Over the years, I spent a lot of time dieting. Or thinking about dieting. Or half-assed dieting.
I went to Weight Watchers with my Grandma. Multiple times. Sometimes there was great success. Sometimes only a little. And of course, those new babies.
I finally got serious in 2004. I was walking three miles every day, then I started going to the gym. I was eating better, and really watching my carbs closely. (I was diagnosed with diabetes in 2002.) I didn't quit the Diet Coke, but I was limiting myself to one can per day. But I was drinking a lot more water.
During this time, my first marriage was going bad, but I turned to exercise to get me through it. I walked when I was angry, I walked when I was escaping my ex's anger. By the end of 2005, I think my trainer was becoming concerned because I would work out for 60-90 minutes every single morning, then return to the gym at night to work out my anger.
It took a year and a half of being overly diligent to lose about 60-70 pounds. I had dropped from 310 to 250-ish. I was doing well, looking good, feeling good.
Then, on New Years' Day 2006, I said NO MORE.
Needless to say, as a divorced single mother of four children who are reeling because their parents have just torn their world apart, I no longer had the time to spend hours in the gym every day. I got a job in the corporate world for a while, and I walked on my lunch breaks, and was able to maintain the weightloss for a long time. But that life wasn't for me and before I knew it, I was working part time and going to college and I finally did what I always wanted -- got my degree, got my dream job.
Over the years, every bit of that weight came back to haunt me.
In early 2009, I was taking two medications for diabetes, but my fasting blood sugar was still way too high. My doctor wanted me on a third medication, but I didn't have insurance and couldn't afford it. My blood pressure was way high.
My parents were FREAKED OUT.
I was 37 years old, single mom of 4 gorgeous girls, and I need to be here for them.
