"What Do You Think? I'm a Chubby Girl With a Sweet Tooth"

That is what I said to my husband when he asked me if I wanted the rest of his ginormous slice of key lime pie from Outback Steakhouse. And it is true. We laughed about it, but it was the first time that I admitted it. That admission rang in my head for weeks. Sure, I put on pounds because I had a baby...FOUR YEARS AGO! Since then I have been tired, cranky, and depressed; all of which has been reflected in my eating patterns. I never engaged in mood eating until I had a baby. I don't know why, but that's how it went for me. Now, rewind five years ago. Five years ago, I was a runner, an amateur bodybuilder, and super-crazy health food consumer. So, how is it that five years later I am sitting here eating Ranch Doritos, take-out Chinese food and pizza with sausage? Lactose Intolerant Girl is eating cheese, ice cream, cheesecake and suffering each time because I feel emotionally whole when I eat those foods. This has bad news written all over it. I preach about eating healthy and making sure that kids eat healthy, but I am one of the offenders. Like any red-blooded American, I live in defensive denial and make excuses for not giving a damn about personal responsibility. I think I was fine with all of this until I broke my knee cap. That's when my weight and health came crashing down on me. I had a steel-rod brace on my left leg, a pair of crutches and the worst snow storms to hit the East Coast in nearly one hundred years. What did I do for six weeks? Sat on my ass, popped painkillers and ate (sometimes...it's hard to eat when you have to hobble on crutches through your small apartment just to get to the kitchen). I actually lost weight, along with a ton of muscle over those six weeks. Off came the brace and Physical Therapy started. I found that I enjoyed the torture sessions because they forced me to do exercises that I did when I was body building. It stirred those urges in me and I hungered to pick up my weights again. Unfortunately, depression is a bitch and that has been my worst opponent. My depression is pretty frickin' scary, to the point where I can't do anything but sit and stare at the wall. My weights sit in my living room, waiting to be lifted, but I stare right past them. Throw in a knee that has yet to be pain-free and you've got a seemingly bleak situation. Okay, so I was resigned to all of this. That's what everyone was telling me anyway: to resign myself to pain and the weight.

So, where does this all bring me? To my doctor's office. For my yearly. I know the rigmarole: scale, blood pressure check, pee in a cup. I had a healthy blood pressure reading, and my pee was fine. It was the scale that killed me. I had gained weight. I'm 5'3" and 147 lbs. Am I obese? Nope. Am I happy? Nope. Weight is a number, and is relative to the composition of your body. When I was body building I weighed 132 lbs. but I was rock-hard, all muscle. So, weight is relative, but I can vouch that my 147 lbs. is NOT muscle. After leaving the doctor's office, I told myself right then and there that I have to do something. I force my daughter to eat healthy, so how does it look when her mother doesn't do the same? How can I expect her to make good food choices later in life if I don't? The time has come, my friends! I am using this blog to document my quest to get back to healthy living and eating. I harbor no delusions of skinny, only hopes of feeling healthy and getting some muscle back. So, follow along and if you're going through the same thing, please chime in. The only way to succeed is with support!