I looked from my thin, beautiful sister to my great-looking boyfriend, and I wanted to disappear. What did he see in a chubbette like me anyway?
I pasted a smile on my face until my sister left for the dance. Then I clomped downstairs to the family room, threw myself on the sofa and bawled my eyes out.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Bruce sat next to me and pushed my bangs back, trying to look into my eyes. “What are you crying for?”
“I–I–I’m ssssooo fat,” I turned away from him. “Why are you dating me anyway? You don't belong with someone that looks like me. My sister's more your type,” I blubbered.
“Sue, your sister is a real cute kid, but she’s way too young for me. Besides, she’s not my type—you are, and I think you’re beautiful.”
I turned over as tears continued to dribble down my face.
“But I have to lose this extra w-w-weight. I feel so fat and ugly-y-y-y. I don’t know what you see in me.” All the pain I’d experienced feeling like the chubby one in my thin, perfect family washed over me.
Bruce gathered me in his arms and just held me.
Then I felt something wet trickling down my neck. Puzzled, I pulled away and looked at Bruce. He was crying with me!
“I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself fat or ugly again. No one talks that way about the woman I love, and I love you just the way you are.” He leaned in and our tear-streaked faces met in a tender kiss. That was the moment I fell in love with Bruce.
Two months later, he slipped an engagement ring on my finger and on bended knee asked me to be his wife.
Dreams of a fairy-tale wedding filled my head, starting with my dress—I had to find the perfect gown. Too bad there isn’t time for just one more diet, I thought longingly, but with the wedding only six months away, it wasn’t possible. I visited every bridal salon within a thirty-mile radius, searching for the ideal style to flatter my fuller figure. I tried on every type of wedding dress imaginable, until I finally found it—the gown of my dreams.
“Can you wrap it up?” I asked as I gazed at the white confection of beaded satin and delicate lace.
“Oh no, miss,” she said. “We’ll keep it here since you’ll have to come in for several fittings between now and the wedding.”
She was right. But, surprisingly, at every fitting, the seamstress had to take my gown in, not let it out. “Are you on one of those new liquid diets?” she asked as she marked the alteration with straight pins.
“No,” I said. Funny, I hadn’t even thought about dieting. Come to think of it, my clothes were looser lately. And I couldn’t recall the last time I’d stepped on a scale.
Eight weeks later, on a perfect June day, I slipped into my wedding dress feeling radiant. I floated down the aisle thinner than I’d ever been. I beamed at my husband-to-be, waiting for me by the altar, and I knew it was all thanks to him. Bruce loved me just as I was, and that was the only diet I ever needed.
Susan A. Karas
It Takes Community
Let’s take the bouldering mistakes of the past, And the road-blocking challenges of the present, And build them into stairs that support our climb into the future.
Mattie J.T. Stepanek
Tears collected in the corners of my eyes as I crossed the threshold. They spilled down my cheeks as I unbuckled my sandals and stepped, barefoot, onto the scale. Biting my trembling lower lip, I tried to smile at the group leader’s sympathetic face. I then slumped into a plastic chair next to my friend, Ursi, who had nudged me through the door. Up until now, I had always rejected community weight-loss approaches, wanting to believe I was strong enough to do this myself.
During the next half hour, I dredged up five decades’ worth of tears from somewhere deep within. In those moments I wept for the little girl who prayed to be invisible as she tried on corduroys in J.C. Penney’s “chubby department.” I wept for the straight-A student, always chosen last for the relay team. I wept for the teenager who skipped breakfast and lunch, hoping her figure would attract a boyfriend. And I wept for the woman with expressive brown eyes who begged family photographers, “Don’t shoot below the shoulders.”
Struggling with my weight was nothing new. Topping 200 on the bathroom scale was nothing new. Dieting was nothing new. I was a veteran of the grapefruit juice diet, ice cream diet, high-protein diet, low-calorie diet, low-fat diet and low-carbohydrate diet, to name a few. By my fiftieth birthday I figured I had lost and gained somewhere between 500 and 1,000 pounds. What was new was acknowledging that I needed the help of others to reduce and successfully maintain the loss. That unconscious awareness was exposed to the brash light of day at that first group meeting.
Shaken, but with resolve, as well as remorse and shame, I went home that day, read the how-to booklet and started a food diary. By the second evening I was so hungry I would have eaten a piece of carpet if I’d had some good mustard to put on it. But I found that “lite” microwave popcorn was tastier and certainly better for my digestive system. The next week I went back to the meeting—four pounds lighter.
Portion control was a challenging new concept. Wasn’t half a grilled chicken breast a reasonable main course? My digital kitchen scale took up permanent residence on the butcher block. With it as my new cooking companion, I discovered my “reasonable” portion weighed in at about eight ounces; a recommended entrée was only half of that. It took time to change my old habits, but after a few months I was usually content to fill only one-fourth of my dinner plate with protein and cover the rest with vegetables.
I’ve always taken pride in my appearance, so I highlight my hair, use good face creams, polish my toenails and color-coordinate my outfits. Why couldn’t I add one more component to this picture—an average-sized body? I set out to eliminate all the Xs in my closet—the 1X, 2X and XLs on my clothing tags. Now, with the exception of an odd T-shirt that shrank in the dryer, I’ve done that.
My knees were also signaling me that I’d be better off thinner. At fifty-one I gave in to years of debilitating osteoarthritis pain in my left knee and had a total knee replacement. A few years later, the right knee was limping down the same path, and I was determined to avoid repeating that surgery. Carrying less weight would surely help.
When my daughter, Heather, suggested a fitness center, I balked, picturing svelte young women in fluorescent blue workout bras and shorts. But she escorted me to a gym with a sense of humor, whose slogan is “no Spandex here.” She introduced me to machines I could use to build strength without compromising my joints. Maybe, just maybe, I could do this.
The pieces were beginning to mesh. I paid for my first-ever gym membership. To get me started, a personal trainer asked me a lot of questions and devised a routine for me. I wanted him to know I was also dieting, but I was ashamed to tell him where I was going for help, so I dropped my voice and whispered the name to him. Maybe he saw a glimpse of his own mother in my embarrassed face, for he replied gently, “It’s okay to say it out loud.” His eyes and words spoke straight to my heart, and from that day on, I did say it out loud. I started telling everyone I knew of my diet and exercise plans. They really seemed to share my joy as my success grew and my body shrank.
Two of my friends have become exercise buddies. Every Monday Ursi and I walk together along a level path overlooking Monterey Bay. At first we walked thirty minutes; she kindly slowed to my pace and stopped to rest with me on a bench midway. Now we’re up to an hour nonstop, and just the other day she asked me to slow down a bit for her. On Fridays Allison and I meet at the gym, where our animated conversation makes the stationary bike wheels turn faster.
It’s been nearly a year since I initiated this new lifestyle, and I’m thrilled with the results. I’m more than halfway to my goal weight and my knee pain is gone. While getting dressed one morning, I shrieked in disbelief as I pulled on a pair of jeans, zipped and snapped them, then watched them fall down around my ankles. Stepping out of the pant legs, I danced with joy around the bedroom.
/> My progress hasn’t been rapid or easy, but it’s been steady. That’s probably good, because I need time to internalize all the changes. My weight has hit some plateaus— once for three months—but the inches have continued to drop, thanks to the exercise. There are days when it all seems too hard, usually when I’m overwhelmed with many other responsibilities. Then I give myself permission to “go off the wagon” for a short time. This isn’t about being perfect; rather, it’s about finding a way that will serve me for the long haul.
To fully savor each temporary step down in body size, I donate my clothes the minute they become loose and treat myself to an outlet shopping spree for replacements. This way there’s no turning back, and I have clothes that fit and flatter without stressing the budget. And every time I lose five pounds, I buy a five-pound bag of all-purpose flour and display it on my kitchen counter. Whenever I pass my expanding collection of flour sacks, I envision all that extra bulk back on my frame. Eventually I’ll give the flour to a food pantry, but for now it keeps me focused and puts a smile on my face.
I’ve learned that I can’t do this alone, and I thrive on the encouragement of family, friends and my weight-loss group. I’ve always been reluctant to talk about my weight or tell anyone when I was dieting. Now I speak proudly to everyone of my efforts and goals. As a result, they become partners with me on the journey. Even the most arduous trek is more fulfilling and ultimately more successful when shared.
Pamela Wertz Peterson
Nutty Carrot Raisin Bread
MAKES 9 SERVINGS (OR 9 MUFFINS) EACH SERVING (OR MUFFIN): 0 GRAMS SATURATED FAT
canola oil cooking spray
2 eggs, beaten
¼ cup high-oleic canola oil
¼ cup honey
¼ cup unsweetened applesauce
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup whole wheat flour
2 tablespoons wheat germ
¼ cup ground flaxseeds
¼ cup Splenda sugar substitute
½ teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 cup shredded carrots
½ cup raisins
½ cup chopped pecans
Preheat the oven to 350°. Spray an 81.2 x 41.2-inch loaf pan or a 12-cup muffin tin with cooking spray.
In a small bowl, beat the eggs. Mix in the oil, honey, applesauce and vanilla extract. In a large bowl, combine the flour, wheat germ, ground flaxseeds, Splenda, ground cloves, cinnamon, baking powder and baking soda. Add the liquid ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir until well blended. Mix in the carrots, raisins and pecans.
To make bread: Pour batter into prepared pan and bake for 45 minutes. To make muffins: Pour batter into prepared muffin tin and bake for 20–25 minutes. When done, remove from pan or muffin tin and cool on a wire rack.
Reprinted from The Gold Coast Cure. ©2005 Andrew Larson, M.D., Ivy Ingram Larson. Health Communications, Inc.
In for a Penny, In for a Pound
Attention to health is life's greatest hindrance.
Plato
They lied to me.
They promised I’d lose ten to thirteen pounds in the first two weeks.
I didn’t lose a single pound.
They said I must have been cheating.
I wasn’t. Not that I haven’t cheated on past diets—you know, a cookie yesterday, a bite (or two) of ice cream today—but not this time. This time I was serious.
I had tried them all. This new one was the latest in a long line of fad diets. Even my doctor lost weight on this diet. It required a strict adherence to a regimen of foods with a low glycemic index (GI). Don’t ask me to explain it—something to do with how quickly carbohydrates break down in digestion. Foods with a high index were to be eliminated for the first two weeks.
Contrary to all my impulses—impulses clearly illustrated by the size of my hips—I followed the diet’s rules. No bread, rice, potatoes, pasta, baked goods—those I could understand. But fruit was also forbidden for the first two weeks. Fruit! What happened to “an apple a day keeps the doctor away”? Guess it keeps the doctor away, but not the pounds.
So there I was with my GI chart, no flour, no sugar, no fruit, not even certain vegetables with a high GI rating. But water was okay. Lots and lots of water.
It was the longest two weeks of my life. My driving motivation, besides a closetful of clothes that no longer fit, was the promise: ten to thirteen pounds in the first two weeks.
The first three days were easy. I was excited, and this particular diet was novel. After all, who ever heard of a diet that placed fruits (and some vegetables) in the same category as cookies and ice cream? In addition to the change in my eating habits, I also drank eight to ten glasses of water a day and began an exercise routine that included walking around my neighborhood every morning.
Day One: I weighed myself for an official benchmark. Ready to go!
Day Two: no change.
Day Three: still no change.
Well, I thought, I’m less than a quarter of the way through. Maybe my body just needs to adjust.
I drank more water.
Days Four and Five: the arrow on the scale didn’t budge.
I was becoming discouraged. (Becoming? I was in a full-blown state of disappointment.) I did what most people do when they’re on a diet. I talked about it. Actually, it was more whining than talking. What I could eat, what I couldn’t eat. How I sloshed when I walked. Worst of all, how the bathroom scale hated me. The responses were predictable.
“Are you sure you’re not cheating?” (Yes, I’m sure I’m not cheating.)
“It must be water retention.” (Possibly.)
“You’re not exercising enough.” (Probably.)
“That’s terrible. Have a chocolate kiss—you’ll feel better.” (That last one was from my inner child, whom I wisely chose to ignore.)
So I drank more water. Believe it or not, the best way to eliminate water retention is to drink more water. And I exercised more. Walking, bicycling, sit-ups and workout videos.
Days Six and Seven: nothing.
Day Eight: our bathroom scale owes its life to my husband. I had decided to toss it onto the curb with the rest of the household trash, but he convinced me the scale was an innocent bystander in my battle of the bulge. We’ll see.
Day Nine: the arrow on the scale moved—a whole pound! Rejoice! Celebrate! Now, I was sure, the weight loss would begin in earnest. I did a little dance and broke out the celery sticks.
Day Ten: no additional movement, but that’s okay. After all, I had lost a pound. Life was good.
Day Eleven: my mood matched the dark sky. The pound had returned. Why? How? I went back to my friends for advice. The consensus was that the weight was actually added muscle from the increased exercise. “Muscle weighs more than fat.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. How many times have I heard that before? Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt (in an extra-large size). I’m ready for a new destination.
Day Twelve: no change. Well, to be perfectly truthful, there was one change, but not on the scale. As a result of my daily walks around the neighborhood, I had gotten to know my neighbors, and they are really nice people. Who knew?
Day Thirteen: no change.
Day Fourteen: I didn’t bother getting on the scale.
Instead, I dumped the diet book, ignored the well-meaning advice and listened to my own body. It was time to start eating a balanced diet of the foods the Creator designed it to have. Fad diets obviously weren’t the answer, as my most recent experience had proven yet again.
I went shopping. I filled my cart with colorful fruits and vegetables, as well as representatives from each of the other food groups. To add fiber to my diet, “white” was out and “brown” was in, including sugar, flour and even grains such as rice. I avoided processed foods, deciding that my body didn’t need to digest ingredients and chemicals that my brain cou
ldn’t pronounce.
Six months later, I’ve lost over twenty-five pounds. I feel better than I have in years, and I’m ready for the next twenty-five.
And I still have the same scale!
Ava Pennington
The First Day of the Best of My Life
One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important.
Bertrand Russell
I smiled at the memories of the previous night’s dinner. I had met some friends at one of our favorite restaurants and we’d had our regular Monday night supper of grilled double-cheese and bacon sandwiches. I savored every bite of my sandwich—determined not to miss a bit of the experience. From the sound of the crisp crust on the grilled bread to the feel of the gooey cheese to the salty sweet taste of the maple bacon, I fully enjoyed my favorite sandwich.
But that was Monday night, and it was now Tuesday morning. I bounded out of bed in the morning. I had been overweight for years. Way overweight. But things had changed. I had decided that I was tired of observing life. I wanted to be a participant, but at 260 pounds, participating was a struggle.
I made a conscious decision to begin my new lifestyle on a Tuesday. In the past, Monday had been the day I would start a diet or return to the gym. In the past, I had always ended up giving up at some point—usually by Friday. I knew that this time was different, and I was determined to start it differently.
I laughed and sang along to the radio as I drove into the office. I greeted my coworkers with a smile.
“Charmi, we need you to come over to Human Resources.”
I smiled as I made my way across the building. I was due for a raise and had just worked myself silly on an international project. I hadn’t expected the recognition to come that quickly but I was happy that I was going to be rewarded for my efforts. And what a day for it to happen!
“Sit down, please.”
I looked into the face of the HR representative and continued to smile. Finally, payoff!