Defending the Bearded Man

     Typically I write on behalf of women and women issues. I fight for the freedom for all of us to love our bodies the way they are; perfectly imperfect. However, I have come across a group of individuals that need a defending voice. I have witnessed complete strangers feel they have a right to speak their negative opinion on to others. I have witnessed close friends and family do the same. There is a group of people that society feels they can tear down without any remorse and it pisses me off.  I am speaking up for beards! 

     That's right, you read that correct. Beards and every man who has one and has had to listen to rude comments by people who have zero consideration for another person's feelings. I am passionate on the subject of beards because my husband has one and I am fed up the negative opinions people inflict on him. He has a well groomed manly beard and I love it! He loves it! To the beard haters out there, do all the bearded men in your life a favor and shut up! Just shut up! 

     It seems that a man's facial hair is an open forum for anyone, family or stranger, to impart their opinion.  I have been shocked, floored in fact, at the audacity of people. I have heard everything from "You look homeless," to "It makes you look old,” and so on. These are not comments from bullies on a playground; rather, these comments come from family, co-workers, friends, acquaintances, and strangers. Why does consideration for other human beings’ feelings disappear when they have a beard?

     A beard does not magically appear overnight. A beard is, in most circumstances, a choice a man made for himself. A beard is a commitment. A beard requires regular maintenance and grooming.  A beard is a cultivated source of pride.  There is even a world championship competition of beards and moustaches. Men take pride in their facial hair. Men “out man” each other with their impressive beards.  Beards reflect personal expression, like a tattoo, or make up, or a hair style. Speaking for myself, I would never belittle someone's expression of themselves. 

     For those who have not experienced the grooming habits of a bearded man, allow me to shed some light on this:

1. A beard's shape and length are a premeditated choice. A beard does not grow magically into the finished product, it is cultivated. 

2. A beard requires precision with a razor and scissors.  A man will hold his breath and pray he does not make a mistake and ruin his work. 

3. A beard requires shampooing and conditioning.  Men care about hair products when they are caring for their beard.

4. A beard may require the use of a hair dryer. A man does not just get out of the shower, dry off, and leave their beard a mess on their face. No, they brush it and blow it dry. 

5. A beard may require the use of styling products to keep flyaways at bay. 

6. A man looks in the mirror and admires his beard. He is proud of his ability to master his facial hair. Woosies do not grow beards. 

7. Men do not all have the same beard growing potential. Men respect other beards. 

     The beard has been one of many symbolic manly statements throughout history. Open a history book and count the beards. Open the Bible and count the beards. Look around in our society and see who sports a beard; fathers, husbands, and sons. Men that are loved, respected, and cherished by more than one person in their life. I implore the beard haters, before you spit out your degrading beard comment, think about what you are saying and who you are saying it to! It is not a joke to degrade a man for his choice to grow a beard, regardless of your personal opinion, or in some cases, your jealousy.  

     Beard haters, shut up, because the person you’re imparting your "wisdom" on has just moved you down on the list of people they enjoy talking too.  The more you speak negatively about something a man has pride in, the less respect he will have for you. When you open your mouth to express how you hate his beard, you have shown him how little consideration you have for his feelings and well-being. Are you really that big of a jerk? Do you want that person to think you are an asshole? Think before your speak because your words will not be forgotten. 

     Grow on bearded men, grow on! Embrace your facial hair and wear it proud! Just like I tell women to ignore the beauty standards of a narrow minded society; I tell bearded men to ignore the unsolicited comments from those around them and grow on! The body is not a public forum. Every human being deserves the freedom to express themselves however they choose and no one has the right to tear them down. 

To my husband, who has witnessed my smack down shut your face come backs to those crazy enough to make a comment in front of his body positive blogger wife, I love your beard! You have my full support to express your inner manliness! 

Example of competitions: 

http://www.somervilleartscouncil.org/beardfest

http://www.worldbeardchampionships.com/2014-2/

http://www.lafacialhair.org/beard-mustache-competition/beard-mustache-competition-2014/

My Battle with Addiction

Teal is worn to represent PCOS awareness 

Since coming out of the PCOS closet I have been receiving emails from women with the same condition. Many of these women had not been informed by their doctors of the potential health risks PCOS contributes to our bodies. The majority, like myself, have been handed birth control to put their bodies back on a month to month schedule. I am not sure why doctors are not explaining the high risk for diabetes, heart attack, and stroke.  PCOS goes beyond a mustache; it can be life altering if not taken seriously.

Answered many of my questions

I have been putting in hours of research to have an understanding as to what my body is doing and what it needs. I checked out books from the library and read every legitimate doctor written article I could find online.  The information is out there and not hard to find. What I have found has been a resounding focus on the link between PCOS and Type 2 Diabetes, which can be fatal.  This was a huge slap in the face for me. I have written about being a sugar addict in a previous blog (click here to read about my battle with sugar).  It never occurred to me that I was putting myself at risk for diabetes; after all, that stuff only happens to really over weight people and I lost the weight I needed to to put myself back into a healthy bracket. I could not have been more wrong!

The biggest hurdle I had to get over was the idea of thin meaning healthy. There is such a focus in this country to reach and maintain a small size that, often times, the health risks to obtain that size are brushed under the rug. We are not praised for good health - we are praised for our physical size.  I wasn't paying attention to what my body needed to be healthy, all I was concerned with was maintaining my waist size.  This is where I had to take a real look at myself and what I was doing to maintain my size.  I had to stop lying to myself. I was maintaining my weight through deprivation.  Up until 2 months ago I was still abusing my body and had managed to rationalize it as the way I needed to eat to prevent weight gain.

The past two months have been a journey of self love.  I had to step outside myself and treat myself like a dear friend who had lost her way. This is when I started to educate myself on PCOS. I was motivated by my hair loss, I wanted to put a stop to it and maybe throw it in reverse.  The information I was obtaining was overwhelming and started to explain the battles I have been fighting with my body.  The sugar cravings have been explained in that PCOS causes insulin resistance which causes extreme highs and lows in blood sugar causing cravings for processed carbs and sugar. The body is trying to quick fix the imbalance of sugar. I was not having just any cravings; I have had cravings for sugar so bad in the past I have become a monster until I had a fork and cake in front of me.  Now I had to face reality and break this addiction.

My addiction to sugar was like that of a drug addict. I would binge behind closed doors. I could not stop, sometimes for days. I lied about binging and purging for years. The thought of breaking this cycle scared me. I seconded guessed myself over and over.  I can't live without sugar. All the fun foods have sugar. I will miss it too much.  I forced myself to go through the detox anyway. I braced my husband for the mood swings that could happen during this time. I braced him for what life would be like on the other side; no ice cream, no cake, no late night trips to Diary Queen, and the diet overhaul that would be taking place.

The detox was not fun or easy. I needed to break the habits I had formed over the years. The biggest being my bowl of ice cream every night. I had to tell myself it is the habit that is the hardest part and to stay strong. I had to be aware of what I was eating, reading all food labels for the hidden sugars that sneak into our foods with clever new names.  I ended up cutting out more than just junk food, out went the salad dressing, the peanut butter (I use 100% natural now, one ingredient-peanuts), the bottled sauces, white flour products, and much more. This has forced me to take control over the foods that come in the house.

Jumping head, I am on the other side of the detox and kitchen overhaul.  I have successfully cut sugar and learned to balance my blood sugar levels with healthy foods and not letting my body go hungry (letting the body go hungry can cause dips in blood sugar and for someone with PCOS this leads to craving for sugar that can then lead to diabetes). I eat more fresh vegetables and fruit than I did before the wake up call about my health.

This journey has not been about weight. I hid my scale a few months ago as part of my New Years resolution (click to read about my addiction to the number on the scale.).  I wanted to see if my body would change so I took out the smallest pants I own and took my before picture. Yesterday I took another a month later and was shocked. I have no clue the weight difference or even the inches. This lifestyle change isn't about any numbers. This just reinforces that the changes I have made are making my body happy.

I don't have a size goal. I am letting my body come to its own conclusion of where it is happiest. I have to eat for my health and for my health only.  The weight that comes off is because my body does not want it, not because I have dieted it off.

My journey with PCOS is changing my life as I take a mature look at my health and set aside my vanity. This world can not get rid of me that easy. I will show my body love and compassion. My body is only as strong as I make it and at this rate, I will be a rock of strength.

My Superhero Power is Running

My 9 year old's handy work

Why do I run?

This is a question I get asked frequently.  I had someone ask me and, before I could answer, they went into a list of reasons why they felt running was unhealthy for the body. I let them talk. Then it was my turn. 

     I run because I can. I run because I was always picked last in P.E. I run because I never made the mile time in high school and the coaches were asses about it. I run because every time I tried in the past it just seemed too hard. I run because I smoked for 10 years.  I didn't wake up one day with the ability to do what I can do now.  I have been conditioning and strengthening for almost a year now.  Every week I do a little more and push a bit harder. 

     I run because the little fat girl in me always wanted to be a bad ass. I am a bad ass now. I will push out of my comfort zone because I can. I am determined to be the best me I can be and for me being a runner means I have changed the health of my body inside and out.  Running is my middle finger to those who thought I would never transform myself, my body, and my life (that includes my past self!).  

People are going to have their opinions what they think someone should do as far as diet and exercise.  When something has worked for us personally we want to pass along the wisdom. We must try, however, to leave out the judgement of what someone else is doing. I wholeheartedly believe that a person needs to choose what works best for them.  Their body, their choice.  There are so many different options; we're not all going to following the same way of thinking.  I can live my life with the diet and exercise routine I have chosen. It may not be for everyone, I'm not doing on behalf of everyone, I am doing what I do for me. For me. The only person I have to answer too. 

Photoshop Changed My Mind

     I don't want the flabby arms but I have them and I work hard to strengthen them. It's okay that I don't love my arms, their mine and I'm the one that has to live with them.  It's another emotion when someone points them out as a flaw, throws out insulting comments about how big they are, then Photoshops them to their standard of beauty.  I knew my arms were big but since when does that make them wrong? I was offended by someone thinking I wasn't beautiful the way I am.  I was offended that they thought they were doing me a favor. In that moment of mentally defending my arms, I discovered a seed of self love and pride.

     I stared at this photo of myself imagining those sticks were my arms. I couldn't make the image match. I come with big arms. They're big, not because they're fat, they're big because I USED to be 300 pounds! They are my badge of honor. This extra skin that waves along with me, I worked HARD for that.  I'm not a celebrity and I don't want to be treated like one, meaning, leave my "flaws" alone. This is not the cover of a magazine, these are personal photos that my family will hold onto and cherish for many years. I'm guessing someone might notice, out of all my pictures, this one I look different.  

     I don't wish to lie to myself. I do not want to look at photos that have altered my body. Blend out the zit, stain on my shirt, or even a wrinkle or two, but my body is what it is and it is beautiful.  My flab, rolls, stretch marks, and cellulite are mine. If I can learn to accept them so can the people around me.  I was so offended by the Photoshopping and someone thinking they were doing me a favor that I embraced my arms, mentally hugging them and telling them that it's ok, I see them as beautiful. 
   
     The Photoshopper who gave me those sticks taught me a valuable lesson. Without that image I may never had made peace with myself, with my "flaws". I do not see my arms as a flaw anymore. My body is not wrong; society is wrong for subjecting women to a beauty standard that isn't real. Celebrities and models are Photoshopped on everything. I could transform my body into the best it can be and it still would not be considered perfect. I need to see myself as perfect now because regardless of what I do to it, someone will find something wrong. 

    As for the photo that started it all, it lives under my bed (it's a large canvas photo). I can't look at it because it makes me sad. I hold on to it for several reasons - the most important being the lesson that came from it. This is the first summer I am not subjecting myself to cardigans in 100 and something degree heat to hide my arms. I show my arms with pride now, they have become my middle finger to unrealistic beauty standards. This is me, I am beautiful  and no one can make me ashamed of my body. 

Damn Dress. Wrong Assumption. Stronger Conviction.

How to begin?

     One evening for an event, I made the choice to wear the dress I have deemed my "I feel blah" dress. It is a size too big for me, ties in around the waist, and with a nice cardigan I still feel pretty and not stuffed into it.  I love this dress; it is my dress version of "stretchy pants" when I need to look nice. I am ok with my extra holiday fluff as it will go away and I will be back to my normal weight after the holidays. I forgive myself for the treats I have had and relax. I am strong in my convictions about my weight and how I feel about my body. At a gathering the universe decided to test just how strong I am. 

     As I said before, the dress ties in around the waist. The string is sewn in the dress. Pull, cinch, and tie. I pulled and tied a bit to tight because during the evening when I leaned forward in my chair the string broke! There was nothing I could do. In that moment I knew I had two choices: hate my body or hate the dress. I chose to hate the dress. It betrayed me. There is nothing wrong with my body. I had simply tied it too tight and unfortunately moved in just the right way that...snap...my dress now hung on my body like a moo moo.  I proceeded with my evening, pulling my cardigan around my body to try and disguise my potato sack dress.  

     As the evening went on I forgot to focus on keeping my cardigan wrapped around me, it did not have buttons to keep it closed on its own.  I was enjoying conversations with friends when the true test of my self esteem came a-knocking. I extended a pleasantry to a woman I know. I gave her a hug and engaged in small talk. She began to congratulate me, going on about how happy she was for me. My husband and I give each a look and it occurred to both of us...SHE THINKS I'M PREGNANT!!  Just to be sure I asked her what I did to be congratulated on, maybe I missed something. No, the look on her face said it all. She really thought I was pregnant and my response informed her I was not.  She quickly changed the subject to my hair, complimenting me on it, and then darted away from us as soon as she saw a way out. 

     Here is the moment. The true test to having rebuilt my self esteem.  I felt stunned. I have never had that happen before. I turned to my husband, who is an extremely supportive man, and I could see the look of panic on his face. He did not know how I was going to react and he was braced for something.  That moment, needless to say, killed my evening and I wanted to go home. We said our goodbyes and left.  I was struggling to think rationally. I know I do not look pregnant in clothes that fit me. I had to have repeated this to myself one hundred times on the drive home. My husband did his very best to remind me I am beautiful and it was the dresses fault.  Agreed, it was the over sized dress that apparently emphasized the wrong body parts.  

     I barely walked into the house and I had ripped the dress off my body, cursing at it, and threw it into the trash. I stood staring at my beautiful dress crumpled up in the trashcan and I felt confused.  I am body positive. My mission is to spread love for all bodies, yet in that moment I felt a tiny bit of dislike for my body. A tiny bit of anger for eating the cookies. A tiny spark of anger for feeling a spark of anger.  I put on the largest shirt I could find and like a child I pouted. Yup, lip out pout.  

     A few minutes later I was done.  I had successfully shaken myself back to normal. There is NOTHING wrong with my body - it WAS the dress.  Plus, she should not have assumed I was pregnant. It was a bit rude to openly congratulate me without knowing for sure if a baby was on the way. I learned a lesson from her. I will NEVER assume a woman is pregnant. EVER!! That moment messed up my head for a bit.  I was shocked and it took me some time to shake it off, though it also showed me just how far I have come. I am strong. I did not fall apart; instead I fought to build myself back up and remind myself that the assumption had nothing to do with my body and everything to do with a broken dress.  That was one hell of a test to prove how strong I am. I hope I passed! 

     I have since rescued my beloved "I feel blah" dress from the trash.  The broken string cannot be fixed but a chunky belt will do the trick and look cuter anyway.  I do have plans to wear a form fitting dress at the next event just to squash any rumors that may be milling about.  So universe, although I wavered for a moment, I am still proud of my body, and even learned a lesson.  

Everything Sounds Better with an Accent

 

Ladies, if you have never heard of Gok Wan, I am thrilled to be the first to introduce you!! He is adorable, British, and all about making women radiate self confidence.

"Fashion expert, award-winning TV presenter, author and all round national treasure, Gok Wan has taken the fashion and TV world by storm and has become one of the UK’s most sought-after entertainers.  He made his mark by giving women the confidence to appreciate their bodies, whatever their size and encouraged women whatever their shape and size to strip for the nation!"

     As women we are our own worst enemy. We judge our bodies harshly. Our inner monologues of “I hate this” and “I hate that” are devastating to our mental health.  It is time we take back our bodies and our minds. Regardless of your size you have every right to love yourself and be loved in return.  

     When I openly point out the flaws I see on my body, my husband looks at me like I am insane. He does not look at my body and judge it. He is not making mental notes of everything I should be fixing. Love does not see size. Did you see that? LOVE DOES NOT SEE SIZE!! So please love yourself!!! 

Secret Food Addict

   

      Unsupervised in the kitchen has been a battle field for me since elementary school. I remember the first time I was left alone in the house. My grandmother had gone out with a friend and left me, and cake, alone for maybe an hour. I remember sitting and staring at the cake, swearing I could hear it call me name.
In this moment, I used the trick that I would continue to use even until today.  If I just cut off little slivers from the sides no one will notice anything is missing. I am not sure I really mastered this skill as I have been caught MANY time throughout life having eaten more than I should.

     I have been yelled at more times than I care to count for having eaten too much food or food that I wasn't supposed to eat. I have known a few "non-food sharers" who would bring in food to the house that I crave then tell me to not eat it.  When your labeled the fat kid, people think they are doing you a favor by not letting you eat the foods you crave and punishing you if you do. In all reality, it is no different then putting someones drug of choice in front of them and telling them no. A person can only be strong for so long and inevitably the Costco chocolate chip muffins were mine! Bringing in foods that, because I was fat, I was told I could not eat did not do my any favors and instead turned me into a closet eater.

     There was no amount of yelling or fat shaming that could stop me from eating the foods I craved. Sugar is my drug of choice. Cakes, cookies, chocolate, frosting, ice cream, donuts, and everything else in the sweets category is my drug. The constant ridicule for eating sweets only made me eat it in secret. Alone in the house I would eat the foods I was told not too.  The fear of getting caught was not enough to stop me, just like the drug addict is no longer scared when the craving gets too strong. I became numb to the aftermath that my drug induced binge eating would cause.

     I have done things when it comes to food that I am in no way proud of.  I have devoured entire packages of cookies, candy, cakes, and many others food and simply put the empty container in the bottom of the trash can so no one would see the evidence.  I have spooned, cut, and nibbled at foods in hopes that it would not be noticeable that I had eaten any of it.  Before I could drive I would get creative in the kitchen; mixing, stirring, and baking my way to some form of a craving fulfilled item.  Over the years I learned the ingredients for coffee cake are usually always on hand, as well as the ingredients for frosting.

     The inability to resist my cravings would eventually lead to massive amounts of guilt.  I would make my coffee cake, sit on the kitchen floor, and when I could safely eat it without burning my esophagus, I would devour half before I could process what I was doing.  My crumb covered face, like the white powdered nose of a coke head,  would knock me back into reality and drown me in guilt.  In a fit of anger I would dump the remains in the trash and bombard myself with hateful inner monologue. I called myself names that others had called me; I believed I was a fat pig.

   

    Moments after shedding tears over the trash can, I would purge. The two places I have cried the most in my life have been in the kitchen and my bathroom.  I would eventually pick myself up off the bathroom floor, wash my face, tell myself something somewhat comforting, and try to put the event behind me.  The guilt feeling would never leave. I would go about doing something else and just about every time find myself standing over the trash can.  I would mentally argue with myself; how could I seriously be considering eating out of the trash? When my craving would kick in, my standards would drop a great deal when it came to what I was eating. It is shameful to admit that, on more than one occasion, I would pick whatever it was back out of the trash and finish it.  I hated myself for doing it, yet I could not stop myself. I would binge eat until there was nothing left and then purge in hopes of sparing my waist line.

     This was my life for years. When I moved out and was away from parental supervision and judgement, my eating disorder became worse.  I worked at CoCo's Restaurant and Bakery and would take home pies after work and eat the entire pie.  I repeat, I would eat the ENTIRE pie. Why? If there was no evidence then nothing happened. I had learned to be ashamed of my sugar addiction - I was fat because I could not control myself. When I would give into my addiction I had to eat it all and throw the box away, not just in my kitchen trash but all the way to the apartment dumpster. I did not want a reminder of the sinful act that I had participated in or the judgment from someone thinking I should not be eating that kind of food in the first place.

     The freedom to purchase my own food lead to massive weight gain over time and the continuing fight to fit into my pants.  Binging and purging was normal for me up until I was 26. At that point and at 300 pounds, I signed up for Weight Watchers. Weight Watchers taught me what I had always been missing in my diets. Balance. While in the program, never once was I told I could not have a food. Instead, I was taught how I could still eat the foods I loved in moderation.  Over time the guilty feeling that would come with eating sweets went away. As I regained control over my body and mind I was no longer ashamed of being seen eating "junk food". I had grown up believing that in order to be thin I could no longer eat sweats and I would have to eat salads every day for the rest of my life. No thank you. I was willing to sacrifice my health so I could keep eating cake.

     It has been five years since my weight loss and I still struggle with binging and eating trigger foods. I did not "get over it." It's not something that can be cured. Binge eating and trigger food are a reality I have to face everyday when I am alone standing in front of the pantry door. There are foods that are not allowed in the house. For example; fruit snacks - I have eaten too many entire boxex; candy - the entire package will be demolished; Lucky Charms - yes, I admit I have had nights where I pick out all the marshmallows and throw the cereal part away.  My husband and I also have a rule in place that if we are going to indulge in a treat it must be something that will be gone in one night. No entire cakes allowed.  I have also learned that if there is something that I am craving, and craving bad, just eat it! I have found myself eating everything else expect the one thing I want and eventually end up eating it anyway. I have had to learn to accept this about myself and make accommodations because of my sugar addiction.

   Food addiction is difficult to fight. After all,  we have to eat! I do the food shopping for my family. I have the ability to pick out whatever I want. I don't struggle as much as I used too. My health is important to me and I also did not shed 125 pounds just to let Little Debbie help me pack it back on.  Do I slip up? Yes. Those oatmeal cream pies are my crack and sometimes they win. Sometimes. Do I find myself eating out of the trash? No. I have not done that in so long I can not remember the last time I did. Food is not easy to stand up against. It took years for me to better understand and ACCEPT myself for the way I am wired. If a craving hits, I will leave the house, or get online, or tell my husband, or pick up the phone. I will fight it until it passes and it almost always passes. Almost always....I am not perfect - when I do slip up I refuse to let it sabotage everything I have done. A box of cookies will not add 100 pounds to my body overnight. I get up the next day and treat it like any other day. I eat right, I work out, I put my energy into something other than thinking about food, and I forgive myself. I am only human. I will make mistakes. I accept that and no longer punish myself for it. No longer being told no, knowing that eating sweets does not make me a bad person, and I am capable of balancing the diet that gave me my life back. Most of the time...sugar is still my drug.



**UPDATE***
I have found that eliminating refined sugars from my diet has drastically improved my health. I no longer have craving (99% of the time) by replacing unhealthy treats for healthy options. I LOVE and swear by www.chocolatecoveredkatie.com for healthy sweet treats. I do not live a deprived life, I live a healthy life WITH treats. Check her out and just start slow. Find a recipe that you are comfortable trying and give it a shot!! I promise you will be blown away!!

Regardless Of My Size I Exercised

      The notion that all fat people do not exercise is incorrect. I was never a couch potato.  I have always been an active person despite my being over weight for the majority of my life.  My body thrives on being physical, and I love to indulge it.  Admittedly, at moments in my life I did use exercise as a form of punishment to my body.  I will talk about the abuse in another entry. This entry is about focusing on the stigma that fat equals lazy.

     I present a summary of my some of my physical activities from a young age up to when I reached 300 pounds:

      In elementary school I would roller skate in my grandmothers unfinished basement. I would roller skate for hours. I then took my skills to the rink every weekend and went around in circles until the music turned off and they told everyone to go home.  I was also on the field hockey team and volley ball team. In middle school I rode my bike until the sun set. My friend and I would go up and down hills over and over for hours. I also walked to and from the bus stop, not a short walk, until I started driving. I could also be found flying into the sky on a trampoline almost every weekend. In high school I walked all over my neighborhood with my dog. I knew a place way out in a field near my house that had a stream surrounded by a wooded area and I would walk around it all day. I started running my junior year of high school. Every morning on the track before school I would meet a friend and we ran a mile. I also attempted Irish dance for a while. I would meet a friend to play basketball. I always did work out videos. My favorite activity was dancing my butt off almost every night in my room, music blasting. In college I joined modern dance and continued running. In my twenties I walked around the neighborhood and talked on the phone for hours. I even had a gym membership and a personal trainer.  



     Hard to believe someone who enjoys that much physical activity could be heavy. Even with my physical activity I was over weight and managed to get to 300 pounds by the time I was 25.  The problem was never that I was lazy - the problem was my relationship with food.  I would hike Red Rock all day and come home and eat an entire large extra cheese pizza, bread sticks, and cake.  Then I would hate myself for having cancelled out all my hard work and I would eat again. After a long day of working, school, and whatever physical activity I had done I would end my night with an entire container of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food.  I understand now why I was eating the way I was and it had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with being unhappy.

     When I reached my breaking point and signed up for Weight Watchers it wasn't hard for me to exercise.  I added more activity to my regime and took control of my eating.  I took the stairs when I could, parked far away, walked the long way, hiked, roller skated, and I did my work out videos. None of it felt like torture. I enjoy putting my body to work. I found the weight falling off and within 16 months I had lost 125 pounds.  My body was ready to do all the physical activities I could not when I was overweight.  I no longer had knee and lower back pain. I could push myself harder and longer. I reached a life long goal of running a 5K.  I ran it in 33 minutes and could not have been happier.

    Today I workout 5 days a week. I do it because I love it, I need it, and my body responds to it. I used Groupon to find new classes without a long commitment or ridiculous prices. I have tried a vast variety of classes. My favorite is ballet and my least favorite is Birkam yoga.  A lot of places will let you try a class for free to see if it is a fit for you.  Exercise is more than jumping-jacks and sit-ups.  I am a card carrying gym member. I love Zumba! It's my new addiction. Exercise can be fun and an escape from stress.  There are options to fit everyone. Exercise is for everyone regardless of size, age, and ability.

     Being over weight can run much deeper than being lazy. Before we point fingers and place judgement on those that carry extra weight let us try to remember that we do not know what their life is like and what stresses they carry.  Let us encourage each other to move more simply because it is good for us and let the weight take care of itself.

   

 I no longer work out to lose weight. I workout to maintain my weight, shape my body, and feel good about myself. When I am covered in sweat I am happy. I know I have done my body and mind good and will continue to do so for as long as I can.  The idea that people exercise only to lose weight needs to be destroyed. I am happy with my body, I am not trying to get a thigh gap, I know my six pack will always be hidden, my arms will jiggle when I wave, and that is OK!