When I was very young, my dad was a chain smoker, and he drank alcohol daily. I learned to play pool at the age of 8 in the Moose Lodge while my dad drank and smoked at the bar, and my mom watched over me at a nearby table. I knew enough to ask the barmaid or the red-painted quarters to put in the jukebox.

When I was a young teenager, my dad gave up smoking and drinking. He did this by going cold turkey. It worked. I remember he made a bet with my brother-in-law, and my brother-in-law wasn’t able to successfully quit smoking, but my dad did.

He was able to control his addictions to alcohol and nicotine by severing them. I don’t know if the phantom foot of his addictions ever itched, but I do know he never scratched.

After years of being alcohol-free, a doctor suggested to my dad that a shot of whiskey a day would be good for his heart. My dad responded that he had never been able to drink just one.

But you can’t go cold turkey with food.

My dad enjoyed good food. He savored the flavors. He would eat things I would never even consider like frog legs. We would drive for miles to eat in a restaurant in Luzurne that had an all-you-can-eat froglegs buffet on Friday nights. My dad would object when I would order a hamburger and fries. “Get something you don’t eat at home,” he would tell me. I would order the salad bar, and I would delight in the wide range of choices.

The salad bar wasn’t what my dad meant.

When we lived in Florida, we’d sit in a restaurant on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, and my parents would eat fresh seafood. I would refuse to try the shrimp. I ordered a cheeseburger and fries. I was feeling a little adventurous.

Today, I read several poems that talked about cooking. One, in particular, sounded almost pornographic as the author described pouring the oil in the pan and searing the whatever it was she was searing. What is searing anyway? The description of the eating became even more vivid with flavors bursting.

And I realize I am missing something. I do not talk about or think about food this way. It is not a sensual experience for me.

I have a friend who can get very animated and offer detail after detail as she describes how she cooks something. I cannot comprehend her culinary comments.

I eat because I’m hungry, or people around me or eating. If left on my own, I would forget to eat. I do not enjoy cooking. I enjoy socializing more than eating when I dine out. Eating is something I have to do.

When I do get a hankering for something, it is usually pretty tame. The other night I wanted something to drink with a bit of a kick. I was upset we were out of orange juice because it would have been perfect. Just a plain glass of orange juice.

When I cook, I rarely add spices. I never add salt to my food. If I use ketchup to eat my fries, the fries weren’t that very good to begin with. I prefer my hot dogs plain.

So if I am not obsessed with food, and my taste buds are fairly bland, how did I end up overweight to begin with?

I’ve been reading Teenage Waistland, which is part memoir and part a guide for parents of fat kids on what not to do. Except it seems anything a parent does is a don’t when it comes to a child’s weight. The author, who doesn’t have kids of her own, isn’t very gracious when she comes to analyzing the role parents have in a child’s weight.

Still the issues addressed in this book are part of what started me writing about weight and being a fat man’s daughter in the first place.  How do I talk to my children about weight? How can I teach them about healthy portions without knowing healthy portions? How can I discuss being concerned about weight without making them overly concerned about weight?

Is my obsession with exploring this issue going to drive my own children into anorexia, bulimia or obesity?

Or will someone else’s thoughtless comment going to do it for me?

I’m 36 years old, and I still remember a trip to Houston to visit my sister and her husband. My sister had cable and more importantly she had MTV. I was a teenager surrounded by toddlers and adults and a television that offered music videos and more channels than I had seen in my life. I spent some quality time sitting on their couch watching my very first videos. This prompted her husband to make a comment about my weight. It was probably 20 years ago, and I still remember how embarrassed I felt. It was the first time someone had ever commented on my weight. And I was not fat. I wasn’t even close, but I remember the hot cheeks and shame that I felt with his words.

Last Sunday was Easter, and we were all sitting around the table. Dinner was over, and we were playing cards. My oldest daughter was sitting across from me, next to her aunt. Her aunt is obese. She is almost as wide as she is tall. She needs surgery on her knee, but she can’t have it until she loses weight. She doesn’t look like she’s lost any weight lately.

Sitting next to me is my father-in-law. My daughter grabs something to snack on, and my father-in-law made a comment. I don’t remember what my daughter was eating or father-in-law said. I just know it was a comment about my daughter’s weight, as if her weight was a problem.  I think the same thing prompted my father-in-law that prompted my brother-in-law so many years before — someone very obese was in the house and the comment was meant as a preventative measure. But 20 years have gone by, and I didn’t hesitate as I smacked my father-in-law on the arm and let him know that his comment was not appropriate. I’m not sure if my daughter heard him, a comment my mother-in-law made, and I’m not completely sure my father-in-law understood my objection. I’m not sure I did either.

I was horrified his comment was heard by my daughter and would be internalized when it shouldn’t be. I was horrified his comment was heard by my sister-in-law and would sting with pain and truth. I was hurt that people’s words can be so painful.

The other day my daughter was ill, and I picked her up from school. I was on my way to a job, and she came with me. While she waited for me, she bought four candy bars from the vending machine. Two for her and two for me. I didn’t know about the third and fourth one. I ate part of the first candy bar she offered me. I declined the second one. IN less than two hours, my daughter had eaten all of the candy.

As we drove home, I talked about it. I didn’t say it was wrong. I talked about it in terms of calories and portions and eating habits. I noted it wasn’t something you should do frequently. And I had her read the calories on the wrapper, and I mentioned how many calories a typical day should include. I tried not to make her feel bad. I emphasized she isn’t overweight. I don’t want to make her obsessed, but I do want her to know things I didn’t know about portions and exercise.

I was not an overweight child. I was thin most of my life. I didn’t have a weight problem until I became pregnant. I was pregnant and/or breastfeeding for seven years. I lost the weight, and I took a job that left me little time to exercise. I gained weight. I gained the most weight in 2006. I’ve since lost it, but I am still overweight/obese.

Monday, my husband and I talked to an insurance guy about life insurance. The insurance guy didn’t hesitate to ask my husband his weight. He hesitated before he asked me, but I didn’t hesitate to answer. “I’m obese,” I said. And here I fudged my height, saying, “I’m 5′8 and 211.” I actually hover somewhere between 5′7 and 5′8, but I hadn’t fudged on saying I was obese or my weight, so I will let the fraction of an inch slide for the moment.

The next day, my husband and I were talking about the insurance. He shakes his head as he recalls my response. “Obese,” he said. His head shaking from side to side in denial. I’m not obese, he thinks.

I am. I want my children to know what a healthy weight is and what a normal weight body looks like. My children are in the normal range. The oldest weighs more than her great-grandma did at the great-grandma’s wedding. I know this because the great-grandma told me so when she learned how much my daughter weighs. My daughter is also several inches taller than hr great-grandma, and her weight and height fall in the middle of the “normal” range on the BMI scale – 21.6.

What does it say about me that I’ve checked?

It was on an envelope. A few quick lines. I wrote it while stopped at a traffic light, and I used my steering wheel as a table. I didn’t want to forget. It was an entire passage of thoughts, a new room, that I wanted to explore as I continue to write my memoir. I needed to record it, so I wouldn’t forget. I remember writing on the envelope. I remember recording an important thought.

I can’t find the envelope. I don’t remember what I wrote. I just remember writing….

I have not yet given up hope the envelope is gone. There is a pile of paper I brought in from my car Saturday, and the envelope is probably in the pile.

I just wrote it Friday morning. It can’t be lost yet. Can it?

***

I was reading the memoir, Three Dog Life, and there was a passage about memory that I really liked. I want to record it, so I remember. This passage has nothing to do with the envelope, other than both have to do with memory….

And this passage struck me because it addresses something I’ve wondered about — how my memories in written form impact other people.

“Six months ago a friend was angry with me and I with her. I had written something someone said years ago, but it was she who heard the words, not me, a fact I had completely forgotten. Her experience was precious, and she accused me of stealing her memory. Not only that, but what she remembered with grief I had somehow transmuted to gratitude, so besides stealing her memory, I also got it wrong. We argued, but there was no meeting place. For days the same questions went through my head. Is memory property? If two people remember something differently is one of them wrong? Wasn’t my memory of a memory also real? There were no solid answers, just winding paths I went round and round on. I thought of nothing else; a chasm had opened between me and my friend.

“When I went to see Rich that Thursday, the first thing he said was, “Please forgive the selfishness of an old man who seizes the past for his own.” He paused, but I was already listening closely. This sounded oddly like what I’d been thinking about” (Thomas 129-130).

There’s more, but I have class.

Thomas, Abigail. Three Dog Life. New York: Harcourt, Inc., 2007.

That is a great number, and it is not because I am going to be 37 this year.

That is the number of pounds I have lost since January 2007, which is when I weighed my highest ever (except pregnancy).

To meet my goal weight, I still have to lose another 53 pounds.

However, I must say that the 37 pounds I have lost so far are the ones that seem to make me feel less like a fat person and more like me.

I have my face back with my own cheekbones. My thighs and waist are inches smaller. I had to buy a new belt because my old belt was too big even at the smallest notch. Prior to the weight loss, I used the belt at the largest notch. That is a difference of about four inches or more. With my new belt, I am still using the smallest notch. I thought when I bought it, I would have a few notches to go, but I was wrong.

I now have to wear a belt because my pants are too big and show off too much of my lower back/butt if I fail to wear one. My children thank me for this.

I am also happy because I have noticed weight loss in my hands, face, thighs and butt, but I have not yet noticed anything missing where women normally lose weight first — their breasts. I’d like to keep what I have there thank-you-very-much.

I think I gained about 40 pounds when I was attending grad school in 2006. I know I now weigh less than I did in March 2006.

Although the weight guidelines indicate I should lose another 53 pounds, I am focused now on losing 14 pounds. And then maybe another 10. At that point, I will be thrilled, and I think I won’t claim to be fat anymore.

This is a huge thing. To emphasize how big of a thing this is, I have to let you know where I was in September 2007.

I signed up in September to attend an informational seminar about weight-loss surgery. It would cost $25 just to listen, and I was considering getting a lapband surgery. I felt like that was my only option. To even be considered for weight-loss surgery, you have to weigh about 100 pounds over your normal weight and have a BMI of 40 or more.

In September, my BMI was 38.7, and I was thinking it would be easier to gain 20 pounds to qualify than lose the weight on my own. I know this is NOT the way to think about weight loss, but I was frustrated. I had been trying to lose weight for most of 2007. I had initial success and then nothing, and I was very discouraged.

Right now, my BMI is still in the obese range, but I am so much better. It is currently 33.4 based on a height of 5′7. (You can do the math and figure out I currently weigh 213.)
For a woman who is 5′7 (I am slightly taller but not quite 5′8), the high of a normal BMI is 24.9 means weighing no more than 159 pounds. At 5′8, a BMI of 24.9 means a weight of 164 maximum.

My goal right now? I want to be under 200 pounds by May/June.

I think I learned how important motivation (or the lack of it) can be in weight loss. It can be horrible to work hard and not see any results. It made me want to give up. The lapband really appealed to me because it could be adjusted in the future.

I read weight loss blogs like Half of Me, and I read about the person not only losing weight but changing their lifestyle so they are competing in marathons. I am not a marathon kind of gal. I do not see the appeal in running. I like walking, but running does not have an appeal and not just because of my lovely right ankle and all of its scarring and issues.

I can do walking. I can even incorporate regular exercise, but I have no interest in marathons and/or classes like aerobics. I can’t imagine that changing. But who knows what I’ll think tomorrow. Just last September I considered (briefly) gaining 20 pounds to take the “easy” way out…. (Obviously, I know weight loss surgery is not an easy decision. I was commenting more on my thought process than the reality of surgery.)

Earlier this week I was reading Big Boned by Meg Cabot, which is part of a mystery series about an ex-rock singer named Heather who is slightly overweight (aka big boned). In the book, Heather is at the home of a college student talking to the student’s mother who admits she doesn’t get her daughter because her daughter is not a size 8 like the mom and other sister. (Seriously.) And there all kinds of things wrong with that sort of outlook on life, but it also reminded me of my relationship with my mom.

When I was young, (and skinny), my mom would tell me I didn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.

Now, I am not skinny, and my mom no longer makes the bird comment. She has other comments, and the comments COULD hurt, but I have never let them because I understand. Plus, sometimes her comments come back to bite her.

For instance, in December, I was talking to my mom on the phone. She mentioned she had received her Christmas present from my older sister, Kari. The conversation went something like this:

Mom: Kari must think I’m huge. She bought me size 20 pants, and they are just too big.

Linda: (I have no idea what I said, but I think I asked if she tried them on. Isn’t it convenient how I remember her words and not mine?)

Mom:  They are huge. Maybe they will fit you.

*Crickets*

Linda: (while laughing) They are huge, and so maybe they will fit me? What exactly are you trying to say, Mom?

Mom: I didn’t mean it like that.

Linda: Oh? How did you mean it? That I’m huge and you aren’t? That I’m bigger than you? That I am fat?

Mom: (changes subject)

Fast-forward a few days to the Denton family Christmas with my brother and his family, my family and my mom.

Linda: Mom, you look nice. I like that outfit.

Mom: It’s my Christmas present from Kari.

Linda: Oh? You mean those are the huge pants? The ones you’ll swim in, but they might fit me?
And then I precede to tell my brother all about my mom’s inappropriate comments while totally harassing my mom because the size 20 pants fit her. And we both have fun harassing her. Poor Mom.

And she totally deserves it because her and Kari do not have thunder thighs. I think they would be considered apple shaped when I am definitely a pear. They have very tiny legs, but I inherited much meatier legs. It is not fair. I wanted the skinny thighs, but I don’t have the varicose veins my mom has either, so I guess I will just have to deal with it.

Long before I started dieting, I monitored my weight by my clothing; more specifically how my clothing fit (or didn’t).

About a month ago, I had to throw away several pairs of jeans because they all had the same problem — the cloth in the inner thigh area had worn through so much that holes had started to form. For some of the jeans, it was just a small hole barely visible. On others, it was a gaping hole.

As a result, I inspected every pair of jeans I owned and several other pants as well. Almost all of them showed signs of wear in the inner thigh area from the continual rubbing of my thighs as I move throughout my day. Everything else about the jeans were in like-new condition, but the thigh areas were worn thin. I was forced to throw away almost every pair of jeans I owned.

The only pants that didn’t show wear in the thigh area were my fat pants — a pair of Tommy Hilfiger jeans that I had purchased at a deep discount. Even when I purchased the pants, they were a little big on me, but I couldn’t pass up the deal. Plus, they weren’t that big. They were my size but the “tall” version, which meant the longer than normal legs fit me differently than most of my jeans. At 5′7″, I’m at the lower end of the “tall” range.

The first time I wore the jeans, my husband commented on them. He didn’t like them because they made my butt look larger than it really is. The loose fit and poor butt display made these jeans become my work jeans. When I had to do something that required a lot of lower body movement, I would wear these jeans. They worked well while snowmobiling, any major cleaning and home improvement projects.

So many times I went to my dresser drawer and pulled out pants that no longer fit me, but these jeans always went on. They were my fall-back pair when nothing else was available. If I had a lazy day of hanging out at home, I pulled on these jeans. The loose fit may not have showcased my butt very well, but they were comfortable to wear. I never had to tug them up to cover my butt crack or worry about straining the seams if I bent down to pick something up off the floor.

Every time I wore the jeans, my husband mentioned how poorly they displayed my rear end. He didn’t like them at all, but I continued to wear them.

They were the jeans I grabbed when nothing else wanted to fit. These were the jeans I could pull on no matter how I felt or how bloated and fat I was that day.

Yesterday, I threw away my fat jeans.

It was a big move for me, and I wasn’t sure at first that I should do it. After throwing away so many pants last month, my clothing options are limited as it is. It is not an easy decision to toss a pair of jeans that are in good condition.

I wore the jeans yesterday. It was a hanging around the house day, and I pulled the jeans on because it didn’t matter what I looked like. The jeans, however, are now too big.

My hips have always been bigger than my waist by several inches. It means most of my pants are tight in the hip area and have a small gap at my waist. But yesterday, my fat pants were just too big. The waist band’s gap was huge. I could pull on the outer thigh area and pull the pants off despite them being fastened. It involved a little bit of a single hip wiggle to the right when the pants began to go over my larger hips, but it could be done without a lot of effort.

According to the scale, my weight loss effort is only 25 percent complete, but throwing away my fat pants is a major deal. So much so that I decided to take a photo to document my achievement to date:

According to the tag on the jeans, they are a size 20 and “classic fit.” I don’t see anything to indicate they were “tall” although there is a “inseam-r” on the label, but I have no idea what that means.
Yesterday, while wearing my fat pants, I went to a local store and tried on various pants. For the last six months, I have been wearing a size 20 jeans, but that is misleading. I had refused to buy jeans larger than a size 20, but at times, I couldn’t make a size 20 fit and size 22, after being used to my tight-fitting size 20, felt huge the few times I tried them on. I usually opted for the smaller, tighter size, but it was something I had to decide on a case by case basis.

Yesterday, in the dressing room, getting a full-length view of me in my fat pants is when I really decided it was time to get rid of them. I never want to fit into them again, and it is clear they no longer fit. It was time to let them go.

My results in the dressing room were mixed. I could fit into some size 18 jeans but not all. The cut and brand played a major part in the deciding factor. If the fit was relaxed or classic, size 18 fits. Anything else is iffy.

One thing I learned in the dressing room yesterday — pay close attention to the labels. I mistakenly picked up a pair of size 18 “misses” jeans, and I didn’t realize it until I went to try them on. I am not a “misses” by any means. I also need to avoid “juniors” labels. It just isn’t good for the ego.

Last night my husband asked me a couple of times where I had been yesterday afternoon. I told him I was shopping, but I didn’t try to explain why my shopping trip took so long despite bringing home just a few items. It’s hard to explain that I was size-shopping, which is sort of like window-shopping. There is no intent to actually buy anything, but you have to know where you stand in the changing world of women’s sizes.

I don’t tend to do resolutions, and I don’t really plan to change that this year. I do, however, like to do goals. Last year, I began the year with a goal to have lost at least 52 pounds by the end of the year although preferably I wanted to lose twice that amount (2 pounds a week).

That didn’t happen, but I did manage to lose 25 pounds in a year. Not shabby.

For 2008, I want to continue with my goals that I began last year, and I have a couple of new ones.

New goal 1: Spend time with family and be there with the family 100 percent instead of working while answering/talking to them.

New goal 2: Eat sooner in the day. Try to have dinner by 6 p.m. and eliminate eating after 6 p.m. most of the time.  This is part of my training/learning that I need to do. In the past, I always ate a late lunch (around 3-ish), and I would end up eating dinner around 7 or 8 p.m. It turns out my eating schedule was way off, and I need to change that.

Goal 2: Avoid fast food. I made this goal last year, and I improved my fast food eating, but I didn’t completely eliminate it. I had allowed myself fast food when the family was eating, and I vowed to just eat smarter and not eat everything. This happened most of the time. I do think there were a handful of times when, primarily due to convenience, I pulled into a fast food by myself and bought a meal. But even then, my choices tended to be smarter.  So this one was pretty successful, and I think I did OK.

Goal 3: Avoid pop. I had done this in 2005 with a lot more success (less than 5 pops all year). I wasn’t bad with this one in 2007, but I could have been a lot better.  I want to renew this vow. It’s a good thing this isn’t a resolution because I already had a small glass of pop today. It was sitting there, and it was simple. I am way too into simple drinks. I like the drink you can pop a top and gulp. I am not as thrilled with the drink that requires you get a glass, pour and eventually wash the glass. I do tend to drink water with dinner though.

And that’s it. I have other goals, but they aren’t related to this blog and/or I am not yet sure I am willing to go public with them.

It is impossible to enjoy all of the mouth-watering food at Christmas time and not gain weight. I gained three of the 10 pounds I recently lost, and as I sit here at my computer, I can’t help think of the remaining Ferrero Rocher candies sitting on top of my dresser in my bedroom.

I guess I should eat them near my son more often. I opened my package of candies the day after Christmas, ad all of my children immediately started clamoring for one. I ignored them as I unwrapped the nutty chocolat-y goodness.

I had just unwrapped the candy and held the unwrapped nugget out to pop into my mouth when my 8-year-old son grabbed it out of my hand and popped it into his mouth. His claim was that he just couldn’t sit next to someone about to eat the candy of the gods without trying it.  He gets this from the latest ad, which notes that “since the beginning of time, the gods have indulged themselves…. until one day that secret escaped from their hands to be discovered by man.” The commercial urges you to share the secret of gold.

I have two more Christmas parties to get through before the new year, and I am going to have to be diligent in moderating what I eat and upping my exercise to make up the difference. It will be easier when this “secret of gold” is no longer in my home.

Yesterday, I showed up at the hospital to have my blood drawn. The blood work will check to make sure there isn’t a medical reason for my inability to lose weight and my tendency to gain weight.

My doctor wants to make sure it doesn’t have anything to do with my thyroid, but I suspect that there isn’t any medical reason interfering.

Giving blood involved fasting after midnight, which meant I had to find a day that it would be convenient for me to both fast after midnight AND leave my house early in the morning to get blood drawn. Yesterday was that day, and I really missed my morning coffee. After the blood draw, the first place I stopped was to buy coffee.

The actual process of getting blood went pretty quickly, but there were unexpected problems.

It has been a while since I’ve had blood drawn. I have a tendency to have iron-low blood, so I no longer donate blood on a regular basis. And in the last couple of years, I haven’t done a lot of self-health maintenance. Still, I wasn’t anticipating any problems.

I have good veins. I know this because I’ve frequently been told this by nurses who have no problem drawing my blood.

Or perhaps that statement should be past tense.

I had good veins.

Yesterday, I had veins that were not cooperating.

The nurse tried my left arm, which is where my blood is usually drawn. No dice. After a few finger flicks to encourage my reclusive veins, she switched arms. She had me make a fist, and I could feel my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands as I tried to will my veins to cooperate.

The tourniquet the nurse put on my arm to make my veins appear was uncomfortable from the moment the nurse placed it on my arm. I didn’t say anything about the rubber digging into my arm, and I probably should have since I realize now something wasn’t right.

She finally managed to get a needle into a vein, and filled up two or three vials. The vials filled slowly, so I don’t think the needle was in the vein very well. I even wondered why my blood flow was so weak, but the nurse didn’t say anything.

I considered asking if the nurse had any theories about why my veins were hiding today, but I didn’t know how to say, “are my arms too fat?” I wonder if it is harder to find a vein in overweight people. I suspect it might be so, but I don’t know since I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

When she was done, it hurt, but I was happy it was over so quickly. Within an hour I had a tiny bruise on the inside of my right elbow.

This morning, the tiny bruise has grown so large that a silver dollar wouldn’t cover it up. It’s more than an inch-and-a-half in width and height. The sorest spot is right where my elbow bends making it create a dull ache all the time.

It’s no wonder people don’t like needles.

I have avoided talking about the numbers that make up my weight. I dance around the numbers, and I try to avoid actually saying what they are. Instead I focus on the weight loss, or my goal weight.

I need to stop doing that, and I started that process in my last blog by admitting my weight. I wanted to compile a history of my weight, or at least as close as I could.

Before I compile my weight numbers, I want to mention my height is 5 foot, 7 inches and some change. Most people misjudge my weight by about 30 pounds lower than my actual weight. Most recently, I had someone guess I weighed almost 60 pounds less than what I actually weigh. Height can be a blessing.

My ideal height-weight combination varies depending on what you use to determine it. The Hamwi Formula indicates a woman should weigh 100 pounds for the first five feet, and an additional six pounds for every inch over five feet. I am 5 feet seven inches, so that means I can weight 100 + (7 X 6) = 142. This seems like a very low weight, almost too low for me.

The Metropolitan Life Insurance Company has a weight-height chart based on three possible frame sizes. It even offers suggestions on how to figure out your frame size. My elbow size is pretty close to 3 inches, which places me in the large frame category, which really isn’t a surprise to me. Based on my frame size, my ideal height-weight range is 143 to 163. My overall goal for a healthy lifestyle is to be around 160, but I wouldn’t be unhappy to be in the 170 range.

In August 2007 , I had talked to my doctor hoping I could get some advice that would help. She wasn’t concerned with my weight. It wouldn’t have been mentioned at all if I hadn’t brought it up. I found it surprising that my doctor wouldn’t comment despite me being at least 80 pounds overweight. When I asked, she recommended Weight Watchers and gave me a menu for a 1200 and/or 1400 calorie diet. She suggested 1,000 calories was too low. And that’s it. She didn’t have any other suggestions.

One of my goals in losing weight is to also learn more about establishing a healthy lifestyle. I realize I have skewed ideas of acceptable portion sizes, and I am trying to adjust my ideas. I think this type of change is required in order for me to maintain any weight loss I achieve. I also think I can’t do it by myself, yet I don’t want to rely on artificial means in figuring out what to eat either. Weight Watchers uses points, and I can add up the points, but what do I do when points information is unavailable? How does this help me with non Weight Watcher meals? I don’t want the Cliff Notes version of weight-loss information. All of this led eventually to me seeking out a new doctor who would spend some time teaching me life-long changes that I can use to not just lose weight but to maintain a healthy weight.

Another way to figure your weight is to determine your body-mass index. It is also based on your height and weight, and it places you smack dab into various categories ranging from underweight to morbidly obese. In September, I researched the possibility of weight-loss surgery. I was close to 100 pounds overweight, and I was looking at various possibilities because I was feeling very discouraged.

In September, I learned my BMI was 38. In order to qualify for weight-loss surgery, you are supposed to have a BMI of 40 or above. If you have a BMI of 38, you can still have the surgery if you have other health factors. In order to have a BMI of 40, I would weigh 255 pounds (39.9). It was sobering to realize I was within15 pounds of being morbidly obese.

Last week, my BMI was 36.8.

At 170 pounds, my BMI would be 26.6, which is still considered overweight. To be within a healthy range, your BMI needs to be 18.5 to 24.9. At 5.7, I would need to weight 159 pounds to have a BMI of 24.9. At the low end of the BMI range, 18.5, I would need to weigh 118, which is supposedly still in the normal range. It sounds positively skeletal to me, especially at my height. Is it really skeletal or has our society’s views of “healthy” been skewed to the far end of the range? I don’t know about society, but I do know my view is skewed, which is what I am trying to change. I’m going to keep my goal at the upper end of the range and shoot for 160.

Keep in mind that is a long-term goal. At this very moment, I would be very happy if I could get under 200.

And now, here is my weight in history:

1971 – August – 8 pounds, 7 ounces (I couldn’t resist since it really is the LEAST I’ve ever weighed);

1971 – November – I was 3 months old, and my mom wrote in my baby book that the doctor had switched my formula because I was gaining too much weight;

1972 to 1989 – I have no idea what I weighed since I didn’t really pay attention. Weight wasn’t an issue for me. I wasn’t skinny, but I wasn’t fat;

1989 – high school – 150 pounds; I remember I had a 24-inch waist at the time;

1994 – pregnant with my first child – 200 at 10 months pregnant (she was overdue);

And thus began my weight loss roller coaster.

1995 I was pregnant (February through October);

1996-97 I was pregnant October through June);

1998 I was pregnant March through January 1999;

With each pregnancy my weight went up further and further beyond that 200 mark that at one time I thought I would never pass. I have blocked my memory for what I actually weighed during my various pregnancies, but I believe I would gain about 70 pounds each time, and I think my highest weight was in the 260 range while pregnant and due any day. I did lose my baby fat after my youngest was born;

1999 – August I weighed about 185; After the pregnancy and my weight loss, my lunch typically consisted of a Coke and a can of mixed nuts. I had no idea about portion sizes. For the record, one cup of salted mix nuts has 886 calories and 728 of them are from fat. Back then, I thought nuts were a healthy snack choice.

2000 – Holding steady around 180 range;

2002 – I went up to the high end of 180;

2003 – summer – I remember my dad commenting on my weight, noting a recent weight loss, I was back to around 180/high 170s;

2003 – Thanksgiving – my dad died four days before the holiday, and I swore I would do something about my excess weight; I was 20 pounds overweight; I didn’t want to have the health issues he had struggled with throughout my life;

2003 – November – I started working for a newspaper and worked long hours, sometimes as many as 12 to 14 in a single day. I would bring a grocery bag with my lunch and dinner, and my weight went up;

2005 – 190 range – I gave up pop this year, and I drank less than five pops all year long; My alcohol intake probably increased this year. I rarely drank before this, but this year I began drinking more in social situations.

2006 – January – I began attending grad school while working a full-time job at the newspaper and a part-time job at the college; Several times a week in 2006 I would eat at fast food places as I commuted from one place to another. I tended to drive approximately 700 miles a week; Some days I would eat both lunch and dinner behind the wheel of my car after I purchased it from a fast food restaurant. I was drinking pop again too.

2006 – March – I weighed 219; I began exercising, primarily walking, but it was difficult to maintain with my schedule.

2006 – March – one week later – I weighed 233;

2006 – Fall – 240 range

2006 – December for about two weeks – 250 pounds

2007 – February – 240

2007 – March – 235

2007 – April to November – weight frequently fluctuates by about 5 pounds, but it does not drop below 235; at times it does reach 240, but I have not let myself go back above 240.

2007 – December – Weight drops to 235 at doctor’s office and 232 on bathroom scale; lowest weight since March 2006.

The things I am willing to post on the Internet so strangers (and friends and family) can read astounds me. Rest assured that the numbers on my scale are as close as I am going to get to TMI (too much information).