Height: 59.5”
Age: 35
Current Weight: 209.2
Current BMI: 41.5
This is bound to be a depressing tale of failure after failure, but I thought- what the hell? People are blogging about medical conditions, dating mishaps, global success, and bunnies with pancakes on their heads. Why shouldn’t I add my virtual tuppence to the online community of losers, winners, and everyone in between?
This is also going to be cathartic for someone. Maybe it will be me. Maybe it will be you, the poor reader who has been sucked in by some keyword or another. Whomever suffers an epiphany first, I hope it ends up being life-altering. Seriously life-altering, as in, one of us will NEVER be the same. One of us will see the light in some sense- and it will definitely not be a train. Well, I certainly don’t need any more trains or derailments; I’m not sure about you.
On to the part you really wanted to know: I’m fat. Disgustingly so. Thing is, like many people, I have not always been fat. At 12, I was 54” tall and probably 150lbs. At 15, I was 59.5” and 100lbs soaking wet. After my first child at 20, I was 140lbs, and it’s been downhill (and up-scale) ever since. I have no illusions of ever weighing 100lbs again. I will never be a size 3 again, either. (I know, I can hear you now, “But Ms. Willendorf, I was never a size 3, how unfair!”) But I would like to stop shopping in tent stores and start wearing real clothes again. I want to wear skinny jeans… okay, maybe not those fashion disasters, but I would like to be able to walk into any store and pull my size off the rack.
In my favour are the following: my overall health; my Google-fu; my desire to change; and- perhaps the least noble- my vanity. I do not have any health complications which would make achieving my goal impossible or highly improbable: while diabetes runs in my family (both sides! How lucky for me!), I have never had a problem with my blood sugar. I have asthma, but with proactive medications, it is kept well under control.
The forces aligned against me: my relationship with food; my control issues; my accountability; my pride; and my lifestyle. As a single mum, I tend to put everyone else’s needs before my own- no surprise for many mothers out there, but an unique challenge for those without partners. (To clarify “single mum” : there is a significant other, but there’s also nothing keeping him from taking the next train to Clarksville). Said food relationship and control issues are interrelated- don’t tell me what to put in my mouth, dammit! Don’t you dare tell me how many calories I’m allowed in a day! (See the problem?) I don’t like being told what to eat, so reporting back what I DO eat is difficult for me- who are you to judge me?! (Again, see the problem?) And of course my pride gets in the way of many things, not the least of which is admitting that I am ashamed of what I look like, who I am, and the fact that I am not at all what I wanted to be.
