A Single Step...

I'm not exactly what you would call fat. I'm more what you would call obese. Morbidly obese. BWS in medical terms (Beached Whale Syndrome - this was legitimately put on some one's medical file to indicate weight). I don't like to verbalize my actual weight. It's not because I'm embarrassed, but because I really don't know what it is. I step on scales frequently and the number is pretty much different every time I do, so there's really no point in assigning a number. But I can comfortably say that I weigh more than most NFL linemen, less than a TLC special.

You would think that I would want to be skinny. Doesn't everyone want to be skinny? Isn't being skinny the true measure of one's worth? The media would have us believe it is and most buy into it. Literally. I'll admit to being a closet believer on occasion. It's hard not to get sucked into the belief system that tells you your pant size defines you. But by and large (get it....LARGE) I have tried to stay true to the things I feel are much more important. Like survival.

But for the first time, size and survival are starting to conflict with me. I have almost always been the fat girl, but I was also the healthy girl, if you don't factor in the toxemia I got with each of my six pregnancies. Everyone else had high cholesterol, high blood pressure, high blood sugar. Essentially, I was the only one who wasn't high (couldn't resist...).

But then I got older and the lab results started changing. My blood pressure didn't come down after my last pregnancy. Okay, that was 19 years ago, but it was the only health issue, it had nothing to do with weight, and it was well controlled with medication. Cholesterol was rising, my thyroid was being goofy, my potassium was low, anemia was becoming an issue, and then the biggy for me - blood sugar. I was starting to free-flow sugar in my blood and that's when I knew I had to stop being afraid of losing weight. Yes, afraid.

Being ginormous has worked for me on some level (thank you, Dr. Phil). It has been my personality, my sense of humor, and the biggest (get it...BIGGEST) thing that sets me apart from others. Most of all, eating copious amounts of food has allowed me to survive my very intense emotions. I have no doubt that my life is not the hardest that has ever been lived, but it's definitely the hardest I have ever lived. It has made me a bit narcissistic. I have been known to throw an occasional pity party, and if there is one thing that is constant at these parties, it is that the food is plentiful. But according to the doctor, while the parties may not be over, the quantity of food is. And so is the sedentary lifestyle I have come to enjoy with two computer-based jobs, my iPad, my iPhone, and my iLazy Attitude. And I just have to deal with that.

So that's what this blog is about - dealing with it. My daughter tells me I cannot call it a "journey" because that's too cliche, and I am anything but cliche. Even though it is said that the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, so does dealing with it, and that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to deal with it, and hopefully by writing things down, it will make me less afraid of how different my life will be when I'm not what I've mostly been.

How am I going to do it? By walking a mile, or so. By revisiting some of the places and experiences that have created the desire to feed my emotions through my mouth. And by walking in new places that will take me closer to where I need, and quite possibly want, to be. (It will also involve a gym membership, a personal trainer, a nutritionist, and a tracking app, but those all sound so much less romantic than bucolic walks.)

It is to be expected that I have large feet. I wore a women's size 8 shoe at my baptism when I was eight years old and they've only gotten bigger. So I'm not asking anyone to walk IN my shoes, because they probably won't fit. But bear with me as I walk a mile, or so, on the roads that will take me in the right direction.