Hey Fat Arse!

That's what they should be yelling when I saunter or should I say, stomp, down the road.

I was really doing great before I left for Canada, a mere 3 kilos shy of my goal weight, partly spurred on by the pending trip and having to face the critical eyes of relatives (or at least my paranoia at them). And then, Canada. And Kraft Dinner and endless bowls of Party Mix and Nacho Dip and alcohol and well, Kraft Dinner. All of my comfort foods back to say "Hey, it's the holidays. Devour me. Worry later."

Hubby put up a snapshot of the two of us taken New Year's Eve, after spending 5 days grazing with my family, and I realized how pouffy my face looked. Great for camouflaging the wrinkes. But not so great at hiding "pleasantly plumpy". That photo, although a nice one, stares at me every day from the mirror in my bedroom.

I came back from Canada and for awhile there I was back to eating "normally", which for me includes avoiding carbs at almost all costs. I could feel the excess baggage dropping off. Week #2...Just completed the however-many-km walk to son's school and we're on the bus back home. Gotta stop at the grocery store for stuff. And those trips (about half the time, cuz I'm not THAT bad) involve filling up a small bag of candy for the little guy. "Hey, why not throw in a few for Mommy?" For two weeks, those few turned into like half the bag.

And there's something about me and sugar or nasty amounts of carbs. Once I get a taste, it's game over. Seriously. I cannot stop at one cookie. That cookie leads to 20 pringles, leads to another 2 cookies and before you know it, my spoon is in the ice cream container. DAMN IT!

I've always been a Bigger Girl, never grossly overweight, but "she could stand to lose a few pounds" (like 15-20) kinda girl. And then after the baby was born and I began working out almost daily and wasn't losing the kind of weight I felt I shoulda been for all that effort, I tried Atkins. And a few months later, I was the smallest I had ever been in my entire life...like a size 8...right bang on my healthy weight. To my credit, I stayed that way for 2 years. I was free.

Let me explain. All my grown-up life, I had been preoccupied by weight. Trying and failing to lose pounds. Constantly focusing on camouflaging the problem areas. Always wondering what people were thinking. Always comparing. Always wishing and longing.

But in those 2 years, I was seriously free. I started to enjoy shopping for clothes. My average size meant I could wear "almost" anything without fear of "looking fat". I could even wear flat shoes. Oh and high boots actually went up my calves! I could zip them up without going sock-less or lubing my legs with oil (not that I ever did the latter). Fashion suddenly became even more interesting. I was wearing make-up more, paying more attention to my hair and personal appearance. I was having sex with the lights on, parading around in my skivvies...oh the joy (primarily my husband's!)

I spent days on the beach with hot young bodies surrounding me and I didn't have to suck anything in, nor was I self-conscious. Ok, I still had a little bit of a stomach but NOTHING to complain about really. When my husband's camera went to snap a photo, I wasn't thinking, "Hold your arms out slightly to avoid the appearance of fat arms. Stick your neck out a bit so as to avoid double-chin. Suck in. Clench, etc." No more check-list! And then there were all the compliments from those who saw me when I was pregnant and the few months after. Those were nice.

I thought about normal things. All this space to just be happy being me. I was, like I said, free. But the free-est part was not worrying about food. I knew what I could eat. I ate it. I felt full. I didn't crave the bad stuff and somehow had mentally programmed myself not to "go there". For the first time in my life, I ate for pure nourishment. Not for comfort or out of boredom or to be social.

So exercise: I was out and about a lot. I walked everywhere. Nothing crazy. Just getting up and going and moving. At one point I had decided to focus on the little gut and began my own little exercise regime. This part is the brutal part for me.

And somehow, though I can't pinpoint exactly when, I started to revert back. And now, I'm out of control again and back in my self-imposed prison. I so desperately want to escape. I thought that maybe by sharing this story, here, in public, it would give me the kickstart I really need to get back on my path to freedom once again.

I have a bloggy friend, Hyacynth, who has two small boys and also happens find the time to own a Curves and help others achieve their fitness goals. Wish we lived closer because I would soooooo lug my expanding buttocks over there and beg her to whip me into shape. But alas, exercise-avoiding, carb enjoying me is sitting on my posterior writing instead of DOING. But maybe after THIS, that will change. Love, SJ