Fat Girls, Food, and (pun intended) Fed Up!

Hello. My name is Michelle, and I'm a fat girl. I love food, I hate to exercise, and I'm tired of making excuses. I have tried several times to make a deal with the Lord, that if He would just let me wake up skinny, that I would promise to never let myself get this way again. Either He does not believe me, or that isn't the type of miracle I should be asking for. Either way, it has not happened, so it is now entirely up to me to get it done.

Now if this were an honest and completely open, written chronicle of my weight loss adventure, this being the first installment, I would tell you how much I weigh, possibly my measurements, and what I expect to achieve. But this is not The Biggest Loser. I have no intention of telling you my weight, because if you can't figure it out from what you see and pictures, you don't need to know anyway. And my measurements would only be needed if you were trying to decide how I get my fat ass which expands even the wildest of imaginations, into a pair of pants.  All of that information is top secret and shall remain so.

But I will tell you, I am fatter than I have ever been in my entire life, including the 9th month of both pregnancies. I will tell you it is difficult to find cute tops in the size called "TENT". That the only comfortable pants I own have elastic waistbands. And that all jackets/coats for women as large as myself, are called "TARPS'.

I will be very honest and tell you that I am not comfortable in any stage of undress with my husband, anymore than I think he is any longer comfortable looking at it. He says he still loves me as much as ever before, and I think he does. However, I would be fooling myself to deny, he would love to see me as he did even five years ago and at least fifty pounds less.

My doctor's are no longer happy with me. My twice annual visits have become an absolute dreaded necessity. They are certainly tired of telling a grown woman the same thing over and over. And I am tired of hearing it, along with the sad results of my blood tests and physical check tests.

So yesterday, I began walking. One mile. Today was mile two. My plan is to walk two weeks at one mile, then graduate to 1 1/2 miles at the two week mark, then at one month graduate to two miles. By the time the month arrives for the time to change and we gain an hour, I would like to be at three miles a day, with longer daylight to walk it. I once could and did for years, walk three miles in 42 minutes. I would like to see that time again.

If you were with me yesterday, as were Sara Allison Green and Holle Boykin, you would probably have a hard time believing that the three mile thing will ever happen. We were not even halfway into the first lap of four which equals a mile, and I was winded, and huffing with every word. Because of course, I was trying to talk the whole time. They were both probably eying me, wishing that at some point, one of them had taken that CPR course they had always talked about. Huffing and puffing tends to happen when you sit on your behind all day at work, your biggest move is down the hall to the copier and back, and plopping into your recliner when you get home. Save the time I spend cooking supper, the rest is spent in my recliner. During the Winter months anyway. Summer is a bit different, but not so much you'd would notice.

Today wasn't quite as bad. My breathing seemed to flow a little easier. Either that, or I talked a little less. My body parts are a little sore. But mostly just stiff. Yesterday when I got back from walking, and got home, I sat down in my recliner for a little better than an hour. My legs tucked up under me, not moving. When I started to get up, both of my legs felt like wooden logs that had rooted to my chair. It was slow moving getting up, and that hot shower later on, felt like drops of heaven raining down on me.

I'm determined to do this. To be able to walk from one end of the football field to the other without breaking a sweat. To gain my confidence back personally and professionally. I know my job like nobody's business, and I can truly say I love my job and am damn good at what I do. But to deny that my looks do not play a part in my confidence level would be less than honest.  My phone negotiations cannot be beat. But to meet new people in person, brings about an anxiety that while is normal now, is very unfamiliar to the me of my past.

I used to love clothes, now they are just another disappointment for me. Nothing fits right or feels right. It's hard to wrap  large rumpled up, lumps of rolls into material cloth of any kind and it look good. And color. I would like to be able to wear colors again without worrying about how much it electrifies just how large I am. Black is thinning and that is overrated.  Besides, I've been wearing primarily black for so long, people probably think I am in a permanent mourning period.

And I'm tired of doing Ti Kwondo moves when a camera and its lens come anywhere around me. And if a picture does manage to get taken, I'm tired of sucking in my stomach until my face reflects a bluish tint, and tilting my chin so high, in the hope of making three chins appear as if there are only two.

Next year, both of my sons will graduate. One from college and the other from high school. As vain as it may sound, one of my main goals is to be back to a somewhat photogenic state. By somewhat, I mean, I can't help the general overall way I look, i.e; wrinkles, age spots, and obviously colored hair. But I fully intend to be slimmer, ready to enjoy myself, wear whatever color I choose, and finally, be in whatever "family" pictures there are that get taken, instead of my usual place, behind the camera.

This is my first installment. We won't speak of this again for at least the next 4 or 5 months. Wish me luck, say a prayer for my continued determination, and hopefully we'll both be able to holler out a HOORAH when I report in the next time. Cause I'm doing this thing, one way or another.