LOVE2RUN's Story
The first time I realized I was overweight was in 9th grade. I never thought I was skinny, but I sure didn't think I was fat. Junior High school girls had no problem fixing that. Catty and cruel, their comments hurt, my self-esteem dropped.
My first vivid memory of the awareness of my size was when I went shopping with my mom to buy pants. I was so excited. I was going to get name brand jeans. They coolest kind. Even though the store we went to is long gone, I still remember it vividly, as if it happened yesterday. I had to buy a waist size 30. I was devastated. My self-esteem dropped. That is when I began my first diet.
Being a junior high school girl with an overweight mom, I had no clue that dieting consisted of healthy eating and exercise. I only knew one thing; if you don't eat you lose weight. That I did.
I've recently visited anorexia web-sites and the tips and tricks they have listed are scary, yet Im amazed. What amazes me is that in the day and age of my youth, all of my own design, I followed most of the tips and tricks listed on the web-sites of today. All on my own, I figured out what worked and what didn't. Eating didn't work, so I didn't eat.
I lost weight. All of it. I was skinny. 100 lbs soaking wet. Boys liked me, girls envied me. I loved it. I didn't care about the dizzy spells, the bruises. I didn't care about missing out on food and treats. I was skinny and it felt wonderful. My mother even tricked me into going to a doctor. She tried to get the doctor to tell me I was too skinny. He looked at my overweight mother and considered the fact that I was a young age and backed me up. So there I had it, a doctors approval that it was okay to be scary-skinny.
Regardless of my size, my self-esteem never picked up. I then fell into a life of a lost and confused teenager. I didn't know who I was. I didn't know what I wanted to be. I only knew that I wanted boys to like me. I would do anything to have someone like me; and they did, as long as I put out. If I didn't, they dropped me and told everyone they got some; if I did they dropped me as soon as they were done. It was a lose-lose situation. My self-esteem dropped. I was young and naive and I didn't know how to fix it. Heck, I didn't even know it needed fixing.
Ironically it was though this lifestyle that I met the man who is now the center of my universe. I think at first (he denies it but I still think it) he was just like all the others. I put out, he wanted some. Except something was different. He wasn't rude and cruel like the others. I didn't leave, he couldn't tell me to leave. So we fell into a relationship that developed into a sort of convenient love. At the time I thought that was as close to love that I would ever get. My self-esteem dropped.
Thanks to an emotionally cruel father, a sick and tired, helpless mother and self-esteem so low it was non-existent, I couldn't feel love. There is one thing that I would never say to the men in the so called relationships that I had, I couldn't say "I love you"; because I didn't. Even after being with my husband for more than 10 years I did not feel loved. The only love I could feel was my love for my child(ren).
Which brings me to how I escaped a worthless life that was going nowhere. I became pregnant. Though out the pregnancy I was awed and amazed by the changes, yet never understood the implications. When I heard that racing heartbeat coming from me for the first time, I knew one thing, I had to change. Nothing else mattered. I didn't want the lifestyle I was living for my precious, helpless child. I stopped partying. I started eating.
7 months pregnant, I begged my future husband to marry me. It was important to me that my child not be born a bastard. Even though the term is from biblical days, it was important to me. I never thought the marriage would last more than a year. He married me out of pity and a sense of obligation that was barely there, buried deep beneath the drugs and alcohol. I would have my marriage, have my child, straighten out my life; then get a divorce and leave him and this life that was unworthy of my child behind.
My child was born. My life changed. My husband realized that my world now revolved around my child. I think that is when he first realized he loved me. He didnt want to lose me. I started looking for a way out, by going out without him. He asked me to stay. He didn't want to lose me the same way he lost his first wife. Now it was my turn for a sense of obligation. I owed it to my child. I owed it to him. I had begged him to marry me and he did. I stayed and with my husband and we started a slow process of turning our lives around. Together.
An out of whack thyroid kept me thin after my first child was born. I was so proud of myself. I had gained 60 pounds during the pregnancy and had lost it all. I thought I was amazing. I could eat. Then they fixed the thyroid. I continued to eat. I got fat.
I stayed with my marriage, even though I could not feel the love he declared so often. I spoke words of love, even though I didn't believe them. I loved my first child so much that I desperately wanted another and I became pregnant again. I ate and I got fatter. I gained back the 60 pounds, plus; but this time I didn't lose them. My second child was born to a fat, tired and overworked mother. I loved him, nothing else mattered.
I worked and worked and worked. I put my children first. I ate for stress, I ate for energy I could never obtain, I ate for depression, I ate for family gatherings, I ate because it tasted good, and I ate because it was there. My third and final pregnancy left me at 180 pounds and the beautiful, darling daughter of my dreams. Nothing else mattered. The cycle repeated itself, and I got fatter, my self-esteem dropped.
I had been in my marriage for 15 years, and with the exception of a brief period of time during the fen-phan craze, I was fat, unhealthy, tired and unhappy. I was starting to feel that my marriage was based on love. I could now say and hear the words and I felt like they meant something; however, it wasn't enough. I wrote a letter to my husband telling him I wanted out. That while the marriage wasn't a bad marriage, it wasn't enough. I wanted the fairy tale. I wanted a love I could never feel. I wanted to be happy.
I never gave him the letter, I couldn't. I kept it in my sock drawer for 2 years hoping he would find it and I would have a way out. During that time, I changed. I wanted to be happy. I felt like my marriage was going to end. My kids were older and independent. They didn't need me like they used to. I was finally able to put me first and that I did.
At my all time high of 210 pounds, I started walking. I stopped eating fried foods. I stopped eating sweets. I researched books, web-sites, and read health magazines by the dozens. I prepared meals my way, if they didn't like, don't eat it. I knew the right way to lose weight was controlling when and what I ate, but that I must still eat. I knew that exercised mattered. I was the first and fore-most person in my life.
I lost weight. Slow and steady, but with enough progress that I was stoked to continue and to succeed. I asked my husband that if I got down to 130 pounds, if he would support me having a breast lift/augmentation. He laughed. He said if I got to 130 pounds he would even ask his dad to pay for it. That was an insult. His dad was so tight with money he still had the first penny he ever made, so that was my husband way of saying it would never happen.
I started running. I loved it. I felt free. I felt like I could do anything. It didn't matter that I wasn't the fastest, the fact was I could run. Something a lot of people my age couldn't and only one or two at my work could do. I told my husband I was going to run a marathon. He laughed. He said I couldn't do it. Only serious runners run marathons, I would be a joke.
The pounds came off, the miles piled up. Honestly, I don't think my husband even noticed the first 50 pounds. My neighbor did. The gas station attendants did. The bank tellers did. The grocery store clerks did. My relatives did. They told him and then, and only then, did he notice. Something happened, he changed.
He was proud. I was happy. He fell head-over heels, puppy dog, madly in love with the women who had picked herself up and did what he thought was the impossible. He was so impressed with her self-esteem. Wait...what? Self-esteem? Holy cow, that's right...self-esteem. I had self-esteem. I put me first. I finally felt the love that now poured out of him by the buckets, I finally was able to voice the love that was overpowering me, and I meant it, to the very depths of my sole, a love so powerful it swells my heart to the point it hurts. A swirling, whirling, sole mate kind of love. I feel it and I mean it. I have the fairy tale at last. On my 18th wedding anniversary, I threw the letter I had written 2 years earlier away.
On May 17th 2008 I ran a half-marathon. I finished well (2:01:47). My husband cheered me on the whole way.
The following June, a week before my 43rd birthday at 125 pounds I had my breast lift. My husband paid for it; surprise, surprise, he loves it.
I'll be running the full marathon this year, May 16th 2009. My husband is training with me. He doesn't want to watch from the sidelines. He doesn't want me going alone anymore. He wants to be my side, supporting me, the whole way.
It's been 6 years since my weight loss journey began. I've gained back 10 pounds and manage to keep my weight around 133 pounds. Its a struggle. I'll keeping working. I'll keep making mistakes. I'll keep my self-esteem. It took a life-time to discover what could have made all the difference of my youth, but the love I have now is worth it. I would crawl through the desert, swim oceans and climb mountains for the love I have now. So no, I don't feel remorse for the many years Ive lost. I would sacrifice my life, let alone a few years, to keep the love, the marriage, the man I have now; but Ive learned that to keep all that makes me complete, all that matters to me, I have to come first.
My first vivid memory of the awareness of my size was when I went shopping with my mom to buy pants. I was so excited. I was going to get name brand jeans. They coolest kind. Even though the store we went to is long gone, I still remember it vividly, as if it happened yesterday. I had to buy a waist size 30. I was devastated. My self-esteem dropped. That is when I began my first diet.
Being a junior high school girl with an overweight mom, I had no clue that dieting consisted of healthy eating and exercise. I only knew one thing; if you don't eat you lose weight. That I did.
I've recently visited anorexia web-sites and the tips and tricks they have listed are scary, yet Im amazed. What amazes me is that in the day and age of my youth, all of my own design, I followed most of the tips and tricks listed on the web-sites of today. All on my own, I figured out what worked and what didn't. Eating didn't work, so I didn't eat.
I lost weight. All of it. I was skinny. 100 lbs soaking wet. Boys liked me, girls envied me. I loved it. I didn't care about the dizzy spells, the bruises. I didn't care about missing out on food and treats. I was skinny and it felt wonderful. My mother even tricked me into going to a doctor. She tried to get the doctor to tell me I was too skinny. He looked at my overweight mother and considered the fact that I was a young age and backed me up. So there I had it, a doctors approval that it was okay to be scary-skinny.
Regardless of my size, my self-esteem never picked up. I then fell into a life of a lost and confused teenager. I didn't know who I was. I didn't know what I wanted to be. I only knew that I wanted boys to like me. I would do anything to have someone like me; and they did, as long as I put out. If I didn't, they dropped me and told everyone they got some; if I did they dropped me as soon as they were done. It was a lose-lose situation. My self-esteem dropped. I was young and naive and I didn't know how to fix it. Heck, I didn't even know it needed fixing.
Ironically it was though this lifestyle that I met the man who is now the center of my universe. I think at first (he denies it but I still think it) he was just like all the others. I put out, he wanted some. Except something was different. He wasn't rude and cruel like the others. I didn't leave, he couldn't tell me to leave. So we fell into a relationship that developed into a sort of convenient love. At the time I thought that was as close to love that I would ever get. My self-esteem dropped.
Thanks to an emotionally cruel father, a sick and tired, helpless mother and self-esteem so low it was non-existent, I couldn't feel love. There is one thing that I would never say to the men in the so called relationships that I had, I couldn't say "I love you"; because I didn't. Even after being with my husband for more than 10 years I did not feel loved. The only love I could feel was my love for my child(ren).
Which brings me to how I escaped a worthless life that was going nowhere. I became pregnant. Though out the pregnancy I was awed and amazed by the changes, yet never understood the implications. When I heard that racing heartbeat coming from me for the first time, I knew one thing, I had to change. Nothing else mattered. I didn't want the lifestyle I was living for my precious, helpless child. I stopped partying. I started eating.
7 months pregnant, I begged my future husband to marry me. It was important to me that my child not be born a bastard. Even though the term is from biblical days, it was important to me. I never thought the marriage would last more than a year. He married me out of pity and a sense of obligation that was barely there, buried deep beneath the drugs and alcohol. I would have my marriage, have my child, straighten out my life; then get a divorce and leave him and this life that was unworthy of my child behind.
My child was born. My life changed. My husband realized that my world now revolved around my child. I think that is when he first realized he loved me. He didnt want to lose me. I started looking for a way out, by going out without him. He asked me to stay. He didn't want to lose me the same way he lost his first wife. Now it was my turn for a sense of obligation. I owed it to my child. I owed it to him. I had begged him to marry me and he did. I stayed and with my husband and we started a slow process of turning our lives around. Together.
An out of whack thyroid kept me thin after my first child was born. I was so proud of myself. I had gained 60 pounds during the pregnancy and had lost it all. I thought I was amazing. I could eat. Then they fixed the thyroid. I continued to eat. I got fat.
I stayed with my marriage, even though I could not feel the love he declared so often. I spoke words of love, even though I didn't believe them. I loved my first child so much that I desperately wanted another and I became pregnant again. I ate and I got fatter. I gained back the 60 pounds, plus; but this time I didn't lose them. My second child was born to a fat, tired and overworked mother. I loved him, nothing else mattered.
I worked and worked and worked. I put my children first. I ate for stress, I ate for energy I could never obtain, I ate for depression, I ate for family gatherings, I ate because it tasted good, and I ate because it was there. My third and final pregnancy left me at 180 pounds and the beautiful, darling daughter of my dreams. Nothing else mattered. The cycle repeated itself, and I got fatter, my self-esteem dropped.
I had been in my marriage for 15 years, and with the exception of a brief period of time during the fen-phan craze, I was fat, unhealthy, tired and unhappy. I was starting to feel that my marriage was based on love. I could now say and hear the words and I felt like they meant something; however, it wasn't enough. I wrote a letter to my husband telling him I wanted out. That while the marriage wasn't a bad marriage, it wasn't enough. I wanted the fairy tale. I wanted a love I could never feel. I wanted to be happy.
I never gave him the letter, I couldn't. I kept it in my sock drawer for 2 years hoping he would find it and I would have a way out. During that time, I changed. I wanted to be happy. I felt like my marriage was going to end. My kids were older and independent. They didn't need me like they used to. I was finally able to put me first and that I did.
At my all time high of 210 pounds, I started walking. I stopped eating fried foods. I stopped eating sweets. I researched books, web-sites, and read health magazines by the dozens. I prepared meals my way, if they didn't like, don't eat it. I knew the right way to lose weight was controlling when and what I ate, but that I must still eat. I knew that exercised mattered. I was the first and fore-most person in my life.
I lost weight. Slow and steady, but with enough progress that I was stoked to continue and to succeed. I asked my husband that if I got down to 130 pounds, if he would support me having a breast lift/augmentation. He laughed. He said if I got to 130 pounds he would even ask his dad to pay for it. That was an insult. His dad was so tight with money he still had the first penny he ever made, so that was my husband way of saying it would never happen.
I started running. I loved it. I felt free. I felt like I could do anything. It didn't matter that I wasn't the fastest, the fact was I could run. Something a lot of people my age couldn't and only one or two at my work could do. I told my husband I was going to run a marathon. He laughed. He said I couldn't do it. Only serious runners run marathons, I would be a joke.
The pounds came off, the miles piled up. Honestly, I don't think my husband even noticed the first 50 pounds. My neighbor did. The gas station attendants did. The bank tellers did. The grocery store clerks did. My relatives did. They told him and then, and only then, did he notice. Something happened, he changed.
He was proud. I was happy. He fell head-over heels, puppy dog, madly in love with the women who had picked herself up and did what he thought was the impossible. He was so impressed with her self-esteem. Wait...what? Self-esteem? Holy cow, that's right...self-esteem. I had self-esteem. I put me first. I finally felt the love that now poured out of him by the buckets, I finally was able to voice the love that was overpowering me, and I meant it, to the very depths of my sole, a love so powerful it swells my heart to the point it hurts. A swirling, whirling, sole mate kind of love. I feel it and I mean it. I have the fairy tale at last. On my 18th wedding anniversary, I threw the letter I had written 2 years earlier away.
On May 17th 2008 I ran a half-marathon. I finished well (2:01:47). My husband cheered me on the whole way.
The following June, a week before my 43rd birthday at 125 pounds I had my breast lift. My husband paid for it; surprise, surprise, he loves it.
I'll be running the full marathon this year, May 16th 2009. My husband is training with me. He doesn't want to watch from the sidelines. He doesn't want me going alone anymore. He wants to be my side, supporting me, the whole way.
It's been 6 years since my weight loss journey began. I've gained back 10 pounds and manage to keep my weight around 133 pounds. Its a struggle. I'll keeping working. I'll keep making mistakes. I'll keep my self-esteem. It took a life-time to discover what could have made all the difference of my youth, but the love I have now is worth it. I would crawl through the desert, swim oceans and climb mountains for the love I have now. So no, I don't feel remorse for the many years Ive lost. I would sacrifice my life, let alone a few years, to keep the love, the marriage, the man I have now; but Ive learned that to keep all that makes me complete, all that matters to me, I have to come first.