When I graduated high school, I weighed 160lbs. I remember that distinctly because S. Zugschwerdt (real last name, although probably not spelled right. T. can you help me out here?) weighed 130lbs and I remember thinking how nice it would be to weigh that.
In college, I went up to 165-170 by eating four enormous meals a day, working out every morning, six days a week, and most afternoons, 3-4 days a week. Rock solid was how I looked by April every year.
In England, I rode my bicycle around Oxford, which is deceptively large for such a small country. I consumed warm beer and not much else, dropping my weight down to 155 or so. That summer I lived in Houston, rode my bike to work in 100+ degree heat, waiting tables at Red Lobster, and going 8-10 hours without eating.
Senior year of college, I made up for the weight loss and bounced back to 185.
I stayed at 180 for my first year of Peace Corps in Mongolia. I hated weighing that much and remembering wondering if J. would notice the stretch marks forming and spreading on my butt.
Then I hit a deep depression that involved a lot of running (for 30-45 minutes every day, I could only dream to be that lucky again to be seriously depressed and actually WANT to run) and not enough food. I constantly worried about not having enough food or water for myself and my cat, Buddy, who was killed during my trip to America in late summer. In the hospital in D.C., I stepped on the scale in the dining room (don't ask me why there was a scale there, it seemed weird for me to considering what floor I was on) and I weighed 155 and fit into a size 10.
In New Hampshire, I drank large amounts of freshly brewed light beer, fried foods, and pizza and went up to 182, which is what I weighed on the Planned Parenthood scale the day that I got the prescription for the birth control pill (which (ha!) ultimately failed).
Then I got pregnant and I don't talk about those weights or how big I actually got. I saw the number on the scale once and then never again. I'm embarassed and ashamed when I think back to then. I had Zac in July of 2005 and lost 40lbs my first week post-partum. Aunt Jen put it nicely when she said that I looked "squishy", like if she were to poke me with a pin, water would squirt out of the hole.
When I started Weight Watchers in April 2006, I weighed 197. I didn't fit into most of my size 16 clothes and I couldn't imagine being anything other than a lactating woman that still couldn't bend over. I threw away all my "skinny" clothes, including most of what I wore in New Hampshire (although clearly I wasn't that skinny then. I just didn't have the flap of extra skin around my belly button and the enormous breasts). Everything I owned was a size 16-18.
This morning, I stepped on the scale and it read 180, exactly. It was a little mind boggling because I don't feel like I've been doing that much differently lately, just trying not to binge. I was tempted to abuse my body after my conversations with J. the past couple of days but I've done well staying focusing and not eating hard foods (dental problems, not eating ones).
Throughout most of my teenaged and adult life, my life has been dictated by these numbers. I can't believe that I'm actually going to post them because I work so hard to hide what I actually weigh and coyly avoid discussing metrics of size and shape. This is Weight Watchers has given me - it's given me the confidence to say: I've lost 17 pounds and I feel better about myself at this weight. I have a long way to go, but I'm getting there.