When I was growing up we never went without food and my Mother cooked the standard southern-style home cooking. We had three full meals even when we weren't hungry and we all sat at the table to eat together. We had plenty of snack food both healthy and non-healthy along with every kind of soda that we all preferred. It really was a great way for a child to grow up.
When I was becoming an adolescent I also became quite chubby. I really wasn't super active and didn't join any sports. I was a total bookworm and spent most of my time reading. I was increasing in size and my parents were constantly having to buy me larger and larger clothes. I was embarrassed at getting to the point that the only clothes I could find were sweatpants and t-shirts. Nothing with any style would fit me in any way that I was comfortable with. I chose to sit and write sentences as punishment for "not bringing gym clothes" in PE instead of wearing shorts and being embarrassed or teased for my fat thighs. I was 220 pounds in the 8th grade.
In the summer after the 8th grade I made a wonderful friend that lived nearby and we would spend most of our time walking around the neighborhood and going to the park with a boom box where we had our own impromptu dance parties. I started out the summer wearing large sweatshirts over shorts and would sweat a lot. Toward the end of that summer I got the flu and couldn't eat and when I did start eating my appetite was limited to soups and carrot sticks. I lost a total of 40 pounds that summer and my mom and dad were very happy to buy me a whole new wardrobe for the start of the 9th grade. I was ecstatic that the clothes that I liked would actually fit me, maybe not perfectly, but where I felt better about myself.
I continued to lose weight because I still didn't eat very much and my parents started trying to force me to eat. They were worried. But, I was happy with losing weight and all of the attention that I was getting from my parents, and the boys at school. I was very scared that would go away if I started eating the meals that my Mom would make. So, when I heard a girl talk about throwing up her food to lose weight, I thought it was a win-win. I could still lose weight and please my parents by eating. I never did the binge eating-vomiting thing. I would simply throw up anything that I ate at all no matter how small. After a while my stomach would get upset after I would eat more than 5 bites and I would throw it up just to get the feeling to go away. It was awful to live each day by the scale. Up one pound and I would freak out. Down one pound and I was ecstatic. And having to hide the throwing up and learning how to hide the noise/smell/fact that I went to the bathroom after every meal from everyone I know was an exercise in fear.
By the time I was a Junior in high school I had lost more than 100 pounds and my Mother busted me throwing up after a meal and confronted me in front of my boyfriend. They were both crying. He accepted my promise to stop but my Mother took me to the doctor. The doctor measured my fat by pinching it between a silver thing and asked me questions about what I was eating. We went home that day and I promised not to do it anymore. But, all I did was learn to hide it even more. Years later my Mother admitted to not showing me a letter that the doctor had sent. The doctor had said that I was fine and could lose more weight if I wanted. My Mother admitted that she was afraid that if she had shown me that letter I simply would have lost soo much I would kill myself with it. This was a great decision and I thank her for it. This was before anorexia or bulimia were well known.
At the age of 20 I followed some wonderful high school friends to Texas and decided to turn my life around. By then Tracey Gold and a few others had come out in the media and I was realizing that what I was doing to myself was very bad. I started learning how to follow aerobics videos and watch what I eat. It took me probably another 5 years to finally get myself to leave behind the bulimia.
At the age of 25 I decided to join the Army. At that time I felt like I was in pretty good shape. I would power walk up to 4 miles about three times a week and also do other workouts in between. Basic training taught me different. Running the first 1 mile test I was soo slow. They put me in "D group" the slowest running group. But they really do train you to get better. My first PT test I ran the 2 miles in 25 minutes and by the end of basic training, in just 10 weeks, I was down to 18:52 and was soo proud to move up to the next group. It was by far the hardest exercise I had done to that point and I was elated to finish stronger each time. I remember that the day after I moved up to the "C" group I excitedly got my drill sergeant's attention and told her that I moved up to the faster group. I still remember that she took one step past me, stopped herself, turned to me, looked straight into my eyes with a somewhat stern face and said, "Good". Then she walked away. I remembered feeling slightly foolish at 25 years old because I realized I was seeking her parental-type approval. But I will always remember the feeling of accomplishment.
Two and a half years later I had my son and had to get an honorable discharge from the Army. 911 happened and he was 4 weeks old when my unit wanted to send me to Iraq. His Father was taking college classes and didn't want to be a single daddy and left us. I had no other choice and was blessed that my Commander let me out for being a single parent and non-deployable. Luckily I had great radiology training and could take care of him on my own.
A few years later I had my daughter and through difficult circumstances ended up a single-parent with two children and working two jobs. We lived in the most beautiful and perfect apartment above some old horse stables (no horses) on a lot of land and just behind the building beyond the property fence was a private school's football field. It was perfect when my kids were 3 and 5 because I could take them to the field in the evenings and they would run and play as I ran laps around the field. The kids would count laps for me and stand in the bleachers and cheer me on. It was perfect.
While I was living there I was introduced, by my Sister and Brother-in-law, to my now husband. I am very blessed because we make a great team. We both have different styles of exercise but both of us know how important it is to be able to get it in 6 days a week. We both naturally work around each other's workouts and the family runs very smoothly. He is also very supportive of all of my endurance pursuits. Without his help I would not have gone from a 2 mile runner to a marathon runner (which I ran to celebrate his adoption of my kids), or a sprint triathlon to a half Ironman in one year.
It has been a long and bumpy road but I love where this journey has brought me and wouldn't change any of it.
When I was becoming an adolescent I also became quite chubby. I really wasn't super active and didn't join any sports. I was a total bookworm and spent most of my time reading. I was increasing in size and my parents were constantly having to buy me larger and larger clothes. I was embarrassed at getting to the point that the only clothes I could find were sweatpants and t-shirts. Nothing with any style would fit me in any way that I was comfortable with. I chose to sit and write sentences as punishment for "not bringing gym clothes" in PE instead of wearing shorts and being embarrassed or teased for my fat thighs. I was 220 pounds in the 8th grade.
In the summer after the 8th grade I made a wonderful friend that lived nearby and we would spend most of our time walking around the neighborhood and going to the park with a boom box where we had our own impromptu dance parties. I started out the summer wearing large sweatshirts over shorts and would sweat a lot. Toward the end of that summer I got the flu and couldn't eat and when I did start eating my appetite was limited to soups and carrot sticks. I lost a total of 40 pounds that summer and my mom and dad were very happy to buy me a whole new wardrobe for the start of the 9th grade. I was ecstatic that the clothes that I liked would actually fit me, maybe not perfectly, but where I felt better about myself.
I continued to lose weight because I still didn't eat very much and my parents started trying to force me to eat. They were worried. But, I was happy with losing weight and all of the attention that I was getting from my parents, and the boys at school. I was very scared that would go away if I started eating the meals that my Mom would make. So, when I heard a girl talk about throwing up her food to lose weight, I thought it was a win-win. I could still lose weight and please my parents by eating. I never did the binge eating-vomiting thing. I would simply throw up anything that I ate at all no matter how small. After a while my stomach would get upset after I would eat more than 5 bites and I would throw it up just to get the feeling to go away. It was awful to live each day by the scale. Up one pound and I would freak out. Down one pound and I was ecstatic. And having to hide the throwing up and learning how to hide the noise/smell/fact that I went to the bathroom after every meal from everyone I know was an exercise in fear.
By the time I was a Junior in high school I had lost more than 100 pounds and my Mother busted me throwing up after a meal and confronted me in front of my boyfriend. They were both crying. He accepted my promise to stop but my Mother took me to the doctor. The doctor measured my fat by pinching it between a silver thing and asked me questions about what I was eating. We went home that day and I promised not to do it anymore. But, all I did was learn to hide it even more. Years later my Mother admitted to not showing me a letter that the doctor had sent. The doctor had said that I was fine and could lose more weight if I wanted. My Mother admitted that she was afraid that if she had shown me that letter I simply would have lost soo much I would kill myself with it. This was a great decision and I thank her for it. This was before anorexia or bulimia were well known.
At the age of 20 I followed some wonderful high school friends to Texas and decided to turn my life around. By then Tracey Gold and a few others had come out in the media and I was realizing that what I was doing to myself was very bad. I started learning how to follow aerobics videos and watch what I eat. It took me probably another 5 years to finally get myself to leave behind the bulimia.
At the age of 25 I decided to join the Army. At that time I felt like I was in pretty good shape. I would power walk up to 4 miles about three times a week and also do other workouts in between. Basic training taught me different. Running the first 1 mile test I was soo slow. They put me in "D group" the slowest running group. But they really do train you to get better. My first PT test I ran the 2 miles in 25 minutes and by the end of basic training, in just 10 weeks, I was down to 18:52 and was soo proud to move up to the next group. It was by far the hardest exercise I had done to that point and I was elated to finish stronger each time. I remember that the day after I moved up to the "C" group I excitedly got my drill sergeant's attention and told her that I moved up to the faster group. I still remember that she took one step past me, stopped herself, turned to me, looked straight into my eyes with a somewhat stern face and said, "Good". Then she walked away. I remembered feeling slightly foolish at 25 years old because I realized I was seeking her parental-type approval. But I will always remember the feeling of accomplishment.
Two and a half years later I had my son and had to get an honorable discharge from the Army. 911 happened and he was 4 weeks old when my unit wanted to send me to Iraq. His Father was taking college classes and didn't want to be a single daddy and left us. I had no other choice and was blessed that my Commander let me out for being a single parent and non-deployable. Luckily I had great radiology training and could take care of him on my own.
A few years later I had my daughter and through difficult circumstances ended up a single-parent with two children and working two jobs. We lived in the most beautiful and perfect apartment above some old horse stables (no horses) on a lot of land and just behind the building beyond the property fence was a private school's football field. It was perfect when my kids were 3 and 5 because I could take them to the field in the evenings and they would run and play as I ran laps around the field. The kids would count laps for me and stand in the bleachers and cheer me on. It was perfect.
While I was living there I was introduced, by my Sister and Brother-in-law, to my now husband. I am very blessed because we make a great team. We both have different styles of exercise but both of us know how important it is to be able to get it in 6 days a week. We both naturally work around each other's workouts and the family runs very smoothly. He is also very supportive of all of my endurance pursuits. Without his help I would not have gone from a 2 mile runner to a marathon runner (which I ran to celebrate his adoption of my kids), or a sprint triathlon to a half Ironman in one year.
It has been a long and bumpy road but I love where this journey has brought me and wouldn't change any of it.