Growing up, I always felt like the fat girl. Oh how I wish I was that "fat" now. When I got married, I weighed about 150 pounds. For the next 10 or 12 years, I gained about 10 pounds a year. No super quick weight gain. No illness, pregnancy, or other event to blame it on. Then my Daddy died. He was 61, and always seemed so strong. But his heart gave out. My mom had already been on heart meds for 10 years. I realized I needed to do something--and fast. I talked to my doctor and started making some changes. I gained and lost the same 20-40 pounds a few times over the following 9 years. Yes. 9 years. Saturday (January 26th) marks 9 years since Daddy went to meet Jesus. His polio stricken legs now longer hold him back.
9 years and what do I have to show for it? I'm still sitting right where I was 9 years ago. I have the same bad habits (Pepsi and chocolate). I still hate to exercise. And I'm still carrying an extra 100+ pounds.
But I'm ready to change. When I see the doctor on Wednesday, I'm going to ask for help. Maybe I can see a nutritionist who can help guide me. I might even check into hiring a personal trainer to keep me on track. But I am determined that this is the year my journey will start. This year (October) I turn 39. I know losing weight and getting in shape won't be easier in my 40s.
As Bob (from Biggest Loser) says, "Game on!"