I will always think of myself as a Fat Lady. In my head, I will always be the girl to whom boys didn’t pay any attention. The girl who cried in the dressing room every time she tried on clothes. The woman who couldn’t fit on the amusement park ride with her daughter. When I look at myself, I see me at 274 pounds. Granted, that was almost four years ago, but it’s the heaviest I’ve ever weighed in at. The heaviest I’ve ever been. The heaviest I’ll ever be.
I’ve gone up and down, and up and down…and up and down for years. For most of my life, really. Where I am now…I’ve weighed less. I’ve weighed more. I’ve been here before. My friend, KB, is worried about me. She thinks I’m becoming obsessed. Worried that I am giving myself an eating disorder. I fret over food, panic about portions, and struggle with the scale. To be honest, I’m a little anxious about it, myself.
I know that she’s right. I need to take a deep breath, take a step back, and stop agonizing over this weight loss thing. But I’m terrified of going back. I had to look back through the years and find out when I weighed in at 274. Was it two years ago? Was it four? Or was it yesterday? Will it be tomorrow because I ate too much tonight? She points out that I won’t be going back because of the lifestyle changes I’ve made with both food and exercise. But I’ve been here before. Over and over again. Up and down. And up and down. And every time…EVERY single time, I swear that this it. That I’m making changes for good. Over and over again, I made myself that promise.
I want to believe that this—right now, right this second—that this is the time. That this is really, really it. No going back.
But what if it’s not?
I lost 3 pounds last week. Despite missing a few workouts. Despite overeating on a couple of occasions. Despite candy corn, Jimmy Johns, and chicken tacos, I lost 3 pounds, bringing my total to 37.4.
37.4 pounds! It's amazing and I am thrilled and proud of myself...
But I’ve been here before.