In the beginning...

Ten years ago, I was 120 pounds. I could run a mile in just over five minutes. My lungs were healthy. I played sports. I didn't even have a 'pooch'. I was a very picky eater, but what I did eat I could put back plenty of, and it went no where. I loved having my picture taken. I was adventurous. My main concerns were getting into college and not getting pregnant.

This January, I will be 29 years old. I am 210 pounds. Walking up the stairs in our home winds me. My lungs... I don't even want to know. I've smoked cigarettes for ten years now. Sports? I have a hard time getting my nephew in and out of his car seat. I remember having a pooch... now it's a gut that gets me a lot of warm smiles because people think I'm knocked up. I will eat just about anything as long as it isn't healthy. I cringe when I see myself in a photo or a mirror. I don't get out much. My main concerns are getting along with my husband and trying to get pregnant.

Things have changed a bit.

For a long time now I've just rode the wave. My weight gain made me increasingly depressed and disgusted with myself, but not enough to do anything to fix it. I've just avoided myself. I avoid mirrors, pictures, swimming, getting out in public. I've hidden behind jeans and big t-shirts. I am constantly uncomfortable. I can only have a good time if I'm drinking and manage to forget what I look like. In my mind's eye, I'm still that cute and healthy 18 year old.

As 30 approaches, more thoughts come to mind that I find harder and harder to avoid. I want to live a long and healthy life. I want to spend as many happy years as possible with my husband. I want to have children that I can keep up with. I don't want to be a young widow, or to make my husband a young widower, or orphan any children. It happens everyday, and it has happened to people I know, and it literally breaks my heart. If a perfectly healthy person can go to the hospital one day for a cold and never come home again, I wouldn't stand a chance.

We've had some problems getting pregnant. I don't think I've ever been as happy as the day I peed on a stick and saw that plus sign. We lost the baby in March, a very 'run-of-the-mill' first pregnancy miscarriage. Since then, nothing. I'm obese. I smoke. Brad's obese. Conditions are not favorable. Maybe there is some other explanation, maybe I am just being impatient, but what kind of fool am I if I don't make the changes that I can to lead a better, healthier life?

So that is what this will be about. The main goal isn't to lose weight, but to be healthier, and hopefully weight loss will be a by-product of that. If I get in a particularly good mood, I might include photos. The fatpocalypse began today with throwing out some very high cholesterol, high fat, high sodium foods. Next we gorged on a "last meal" of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, stove top stuffing, and to beat all, a damned donut. After that, a painfully long trip to the grocery comparing food labels and avoiding the pop, candy, cookie and frozen dinner aisles. Then a toast to our efforts, an 8 oz. glass of chocolate almond milk. ALMOND MILK. More to come...