My journey

In April of 2008, while I was pregnant with my daughter, I started having a lot of lower back pain and what I thought were contractions. After some monitoring and inconclusive results, I was told to stop working until she was born. No biggie, I had the sick leave, so I took the time off. After a couple of months, more lower back pain but no odd contractions, I made it to my scheduled c-section and all was well.

Then, in December of 2008, the back pain started getting worse, traveling down my leg and making it difficult to stand, sit, lie down or walk. After dealing with it for almost a month, I went to the neurologist. They did an MRI, and found that I had two herniated disks in my low back. I was 20 years ahead of my time, according to the neurologist, and at my weight and BMI, they wanted to avoid surgery at all costs. Then he told me something that would change my life. As I asked about diet and exercise options, the doctor said to me, "Once you're over 100 pounds overweight, your only option is weightloss surgery."

After a deep sinking feeling in my stomach, I proceeded to the anesthesiologist, who gave me a cortisone shot in my back, and since then, barring some low level aching, I've had no recurring symptoms. But I wanted to avoid those at all costs, and seeing as weightloss surgery was "my only option," I went with my husband to a seminar. Once again, the bariatric surgeon said, "Once you're 100 pounds overweight, surgery is your only option."

Now, see, I'm stubborn. And hard-headed. And I REALLY don't like being told what to do. But more than that, I really REALLY don't like being told what I CAN'T do. And when two board-certified physicians tell me I can't lose the weight on my own, all of my "fuck you" instincts go into overdrive. So I started researching. And researching. And I took some serious steps to change my life for the better.

I started with daily exercising. I started off slowly, getting up early in the morning to go walking for 30 minutes or so, making sure to work up a sweat and a heart rate. As the weather got rainy, we got a treadmill, and when the treadmill died, we got an elliptical. I also joined a gym and got into a workout plan involving strength training and cardio.

Then I tackled diet. I researched calorie content and made lists of the foods I ate regularly. I developed lesson plans that helped my students make healthier choices as I was doing the same thing. I looked up my basal metabolic rate so I knew how many calories I should eat each day. I kept a running total on a calculator on my computer and in my head of every single calorie I consumed, minus any burned through exercise.

I attacked this with the fire of a thousand suns. And goddammit, did it ever work. From April until November 2009, I lost 80 pounds. I made it from 284 pounds to 204 pounds, in the span of 8 months. And damn, did it feel good.

But then it started not feeling so good. I started feeling weak, and getting angry. I found that if I exercised and ate 1500 calories a day, my body was going into starvation mode and that, combined with my still-untreated depression, made me psycho. Literally.

All along the way I made little changes and adjustments. The weight came off so fast in the beginning that I was feeling so accomplished and ready to keep going. But after awhile it became obvious that I was doing something wrong. I wasn't the same person I was before I started this. Part of that came from the untreated depression, part of that came from an incredibly stressful and draining work situation, and part of that came from the fact that I was, for all intents and purposes, starving myself. (I know, hard to believe you can do that on 1500 calories a day, isn't it?)

In November of last year I decided to slack off and try eating more. I kept up the exercise but waffled back and forth on the amount of calories I would eat each day, trying to find something that worked. The double-edged sword there was that the weight didn't come off as quickly, and I got real discouraged, real quickly. But I was also dealing with that work situation and the depression.

Somehow, in the past year, I managed to get on medication for depression, get out of a stressful work situation and into a better one, and start treating my husband, children and myself better. I've even kept up the exercise, going to the gym or working on the elliptical 4-6 days a week, and getting very fit and building a ton of muscle (which apparently I do really easily). Unfortunately, during this time, I've also gained back 30 of the pounds that I had originally lost.

The journey that I have been on for the past year and a half - the one that involved pain, struggle, tears, stress, anger, drugs, physical therapy, sweat, and (thank all that is or isn't holy) lots and lots of love - that journey has been one hell of a long and difficult one. I can't even begin to describe what it feels like to be happy again. What it feels like to look at my children and see, not their faults, but their strengths and beauty. What it feels like to actually LIKE myself.

And here I am, still 50 pounds lighter than I was in April of 2009. I can feel my bicep when I flex, I can pull myself up on the monkey bars, and I can do multiple situps. I can jog 3 miles without stopping. I can work out on the elliptical for an hour at the highest incline and resistance. I can play with my kids and have patience with them when they struggle. And I sleep at night.

I have one more hurdle to jump. I still weigh 234 pounds, and according to my trainer, because of my ability to build muscle quickly, my ideal weight is 180 pounds. I won't ever look like a model, but goddammit, I will be strong enough to break those little twigs in half.

So tonight, I'm going to take the first of my last steps on this journey. After changing my whole life, not only for myself but my family, it would be unfair to myself to not continue until I reach that ultimate goal. So tonight, I'm pledging to redouble my efforts to be healthy, to eat better, to exercise well and often, and to get rid of that last 54-pound tire around my waist.

I may be a fat girl. But I will not be defined by my weight. My daughter will know me as a strong girl. One who fought several demons and kicked all of their asses. I'm not just doing it for myself, but for her as well, so she can be inspired to be a better person no matter what life may throw at her.

I hope that my journey has an impact on her, and if nothing else, teaches her that no matter what big squishy raccoons fly into her path, she has the power to wipe off the stain and move on.