Why do I have any say here?

Hi. I may pop my head in to post things now and again here. Hope you don't mind.

You may wonder why I get that privilege. Other than being one of Shelly's oldest and best friends (if I do say so myself), I have a weight problem.

I was a skinny kid. I love looking at pictures of how skinny I was ... chubby cheeks, skinny thighs. Ah. Those days didn't last long. As puberty hit, I became curvy. Sixth grade was bad. I did a cartwheel one day and burst out the inner thigh seam of my acid washed jeans. Okay, so the acid washing probably contributed to the weakness of the fabric, but my curvy thighs didn't help.

Junior high. Could anything hurt a self image worse than junior high? How about a guy who you thought was one of your best friends calling you fat and ugly? That was seventh grade.

Eighth grade was another blow. We had to have our body fat tested in PE. It was the final testing of the semester and mine was up a few percents. Up to 33%. A third of my body was fat. I was humiliated. I loved my PE teacher and I understood her concern for me. I blew it off under my happy face and explained how my dad had been in the hospital for a couple of months and I was spending a lot of time sitting and eating take out. I felt fat.

So it went on. I couldn't borrow dresses for dances, let alone any other time. I was even hidden in a dance picture once. I'm just a floating head behind all the other skinny girls and guys.

The sad part is that I look back at those pictures and I don't think I was so bad. Really. Sure I wasn't skinny, but I wasn't fat. But I felt it.

Time went on. College. I gained a few pounds my freshman year, but nothing major. I played a lot of racquetball and that may have been my saving grace. But I also ate every meal in the cafeteria ... buffet style eating and not always the best choices.

Then came the joy of being a bridesmaid. Ahh, the ugly dresses. The worst came when I was brought a dress for one of them. I was told it was the LARGEST dress they could find and they hoped it fit me. It was a size 9. I was a size 12. It didn't fit. Not even close. The look on that mother's face can still come back to me. One of disgust and why was I messing up their wedding by not fitting into the dress they wanted me to wear.

More time went on. I got married. I tried birth control for some acne problems I thought I was having. I gained 15 pounds in one month. I cried.

A year after I got married I had a cyst removed. A cyst that my doctor said he'd only seen on fat, hairy men. I cried again.

A couple of years later, I was diagnosed with PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome). I didn't have a blood test or an ultra-sound to diagnose me. I was diagnosed by my hairy arms and my fat. Cool, huh? A year later I did have an ultra-sound and I did have PCOS, but to be diagnosed because of my fat hurt.

I tried to lose weight. I watched what I ate. I exercised sporadically. I wasn't a yo-yo with my weight. I stuck. I stuck at my post-freshman weight until I gained those 15 birth-control-pounds and then I kept those right up until I finally got pregnant five years later.

I loved the first trimester. I lost 10 pounds. It was the biggest move on the scale, in the right direction, I'd ever seen. Then I proceeded to gain another 30. It was all gone by 2 months post-partum though. I was back at the same weight I'd been for all those years. Then I got depressed. I didn't realize it. People weren't really talking "baby blues" much yet. Mine hit just before Halloween. I tried eating myself happy. The day after Easter I finally stepped on a scale again. I was up 13 pounds. I had to buy size 16 jeans. I was done.

I signed up with Weight Watchers Online that day. Over the next 7 months I lost 31 pounds. I did it all by controlling my food. I didn't go hungry. I didn't eat strange things. Just controlled proportions. I didn't even exercise regularly.

I weighed less than I did on my wedding day. I loved it. I felt great. I felt attractive. I did NOT tell people what I weighed. I knew if they knew that number, they'd still think I was fat and I didn't feel fat any more.

I was still 10 pounds from my goal, but I got pregnant. Then I got pregnant again. And again. PCOS seems to have gone away - but I still have hairy arms, go figure.

In between there I was a Health/PE instructor at an elementary school. I taught kids how to take care of themselves and exercise and move and have fun. It was the best job in the world.

So why do I have anything to say here? Maybe I don't. Maybe I don't have anything of value to add. Some of you were those darn skinny friends in school. But I've come to learn that just because you are skinny doesn't necessarily mean you are healthy or that you have a good self image. I want to be healthy. I want my kids to be healthy.

I have some overweight in-laws. Severely over-weight. It is hard not to worry that it is in the genes somehow. So while I'm going through my own journey to get to that magical number on the scale, I'm also trying to make my whole family healthier in the process.

A disclaimer ... I am doing Weight Watchers. They don't count calories. They just released a new program and it doesn't take calories into consideration at all. It tracks fat, carbs, protein, and fiber. So if I share a recipe or easy meal, I most likely won't know the calories for it. I apologize.

I also won't always be so long winded. Really. But as I watched The Biggest Loser this week and heard these contestants pass up 4 weeks of immunity just so they wouldn't have to train with an unknown trainer, I thought about Shelly's invite for me to contribute. If you know a bit about someone, it is easier to listen to what they say. If you can relate to someone, it is easier to give advice. If you know someone, it is easier to be their friend.

I need good friends to help me reach my goal. As of my weigh-in this week, I need to lose 29 pounds.

Cindy