 

Since then it's never left my mind. I monitor my calories at all times, feel guilty when I go over, when I don't go to the gym.

I really bottomed out this past winter. Living with Jeff's parents, unemployed for six months, too poor to join the gym, I ate and sat around. I ballooned. I weighed 163 pounds when I finally got to the gym in May.

I had always told myself that I wouldn't be fat for my wedding. That as soon as the ring went on my finger, I would drop all the weight or I would never forgive myself. I figured I had about 30 pounds to lose, but would be happy with about 25. I started going to the gym 4-5 times I week. I tried to alter my diet the best I could stand.

I've lost 10 pounds -- 153. No longer holding the title 'the fattest I've ever been' but still far from where I want to be. 

After New Year's Day -- I will begin anew. I have seven months -- more like five -- to lose 20 pounds. I want it to happen so bad. I will cut out some of the crap from my diet -- no more coffee, nothing but water, no eating after eight -- and no dessert more than once a week (I have it every day now.)

I know some people don't believe in New Year's resolutions, but I do. In fact, every time I've ever lost weight it's started at the New Year -- and bottomed out around April.

It's hard not to be obsessive and over-critical while you're dieting, but I'll have to be. 

Jeff's sister's boyfriend Rob said to me over Thanksgiving that what does it matter what my weight is, if Jeff loves me the way I am.

Well, he does. And that helps. But it's not about him. It's about me. It's about not having any regrets.

And it starts Jan. 1.