I have been fat all my life.
      Scratch that, I was a smallish baby – 6lbs, 9oz – but as far back as Kindergarten, I was the chubby one. It evolved as the years passed; I hit a point around 7th grade in which I had hit my (sadly) adult height of 5’5″ but my weight had not yet ballooned so I was just “husky” rather than “obese”. I was 178 during 8th grade – the lowest weight I recall being since I started paying attention. Back in the days of Weight Watchers meetings and Nutrisystem diets and attempts at starving at myself. Glory days, such as they were.
      I am not exactly sure when I crossed into the dreaded 200s, but I know I was 220 during my freshman year, and as high as 270 by graduation.
      The first year I lived away from home – my “freshman” year (though I already had a year’s worth of credits from Running Start) – I couldn’t afford a parking pass on campus. I ended up walking over a mile from my car to my first class, then all over campus during the day, and a mile back to my car in the afternoon. Every day. Sometimes more.
      I lost about forty pounds and was at my smallest adult weight when I moved home in May of 1999. That number? A disgusting 235. But it was the only time in my life that I felt sexy. Pretty. I was wearing size twenty-six pants, but smaller shirts and even some spaghetti straps without covering up my arms! I would walk with friends in the mall or wherever and not feel like the fat, disgusting friend.
      After that… it was just slowly up and up and up.
      After Christopher and I broke up (Hallelujah!) I had surpassed the big three-zero.
      I never expected to like, publicly admit that.
      At some point in 2003, I hit my highest (known) weight. 336.
      Three hundred and thirty six pounds.
      At five feet, five inches.
      My size 30 jeans were tight around the waist.
      I tried dieting a little, but I had really given up by then.
      Then I met Mark online, and I fell in love with him and I planned to go visit him and I didn’t want to meet this amazing man at 336 pounds. I did not weigh myself for weeks or months, but between meeting him in March 2004 and going to visit him in March 2005, I had gotten down to about 312. I’m not proud of that, though I feel like any loss was a win, having taken 12 months to shed twenty-four-ish pounds.
      After our first visit, when our relationship was really real feeling, I went home and I decided that now was the time. I wanted to move out to live with him and since it was probably happening in July – just a few months away – I needed to do something about that.
      I was opening the deli, so I was up at 4am, at work by 5:30. Most days, I walked for an hour before work, in the wee hours. Then I ate nothing until 6pm, when I allowed myself 500 calories (or fewer). I would often eat a bag of mashed potatoes (400 calories for the whole pouch), or a can of veggies. I was chewing and not swallowing saltine crackers (yes, spitting them out after they were all masticated). I guess that is technically bulimia? But starving myself all day (because I could control what I ate but only if I didn’t let myself eat anything at all) was more anorexic. I don’t know.
      It wasn’t healthy.
      But all the walking was great. Eventually I was walking an hour in the morning, and hour in the evening. Sometimes I’d just put on music and dance crazy for half an hour (out in the country, where no one could see) or I’d get on the tredmill and dance/walk.
      I lost a bunch more weight. I had gotten back up to about 320, and by the time I drove to Mark’s in July 2005, I was down to 278.
      I haven’t seen 278 since.
      I have mostly hovered between 295 and 310 since. I haven’t been over 300 in about a year now, but even when I finally lost about twenty-five pounds all together, I only got as low as 282. Still four above my “low” of 278.
      This year (2014) has seen me struggle the hardest I have ever struggled to lose even a single pound.
      This year has seen me as low as 282 and as high as 303.
      This year has seen me give up chips (with a few tiny exceptions – one year “chip-free-ish” this week, actually) and fuzzy colas (mostly).
      This year has seen me through several health scares – mine and Mark’s.
      This year has seen me take a buttload of medication just to stay alive.
      This year can never happen again.
      To Be Continued…

Note: Image is “Weighing” by (Nubuck) from SXC.hu