Once, there was a teenage girl who couldn’t put on weight to save her life. She weighed a mere 100 pounds and stood 5 feet, 6 inches tall. She was so skinny, her mother forced her to drink weight gain shakes for breakfast.
And then she went to college and discovered how to write annoying essays about herself in the third person. She also discovered beer, dark, lovely beer. She was 23 when the weight gain began. Had her mother known about what beer could do, high school could have been a lot more fun.
The weight came on slowly at first. A pound here, a pound there. But by the time she was 26 – having moved from a town to a city, and then back to a town again, and then to a city again – she weighed 135 pounds. And that wasn’t so bad, 135 pounds wasn’t so bad. She moved to New York when she was 27 where she met her husband. And she became they. Later that year a bunch of men flew a bunch of airplanes into a bunch of buildings and they moved away from New York City to the only city in the United States that lacks statehood. That’s where they discovered wine and Pasta Mia.
By age 29, she weighed 145 pounds.
They moved to San Francisco. Depressed and lonely, she stayed home most of the time while he went to work. She ate a lot of burritos from a place in the Mission and put on more and more weight until she weighed a booming 157 pounds. She was 30 years old.
They moved back to New York. And as a New Yorker who walks more each day than the average American, she lost 7 pounds just going to and from work. But she still weighed 150 pounds.
She dieted. And at 31 she lost 11 pounds.
And then later that year, she put it all back on again.
She took up running at 32. She loved to run. She ran 3 miles a day for the first part of the year and well into the summer. She didn’t lose much weight, putting on muscle and all, but she felt better, her clothing fit, and she was able to eat whatever she wanted. She weighed 149 pounds.
At 32 and three quarters she got pregnant. Her running career came to a halt, her eating whatever she wanted did not.
By the time her son was born she weighed an impressive 179 pounds. And 20 pounds of that was stored in her ankles.
Three weeks postpartum, 20 of that was gone. Two months later, 5 more dropped from the scale.
At 33 and three quarters, nearly a year after her son was conceived, she still weighed 155 pounds.
On November one of two thousand and seven her husband got an iPhone and began taking pictures faster than Mitt Romney flip-flops and the girl caught a glimpse of her arms on Flickr. She promptly made him take them down. The girl decided it was finally time to do something about it. She ran. And it nearly killed her. She also started to diet, not a massive calorie-cutting diet, supplying breast and all, but a diet nonetheless.
On November 3, 2007, 3 days into NaBloPoMo, she confessed her goal and all her numbers on the Internet.
Updates on my weight loss will take place every Saturday in a section called Saturday Stats until I reach my goal. Sadly, I need to put this on hold until I get my medical problems under control. At the time this was added, I still weigh 149. We’ll see how things go after my hyperthyroidism is taken care of.
Part of NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), where one writes every day for the month of November, which is easier said than done.
Mihow 
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