Pulling My Own Weight

Fighting the Battle of the Bulge

For most of my adult life, I can honestly say that I have been fighting the battle of the bulge. I had been thin as an adolescent, and I was able to eat whatever I wanted without gaining an ounce. I can easily recall my teenage years of being 5’10" and able to wear a bikini or short shorts without so much as a worry about being called “Hippo hips” or “Thunder thighs.” (Well, I do have two brothers so come to think of it, I did have to worry about the name calling!)

I spent my senior year of high school in Israel, and trust me when I say I ate my way through the promised land. There were fresh, hot cinnamon rolls with hot cocoa every morning for breakfast, followed by deep fried chicken, mashed potatoes and fried vegetable cutlets for lunch. In between meals, there were chocolate bars, cookies and ice cream. If it was room temperature and ready to serve, I ate it. Dinner was more nutritious though because it wasn’t a part of our school’s meal plan and I didn’t know how to do anything in the kitchen, other than open a can of tuna. One of my favorite memories of that year was my Sunday night dinners at my great-aunt Shirley’s apartment. She would cook up a seven course meal and just sit and watch me eat. She had promised my mom that she wouldn’t let me go hungry, and a promise was a promise.

I honestly don’t know how I missed it but at some point during the nine months I lived away from my family, I gained 25 pounds. I didn’t feel the clothes getting tighter. I didn’t see myself looking any different in the mirror. None of my friends seemed to notice the weight gain. All I know is the moment I was reunited with my parents that June, my mother said something to the effect of “We’re going to Weight Watchers!”

Weight Watchers

Weight Watchers didn’t do much for me then, and unfortunately, I can’t say it does much for me now. I am not and have never been a good Watcher. I’ve never been good at counting calories, keeping a food journal and tracking my points. Returning home from Israel, I joined WW with a friend who was supposed to lose a few pounds for her sister’s wedding. The only thing we lost that fateful summer was our free time and a few bucks. We showed up each week, collected the necessary meal plans and read the brochures on weight loss. I, for one, didn’t lose more than two pounds during my four weeks with the program. I assume that is because we would sneak out to the grocery store for a snack right after our weigh-in!

College Weight Gain

I continued to gain weight throughout my three years of attending college in New York City. There was food around me everywhere, whether it was on the job at the soap opera magazine I worked for or in the school cafeteria, which was open around the clock. There was a mini-supermarket open 24 hours, located across the street from my dormitory, and I was there at least six of those 24 hours. I had no sense of discipline or motivation, and once again, I didn’t see the extra pounds add on. I worked five blocks from my school, but did I enjoy those walks on the beautiful streets of Manhattan? Heck, no! I took a taxi. (I had to make it to my class after all!) It wasn’t until I was a few months away from getting married that I decided to lose some weight. I don’t recall what I did or how I did it, but somehow, I managed to lose 10 pounds.

Marriage Weight

Those 10 pounds returned with an extra 30 after I married my husband. I tried one diet after another, but I never got back to my junior high weight. I lost (and regained) 30 pounds with Diet Center and Fit For Life, but I almost said goodbye to my colon in the process. Eating as many green vegetables as you want is never a good idea! I can’t even count how many times I registered with Weight Watchers, only to give up after the first week. Being inspired by the weight loss stories of others wasn’t the problem; my issue was staying motivated at home long enough to get a ribbon.

Secret to Dieting Success

Ironically, I found the secret to my dieting success while I was pregnant with my oldest daughter. I started out my pregnancy at 223 pounds, with orders from my obstetrician to keep my weight gain to a minimum or risk having a nine or ten pound baby. Taking her words to heart, I joined a prenatal aerobics class, which met twice a week at the local community center. I had never been one to exercise, but knowing that I was doing something healthy for myself and my baby gave me the motivation I needed to get through the hour. I also watched what I ate and surprise, surprise –I learned to eat only if and when I was hungry. Even my obstetrician was impressed when she noted I had managed to gain only two pounds during the entire pregnancy.

Two pounds doesn’t seem possible but that was, in fact, what I had gained during my nine months of carrying my daughter. I assumed that once I had given birth, those two pounds would cling to me like a bad case of static, and I would just keep gaining more weight. After all, once a weight problem, always a weight problem. I truly did not expect to lose my pregnancy weight once I left the hospital. I certainly didn’t expect to lose weight from nursing because I knew I would have to take in more calories for my baby’s sake. How would I be able to shed those unwanted pounds? And, having had a C-section, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to exercise for at least six weeks. I wasn’t fooling myself; I knew darn well that by the time I got the thumbs-up sign from my doctor to exercise, I would have long forgotten how to squat and do those abdominal crunches!

Imagine my shock when I stepped on the scale two weeks after I had given birth. I had lost weight! A lot, actually…for me: 25 pounds!!! Now, I hadn’t had much of an appetite when I first came home. Having given birth during the week of Passover (that’s the no-flour diet that was created for the Jews travelling through the Middle Eastern desert, shortly before Sugarbusters hit the States), I hadn’t eaten much more than chicken soup and apple juice. A decreased appetite, coupled with nursing my daughter all day long, proved to be the diet I had been searching for since I was 18. And, it was easy. I don’t understand how I did it. I wasn’t exercising. I wasn’t panting over M & M’s and chocolate chip cookies anymore. Who knew?!

The Weight Loss Continues

By the time my daughter was three months old, I had managed to lose another 15 pounds. This brought my weight loss total to 40 pounds. I hadn’t seen that number on the scale since I was back from Israel and on week 2 of Weight Watchers. I wasn’t a size 8 or even a 12 for that matter, but I felt healthier, and I was able to shop somewhere other than the Plus size section.

Pregnancy Weight Woes

Then I got pregnant with my son. I was so sure I was going to gain back all of my weight and be back to the not-so-nice side of 200. I watched my weight as carefully as I did the first time, and I attended the prenatal aerobics classes when I was able to get a babysitter, but it wasn’t the same. I was hungrier with this pregnancy, craving jelly beans and anything else that was sweet and chewy. Being pregnant and keeping up with a toddler tired me out, rather than increase my activity level. I wound up gaining 17 pounds, which wasn’t bad for the average mother-to-be to gain, but not good for someone who has been offically termed “overweight.”

Ten Days Back to Normal

I was thrilled when I returned to my pre-pregnancy weight within 10 days of giving birth. I can easily think back to being cursed out by my fellow mother friends when I managed to squeeze into a fitted suit for my son’s bris instead of wearing a moo-moo. But heck, ladies, I did my time with the moo-moo. It was time for me to shine!

I was equally neurotic when I was pregnant with the other three children, gaining anywhere between 16 and 23 pounds with each pregnancy and then managing to lose the weight within two weeks.

I think I will always fret about gaining back all of that weight and having to wear those moo-moos again. It’s a worry I deal with each and every day as I get on the scale and wonder if that one pound I put on is the beginning of another roller coaster ride with my weight. I’ve gotten rid of my “fat” clothes. I know what you’re thinking…you get rid of the “fat” clothes and the pounds will most definitely come back. Well, I’m not going to let that happen. First of all, I’ve been there and done that and frankly, I don’t want to go through it again. I like having an hour-glass figure instead of one that resembles a ripe pear. More important, my confession about trashing my fat clothes will have hopefully been read by millions of people, and I couldn’t face all of you naysayers.

15 Year War Ended

It took me 15 years of fighting the battle of the bulge, but I have finally come to peace with who and what I am. I am never going to see a pre-teen size on my body and I am okay with that. Well, maybe okay is not the right word, but I’ve decided not to spend a good portion of my life starving myself to be a Sports Illustrated cover model. Besides, I don’t do bikinis, what with my C-section scar and all.