It’s ironic that over the past few months several people told me that I haven’t changed a bit since high school. I’ve gotta admit that makes me feel pretty good, but a lot has changed over the past thirteen years. Other than the obvious—marriage, kids, career—my appearance has fluctuated quite a bit, from pixie haircuts and burgundy colored hair to health issues complicated by increased weight.
I had always been muscular—thanks to dance classes and cheerleading. Plus my competitive streak had me rivaling the boys in my high school weight training gym classes.
Then I went to college. No more ballet. No more cheerleading. No more will to get to the gym for fear of being stared at and judged by the people who knew how to use the equipment.
By the time graduation rolled around, I had gained ten pounds. Within six months of that, I gained another eight. Still, I didn’t look bad. I looked half decent in my bathing suits—at least I didn’t feel like I’d blind anyone on the beach—and I wasn’t overly self-conscious.
Of course, all that changed after baby number one arrived. I lost all of the pregnancy weight except for the last ten pounds. Not bad considering I didn’t exercise. Then four years later, baby number two threw a cosmic imbalance into my teetering system.
I gained 40 plus pregnancy pounds (I stopped looking at the scale after I topped 185). Assuming I’d drop the weight just as easily as after baby number one, I was in for a rude awakening. Of the 40 plus pounds, I only lost about 15. My weight ebbed around 170 for about three years.
Though the weight bothered me, the number wasn’t what hurt. I was constantly exhausted. I couldn’t play with my kids outside for more than a few minutes because my asthma would kick in during spring and summer. And, I was generally miserable. For the first time in my life I actually felt fat. My legs were heavy. My butt dragged me down. My back hurt.
Irritated, I recalled my high school days and how I thought I was chunky back then. (Typical teenage self-confidence issues, I guess.) The days of the six-pack abs were long gone and I missed them. I considered exercising and dieting, but it seemed like such a long, painful road. It was easier to pop another Hershey's miniature and complain about the situation.
As I stated in yesterday’s blog, last September I spent five days devouring the Twilight book series. Having eaten virtually nothing during that time, I dropped ten pounds (Jeff fondly refers to this as the “Edward diet”). While I don’t recommend that crash course, it provided me with the impetus to get moving.
I decided I was going to take charge of my health and make a change. After all, no one else could do it for me. I alone controlled what went into my system and how to take care of it.
Brushing off the thick coating of dust covering my long unused exercise tapes, I popped them in and began exercising 15 minutes a day, three days a week. No it wasn’t enough to make a difference, but it was just the right amount to get me motivated to do more. Today, I exercise 30 – 75 minutes six days a week and I feel GREAT!
It’s been about 11 months since I started chiseling the soft mush that defined the ‘Andrea’ of the past seven years. While I still have a way to go, I’m proud of my progress having dropped from a size 14 to a 6. Not bad. Despite this success, I still have good weeks and bad weeks. It's a day-by-day effort. Sometimes cravings outweigh all sense of logical reason, but I wake up the next day with increased resolve to try again.
Truth be told, I don't want the body of a size 0 celebrity. It’s not about the numbers. It’s about how I feel. The fact that I can outrun my kids and keep up with their over charged, out-of-control energy is an accomplishment in my mind. I’ve rediscovered the joy of living life actively instead of having it lived for me by fear and a lack of will power.
Summer 2008 - weighing in around 170
Spring 2009 - weighing about 135
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