I told a friend of mine today that I was out of control with food lately and needed to get a grip. "You look great, though," was her kind reply. "Thanks," I said, "but my jeans beg to differ."
I decided the remark made a decent title for my next project - writing about the past 365 days I spent trying to take off what took 3,650 days, a husband and two kids to put on...
When my oldest was 3 I tipped the scales at (oh god, am I about to put this is writing? Gulp.) 225 pounds. I'm 5'3" - there is no way I was pulling that off. So on top of feeling lousy about my reflection, I was feeling like a bad mom. I could envision the day when my son would want me to do something really active and I would make an excuse not to do whatever fun thing he asked of me. Lame. I also wanted to have another baby, but the thought of packing on even more weight was terrifying. So, for the next several months I worked on losing the weight. I lost about 45 pounds and decided that I could tolerate getting pregnant again. My daughter was born about a year and 30 pounds later.
I felt ok about the 30 pounds I put on - that's a pretty average sort of number. The thing is, when my son had his first birthday, I weighed more than I did the day before he was born. I knew the real struggle was yet to come. And true to form, on my daughter's first birthday I hadn't lost a single pound. The number was climbing. A few weeks before her second birthday I realized I was within 5 pounds of my heaviest weight again, and that's when I decided I needed to do something.
My son was almost 7, and I was starting to make the excuses I knew I would, and I felt awful about it, but the real kicker was now I had a daughter who would learn everything about self-image from me first. Oh crap, we're in trouble! Suddenly the prospect of not losing the weight was way scarier than all the sweat and no cookies I was so afraid of before. You see, cookies are my favorite food - cookies and corn dogs, and I was going to have to kiss them both good-bye (for awhile anyway).
It's been a year and I've lost 75 pounds. I've gone from a size 24 to a 10. I'm pretty proud of myself! But it's still a struggle. I still make a lot of bad food choices, and I still don't really like to sweat. I have about 25 pounds and/or 2 sizes to go to get to my goal - but there's light...
I'm writing this to keep motivated - to hold myself accountable - to figure out what works so that when I need help (which I often do) I have something or someone to turn to for inspiration - me!
I decided the remark made a decent title for my next project - writing about the past 365 days I spent trying to take off what took 3,650 days, a husband and two kids to put on...
When my oldest was 3 I tipped the scales at (oh god, am I about to put this is writing? Gulp.) 225 pounds. I'm 5'3" - there is no way I was pulling that off. So on top of feeling lousy about my reflection, I was feeling like a bad mom. I could envision the day when my son would want me to do something really active and I would make an excuse not to do whatever fun thing he asked of me. Lame. I also wanted to have another baby, but the thought of packing on even more weight was terrifying. So, for the next several months I worked on losing the weight. I lost about 45 pounds and decided that I could tolerate getting pregnant again. My daughter was born about a year and 30 pounds later.
I felt ok about the 30 pounds I put on - that's a pretty average sort of number. The thing is, when my son had his first birthday, I weighed more than I did the day before he was born. I knew the real struggle was yet to come. And true to form, on my daughter's first birthday I hadn't lost a single pound. The number was climbing. A few weeks before her second birthday I realized I was within 5 pounds of my heaviest weight again, and that's when I decided I needed to do something.
My son was almost 7, and I was starting to make the excuses I knew I would, and I felt awful about it, but the real kicker was now I had a daughter who would learn everything about self-image from me first. Oh crap, we're in trouble! Suddenly the prospect of not losing the weight was way scarier than all the sweat and no cookies I was so afraid of before. You see, cookies are my favorite food - cookies and corn dogs, and I was going to have to kiss them both good-bye (for awhile anyway).
It's been a year and I've lost 75 pounds. I've gone from a size 24 to a 10. I'm pretty proud of myself! But it's still a struggle. I still make a lot of bad food choices, and I still don't really like to sweat. I have about 25 pounds and/or 2 sizes to go to get to my goal - but there's light...
I'm writing this to keep motivated - to hold myself accountable - to figure out what works so that when I need help (which I often do) I have something or someone to turn to for inspiration - me!
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