To understand where I'm coming from, you have to know my story, or at least the part of my story that matters for this journey I'm hoping to take at this point in my life.
Scales are not my friend. They have not been my friend, in fact, for a very, very long time. I'd venture to guess anywhere between eight or ten years. Because elementary school is the safehaven it is, I wasn't really aware of this fact until about middle school, and even then I think I just assumed that it was the kind of thing that would resolve itself. So why should I worry?
High school was it's own entity. In Freshman year when I was in PE, the last thing we did before summer was a unit of swimming. Needless to say, swimming for five days a week for about a month did wonderous things for my body - I was fairly toned, thin enough to be happy, and comfortable. What I remember best was the shopping - I was bold enough to be seen in shorts and all kinds of cute things, because I had a body that I thought was well enough worth showing off. And if you look at this photo from that point in my life, you can see that thought wasn't too far off base.
However, being naive and full of myself as I was, I didn't really consider the fact that I couldn't really continue eating what I wanted to without any form of exercise and maintain that nice balanced figure of 190lbs. Being in decent shape doesn't just stick around if you don't do anything to keep it. And I really, really didn't. So I gained weight and ended up back up above 200lbs, and throughout the rest of high school I would spend plenty of time going back and forth between dieting and not caring enough to be bothered. In my mind, eventually, it just got to the point where it wasn't worth the trouble.
Now I'm in college, and at my personal all time high weight of 266lbs. Not exactly a pretty picture. Up until recently I had gotten to the point where I was mostly comfortable with myself... Sure, I was overweight. But I didn't feel too badly about it most of the time, so why mess that up? Right? RIght!? Okay. Well. Clearly THAT approach didn't work out for me, so finally today I stepped onto our brand new scale and it spoke thruths to me that I would have preffered never to know... But I had to know. I had to. Otherwise, how would I ever fix the things about me that are broken?
I certainly can't say that I don't have support - I can't begin to explain how supportive my mom and Greg, my fake-dad, have always been when it came to my weight loss persuits. They really do want what's best for me, and they want me to succeed. But in the end, this is the kind of thing that only I can fix, and I have to really want it. Wanting it isn't the issue... I've wished I was in shape for a rediculous amount of time now. But I've always had a problem sticking to things... Always. Anything that required any real amount of effort on my part was something I enevitably gave up on. It's one of my great personality flaws that I'd like to fix, but it's a little ironic because fixing that flaw requires work. It's rather rediculous, if you ask me. But that's the truth.
For me, getting on the scale this morning was the first step in finally working this out for good. At least that's the hope. The problem is, I really have no idea where I should be going from this point. I know I need to start exercising, and I know I need to start figuring out better ways to eat... But where on earth do I start?
This blog, for me, is a way of letting out frustrations, sharing my triumphs, and of course documenting what will hopefully be a momentous journey. I'm not putting any limitations or restrictions on how often or how much I write here. I made the blog, I'll post when I damn well please. I just think I need to stick with this for once, because this has gotten more out of hand than I ever wanted it to be.
So here's to trying to make things right. One lost, confused, hopeful step at a time.
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