to ride my bike a little more around the neighborhood, and I walked to my friends’ houses instead of having Mom drive me. I even tried to cut back on all the chips and soda around the house. Looking back it was a pretty healthy effort at weight loss, save for the fact that I was still in grammar school! I doubt if I lost any real weight, however; all it really did was mark the beginning of a lifelong struggle of desperately trying to combat nature.
I’ve already mentioned the weight loss I did achieve when I was a senior in high school. Truth be told, it was my only successful effort at shedding pounds without the aid of diet drugs or surgery. How did I do it? Where did I find the willpower? If I knew the answer to that, I would have employed it many times over again! All I know is that it was really, really hard. I can remember going to bed early, in tears, because I was so hungry and wanted to eat so badly. I recall forcing myself to drink diet soft drinks and hating every minute of it. But at the end of the effort was the reward: I’ll never forget putting on a short black skirt and having men stop and stare at me as I walked down the mall. Yeah—that feeling stands out the most!
After I was married and the weight started to pile on, I tried to find that elusive willpower again. I would go for about two weeks, managing to avoid fast food and sticking to Diet Sprite and baked potato chips. But I always, always fell off the wagon. I’d buy a candy bar and eat it fast before I really had a chanceto think about it, or I would give in to temptation and stop at McDonald’s. I’d slip up, and I’d allow it to devastate me. I was never able to pick myself up, dust myself off, and keep going. I would instead wallow in self-pity, eating all I wanted, vowing to get it out of my system and then right the wrong. I thought maybe that was the way to go—thinking back to that New Year’s Eve when I ate everything and then went on to lose a bunch of weight on my own. I tried to recreate that elusive magic, time and again.
It never happened.
I became convinced I was not in charge. Willpower was a force that was going to be bestowed upon me from Heaven above, and I had to just sit and wait for it to hit. I prayed. I read. I studied. I waited. I felt weak, and I needed help. I thought if I wanted it bad enough, help would just magically appear. I was not the one in control of my destiny.
In the winter of 1997, I reached critical mass. It had been years since I’d had significant weight loss. I was approaching 280 pounds, and I grew panicked. My dreams of being a television reporter were slipping by with each passing day; I wasn’t getting any younger, and I thought I had a very narrow window in which to get my career started. Not to mention the toll my now-morbid obesity was taking on my marriage. Michael and I had only been married four years, and he was baffled by what was happening to me. He never once said anything negative to me about my weight—he was more concerned about what it was doing to me, to my self-esteem and quality of life. He wanted to help, but felt powerless and frustrated. I beat myself up daily, wondering why in the world I couldn’t get it together.
I went to my ob-gyn for my annual checkup and dissolved into tears as I opened up about my turmoil. She listened patiently as I explained the many ways in which I’d tried to shed the pounds. She ordered a full blood work-up to see if she could find a problem, but in the meantime she had a question for me: Had I ever considered diet drugs?
Up until that point, my thoughts on diet drugs were almost all negative. We’ve all heard about women getting amped up on Dexatrim or other appetite suppressants bought at the drugstore. We’ve all seen the episodes of
The Facts of Life
or
Beverly Hills, 90210
in which one of the main characters abuses diet pills and finds herself in trouble. My mom was even part of that elite club. Back when she had me, she said
I’ve already mentioned the weight loss I did achieve when I was a senior in high school. Truth be told, it was my only successful effort at shedding pounds without the aid of diet drugs or surgery. How did I do it? Where did I find the willpower? If I knew the answer to that, I would have employed it many times over again! All I know is that it was really, really hard. I can remember going to bed early, in tears, because I was so hungry and wanted to eat so badly. I recall forcing myself to drink diet soft drinks and hating every minute of it. But at the end of the effort was the reward: I’ll never forget putting on a short black skirt and having men stop and stare at me as I walked down the mall. Yeah—that feeling stands out the most!
After I was married and the weight started to pile on, I tried to find that elusive willpower again. I would go for about two weeks, managing to avoid fast food and sticking to Diet Sprite and baked potato chips. But I always, always fell off the wagon. I’d buy a candy bar and eat it fast before I really had a chanceto think about it, or I would give in to temptation and stop at McDonald’s. I’d slip up, and I’d allow it to devastate me. I was never able to pick myself up, dust myself off, and keep going. I would instead wallow in self-pity, eating all I wanted, vowing to get it out of my system and then right the wrong. I thought maybe that was the way to go—thinking back to that New Year’s Eve when I ate everything and then went on to lose a bunch of weight on my own. I tried to recreate that elusive magic, time and again.
It never happened.
I became convinced I was not in charge. Willpower was a force that was going to be bestowed upon me from Heaven above, and I had to just sit and wait for it to hit. I prayed. I read. I studied. I waited. I felt weak, and I needed help. I thought if I wanted it bad enough, help would just magically appear. I was not the one in control of my destiny.
In the winter of 1997, I reached critical mass. It had been years since I’d had significant weight loss. I was approaching 280 pounds, and I grew panicked. My dreams of being a television reporter were slipping by with each passing day; I wasn’t getting any younger, and I thought I had a very narrow window in which to get my career started. Not to mention the toll my now-morbid obesity was taking on my marriage. Michael and I had only been married four years, and he was baffled by what was happening to me. He never once said anything negative to me about my weight—he was more concerned about what it was doing to me, to my self-esteem and quality of life. He wanted to help, but felt powerless and frustrated. I beat myself up daily, wondering why in the world I couldn’t get it together.
I went to my ob-gyn for my annual checkup and dissolved into tears as I opened up about my turmoil. She listened patiently as I explained the many ways in which I’d tried to shed the pounds. She ordered a full blood work-up to see if she could find a problem, but in the meantime she had a question for me: Had I ever considered diet drugs?
Up until that point, my thoughts on diet drugs were almost all negative. We’ve all heard about women getting amped up on Dexatrim or other appetite suppressants bought at the drugstore. We’ve all seen the episodes of
The Facts of Life
or
Beverly Hills, 90210
in which one of the main characters abuses diet pills and finds herself in trouble. My mom was even part of that elite club. Back when she had me, she said
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