My freshman year of college, I weighed about 165 lbs and was probably in the best shape/size of my adult life (so far!). I've been told by countless doctors, fitness professionals and just random strangers that I'm either a "good solid girl" or that I "carry my weight well" or that I "don't look as heavy as I am." They are all well meaning compliments, that haunt me. But still at 165, I was working out because I was taking a fitness class, and the fitness center was completely on the other side of campus. I walked all the way there regularly and I was hooked on the rowing machine. Then again, the workout only balanced my really healthy diet of Doritos, pints of Ben & Jerry's and pizza. God, I miss my teenage metabolism.
After my freshman year in Long Island away from home, I moved back to Maine to finish school because of financial reasons. There I worked many hobs, was in a long distance relationship with my Hofstra boyfriend, went to my classes and rode my bike a lot because I was sharing a car with my dad. And that Renault wasn't exactly what you'd call reliable. So while I might have eaten more than my share of donuts while working at Tony's Donuts, I was constantly on the move. At one point, I had mono, but was too busy to even notice.
It wasn't until I moved down to New Jersey that the pounds really started to gather up. I lived in Hoboken where restaurants and bars rule. I knew about the cannoli's at the Cake Boss' shop... long before he had his TV show. And while I did walk to the PATH train in the morning, and around the city, there wasn't exactly a lot of energy being expended. Particularly a problem given the amount of high calorie foods that were being consumed. The pizza place knew my order of chicken parm hero and french fries by heart, and the chinese delivery had my sweet and sour chicken order at my door before I'd even hung up the phone. My then-husband had a miracle metabolism and could eat copious amounts of fast foods without ever gaining a pound, I was not so lucky.
I tried joining several gyms but would go for a bit and get bored quickly and stop going, or think that a once a week circut around the gym was going to make a difference. But I was exhausted (found out for a while at least, that it was due to the mono still in my system), and just really busy taking advantage of city life. Or at least seeing <I>Rent</I> once a week. Clearly, my priorities were in check.
After a trip to Orlando in November of 2001, I returned home with a lower back injury. I have a very high tolerance for pain (and a dislike of doctors) but I had slipped some discs on a ride (or a combination of rides... I still blame Back to the Future) and could barely move. I had to go to physical therapy for a bit, and distinctly remember a fit looking guy (who had something wrong with his shoulder) telling me that back injuries happened to people with weak core muscles. Gee, thanks for the unsolicited advice. Telling a girl who weighs over 200 lbs. that she should do crunches, while she's sitting there in pain is exactly the right thing to do. Like I wasn't aware that my stomach was one giant roll, or that none of my pants fit and I had to start shopping in the women's section.
After that stint in PT, I did start exercising more. I mean, I was already at the gym, it was hard to come up with excuses not to at least make a half-hearted effort. I tried Atkins briefly, which was bad idea as I lost weight and gained it back the instant I decided that I missed potatoes too much.
The pounds kept piling on, and when I first saw the scale cross over 200, I was convinced I could stop it. But Italian food tasted good, The person who invented vodka sauce is some kind of evil genius. I liked going out with my friends and having drinks and not worrying about every morsel that crossed my lips.
Then I moved out of Hoboken to a Jersey suburb, and I quickly realized that the small amount of walking I did was at least slowing my weight gain, while living in the suburbs and driving from place to place didn't offer any of that inadvertent exercise. I was working a crazy amount of hours, sitting on a bus, getting home to do projects around the house, like yardwork, watching TV and then passing out. Still, I credit the yard work for keeping my weight around 205.
But in 2004, I started having some severe foot problems that I ignored for a while. I do really
hate admitting to pain, especially when I just chalked it up to being fat. Problem is, that if your foot hurts, it makes it hard to really exercise. At that point, the weight was just really starting to add up, as I had to stop walking across Times Square to my office, and instead needed taxis. I finally went to the podiatrist who tried giving me orthotics to help my planter fasciitis. It's a foot problem that's normally found in athletes. And when the nurse at the front desk asked me (with a straight face, to her credit) if I was a runner. I laughed out loud, and told her that I only ran when I was being chased. There are times now as a fledgling runner that I think back to this moment and wish I could show my then self what I can do now.
The orthotics barely made any noticeable difference and despite some various treatments and some insanely painful cortisone shots which didn't help at all, by the end of 2004 I was having surgery on my right foot to shave down the giant bone spur and to snip the ligament (tendon? I'm not good with this medical stuff) to prevent a recurrence of this injury. Drugs and whatnot took my weight up into the 220s, a place where I never thought I'd be. And though it took a good month before I was really fully mobile, but after that I felt pretty great.
I started feeling like I could exercise, and was inspired by this new lease on life... and then ended up pregnant a few months later. So any weight loss was put on hold. I distinctly remember standing on the scale of the doctor's office during my very first visit and it reading 216 lbs.
So much as I'd like to blame all of my weight on having a baby, and all the stresses that came after it, the pounds didn't exactly happen overnight.
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