No More Snickers

That is my mantra. No more Snickers. No more Snickers. Because Snickers are how I got here. Here in the land of 279 pounds. Obviously, they weren't the only way I got here, but they are responsible for a good 70-80 pounds. I love them, I can't help it. With their gooey caramel and melty chocolate. The salty peanuts mixing with all that sweetness. The man who created these is the devil! But no more. At least not until my willpower is stronger. See, the story goes...

I have always been overweight. I was pushing 200 pounds in high school, but I was always comfortable with myself. In my 20's I reached 220 and that is where I stayed for 10 years. That is my comfort zone. I looked good in clothes and I felt confident. At 29, all that confidence got me pregnant with my first child. Within a year and half, I moved in with the father, had my baby, fell in love with the father, and got married. (I know, I know, backwards, but that is for another blog.) All of these things made me happy and comfortable. And fat. I was 260 pounds within 6 months of having my baby. I stayed there until I got pregnant with my 2nd baby, when I got up to 285 pounds. After that birth, which was almost 6 months ago, I only managed to get down to 279.

I would love to say I have no idea how I got here, but the truth is, it's my husband's fault. He's just too nice and willing to do whatever I ask. While I was pregnant, I constantly wanted a late night snack of two candy bars and a root beer. And he obliged. (Ok, Ok, so it wasn't completely his fault, but it can't possibly be mine?! Can it?) And after I had the baby, he continued to oblige. And oblige and oblige. Until one day, while doing my checking register, I realized he had gone for late night runs for 16 DAYS IN A ROW. So not only was it hell on my thighs, it was hell on our wallet. I would love to say that was the turning point that got me to put down the Snickers and pick up the salad fork, but sadly no. I had further down the hill to slide. The actual turning point came one day while I was talking to my mom about my dad. We were discussing his health and his weight was brought up. My mom informed me that at his last appointment my dad weighed 287 pounds. I'm not even sure what happened during the rest of that conversation. I couldn't hear my mom through the ringing in my ears. My dad, a man on multiple medications that cause weight gain and who is unable to walk very far without an oxygen tank, weighed a mere 9 pounds more than me. His 33-year-old daughter.

The next day I found a calorie counting website and I made a change. So far, it's been 17 days and nary a Snickers bar. I have gone out walking 3-4 times each week and I'm taking this one meal at a time. I'm focusing my efforts on how I feel, rather than the number on the scale (though, I can't seem to stay off of that thing). I hope to give myself more accountability by putting myself out here in the blog-o-sphere. So join me on my journey. I can guarantee there will be slip ups and mistakes and possibly even a weight gain or two. But there will also be funny stories and triumphs. And most importantly, it will all be 100% real.