The Fatty Diaries...

I was thinking I was going to rename this blog.

I couldn't come up with a total new name, because it will still be the ranting of a wild woman who speaks to a select few. So, I left well enough alone.

But now it is time to turn my attention to other things. Mainly my fat self.

I was a sickly/skinny little kid. They used to give me vitamins and milkshakes to put a few pounds on my bones. I have been fat since July 1968. I was 7 years old, and I can tell you exactly how it happened.

Some know this story already. My grandfather (on my father's side) was a three shot a day diabetic with a heart condition. He knew that his remaining time on Earth was short, so he decided he wanted to see the country. He had a daughter (my aunt) that was two days younger than me, so he took me along too so that she would have some company. We left on July 1, 1968, I sat in the back of a Chevrolet station wagon, and for the next five weeks we Griswolded our way across these United States.

I get car sick, so there was very little I could eat that wouldn't be left on the side of the road. (I have had "protein spills" in about 35 states though) We found that Orange Crush, Grape Crush, Slush Puppies, Pancakes and grilled cheese stayed in me...

By Phoenix, my grandmother had to buy me new clothes.

Since then, I have been fighting a battle against the added pounds. I come from a family whose entire being revolves around food, we live to eat. Where just about every woman is at least 50 pounds overweight, and where everyone blames everyone else for why they are the way they are.

I blame me, while I have to eat to live, what I choose to put in my mouth is solely my own doing. No one is holding me down and forcing me to swallow, no one is injecting me with Crisco as I sleep. I could blame my family. I didn't have the best family situation growing up. I learned bad eating habits as a child, and old habits are hard to break. I could blame classmates who called me fat and sent me back into a solitude with a bowl of ice cream or a whole frozen pizza. I could blame Mother Nature, who I do believe has some part in the way I am. But I won't. I blame me. I am lazy when it comes to food. I eat whatever is easiest, and tastes the best.

Where has it all gotten me? It has gotten me to 215 at my heaviest. It has gotten me a diagnosis of borderline adult onset diabetes and fatty liver syndrome. It has gotten me to a place where I don't even do my hair in the morning because looking in the mirror is too painful.

Where am I now? Three weeks ago after the "Tampa Incident" I joined the gym. I have been going faithfully, and endure 30-45 minutes of cardio daily. I haven't lost any weight since joining (I AM down 6 pounds from the high though), but I am seeing it in my clothes.

I have a dear friend, I'll call her Terry, who somehow convinced me that I could do a 10K. As far as I know, SHE doesn't work with the FBI. The race is four weeks away...I am not ready.

So tomorrow morning, I set out on my own to walk a route from my house that will take me 6.2 miles closer to glory...or 6.2 miles closer to certain death.

Here's my route:

Picture Deleted to Avoid Stalkers and Rapists...


If you don't hear from me, send out reinforcements. Either I am dead alongside the road, bear lunch or in such pain that my fingers even hurt too much to type.