I'm too sick to be creative today (Pan Asian Death Flu) (or possibly just a bad cold) so I'm going right to the point.
I'm giving away two autographed advanced copies of the new book, one to Jennsylvania.com readers and one to my MySpace friends. To be eligible to win, tell me your best (or worst) weight loss/diet tale. Your essay can be funny, sad, poignant, motivational - really, whatever you want to write. I don't care if a version of the story already appeared on your blog; as long as it's your original work, it's eligible.
Rules:
1) Use 500 words or less. (Sorry, I don't actually have the time to read your whole manuscript.)
2) Post your story in the comments section of Jennsylvania.com or my MySpace blog. You may only enter in one place or the other.
3) If you have a problem getting your comments to post (my SPAM filter tends to operate autonomously) then send me your story in the body of an email, NOT an attachment. Emails with attachments will be deleted without being opened, but not before being mocked.
4) You have until 1:00 PM CST on Friday to enter. Winners will be determined by me and announced on Monday.
5) My friend Jolene Siana is not eligible to enter because I already have a book for her and she just has to send me her most recent address because I didn't copy it off the envelope because I'm lazy sick.
6) If you don't have a best (or worst) weight loss/diet story because you've never struggled with your weight, then your fortunate genetics and willpower are already prize enough.
7) Void where prohibited by law, rules subject to change upon my whim, no deposit, no return, etc.
Ready, set... go!
Annnd... time's up!
Posted by: Jen | March 21, 2008 at 01:07 PM
So about 3 years ago I joined a weight loss center which emphasised eating real food to lose weight. Well that was the draw to get you in the door and to take $500.00 out of your checking account and about $30.00 per week more to buy the special lite "energy" bars. Well I bought into it and actually lost weight. But being very muscular, I have been a dancer since the age of two, and not one of those pencil thin, negative zero ballet bitches, weight when I succeed in losing it comes off in inches not lots of pounds.
Still I was very satisfied and for a few months resisted the urge to purchase any extra "weight reducing" products. But finally in a fit of so close to being a size 8 frenzy, plus I got a bonus at work I caved. I purchase a few of their "vitamin supplements" and an "energy tea". Now these little blonde bitches didn't tell me that the energy tea was actually a laxative.
So one night I go out with friends eat a little to much fried cheese product and like the true dancer "taps & tutus" not "tassles and brass poles", I came home and took a mild womens laxative to ease everything out and drank some of the energy tea. Can you spell STUPID!
I woke up at about 2 am with the most explosive feeling coming from my bowels. And to not get to graphic cause you get the picture. The next 7 hours were spent in my tiny little bathroom alternating between moaning and cussing.
But in the true spirit of a dumb ass (no pun intended dieter) when I felt better the next day, the first thing that I did was hop on the scale. And tap danced with joy at my 3lb weight loss. I couldn't wait to get to the center and ring the weight loss bell.
Sick, me, I know.
Posted by: Carmen | March 21, 2008 at 12:36 PM
I'M SOOOOO MAD!!!!
This isn't an entry...just venting. I've already written you my story. You know the funny anxious 30 year old....anyways...
I've been reading Bitter is the New Black. I first read Bright Lights, Big Ass. Backwards, I know. Also I've been reading all these weight loss/gain entries....lots of good ones.
So why am I so mad? Well the last few pages I've read from your book was when your brother calls you and asks you to babysit his kids after he calls you a Peeg!! My first thought is I hope he isn't parenting girls and then I think him parenting boys might be worse.
Then I read some entries where husbands and parents have made similar hateful comments to your readers and instead of knocking some heads in....they (and I mean we) have just felt worse about themselves (and I mean ourselves).
It dawned on me that it's not about the food. I've heard that before but I did not get it before. It's filling that void, the sadness with chips and dip so we can think about how sick we feel rather than how worthless we feel....and all those other cliches. Well I woke up pissed off this morning. And I'm tired of feeling like garbage and letting people treat me like it. It's time to knock some heads in.
Posted by: Ev Straker | March 21, 2008 at 11:51 AM
Two words – ER and colonoscopy!
In order to lose the 30 you can’t seem to lose after 30, I joined a gym whose motto is “Really Hard Exercise Because It Works.” I swear to God my trainer minored in legal torture and when, after 2 months, I was still so sore I couldn’t hover over public toilets, I figured this exercise program had to work. Well it “worked” so well I ended up in the emergency room with some rather disgusting symptoms. After 8 hours of tests in the ER (and enough needle marks in my arm make me look like an IV drug user), I was admitted for an exploratory colonoscopy. Not only do I have the wonderful memory of drinking the “get rid of everything you’ve eaten since birth” medicine, I also have the memory of waking up in the middle of the procedure – the look of panic on the doctor and nurse’s face was priceless! In recovery the doctor began yelling at me for doing Boot-Camp style workouts – he said women MY AGE (the nerve!?!?) can’t pretend we are in our 20’s, and we can not push our bodies that hard. If I hadn’t been in such a chemical happy place I probably would have punched him. Evidently having my heart rate near 200 for an hour five days a week is unhealthy and causes damage to your intestines. And your trainer “pushing” you to complete the workout he did to get certified when you have a weakened intestine can cause tears in your intestine. Go figure! Did I mention I was out of town on a work trip when this all happened and I was alone in the hospital – well except for the crazy lady who shared my room – she was so annoying that I grabbed the doctor by the collar and demanded Xanax so I could pass out and would not have to listen to her anymore!
Oh well – I lived, the liquid diet I was placed on helped me lose some weight, and I still go to that trainer. Some say nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels, I say surgery sucked, but so did being fat sucks worse!
Posted by: Danielle | March 21, 2008 at 11:28 AM
Revelations had it wrong. Thirty-something. Numeral 3 followed by another numeral. Two innocent-looking digits that until you trip over them, fall down, relax, and order a pizza to be delivered to your prone, lazy ass are relegated to the Happy Memoryland time of learning to count. But once you find them, once you have seen them across the room (over the hors d'oeuvres), blushed at their forwardness, coyly deflected their advances, intoxicated yourself on their seemingly flattering persistence - once you realize this tango is for better or for worse - then an only then will you recognize your own personal devil numbers.
37.
Seems like the beginning of an innocent-enough sounding address. It's an address all right. It is ground zero for the Time When Things Started to Change. You know. A few gray hairs. A few wrinkles. These guests you were expecting, though. What you were NOT expecting was that you would gain twenty pounds in the course of one holiday season. That your ass would drop like Timothy Leary at a Doors concert. No, these party-crashers were uninvited.
So, in true impulse-control-issue mode, you spring into action. You will join the Atkins Nation. You will be the Hostess In Ketosis. You will triumph over these evil digits with the help of green eggs and ham. You will eat all the wonderful, salty foods you could ever want, you will never notice the absence of things like bread, pasta, sweets - you will triumph.
You will find yourself sucking Advils for sugar. You will wonder how many it would take to sweeten that tea - sweetener and headache relief at once, how perfect. You will wistfully think of things like legumes - a word you would once have tossed your head back at and cackled madly into the air, exhaling a plume of smoke from your fashionable streamlined nostrils - wondering how you could have frittered away 36 years without taking the time to enjoy all of the foods that were once available.
You will google Krispy Kreme just to see the pictures. Such a perfect food. You will google Atkins. You will see that 3 years ago, protein diets were so popular that they took a good chunk of business away from Krispy Kreme. You will ponder this, as I did. You will see the polemical dilemma inherent - Atkins vs. Krispy Kreme, evil vs. good. You will get up off the floor, give the devil digits a swift kick in the ass and drive yourself to the nearest donut shop.
Ah - revelation!
Posted by: Dani | March 21, 2008 at 11:21 AM
I was committed to weight watchers for a full 13 weeks and feeling great about my successes and all the bravo stickers I have accumulated on my fat loss tracker. My jeans were getting baggy in all the right places and my legs no longer looked like little sausages cased in denim. Comments from people I work with and friends were pouring in daily. "KP you look great", "KP you have lost a TON of weight!!" (Thanks good to know I was a totally fat ass that had a TON of fat on me!) I decided it was time to go to the new hip snotty boutique that had just opened downtown. I had skinny friends that loved the place and raved about the designer denim. So I got myself psyched up to walk into the store and ask, gasp for a size 14 jean. I was hesitant when asking and the perky 7 month pregnant super cute and sales girl told me "Yes we do carry some larger sizes, I need to run into the stockroom in the basement to grab them." Great you keep the fat girl sizes out of sight! Up she comes with the bigger sizes in her hand and then proceeds to describe how this brand fits a larger bottom, this one bigger thighs, and this one seem to run really really generous so it should work. I head into the fitting room and them am told by the perky pregger "Make sure you let me see you in them!" Now maybe it was my fault for thinking I would be automatically transformed by the dark, chic designer label that cost more then my monthly car payment. I didn't care, I wanted to look hot and have those freaking jeans fit!!! After giving up my favorite white pasta, ice cream, soda, and full fat lattes I deserved to look hot in my new jeans. The first pair would have left button tattoos on my waist, the second left lines on my thighs, and the third may have given me a yeast infection because there was not room for air to circulate anywhere! I quickly blinked back my tears and got into my old jeans and walked out of the fitting room (torture chamber). "You didn't let me see you in them". Cheered the clerk. "None worked I replied." My voice on the edge of cracking. "They will stretch." she replied "A lot" to add insult. "Not enough for me, but thanks. I will try again when I loose some more weight." I added with my eyes burning and set for the door. "Be really really good this week and don't eat anything bad and then come back to see us!" You have got to be kidding me, I burst for the door and the tears streamed down my face.
I have managed to shed some more LBS but I only shop at stores that use vanity sizing to boost my ego.
Posted by: Kristin | March 21, 2008 at 10:25 AM
My mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was a little girl. And since we belonged to a close knit church and community, any time she was hospitalized, we were overwhelmed with casseroles. And she was hospitalized A LOT. Over the course of several year. These friends automatically sought to please the three kids in the home, so most of the casseroles involved cheese, potato chips, cheese, mayo, and more cheese. Mmmm. I never noticed my weight because my brothers and I were involved in a lot of activites to "distract us." But the problems started when I hit puberty at 9. Suddenly, while my older brothers were trying to gain weight for wrestling, mine was sticking, even with sports and dance. Still, I don't think anyone was worried, and seriously, who is going to stop a little girl who has a dying mom from having a bowl of ice cream after dinner?
My mom died when I was 11, and if I thought we had a "friends bringing food by" problem before, this event multiplied it by 100. Friends and neighbors filled both our fridges, and implemented a plan to keep us fed for 2 months, making sure the widower with little cooking experience could keep his kids alive.
At this time, I also became a latchkey eater...I mean kid. With no one home to supervise my snacking, I'd pour a bowl of doritos, eat them all, pour another and hide it behind a pillow on my bed (those grease stains never came out by the way) so I could munch in secret while I did homework. Occasionally I'd mix it up with a bowl of ice cream, or a large candy bar. I'd decided to take a break from activities for awhile because I wasn't into it. Obviously, I realize now that was eating to mask my grief.
One day, about 4 months after my mom died, my dad looked at me and saw an eleven year old who was already wearing a B (almost C) cup, and whose pudge couldn't be explained by baby fat anymore. Since I was the youngest and the only girl, he didn't know much about raising a girl through through puberty. But he knew enough that he wanted me to be healthy and happy and he had to do something. Although people are kind of appalled at what he did now, I still am grateful for it.
He asked me to weigh myself. And when I told him how much I weighed, he told me he thought I was getting too heavy for my body type and height, and offered me $2 for every pound I lost. And in 1990 when my only income was very sporadic babysitting, that was a huge motivator. (To be honest, when he put the stakes out, my first thought was, "that's a lot of Sweet Valley High books!").
I discovered my bike again, started eating carror sticks, and switched out my two regular sodas for one diet one. I skipped desserts, and took long post dinner walks with my dad. And it worked! I slimmed down to a weight that was appropriate. And I got to forge a much closer relationship with my dad...one that I still rely on today. I helped him lose weight too, encouraging him to cut out the sugar in his coffee and those big candy bars I used to steal from him.
My weight still fluctuates, but I attribute the healthier lifestyle that I lead to what happened in that difficult time. I give props to my dad, who although he could never fathom taking me shopping for a bra or other "girl" stuff, made a decision about/for me that helped change my life.
In fact, he still makes weight loss bets with my brothers and I. He won big for his own wedding, and we're now setting new stakes. It's $5 a pound now, but the losers have to pay the winner. I'm aiming to get at least $50 from him this time...18 years later.
Posted by: Elizabeth | March 21, 2008 at 09:35 AM
The mirror forsakes, I watch it jiggle and shake, Such a pretty fat.
Posted by: Sandy Nelson | March 21, 2008 at 09:09 AM
I "try" to go on a diet every six months or so. During one of these attempts, I was drinking a large quantity of slim fast and only eating at Subway (yes, Jarred). At one point, I believe I may have starved myself into a state of dimentia. Engaged in some extra-curricular activity, my boyfriend swore that I yelled out "subway". As we we were not actually on a subway at the time (promise), I promptly stopped the diet and went back to eating a tub of Ben and Jerry's on a regular basis. Phish food. Yum. Which would be totally OK to yell out, by the way.
Posted by: smb | March 21, 2008 at 09:08 AM
Christmas 2005, I saw my family's photos and could not believe my eyes. With a BMI of 31.4, I was literally obese. I had been feeling uncomfortable and had even accepted that I would be a "bigger" woman until I saw the evidence. I even had the horrible “shaper” which my husband lovingly called the fat smasher. I am 5 feet tall and weighed 161 pounds. I wore a size 16 petite (talk about an oxymoron!)
I had been very physically active earlier in my life so I slowly and surely implemented a fitness and nutrition plan (including one with points-not a commercial but it worked for me). I lost 30 pounds by fall of 2006 and had run a couple 5ks. Then a wonderful twist of fate took occurred: I opened a local running magazine and saw an advertisement that asked me if I wanted to run a half marathon in Miami in January. Heck yeah!!! Everyone I knew thought I had lost my mind. I was going to get up before dawn ever Saturday morning and run outside in the dead of winter with a group of those crazy people my husband and I use to laugh at while driving down LSD. However, out on those arctic paths, I met some of the best, most encouraging wonderful people ever. We discussed the important things in life like why our older sister always got to be Electra Woman and we had to be Dyna Girl and that it's not embarrassing to like Britney Spears when you are 37. I felt so inspired that I actually cried tears of joy driving home from my first 10 mile training fun. I couldn't believe that I did it. That was nothing compared to Miami, which was AWESOME! I felt like they were going to broadcast me on ESPN. I had fans, granted they had no idea who I was but they clapped for me! I was a real athlete.
Since then, I have completed an Olympic triathlon, three half marathons, two 10 mile race, lots of 5 and 10ks and have two half marathons and my first marathon on the schedule of races for this year. My mother watches every horror story on 20/20 and is convinced that these events will cause a whole host of life threatening medical breakdowns-it’s good, she likes to worry and I was tired of her old material- terrorist sleeper cells in the Midwest and carjackings. My littlest nephew asks me when I'm going to win. I figure if I keep at it, I’m a lock in my age division in about 40 years. (I never said I was fast!)
I feel like a completely different person. My doctor's office thought they had pulled the wrong chart when I came in for my physical because I am so much healthier. My cholesterol and blood pressure are those of someone at least 10 years younger.
I quit my lame and boring desk job, work at a gym and am studying to take the NASM personal training exam this spring/summer.
Posted by: ally | March 21, 2008 at 08:16 AM
Ok, so pretty much every medical professional in my world, from my dentist to my gynecologist, has told me it’s time to lose weight and cut back on caffeine. My dermatologist went so far as to tell me that I should also give up alcohol, but I told him he was just being silly.
In an effort to be accommodating (and following an unfortunate incident with a fitting room mirror), I decide to reduce my coffee intake. Not only will I cut out thousands of calories in cream and sugar, I rationalize, I will also eliminate pastry calories. Because, really, how delicious can sweetened carbohydrates be without the caffeinated chaser?
So I get a freaking small coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts and pretty much feel like it would have been kinder for them to throw the steaming hot coffee on my face than to force me to drink out of this paper Dixie cup with ill-conceived lid. Apparently when you drop your $1.26 for a small coffee, not only is your cup of lesser quality than the cups I pee in at my annual check up, but you are no longer entitled to the smooth plastic lid with small “sipping” opening. No, you get a flat white lid with a little peel-back flap, that when peeled back results in sharp plastic edges that endanger your lips and further corrupt the drinking enjoyment (as if it wasn’t already corrupted enough, since the lid is flat, so to drink out of the opening, you pretty much have to jam the sharp folded-up edge against your nose).
In theory, I could pour this coffee into another mug, but I have to say I used to LIKE drinking out of a sturdy disposable cup with a little paper cup condom. Come to think of it, I didn’t even get a GD cup condom! This is an outrage! Not to mention, a small is so small, it would pretty much look like a small coffee droplet in the bottom of any mug my husband and I have around the house.
While my skinny friends have offered a multitude of helpful (NOT!) solutions to my dilemma, ranging from ordering a medium coffee in a real cup and drinking only half (because if I had the self-control to stop after ½, I would have these problems?) to ordering a small coffee served in a medium cup (because these people have never used a DD drive-thru?) to exercising (no comment), I have resorted to coffee chemistry. Unfortunately, last week I forgot to warn my husband about the cup condom thing. He ordered 2 small cups for me from the drive-thru (1 caf/cream/sugar and 1 decaf black, which would later be cleverly combined into a medium ½ caf, ½ cream/sugar). When they handed the unprotected cups to him, he foolishly took them; after blistering the skin on his palms, he dropped them in his lap.
Bad for both of us.
I hear Starbucks makes something called a skinny latte. Hmmmmm…
Posted by: Angela | March 21, 2008 at 08:04 AM
Was going to have baratic surgery.
Dad passed away had to take too weeks off of work.
No more time off.
Fat and Sad.
Hey at least I havent been able to eat anything for the last two weeks.
Posted by: sad but true | March 21, 2008 at 06:57 AM
Fat Ass Moi
I am pretty sure my mother hated my fat ass, which likely led to her outburst as she sashayed down the mall all slim and saucy and I waddled like a super-sized penguin beside her. Never mind, in addition to my 200 pounds of kid-blubber, I was a petulant needy brat and had a nasty habit of whining for her to buy me something every time we were in the mall – which was at least twice a week. Or that I was impossible to buy for as anything I fancied looked positively hideous with my rolls of lard perilously close to exploding the seams of the huge hip-chick garments. But was that justification that she lose her mind completely and spin her head around like Linda Blair in The Exorcist and spew in revulsion, “Get away from me. I don’t want any one to know you’re mine.”
Fine way to build a girl’s self-esteem, I thought as I slunk behind her, horrified she despised me, the fat girl. As a result of this mortification, I became toxically introverted and an enraged, pill-popping, teen misanthrope. Oh, lest I forget, I also became pathologically blessed with anorexic behavior - well before it was chic – or even a known disorder. It was, after all, 1969.
None of this happened overnight. There were the elementary school years with the ritualistic torment from the little asshole boys. You know the usual shunning-on-the playground antics and teasing with clever remarks like, “Look at Fatso, she’s bigger than my house,” or, “Fatty Arbuckle can see-saw with Fatso Pigface.” Or being chosen last for any team that required athleticism, of which I had nil. Let’s not forget Valentine’s Day, a testament of cruelty toward the unwanted, the recipients of the bottom of the barrel, shitty valentines. True fact: you can be classified a loser simply by the shit factor of your valentine haul. (Of course these comments reek of circa 1960, but I am sure the chosen ones have figured out new ingenious ways to ridicule the fat, the unattractive, and the other social pariahs of the 2000’s.)
These days I speculate often, especially after I’ve eaten my (solitary) grape for dinner and washed it down with a liter of Stoli, that I am really the lucky one to have been ginormous as a child. The skinny little bitches never knew what it was like not to be able to eat a fucking french fry for fear of carbo-fatic poisoning. That rich life experience has molded me into the over-exercised, neurotically challenged adult I have become.
I’ve been starving for about 40 years on and off. Sometimes I am hungrier than others, but that’s okay. I am happiest when I have total control over food while leaving plenty of room in the daily calorie count for a couple martinis. Baggy jeans and protruding ass bones cheer me up. Sunken cheeks make my day. No tits – a glorious morning. I am just a sick fuck, but what the hell, I can turn side ways and slip through a turnstile.
Posted by: M-Moi | March 21, 2008 at 06:53 AM
In 1988 I went on the Scarsdale Diet.
I still can't eat tinned tuna.
The end.
Posted by: kim at allconsuming | March 21, 2008 at 05:26 AM
I have reached the conclusion that I am a "dyslexic anorexic" because when I look in the mirror I see someone very lean and fit. This can be a bit confusing though, because when passing a store-front window, I can’t figure out when my great aunt started chaperoning me around town. Who is that woman, surely not moi? The scale is not my friend, I don't care what you say and weighing yourself daily should be denounced in the 11th commandment "Thou shalt not believe in the trickery of the scale for it shall leadeth to Patron Purgatory". Getting off it, I rush to my REAL friend, Senor Patron, who loves me no matter what and once again, I find myself toasting to my big, beautiful self and saying “To hell with the rest, chubaletos are the best!!“ I have also decided that if I can't beat them, join them and maybe my goal should be to push past the 200 marker, as I am closing in fast, so that I can get on "The Biggest Loser" and be "whipped" into shape by Bob, the show's delicious snick-snack, gay or straight, it makes no difference, he can be my Yoda and I will be his Luke Skywalker. Simply yummy...Lately, I find myself asking questions such as “What would happen if I were able to pass a pencil test?”, you know what I’m talking about. My skinny, brainless sister - yes, all skinny woman are brainless, in my most humble opinion, can pass the pencil test, the one where you put a pencil under each of your breasts and if it falls, then “Voila”, you officially do not have saggy breasts, you pass, whatever. I can’t recall a time in my 40+ years of life that I have ever passed this test but my skinny, brainless sister, with her pert, tiny morsels, seems to have no problem. In fact, I chuckled myself into a pair of Depends when she went in for liposuction at 125 pounds and the doctor asked her if she was in there for breast implants. She calmly replied “No, I am quite happy with my breasts but this kangaroo pouch has got to go.” What can you say, it’s Hollywood. All in all, I’ve tried them all and the one thing that I can say is that I must still need to hit rock bottom. I love food, all food, I am not biased in any way and food loves me. We are still working out the relationship kinks and I am confident that once we are able to establish our boundaries, everything will fall into place and off of me. Till then, where is Little Debbie?
Posted by: Christie Zuverink | March 21, 2008 at 02:28 AM
I have always obsessed over my weight and here I sit writing about my non-committal attitude towards actually doing something about it. I haven’t always been overweight. In fact, I was a “string-bean” with knobby knees all through school and still I obsessed thinking I was too skinny. Now, the bigger boobs seem to act as a counterbalance so most people don’t notice the extra weight. I do.
Whether I’m conscientiously eating a nice healthy salad or downing an entire sleeve of Thin Mint cookies I constantly think about my weight. I think about what I need to do to get back on track and lose the 25 – 30 pounds I picked up along the way. I think about trying the “Mind Over Matter Weight Management System - Just think yourself thinner!” No I’m not an idiot, but I swear it’s happened before. When I was younger it seemed all I had to do was think about losing weight and, in the words of Emeril “BAM!”, the fat just fell right off. Nowadays the exact opposite occurs, I just think about those Peanut M&Ms and through the scientific process of osmosis those M&Ms somehow show up on my thighs.
Honestly, I have started to monitor my food intake because my doctor told me I’d probably have a longer, higher quality life without all the bread and cheese. Come on! I’m a Midwestern girl these things are dietary staples. All kidding aside, my cholesterol count was too high and my triglycerides were over the top. I’ve tried to cut fried foods out as much as possible and replace them with healthier alternatives. Other than the scheduled monthly chocolate requirement, snacks now include baby carrots, tomatoes and sugar-snap peas – sans dressing. Sadly, I haven’t lost much weight with my lower (complex)carb, lower cholesterol dining habits but I have to admit I do feel better and have more energy. I think I can even feel the blood flow more freely through my arteries.
Recently, I have been mentally (not yet physically) moving myself towards that four letter word… can I say it… EXERCISE! Wait! That’s nine letters. Anyway, I already have the elliptical, Pilates machine, exercise ball as well as a variety of exercise videos so I really don’t have any excuses. Except - when do I truly have time to exert this kind of energy and move my body? Full-time job, two kids, dog and cat aside, I suppose my nightly blog activity could be completed earlier in order to go to sleep at a decent hour thus enabling an earlier start to the day and take an early morning walk. It seems feasible.
So I guess it’s time to act, set the alarm a ½ hour earlier and start moving in some form or fashion. I really don’t have to like it I just have to do it. Hey! The morning walk may even tire my ever energetic, non-stop three year old son. Now that’s incentive!
Posted by: Just Laura | March 21, 2008 at 01:56 AM
I have put on so much weight that my sunglasses are tight.
So much for "one size fits all"!
Posted by: Judy | March 21, 2008 at 01:04 AM
A thank you is in order to Jen. Being a bigger girl, I thought that my abs all but vanished beneath my "love handles" or maybe it should be a "love towel rack" REGARDLESS...I have now just spent the past 4 hours attempting to read the first 140 pages of Bright Lights, Big Ass only to break out laughing every two seconds. This action causing me to realize that there are muslces underneath my towel rack, but right now they hurt to much to move!
Thanks
Posted by: Sarah | March 21, 2008 at 12:12 AM
I have a fat ass. I have always been had said ass. In fact, childhood memories included being serenaded the “1-800-98-Jenny” jingle on the school bus by every child on there. As a teacher bobbed her head along.
It used to be fatter. Living with Grandma while going to college is conducive to having time for Dean’s List grades and gaining 100 pounds on a Southern diet. In fact, I once tried to encourage a healthier diet on my grandmother’s part, with some lovely lean chicken breast strips. “You can’t bread and fry them. Remember, if you’re breading it, lay off of it!” So she dropped the whole bag of them into the deep fryer.
Sans breading, of course.
Then, I transferred to public college. Without a car or a job. Therefore, I had to walk everywhere. To the tune of around an extra (read: ANY) 10 miles or so a week. Plus, I had no food. My mother would pick me up groceries, and I insisted on only salads, yogurt, etc. Which I had to conserve, because food didn’t come around so often.
I lost 40 lbs. in 6-8 weeks.
My hands were also always raw, and I suspect I attempted to gnaw them off in my sleep. Then I realized I was denying myself things like chocolate and cream sauces and fried stuff (oh, my!).
I also lost 35 lbs. on my own, despite the temptation of food around, as I went back home to the loving (and large) bosom of my family.
I have never given one dollar of my money to Weight Watcher’s, Richard Simmons, Susan Powter, Gold’s Gym, the Y, Bally’s, Jenny Craig, or NutraSystem.
After I lost the first 40, I figured out their dirty little secret. Eat less, exercise more, and drink LOADS of water. Everytime my mom spent money on these diets, she ended up gaining weight. Stress-eating over the fact that she blew a whole lot of money on a bunch of diets that didn’t do what they said they would.
Long story short, I stopped the effort once I hit size 18, 75 lbs. lighter. Which I am okay with. Quite frankly, I enjoy giving my money to Nordstrom’s over Richard Simmons ANY day.
Therefore, I have a fat ass, albeit less fat than before, but I have better accessories than the skinny chicks.
Posted by: Ash | March 20, 2008 at 11:37 PM
Having been a runner since the age of 14, I was always pretty fit. Ironically, it was during my 20’s – when I weighed nothing and looked great – that I felt fat and ugly.
I would often starve myself, run hundreds of miles, and (almost) pass out in the gym shower – after a mega-workout, while shampooing my hair, I felt dizzy and ended up bare-ass on the shower floor (which was really what made me want to pass out, not the 10 mile run followed by an hour of aerobics and weights).
Now, I’m 40, have kids, and carry an extra 25 pounds, but my success story is this:
-> lost thousands of pounds binging-purging and exercising like the energizer bunny (only faster and with less fur).
-> gained thousands of pounds eating like the energizer bunny (only with less carrots and more ice cream).
-> lost many unappreciative boyfriends because my thighs were bigger than theirs (shallow ass) and I could run faster (feeble ass).
-> gained a great guy who likes to work out (in moderation? what the hell is that?), has bigger thighs, runs slower, and loves my curves.
-> gained a family - his kids and then our daughter (which is where the 25 lbs came from of course, even though she was only 9 lbs – did I mention I work with numbers?)
-> gained understanding of eating in moderation – who knew a bucket of KFC was really eight servings???
-> lost the need to be model thin (notice I did not say supermodel, because quite frankly, no adult should weigh 90 lbs).
Bottom line?
The size of bottom (notice I did not say bosoms, b/c I have none) no longer dictates my self-esteem and it only took 40 years to figure out.
Posted by: Gina | March 20, 2008 at 11:06 PM
For the first time in my life, I can’t do stuff. Can’t go white water rafting, comfortably sit at the movies without spilling over on my neighbour, latch the seatbelt in my friends’ cars, meander downtown for hours on end or leave on a plane (spilling over issue again) to roam a lovely island. I’ve always been able to do my stuff before and I can’t do it anymore. My hip hurts, my knee grinds more than any pole artiste, I run out of breath looking at my stairs and my closet is strictly filled with spandex-stretchy-elasticky clothing.
So my best story is the one I’m about to start. You see, after being “big boned”, “curvier than the norm”, “heavy” and “overweight”, I became “morbidly obese”.
It starts with a blood test, a urine test and an ECG on Tuesday morning so that I can begin a medically supervised lifestyle modification and meal replacement program.
It starts with wanting to change to become healthy and to feel better and pretty for the first time in my life. Most importantly though, it starts with being able to envision myself, once again, being able to do… stuff.
Thanks,
Inky
Posted by: inky | March 20, 2008 at 10:54 PM
Dear Baby-Sister,
H, remember those books you lent me? Bitter is the New Black and Bright Lights, Big Ass? I read them and I liked them. Now the author is holding an on-line weight-loss narrative competition. The winner gets an effing t-shirt, I mean, fabulous best-selling book from one of her friends. Wow. I was so inspired I thought I’d give it a whirl.
Until now you and I have always been yin and yang – me big, you little, or me little, you big. Wampum. Until I hit 43 and you hit 38. Now we would both like to lose a “little” weight. When I was pregnant, I took comfort in the existence of Jenny Craig. When I quickly hit 173 lbs. at the OBGYN’s office and our mother gripped the scale and said, “Oh, dear God,” I wasn’t worried. I figured it would all work out after the baby came. And you know what, H? During the first post-partum year it did work out. I breast-fed like a maniac and was back into my old jeans in no time. So what up? WTF happened?
Speaking of breast-feeding, remember the first time you tried to have sex with [your husband who will remain nameless because I know how private you are] after J was born? Being a first-time mom, I bet you had no idea your breasts had brains of their own. I certainly didn’t and I'm sorry I never told you. After Milo, Paul’s mom flew into town to give us a needed break, some "alone-time" with each other. As I was acclimating her to the schedule of the golden, like-no-other, broke-the-mold child, Paul was surreptitiously packing the car with pillows, sheets, and a cooler of liquor. We headed for my office, where I had a big futon sofa at the time. He manfully hoisted the futon to the floor and gallantly poured me a glass of champagne, at which time I began de facto nursing. DISASTER. DISASTER. ROMANTIC DISASTER
Now my flobbies try to swim downstream and leave me when I’m swirling in the hot tub. “Go, girls,” I say. “Get the f— out of here.” But I am still trying. For a while, I worked out at a neighborhood gym. There was a Barbie-and-Ken married couple that came in at least once a week. My mouth would gape open and never shut once they bounded through the door. I felt like Quasimoto when they hit the floor mats and I wanted to flee in horror to the bell tower. H, I’m here to tell you, this couple was PERFECT. Their combined BMI was zero. They did leg lifts in perfect synchrony, sit-ups to the melodious march of an army.
One night I went home and bravely told Paul that such women exist and then asked him, "how would it feel to be a man who has a wife with such an incredibly perfect body? How must that feel? Can you even begin to imagine it?" His diplomatic answer? "Guys don’t care about bodies. They just want someone who is nice to them." The next morning I pummeled him over a pot he’d charred, after he’d made popcorn without adding enough oil.
Must end now – have far exceeded the 200-word allotment. If only words were pounds -- I could shed so many. Love you, H. XOX
Posted by: Leigh | March 20, 2008 at 10:19 PM
After being ungrateful for my waist size in high school, karma kicked my ass with enough stretch marks I look like I outfitted myself with racing stripes. I learned my lesson. I peddled my rump around our housing addition 5 miles everyday….EVERYDAY for two months because I am a realist and know that Jenny Craig may sound all pleasant and give you visions of bathing in chocolate cake, but said cake is actually small than those awful “fun size” candy bars. Tell me what is “fun” about the tease of actually chocolaty goodness? The should rename those things “Choc Teases.”
Anyway, While refusing to be lured into a pseudo-cult like Weight Watchers, the Auschwitz like conditions I put myself through resulted in a 4 lb weight loss. I had lived on Special K and cottage cheese for two months and stepped on the scale. After crying all the way to Kroger to heal my broken heart with Cheetos and Dove Chocolate…I went to Weight Watchers. I told them my ordeal and they replied with…. “Well, I bet your colon is squeaky clean!” Check please! I am outta here
. I now have come to terms with my squishy but still work out. One must keep using the treadmill in order to show my local gym’s Treadmill Barbies I will not be broken.
Posted by: Cara | March 20, 2008 at 09:43 PM
We all agree that there should be a pill out there that rids the pounds, well my doctor actually put me on one 2 yrs ago. Being 240lbs and 5'5, I was a BIG girl, of course this is "adulthood" I was about 150 in the younger years. I decided to go to my primary doc and just pick his brain about what I should try (ive tried WW, Jenny and her Uncle craig, south beach, atkins, you name it) So he decided to put me on this pill (after running some thyroid, blood pressure and EKG tests) called PHENTERMINE. You know, that Fen-Phen drug that killed all those people, well this is the Phen half of that. I lost 21 pounds the first 19 days. I was ECSTATIC! It gives you the energy of a marathon runner with no want to eat. Stopped my appetite completely. So I lost 88lbs on this "magic" pill and still swear by it today....I have friends offering to pay me money equal to a dinner out per a pill bc they see the results. Okay, now there are some cons to this....bc of this damn pill, I cant seem to get any health insurance in the whole freakin USA. The reps seem to tell me they rather me be a fat, slobbering, obese woman than to have lost 88lbs to be eligible for their benefits. Well screw them! At least I can fit into my skinny jeans =)
Posted by: Katie | March 20, 2008 at 09:26 PM
I did not drink from the blessed gene pool which would cause me never to have to worry about my weight. Sure, I was a stick as a kid, but as soon as I hit puberty and stopped growing taller, the party was over.
Ever since then, controlling my weight has been a constant up-down-up-down battle. But I don't have a great and dramatic weight loss story to tell because I've managed not to gain a dramatic amount, so I've never had a lot to lose.
Which at this moment totally sucks.
Because I really want an autographed advance copy of your new book!!!!!
Posted by: Ginny | March 20, 2008 at 09:20 PM
Hate me. I was skinny for the first half of my life. I actually took a modeling course in high school and they had me drinking protein shakes to gain weight! I lost down to 107 after my third child (yes, I had em young!). That was my famous “potato chip diet” – eat a small bag of chips and drink a coke for breakfast and lunch, then eat a regular dinner. But by the time I was 25, my metabolism changed and I started gaining weight. At first it was fun—my boobs were finally getting bigger—unfortunately, so was my ass!
Over several years I gained 5 or so pounds each year, until one day I got on the scale and weighed 194! On my 5 foot 2 frame, I was horrified! When did this happen and how did I get this way??!! Somehow, I have been blessed with something I call “reverse anorexia”. Since I was skinny for nearly 24 years, I still feel skinny—what a shock every time I look in the mirror! So, I’ve been really good at avoiding scales, full-length mirrors and cameras for about 10 years! Time to get real and get busy!
I started with the South Beach diet. Going from a Junk-food junkie to the South Beach diet, I nearly passed out by 5:00 pm every day and didn’t make it a week! Next try, although I’m not catholic, I gave up “real” cokes for lent. I switched to Coke Zero. Amazingly, by Easter, I had lost 10 pounds and was used to drinking diet drinks. But, what next, except pray that I could keep it off! Several months later I counted Weight Watchers points with co-workers and I lost another 10 pounds in just a couple of months! Woo-Hoo! Last summer, I started walking every day at lunch with a group from work. I lost three or four pounds over the course of several weeks, but we quit after getting tired of being sweaty and stinky every afternoon. Of course, I put some of that back on over this past Thanksgiving/Christmas holiday.
This time, I gave up carbs (well, most carbs) for “lent” and have lost about 6 pounds. I’m now a couple of pounds under what I weighed at the end of last summer and can safely buy a size 14! Yea! Easter is around the corner and I’m looking forward to eating pasta, mashed potatoes, ice cream and chocolate again, so I’m sure I’ll put a few more back on. But I’m also exercising regularly (well, except this week!) I think I’ll go back on weight watchers and re-commit to regular exercise.
I have another 30 pounds I want to lose so I can share clothes with my teenage daughters! This weight loss thing is definitely a roller-coaster ride, but it’s really inspiring to read everyone else’s struggles and ideas! Wish me luck!
Posted by: Sherri Cook | March 20, 2008 at 09:08 PM
Last year my husband decided that we were going to "get healthy".
I stared at him. My plump ass simply could not comprehend what my gorgeous, thin mate was saying. I shrugged it off, thinking that the comment was a side effect from the chemicals in the bathroom cleanser he was using.
Needless to say, one week later had us treading on side by side mills at our local piece-o-crap gym--the only one we could afford (which I lovingly dubbed the "Sweat Ghetto").
I was cranky, tired, and profusely perspiring. So of course, the fucking Barbie girl song blares out of the gym's sound system. Gritting my teeth, I think to myself that if I hear one more annoying techno song from the nineties that my head will fucking spin and an unfortunate Sweat Ghetto employee will get an earful on the art of GOOD MUSIC.
Then what do I hear from my left? MY HUSBAND IS SINGING ALONG.
TO BARBIE GIRL.
My Red Hot Chili Peppers loving, Beatles obsessed life mate is singing along to what just might be my most hated work of musical debauchery (and he hasn't even broken a sweat yet, the rat bastard).
And he knows the words...what the fuck???
So startled was I that I stopped dead in my tracks and gaped at him...on a treadmill. That was still moving.
While he stares dumbly at me, my feet fly out from under me and I land face down on that horrid machine. My nose begins gushing blood and my lip is split and already beginning to swell.
As I try to pull myself to my feet, I begin a screeching monologue (peppered with every profane phrase in the English language) about how all of this is HIS fault for knowing the words to the Barbie girl song and making me doubt our destiny together.
We get our gym memberships revoked due to my family friendly performance.
Which is just fine with me. It gives me more time to sit in my comfy recliner, eat cookies, and read Jen's new book.
(BTW...two black eyes from a broken nose and four stitches in my lip, in case you were wondering. And, yes, I used all of the above to guilt the husband into indulging my every whim.)
Posted by: Jamie | March 20, 2008 at 09:02 PM
I have been reading these entries for hours and they are great! My two favorites are Jen @ 2:28 and Claudia of the Dior panties - you betta WERQ, bitch!!!
I have been up and down with my weight since I was a child but I have now realized why and am surprised this wasn't mentioned on here because I'm far from alone.
I was molested. And I now know that I started eating and gaining weight to stuff my feelings because it took me so long to tell, and also to keep the predators away! Right now I'm about 25 pounds heavier than I would like to be but I've been working out and am seeing results that I'm very happy with. I'm also going to start walking when it gets a little warmer out.
When I'm at my ideal weight, my body is out of control. I mean guys following me down the street trying to talk to me and shit like that, and sometimes the attention is too much. They are another kind of predator. I can't control what they do aside from politely brushing them off but I can be healthy and not afraid to be so voluptuous. It's a mind thing.
Also I've heard this - when you lose something that means you want to find it again so I am RELEASING the weight.
Now I'm a wild girl too, so my first choice used to be the club diet - lots of ecstasy and big bumps of K on the weekend, but I don't have the energy for that shit anymore. But boy that shit makes you do 16 hours of cardio on the dance floor and you won't miss a beat and you won't be hungry. LMFAO!
I'm doing this the right way this time and keeping it off. I'm so proud of myself and am happy to be doing it this early so I can be looking great this summer! This isn't an entry because I can get the book anytime, but I did want to add my two cents. There's always a reason for the weight, and sometimes it is something serious that remains no matter how thin you get.
Thank you all for sharing your stories, I've enjoyed them so much. May you all achieve the outer beauty you desire that matches the inner beauty that shines through in your posts. :)
Posted by: PetitMal | March 20, 2008 at 08:00 PM
As a child I was always bigger than the other kids. Not fat, but bigger because I was so tall. I was one of those children that reached puberty at around 11. I was also 5'5 in the 6th grade. Just a little chunky, but my height hid it. Well that’s great if you keep growing. By the time 8th grade hit I was at the height I am at now which is 5'7 (which might even be a stretch) . Which wouldn't have been so bad if I could of maintained my weight.
Sometimes I was teased, but I was not the biggest girl in my class. I always did sports and was able to keep from getting huge. I always hung around 180. In high school I was active. I did band, show choir, and swimming. Senior year of high school I unintentionally lost 20 lbs. I guess having 2 jobs being in choir, band and managing the basketball team does that to you. I had no time to eat. I looked great and was able to get a killer prom dress and graduated high school weighing around 160 lbs which was what my license said. I still thought I was fat though.
Enter the college years. Let me preface this by saying I was pretty much a goody goody in high school because I lived in a small town so when I got to college which was 45 minutes from home I went crazy. Pretty much drank myself into an oblivion my freshman year and managed to gain around 30 lbs. The thing was I was one of those fat girls that did not realize they were fat....yeah not pretty. Looking back now I am horrified at some of the things I wore when I was in fat denial.
Well my sophomore year I decided to start Weight Watchers. I think my weight starting that was around 211. Let’s just say WW does not work when after the meeting you and the girl you go to the meetings with decide that you will go to the buffet afterwards and "do better tomorrow", and ate celery before one of my drinking binges which just leaves you sick and still fat. I think I lost 2.5 lbs before I gave up.
I did lose weight in college. I graduated and was a little under the 200 mark. Which was good for me. I kept that off for about 2 years. Then enter my current boyfriend. When I started dating him I was around 198ish. And now 2 years in I have topped the scales at my highest weight ever. I started WW again in November weighing in at in the 230's. I have lost 15 lbs so far (the holidays sucked) and I want to get down to at least what I was when I graduated high school. Mostly so people don't look at me after looking at my license and think she is not 160 lbs.
Posted by: Katie W | March 20, 2008 at 07:25 PM
When I was little my anerexic grandmother was always making me eat, plus I had a mother who was always on a diet to go from a size 6 to a size 4. I was a chubby child. In high school, I went on Atkins and lost a lot of weight. Gained it back my freshman year of college (freshman 15). Lost it the next semester. Kept it off, plus lost a few more pounds, then I hit 39. I gained about 20 pounds. Three years ago I went on South Beach and lost the 20 pounds plus 10 more. I looked and felt good. I gained 20 of it back. Now I am working to lose it again, on South Beach, of course.
Posted by: Tammy B | March 20, 2008 at 07:21 PM
My story...
No matter what I weigh, no matter how old I get, no matter how many gyms I join, no matter how many times I start Weight Watchers, ,no matter how many fat women I compare myself to in order to make me feel better, no matter how many thin women I compare myself to in order to make me feel worse, my weight always weighs heavily on me.
Posted by: Mchele | March 20, 2008 at 07:18 PM
Tried a new doctor. During the always tedious and never overlooked, “You need to do something about your weight” discussion, Doc suggested gastric by-pass surgery. Right off the bat, I thought, “Hospital? Surgery? Hospital? Mortality rates? Hospital? No way!!” I call my parents and was instantly justified when my mom reacted similarly with the “that’s rather drastic, isn’t it?” support. The next day my mom calls to report my father (the turncoat) trusts this doctor and she was now growing more excited about the possibilities this surgery could bring.
Next, consult the BFF. She told me that she’d been thinking of this as an option for me but didn’t know how to approach it – she mentioned it once and I shot it down immediately. My greatest fear at that point was that the surgery would be viewed as a cheater’s way out. What would the people at work think? I felt I was a stronger defending my weight than I could ever be defending a weight loss by surgery.
It took 6 months to finally feel comfortable enough to learn more about it and sign up for an orientation session. My darling husband came with to support me and find out about the procedure and the life of “veteran” patients. There we learned about the procedures and testing before the surgery, the surgery itself and the lifestyle and support programs required afterwards. There was even a video – Big Medicine style ala Dr. Garth. I’m told that if I want, I can get my very own video of my surgery. Thanks, but I’ll pass. At the end of the session, they handed out an encyclopedia worth of forms with instruction to call when completed for an initial consultation.
The initial visit: after filling out the Encyclopedia Britannica, I should have been more surprised that there were 5 more pages to fill out upon arrival. These pages comprised a true/false questionnaire of doom. Examples (all true):
This surgery could result in death.
This surgery could result in blood clots that could result in death.
This surgery could result in infection which could result in death.
If the proper nutrition/food habits are not followed it could result in death.
The feeling of calm flew out the door, into the elevator and down to the closest bar to wait for me. When called, I followed the nurse to the scale I swear was originally designed to weigh circus animals. The nurse assures me that I can get one of these babies at a discount if I wanted one for the house. Fearing that the purchase might "result in death", I promptly decline. While taking my blood pressure, she tells me my BP is high and "was I nervous about something?" The only thing that came to mind is a snippet from the movie “Clue”:
Professor Plum: "What are you afraid of, a fate worst then death?"
Mrs. Peacock: "No, just death. Isn't that enough?"
Long story short: pre-surgery 389 pounds, 22 months post-surgery 206.
Posted by: Mary | March 20, 2008 at 07:17 PM
I was getting married in nine months and not because I had to. Although, to some people I did look pregnant; including a “special needs boy” who at my engagement party asked me how many babies I had in my tummy.
So when cut off day for ordering a wedding dress arrived, I had “dieted” myself into a size 28. Have you ever tried to find a wedding dress in a size 28? I was becoming desperate in my search, when one day a co-worker suggested a nearby bridal shop that featured generous sizes. Not having time to call ahead, I decided to take a chance and visit the boutique on my lunch hour.
At this point I had had some pretty bad experiences at bridal shops. Everything from being mistaken for the mother of my girlfriend, who was trying on the dresses that did not come in my size; and on another occasion, after having asked a clerk to see something in my size, being told for God and everyone else to hear, “OH, we don’t have anything THAT BIG”.
With trepidation I walked into Boutique for the Buxom Betrothed, and was relieved to be greeted by an ample sales girl. I told her I just wanted to see what they had. I had no intention of trying on gowns since I had dressed in a rush that morning; and I was wearing what I like to call my weekday underwear. The kind that has plenty of cotton and you can bear wearing them through an eight hour day in a cubical. Not like my Saturday undergarments which have lots of lace and industrial strength spandex; the kind you only have to suffer wearing long enough to get through dinner and a movie; yet really hope they get seen. However, when the saccharin sales girl showed me a stunning, bead encrusted A-line gown, in my size, that was made in the USA; I had to acquiesce.
In the dressing room, I removed only my blouse before slipping the dress over my head; I didn’t want the sales girl to see my tattered weekday foundations. Overly attentive to her duties and perhaps anxious to make a sale, she entered the dressing room without invitation. “We’ll have to get you out of those pants for a proper evaluation of the fit,” she proclaimed. I froze in a panic, paralyzed by the unstoppable drive of a girl that works on commission. It was like one of those nightmares where you’re moving in slow motion. Before I could protest, she skillfully reached under the mounds of satin, unclasped, unzipped and disrobed me. I hadn’t been separated from my pants that fast since prom night.
Imagine my embarrassment; a total stranger had just seen my Wednesday underwear. And it was Thursday!
I bought the dress and made the sales girl take me out for a drink. If somebody’s going to see my underwear I’m getting a drink out of it.
Posted by: Gail M | March 20, 2008 at 06:56 PM
My weight loss struggles began before I had weight loss struggles. When I was five years old (and very cute and sized exactly as I should be), my father (who totally needed a boatload full of therapy) taught me how to make myself throw up in the event that I might eat too much someday. The whole interaction happened underneath this umbrella of education—like I was learning some important new thing. “The Romans used to use feathers to make themselves get sick during huge feasts so that they could eat more.” It was really confusing and yucky. So I never did it.
I went to live with my dad at age 14 after my mom passed away (there are SO many details on the parent/alcoholism/divorce/cancer front that 500 words just won’t cut it and besides it is way off-topic!) and my dad put me on the best diet regimen of all: secret diet pills disguised as vitamins. “This one is a vitamin C, this one is vitamin A, this one is calcium and this one is a multi-vitamin.” Make no mistake that these were the really high quality diet pills ordered from a host of television and magazine ads. Twice a day, I took four “vitamins” until I was 17 years old and happened to find the odd-looking jars in a cabinet while searching for something else.
After unearthing this secret, I decided to move out and get out of Crazytown. I gained 100 lbs in just under a year. Now, I had a weight problem and as an added bonus, a whole host of interesting and complicated tummy issues. I completely ignored the fact that I had gained so much weight until I had came down with strep throat and had to go to the doctor. After actually hearing that I weighed 240 lbs, I was in shock. It just had not been a focus and my body had been through so much recovering from nearly four years of diet pills. But there it was!!
I cried for about a week and tried to imagine myself being really heavy forever—not feeling that there was every any possible way that I could lose that much weight. Once I pulled myself together, I worked really hard and lost 60 lbs. through a super-low-or-no-fat diet with lots of dancing in front of music videos. (this was the late 80’s!! don’t pretend you didn’t dance with Janet Jackson to pleasure principle!)
Ever since then, I have lost and gained but never back to the original post-diet-pill-discovery weight gain. With both of my children, I was actually thinner after having them than before I got pregnant! Most recently, I have been happily on Atkins for the last three months. Sometimes the cupcakes win.
At the end of the day, I blame it all on those f#$cking Romans.
Posted by: cristina | March 20, 2008 at 06:17 PM
Before I begin, I suppose I should warn you that this is not the type of heroic, weight-loss tale that would make Richard Simmons cry or soil his tiny purple shorts. But it is 100% true and will most likely make you laugh and possibly shudder with disgust.
It was 1 month after my 30th birthday. I had made it through 4 weeks of eating only boring nutritious lunches and I even stopped sneaking to the vending machine for a Snickers bar (which, by the way, does satisfy). I recorded calories in my diet-journal and sweat through grueling lunchtime workouts. Nothing could deter me. I was living the dream this time.
Since the genes in my Italian/German family are on the larger side, I vowed that age 30 would be the point where I stop eating like a college kid and take real control of my weight. And I felt great as I drove home that day. I pulled my car into my building’s parking garage and headed towards the elevator with my gym-bag in tow. We live on the 19th floor, so the elevator can be a bit of a wait sometimes (and no, 19 flights of stairs is not an option-- I want to be thin, not dead).
While waiting, I noticed that someone had left trash on a table near the elevator. Since the elevator wasn't getting to me anytime soon, I decided to recycle my thoughtless neighbor’s crap. Besides, a trip to the dumpster would add a few extra steps on my pedometer! Win-win!
I quickly grabbed the empty Starbucks cups, but when I attempted to lift the box beneath them, it was a bit heavier than I imagined an empty box would be. Puzzled, I yanked at the lid to see what other garbage had been shoved inside so I could recycle it properly. Staring back at me were 12 glistening, perfectly formed, Original Glazed Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.
I felt as if time had stopped. I panicked as I heard the elevator ding and then suddenly open it's doors. I grabbed the doughnut box and rushed into the elevator, holding down the button so no one could question me about my delicious prize (as if they would).
Upon entering my apartment, I ate 3 of my delicious winnings and excitedly sent a text-message to my husband:
"Found dozen donuts in garage! Dinner is all set! ☺"
Then I promptly ate another. And then I ate one more, completely destroying anything resembling my diet. I couldn’t wait to see the look on my hubby’s face when he discovered the sugary surprise waiting for him. He loves sweets more than I do, and would be thrilled! Feeling extremely pleased with myself, I had one more donut, making it an even ½ dozen.
As I licked the glaze off my fingers, my phone beeped with his text-message response:
"Baby, I know you’re dieting, but please do not eat abandoned food you find in our parking garage".
Posted by: Jamie Roberts | March 20, 2008 at 06:07 PM
It was my glorious senior year in college, and my sorority spring Formal was just around the corner. I went to the best dress store in town and found the most FABULOUS pastel pink number…gorgeous neckline, gorgeous fabric… not-so-gorgeous chubby girl looking back in the mirror at me. I quickly realized that I needed to drop a few lbs. before the big event—so like any self respecting sorority girl would do; I went on a serious diet. I didn’t just do the fresh-fruit-and-bottle-water-only diet…oh no, that would not do. I needed results FAST. My roommate (and sorority sister) was dating this meathead type who spent all of his free time at a gym or working the door at the bars in town. My dear roommate was also in the same weight loss predicament as I, so we asked meathead what we should do (aside from setting foot in a gym, of course). He suggested we try a product called “Release.” This “Release”, we thought, MUST have to work…it costs $200! So, I went to GNC, cut a check for $200 (Thank you, student loan money) and started taking the Release. Ashley and I figured out quickly why the stuff was called Release--because every bit of solid material that passed through our bodies was, within 5 minutes, RELEASED. We would grab healthy sandwiches for lunch, and 5 minutes later both of us would sprint for the bathroom (thank god we each had one of our own). Aside from explosive diarrhea, the Release causes pleasant side effects such as (but not limited to): severe dehydration and the desire to chug massive amounts of water/any liquid in sight, dizziness, and the feeling that you have transformed into a lab rat because of the extreme increase in heart rate. Indeed, I did lose about 10 pounds in two weeks (congratulations to me) and I did manage to find time to get a decent tan to complement the pink fabulousness of my gown… However, when I went to put on my gown, IT FELL DOWN COMPLETELY—as in the weight that disappeared left from my practically already non-existent boobs. Hoorah. I had to wear a HUGE padded bra, and when the dress still fell—I resorted to stuffing the massive padded bra with those “inserts” that contain a water-like substance. As a result, the more “fun” (a.k.a. excessive drinking) I had throughout the night, the inserts would begin to show. There are quite a few pictures of me floating around featuring yours truly donning my date’s bow tie and huge fake boob inserts falling out of my fabulous pink gown. Looking through my house the other day, I came across the unfinished bottles of Release—and thought for a moment about taking them again. After all, they did help me to regain fabulousness after a rough breakup! I threw the remaining pills away and went for a walk instead. After all, my schedule doesn’t allow for 4 hours of bathroom time a day!
Posted by: Jessica A. Jones | March 20, 2008 at 04:52 PM
I tried the Crack Whore Diet, which I found worked amazingly successfully for me, circa 1984-ish through 1994-ish. Who can remember exact dates? Or men?
The Crack Whore Diet consisted of cocaine and crack, vodka+cranberry, with minor amounts of Jeno's pizza rolls and Stouffer's chicken-stuffed pasta sheels with cheese sauce (and it's a tragedy they stopped making those delicious babies) for good measure. Add copious amounts of sex, and you've got a winner!
Afterwards, however, I gained 65 pounds over the years due to stopping drugs, being fired from a job and quitting smoking (not all at once). I am now down 8 pounds with Alli and - yes! - I started smoking again. I rock. But, not the crack rocks anymore.
I can has crack?
Posted by: Suzy Q | March 20, 2008 at 04:34 PM
As I tend to yo-yo between Hottie and Fattie, I’m sure I have a treasure trove of weight loss stories: motivational, funny, sad, embarrassing, etc. However, my latest quest is to lose at 15 pounds and get in shape (at least good enough shape to look smoking hot in a spectacular dress with the help of Spanxx) for a wedding in June. Not my wedding and not a wedding that I am in (thankfully), but a wedding of a friend who is marrying a friend of my Ex.
Now, having to see an ex at a wedding wouldn’t generally be enough for me to put myself through boot camp four times per week on top of training for a half marathon, entirely changing my diet and cutting out alcohol (oh, sweet Guinness, wait for me; I shall return to your frosty smoothness). However, this ex did the unthinkable and “dated within the circle” and now is engaged to someone from inside the circle. Not only that, but she looks like a shorter, fatter version of me. So clearly I have to differentiate myself from my rotund doppelganger on top of boosting my ego in the process. Granted, I kicked him out of my house and never wanted to marry the guy, but since I’m now forever linked to him through friends and family, I feel that I should live by the saying “Looking great is the best revenge.” Or is it “living well is the best revenge?” Whatever. I vote for looking good which is why I’m currently sweating my ass off 90 minutes a day 4 days a week at boot camp, one day at week in a stinky, sweltering yoga class with the Crunchy Granolas from my neighborhood, running 7-13 miles each Saturday, and eating vegetarian/organic with no alcohol in sight for the next two and a half months.
If this new fiancée is going to be the beneficiary of the new and improved Ex (achieved through my blood, sweat and tears), then I should at least get to look WAY hotter than her at the wedding. And as icing on the cake, I’m bringing a gorgeous, wicked smart British boy that no one knows for sure that I’m not dating. A handsome, witty man with an accent is the best accessory, right?
Every miserable second of healthy food, no alcohol, squats, lunges, kettle bell pulls and sprints will be totally worth it when I walk into the room and all eyes are on me, me, me (and my handsome foreigner). Hmmm, wonder if I should warn the bride?
Posted by: Chandra T | March 20, 2008 at 03:39 PM
I planned my wedding 14 months out so I had plenty of time to lose weight. Well, over 8 months I lost 40 pounds (by October). I'm a huge commitment phobe and I suddenly panicked that I was getting married at the beginning of January - and since I'm an emotional eater...I gained back all 40 plus 5 more for good measure and got married at the exact weight I'd never wanted to be. At least when people ask my husband if I "blew up" after getting married he can honestly say no!
P.S. I'd love to win the book!!!
Posted by: Amy M | March 20, 2008 at 03:36 PM
Damn Weight Watchers Nazi Bastards. I'm not (not, not, not!) getting on that scale! I'm not, I'm totally not. That's right, I've only eaten lettuce and drank water for seven days and I'll bet anything I've gained weight. And what the hell is with the superskinny senior citizen weighing me in? Hello? If I wanted to share my weight with someone it wouldn't be Suzy Smiley up there. OK, God? You listening? Let's make a deal, if I promise to not curse, scream at my husband and children or the lady who works at the DMV ever again could I possibly just lose a little weight? I mean, I would like to buy a non beige bra at some point, or even purchase a bathing suit without underwires? Sigh.
Also, since Jenny Jones, er Craig, and Atkins and Optifast, Slimfast and various diet pills don't work for me, can I possibly find something that works for longer than oh, say, ten pounds?
Is this line going to EVER move faster than this glacial pace? I suppose it does take a rocket scientist to weigh someone. I mean, maybe that's why I didn't go to medical school.
Really God, why would you give me this face and then let me be such a fattie. GRRR.
I wonder how much hair weighs? If I get a trim and take off my wedding ring, that's possibly ten pounds. right?
Finally my turn.
Ok, maybe I'll get on the scale just to see, I mean, I did put in all this effort.
2.2 pounds?!?
What the f*%K??? Honestly, I'm tired of eating cardboard.
Maybe I should start working out.
or..laughter burns calories, right?
Posted by: Rhianna Finnegan | March 20, 2008 at 03:13 PM
Seems there is a problem with me. (I am smacking myself in the head right now) Yeah, I'm a doofus. I just realized my name is posted AFTER my post not before. Here's my sign.
Posted by: kerri | March 20, 2008 at 02:26 PM
Seems there's a bit of a problem with the post. I noticed my post is under some girl named Renee and someone else's post (presumably Renee's) is posted under my name. WTF?? I have the Lazy Girl's Diet!!
Posted by: Kerri | March 20, 2008 at 02:23 PM
My X-Factor, Let Me Share It With You
Over the years I’ve wrestled with issues relating to my weight and self image just like everyone else. Over time, I’ve largely come to terms with, well, being large. I’m healthy, happy, my job keeps me active, and my husband thinks I’m beautiful. Why worry about those couple (read: forty) unwanted pounds, right?
Heh. Enter this charming little scenario from a couple of weeks ago.
The night was winding down at the upscale barbeque restaurant where I have the misfortune of being a manager. After completing the books and the paperwork, counting the money, finishing up the inventory, and double-checking the dining room, I was left to wait on the kitchen staff to finish up. I putzed around in the office until I heard them outside the door.
“Vamanos!” We want to go home!
Fine dorks, but not until I make sure you didn’t scam on any of the cleaning.
After checking out the kitchen and clocking out the cooks up front, I came through the swinging door to where they were assembled, waiting for the all-clear. One of them, an adorable Mexican kid named Marvin, cocked his head to the side the way my dog does when you ask if he wants a biscuit, stared at me quizzically, and then asked, “Jennifer, estas embargonzada?”
Now, normally I love my cooks (even though they drive me crazy), but I kind of when ape-shit when Marvin asked me that question. Why? Well, it wouldn't have been a big deal if embargonzada meant tired. I wouldn't have minded if he was asking if I was hungry, hot, bored, or even horny. It would have been standard if embargonzada meant married, because at least one of the cooks proposes to me every single day. If you aren't familiar with the pratfalls of Spanish-English false cognates, you might even assume he asked if I was embarrassed, which again – no big deal. So what WAS the meaning of his question which caused me to have a small fit in the prep area and send all the cooks scurrying for the door?
Embargonzada means PREGNANT.
Yes, you read that right. No, he wasn't trying to be stupid or funny. He looked at me and though I looked pudgy enough that I might actually be carrying a child and not just a few too many fries and chocolate truffle bites. I was pissed at the moment when it happened, and a linen bag full of dirty towels may or may not have been chucked out the door after him to punctuate my colorful and spirited response to his query. (On the upside, the new dishwasher learned some functional words. The next day, he was swearing at the waiters in flawless English.)
The more I thought about it though, the more I decided it was time for a change. And so, every morning when I don’t want to go to the gym, I force myself to look in the mirror and ask, “Do I look embargonzada today?”
Posted by: Jennifer Moore | March 20, 2008 at 02:15 PM
I know all the right answers. I know about making healthy choices. I know what a proper portion size looks like. I know about balancing calories taken in with calories sweated out. I know all this. I just haven't practiced it. And I have a lot to show for it.
A LOT.
What made me finally realize it was time to do something was the night my beautiful, innocent three-year-old daughter said something that killed me.
We were reading "I'll Love You Forever" at bedtime. It's one of our favorites. I had just started on the first page about the new mother rocking her baby back and forth, when I was interrupted. She pointed to the first page of the book.
"Mommy? Did you used to be pretty like her," she asked.
I didn't have an answer. I don't think I said anything.
"Mommy," she continued, complete with hand motions). "You need to be fin if you're going to be my mommy. I don't know why you're so fat. You need to be fin."
Ouch.
Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn't cry.
I wasn’t mad at her. There was no malice there. Just fact. I tucked her in and slinked out of her room and melted into my misery. I had a lump in my throat and a hole in my soul, but it wasn't because she hurt my feelings. It was because what she said was true. It took her saying it for me to really feel it.
I was a Size 20W (bordering on 22W) and 235 pounds. I’m 5’10”, but the whole ‘I-can-hide-it-because-I’m-tall’ thing didn’t work anymore. Hadn’t for a long time, really.
I had to do something.
Why? I felt like crap.
I looked like crap.
I would probably die young.
But nothing...
Nothing pushed me over the edge until my sweet child put it right out there.
So I started in earnest on July 1st of 2007.
After months of Jenny-Watcher-Curves, I’ve lost two (almost 3) dress sizes and 30 pounds.
(Well, sort of. I found 10, lost five again, found ‘em, lost three… Is my scale is broken? I wish! I think I’m just bloating. Does that count?)
I even had an exciting day recently at Target when I took a pair of jeans off the rack in the size I thought I was. I tried ‘em on and thought, “Yeah, these fit okay.”
Bought ‘em. Got ‘em home and realized. Gasp! They didn't fit.
I got to exchange something for a smaller size!
Did I mention I even got to buy those jeans off the rack of the REGULAR Women’s department? Not the BIG Women’s. So cool.
(By the way… Can anyone tell my why the Big Girl’s area is right next to petites and preggos? What the hell!)
Still have a long way to go, though.
How does a treadmill work, again?
Posted by: Kat | March 20, 2008 at 02:00 PM
TOP TEN REASONS I DON’T DO DIETS …
10. Screw Oil of Olay – face pudge is the best anti-wrinkle miracle yet!
9. Losing weight might give my cat, Porkie, a complex. Need I say more?
8. I’d have to exercise - don’t want to be that chick at the gym whose massive thigh friction causes her shorts to ride up between her legs and give her a “crotch wedgie”.
7. I’m already a cranky bitch.
6. I would totally miss playing the Monopoly game at McDonald’s. Same for watching the donuts get made at Krispy Kreme.
5. I like having beverage options other than water. And that lemon wedge isn’t fooling anyone.
4. A day without cheese is a day without sunshine. Ditto for chocolate.
3. Baby got back – and likes it.
2. Less time focused on body weight equals more time for hair & nails. You big girls know what I’m talking about - don’t deny.
1. I’m not really that fat after all. Maybe just chubby. Really, just sort of “chub”.
Posted by: JellyBean | March 20, 2008 at 01:37 PM
Well my best weight loss story? I got chicken pox at 25 and couldn't eat a thing for 2 weeks- 20lbs later I was smokin' hot! granted I was suffering but the itchiness was well worth it once I saw myself in a bikini a few weeks later.
The worst? I tried this 'diet' tea you can get at CVS, Walgreens, it tastes like apple cinammon and no one warned me that I couldn't leave the house after I took it. To say explosive movements were taking place in my rear is the understatement of the year. I pooped non-stop for the next three days and all I got from it was a sore bum. Only a couple of pounds lost which were regained the first day I could keep something down.
And the third reason why I should win?? My suggestion saved Fletch's iPod. Or is that a reason for me to be shot? :(
Posted by: Mrs. K | March 20, 2008 at 01:16 PM
This will be short and sweet: Ever hear of the cabbage soup diet? Word to the wise: DON'T DO IT, especially if you are a teacher of high-school sophomores (like me). Let's just say that after the third day, when the diarrhea hit (the explosive, gassy kind too, mind you), I was too embarrassed to set foot in the classroom again that week and called off sick for the rest of it. I'd thought I could avoid having to run out of the classroom and to the restroom yet a SIXTH time that day by nonchalantly sneaking out what I thought would be some gas. Um...let's just say it WASN'T gas, and I'd chosen to wear my white capris that day.
Oh, and by the way, I DID lose 6 pounds that week (mostly from the stress of embarrassment, I am sure)...but gained it right back by the end of the next.
(This teaching disaster rivals the one that occurred while I was pregnant and my bra broke right in the middle of a class lecture. It's a wonder I am still employed!)
Posted by: Rachel | March 20, 2008 at 01:11 PM
(ok, so this is to the tune of that like country jingle that I don't believe actually has words but....if you ever owned Atari...the big bird egg game? its the theme song....enjoy!)
Hi my name is A.Marie
And I’d like to tell a tale
How I went from Ethiopian
To big fat whale
And it’s really funny now
Pretty common sure you’ll see
But the sizes in my closet read 12, 9, 5, and 3
It started all in high school
When I was a flippin stick
And unfortunately I dated
Hence The Pill, (he was a prick)
So the curves they came like puberty
Holy crap, I’m a D
With that tiny waist I marched right up
To my crappy university
College it started
I worked out a bit
I pleaded with my short shorts
“I promise ill get fit”
So 7 days a week
I would sweat like balls
Well that lasted up until
Greek letters hung on my walls
Oh I never thought id be
At someone else’s beck and call
But “Oh My Gawd they like me”
So I pledged in the Fall
And I never saw it coming
No I’d never let it be
But hello fuck early eating
Bye Size 3!
Screw it, it’s over
Sophomore Fifteen!?
Does that even exist?
Where’s the work out queen?
Holy Jeez, I’m a tub
I can’t turn back
Eh, I might as well enjoy it
Fifty Reeses, let’s relax
Well I’m truly almost done
I mean that and I swear
I’m the head of those bitches
That are the cause of what I wear
But I say this with conviction
That I’ve learned I love A.Marie
Because reeses with my sisters
Better than salad with just me
So Jen, this may confuse you
And you might not know the tune
But I’m bored out of my eyeballs
At work by myself in this room
So I figured id attempt
To entertain you with my rhyme
And I hope you have enjoyed as much
As I enjoy you all the time
Posted by: A.Marie | March 20, 2008 at 11:52 AM
This will work for the short term, but probably not a good long term solution.
Not too long ago, I joined a gym and started a program where you get weighed once a week. Around the same time I started a new job. I was sent to Chicago for a week long training session – yeah! I had to cancel my weekly humiliation since I would be out of town – double yeah!
I was so excited to go to Chicago. I get to meet up with friends I haven’t seen in forever. I had plans every night to do something fabulous. Here is how my week went
Day 1 – This is a great class - I am learning lots – I will be the smartest person ever when I get back to work
Night 1 – Catching up with girlfriends is SOOO funny. “Who did she marry – no way! “ I should move back to Chicago
Day 2 – This is a great class – I’m learning lots. Where is the coffee?
Night 2 – Soooo tired. I can’t be getting sick I only have two more nights in town. Tomorrow night the locals better watch out!
Day 3 –This class is great. Humm, I don’t feel so good. Please give us a break soon I don’t want to toss my cookies on the cute boy sitting next to me. Pass me another cough drop so I don’t gross everyone out with my non-stop coughing.
Night 3 – This is a blur. Hate hotel bathrooms – but managed to sleep on the floor on the nice cold tile. Would have called 911 to tell them I’m dying, but could not crawl to the phone.
Day 4 – Call my new boss = “Sorry I know you are paying $1000 a day to train me, but I’m heading home.”
Rest of the week was just a repeat of night 3.
But when I went to weigh in the net week – I had lost 5 pounds- yeah me. I should be sick more often. (I’ll leave off the part where I gained 6 the next time I weighed in)
Posted by: Colleen | March 20, 2008 at 11:47 AM
Hmmm... where do I begin?... My greatest weight story- the year was 2001, I was weighing 145lbs (which is a good weight for my muscular frame), until I began putting on the pounds, drink by drink. My boyfriend and I were at the bar nearly every night. I drank beer like it was going out of style. Then in late 2001, I got a tutoring job at a school and began sitting on my ass a lot. By March 2002 and 35 pounds later, -SURPRISE!!!- guess who's pregnant??!?? yes, me! So then by December 2002 I am up to 219lbs. YIKES!!!!! I was large and round to say the least. Having my son was the best thing that's ever happened, but the weight gain was awful. Two weeks after he was born I had dropped about 20 lbs, and I gradually kept losing until falling steady at 185 or so. Since then I have gone up to 205 and down to 177, and it feels like it's such an uphill battle that it's hopeless. Last summer I began the Alli plan and successfully went from 205 to 177 in about 3 months. Unfortunately, I lost motivation, began "treating" myself here and there, and I am about 190-195, AGAIN. Sigh. I'd shave my head for a year in trade of guaranteed, FAST weight loss. Oh to be 145lbs again..........
Posted by: shannon | March 20, 2008 at 11:18 AM