My story so far.
I have always been the big girl for as long as I can remember. I was very active in sports from a young age and played varsity golf during my high school days. However I towered over everyone and was always large. In the sixth grade I remember being a large t-shirt and sixteen jean. I thinned out a bit in middle and high school. Size fourteen jean and medium t-shirt (that fit snug) is the smallest size I ever remember wearing.
I went off to college as a size sixteen pants and medium to large shirt. I maintained this size for the most part. I got pregnant and the morning I was to deliver I was quite large even for a pregnant lady. My weight was around two sixty. I lost a lot of weight, thirty pounds, by the time I left the hospital (due to an almost ten pound baby boy and twenty pounds of water weight). The smallest post little man I can remember is two thirties. Depression kicked in and I shot up on the scale and sizes. My highest was a tight 2x shirt and tight twenty-four jeans. I tipped the scales at my highest weight of two eighty-seven.
This is were my journey takes a new turn, one for the better. There are a few distinct events that I recall that helped me to see enough is enough and I am going to kill myself if I keep this up. One is while watching the biggest loser. The show is such a motivation... however I realized that many of the contestants on the show actually weighed less than I did. I was horrified. I never saw myself as THAT big.
Although I felt big in high school, I never really grasped how large I was at this stage in my life. I am still struggling with that. I will be folding my clothes and think, "Wow these pants are big." But when they go on they fit. Not a fun feeling.
Next, was seeing my dad lose weight. It is hard to explain and I do not mean to be mean towards him in any way with this however it was just one of my wake-up calls. He got down to the two eighties I believe, and was continuing to drop the pounds. He has always been a big guy and to know I was almost to the point of weighing more than him upset me.
Another reason it finally sunk in that I needed a change was my clothes were getting too tight. I owned one pair of jeans and they were really on their last leg -- no pun intended :-) I refused to go up a size and buy size twenty-six jeans.
My finally straw, the one that pushed me to fix myself for myself, actually has to do with little man. He was four months shy of three years old and I could not sit on the floor with my own son. My feet would start to tingle; my back would hurt horribly; I would actually start to get a headache. Enough was enough. If I want to be there for him and for my own life I would have to start changing the way I was living.
I want to be able to walk up a flight of stairs and not be completely out of breath. Heck, I would even like to be able to run them! I want to chase my son around the park and not be the fat mom who cannot run. I want to make it to my thirtieth birthday (which is still over five years away) and be able to look hot.
I am finally starting to recognize myself when I look in the mirror. Tomorrow morning I will have my weekly weigh-in. This week has been a great one getting myself back on track from the holidays. I am expecting a few pounds lost this week and should be on target to hit my first goal in the next week or two. I'll share more when it happens.
I got this.
Will there be set backs? Duh. Will I stop? Not a chance. Will I stumble? You betcha. Will I get back up? Hell yeah.
I got this.