So today I begin my journey to a healthier, happier lifestyle. A little bit about my weight loss story:
As a child and pre-teen, I was very slender. Not in the “incredibly skinny” sense of slender but more in the “toned and musclar” sense of the word. In high school, I ran Cross Country and Track. My first two years, weight was never a problem. I was in the middle of my growth spurt, and I was able to eat whatever I wanted. My lunch consisted of greasy cafeteria pizzas, french fries, and the occasional chocolate bar. I never read a nutrition label. I never counted calories. I was liberated, both mentally and physically, from the burden of worrying about my weight.
Junior year, my growth upwards began to slow. I continued to eat, however, like I had done during my freshman and sophomore years. The pounds packed on, but thanks to Cross Country and Track I was still fit and healthy enough to not worry about how much food I was consuming.
Senior year sparked a change. Under the stress of college applications, I began to snack more than I ever had before. I justified my late-night indulgences with the fact that I was running 3 miles a day. “I can eat whatever I want”, I thought, since I had never had to worry about weight before.
By the end of the Cross Country season, I was a good 10 pounds heavier than where I wanted to be. I began to feel self-conscious, especially considering that most of my teammates were shorter, smaller, and skinnier than I. Yet I couldn’t accept the fact that I had to lose weight. I continued to eat and eat in an attempt to both control my stress and comfort myself. Over winter break, I continued to consume as much as possible at each meal. “It’s the holidays,” I reasoned. “I am supposed to overeat!”
By January of 2008, I was 160 pounds. I was shocked, but I couldn’t quite tell myself that I hadn’t seen it coming. I knew that I had been eating a lot, WAAAAY too much, even, but I was surprised at the extent of the weight gain. I resolved to lose the weight, and immediately began exercising on the ellipse every day. The trouble was that I was over-exercising. I would burn 800 calories with each workout session, after which I would be ravenous and consume even more food that I had before. The pattern of over-exercising and over-eating lasted all of January, until I finally realized that no, I could not sustain this method of weight loss since (1) it wasn’t working, and (2) I simply didn’t have the time, energy, and strength to spend 2 hours every evening working out. My new plan was simple: cut down my caloric intake.
My daily intake had been around 2,500. I decided to aim for 1,500 cals a day in order to begin my weight loss. Averaging a loss of about 2 pounds a week, my body began (slowly but surely) to transform back into the lean, toned mass it had once been. I was elated. It’s funny how weight loss can become such an accomplishment. At the time, I was striving to be valedictorian, but had you asked me then “Valedictorian or 135 pounds?” I would have chosen the latter.
Unfortunately, while my caloric restriction helped with the physical effects of my weight gain, it did nothing to help solve my mental struggle with food. Food was still a source of comfort, a sort of forbidden fruit, especially the high-fat, high-calorie foods I had sacrificed in order to keep my weight loss going strong.
In March, a very small incident foreshadowed what would later become a rather large problem. My grandmother sent me a whole batch of dolly bars (a combination of gram crackers, condensed milk, coconut shavings, and chocolate chips) for my younger sister and I. I returned home from Track practice, saw the box, and proceeded to eat almost the entire collection of dolly bars! It was as though, after I had given myself the green light to “live a little, but have just ONE” my body refused to be satisfied with a single dolly bar. I had to have as much as I could possible consume. My stomach was full, but still I continued to eat, 2 months of dieting stress and strain being released with each morsel I shoved into my mouth. It was my first “binge”, and afterward I was horrified at myself and humiliated as I struggled to explain to my family why most of the dolly bars were gone within a few hours of being received.
After the dolly bar incident, I kept my urge to binge at bay. The stress around me, which had triggered my overeating (and probably my binge) was lifting. It was the last few months of my senior year in high school; I had nothing left to do but relax and enjoy the all too temporary bliss of being a second semester senior.
By my graduation day, May 30, 2008, I was 135 pounds. If I have ever had a “perfect” day, that was it. My weight was exactly where I wanted it to be, my skin was clear, I was one of six valedictorians, and I was looking forward to a care-free summer and the wonders of college life. I thought at the time that my life was only going to continue to get better. My dreams were sky-high.
I wouldn’t realize until much later that my graduation day was a peak, to be followed by many valleys. Nothing, especially “perfect” days, last forever.
My summer job was my first valley. I was the “new kid”, the girl who knew nothing about making smoothies, working the cash register, or cleaning the store. My perfectionism, which had driven me to be valedictorian, was ever-present, and the fact that I couldn’t make it through a day at work without making at least 5 mistakes greatly bothered me. I would come home from working the early shift (which began at 5:30 am and finished in the late morning) on the verge of tears. I was scared of making mistakes at work, scared of messing up and being scolded, scared of being a failure. My response to the stress was to binge.
I will never forget trudging home in my heavy, slip-resistant shoes (a work requirement), opening the door to my house, and heading straight for the kitchen. All the “forbidden” foods I had banished from my diet were all at once leering at me, daring me to eat them. Peanut butter, chips, cream cheese, bread, cookies, pasta, pretzels, icing, ice-cream, marshmallows…….all entering my mouth at lightning speed. I felt as though I couldn’t stop eating, for to stop eating would mean having to think about my job, the fact that I would be leaving my friends, my home, my family in the fall, and the fact that my high school years were over.
At the end of my binge, I was tired, bloated, horrified, and I felt worse than before. I promised myself “never again” and slipped off quietly to my room to rest my stomach. I should have kept my promise. Logically, I KNEW that binging would not solve my problems. I KNEW that I would only feel even more like a failure. I KNEW that I was hurting my body. But despite my knowledge, I didn’t stop. The rush of binging, of letting go, became an addiction.
Over the rest of the summer, I binged constantly. My weight crept higher and higher, until by the end of the summer I had gained 10 pounds. I left for college still feeling like a failure. “Why”, I asked myself “do I do this to myself? Why can I not stop eating? Why can I not regain control over my diet?”.
College didn’t help curb my binging. The all-you-can-eat dining halls provided too much temptation. Foods that had never been at my house were suddenly at the tip of my fingertips. I tried to temper my binges with extreme workouts, but the workouts were never enough to make up for the binges and they left me feeling tired.
I began to despair. I was dealing with the stress of adjusting to life on my own, the pressure to fit in and find friends, and the constant presence of food. Food was everywhere, be it the dining halls, dorms, on the way to class, and even in the laundry room! My weight jumped to 155, and by Thanksgiving break I knew that something had to change.
At the end of Thanksgiving break, however, my dad abruptly moved out of the house, throwing my mom into depression, my sister into confusion, and me into a combination of the two. I had little time to process the information, since I needed to go back to school.
Though my stress levels were higher than ever, I was determined not to binge. I was fine for three days, and then on Thursday I ate like there was no tomorrow. Strangely, after that one binge, it finally seemed to click in my brain that binging was a stupid, harmful act. For the remaining two weeks before Christmas break, I didn’t binge at all. I turned back to my “dieting” habits from 6 months ago, and lo and behold I lost weight.
Coming home for Christmas break I was 148. I was pleased with myself. I had proven to myself that yes, there were other ways to handle stress besides binging. I was finally adjusting to college. My confidence was coming back.
Ironically, coming back home for break, which should have further alleviated my stress (no studying!) only made me feel worse. I had turned the corner. My home was no longer my home. I felt more comfortable in my dorm room. My whole routine was changed, yet again, only there was the additional stress of my dad being out of the house.
I am a sensitive person, and my mom’s depression was weighing heavily on my shoulders. Seeing her in constant pain, and my frustration with my inability to “make it all better” for her, led once again to over-eating. Worse, I had my wisdom teeth removed, preventing me from exercising for ten days. I lost weight, but it was more muscle loss than fat loss. Ever since February, I had been working out almost every day. The fact that I couldn’t exercise made me depressed. I turned to food, once again, to comfort me. And so the cycle continued….
Now it is January of 2009 and I feel as though I am right back where I started. I am not 160, but I feel just as awful about myself. I have only me to blame for my weight gain. However, I am also hopeful. I will be returning to school tomorrow, and I will be back in my dorm room, a place that is now more appealing to me than my house. Not being around my mom all the time will also alleviate the part of my depression that stems from my inability to help her. I will be away from the chaos and sadness surrounding my family, and I will be able to breathe, stop, and take the time to focus on regaining my health and my confidence. Thus, I decided to call this post “New Start”, since that is what I hope to achieve. This past year I have learned a lot about dieting, made my fair share of mistakes, and had my loses and victories. All that is left is for me to apply my knowledge, so that I may one day look at myself in the mirror, confident and in control, and feel the sense of pride I felt on my graduation day. I am not seeking that “perfect” day anymore, for I know that it has come and gone. I also know that other “perfect” days will come again, and it is up to me to make them happen. I need patience, time and determination.
I need a New Start.
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