Another wake up call:

One purpose of this blog is accountability, I suppose, though I haven't really mapped this all out yet.

Last night I went shopping for some clothes. Feeling pretty peppy, I held my head up going into the "Women's World" section of the store. I would have spent anything at that point for something that matched my mood. Thinking to myself as I eyed the denim, well, if they carry jeans that big I should be able to find something.

First alarm: those are my size! (cue dramatic conclusion music: duh, duh, DUH)

Maybe somehow it was an optical illusion. They somehow look bigger than they are. Or maybe a women's size 20 is bigger than other size 20s? I made some selections. Brought them into the dressing room and undressed in front of the triple-sectioned mirror. Behold, my friendily surveilance worker, the hugeness of my ass and thighs. I have no full length mirrors at home, much less one that lets me see myself from three angles. I felt like someone punched me in the stomach. My legs look like tiny people have been golfing with wooden drivers on my thighs -- divets. Or, from another angle, as though something is trying to punch its way out of my ass cheeks -- small pillows of fat well up between the dips in the cellulite. I had flashbacks of catching my grandma from behind as she was wriggling and shimmied her way into a girdle -- I now know that I have the butt of a 75 year-old woman. My lower half looks like a pair of pantyhose overstuffed with slugs.

How could this be? I walk around in my body all day and I feel pretty good. I see myself (dressed) in mirrors and think -- Hey, I look great today! My fiance wants sex. So how could I look like this?

Here is some history:

When I was little, my nickname was Sticks. I had long skinny legs. When I hit 4th grade, I went through the chubby phase, was encouraged to enjoy Dairy Queen and fast food with no limits that summer, found an unhealthy eating pattern that fit my style, and essentially did not leave the chub until 2002.

I joined WeightWatchers after I hit a peak weight of 215 pounds. I am 5'7". After a year of hard work and training for a marathon (walking mostly; completed the Portland, Oregon marathon in 2002 in 6 hours and 15 minutes), I lost 68 pounds. Just 3 pounds shy of my goal, I nursed an injury from the marathon that prevented me from working out and began experiencing some additional stress and life events that lead me back to my old patterns and to some new, yet unfortunate, patterns with food. At 212 pounds, here I am again.

Yet, older, and, I hope, wiser. And determined.

And now, definitely awake!