So here I am, better late than never I guess. Polar, my big Scoby-Doo, died on April 18th, 2010. It crushed my soul and left me wondering what the hell am I doing with my life, where am I, who gave me this body. But most of all, losing my boy gave me an awareness that:
A. I sure as heck didn't want (this made me cry almost all the time and want to sleep when I wasn't)
B. Opened my sleeping eyes to the world around me, but most of all to the fat-ass in the mirror
Being a mega-athlete all my life until I was 25 made keeping my weight down super easy. I was always very active, and didn't even think twice to the fact that I ate what I wanted and really liked food. No, seriously, I REALLY liked food. I called myself a 'Foodie', but in hindsight I think I was just an 'Eatie'. If it sounded good, I ate it. Rarely was I ever full, or what I called full-as in barfing-in-the-toilet full. Like Thanksgiving-sized full. My ex-fiance dumped me, probably because I had become a paranoid chunky monkey and he liked his tasty 'little' hoochie morsel better...but I digress.
So...I went on a diet. With major help from the drug that is half of the (in)famous weight-loss story of the 1990s. And I lost pounds. ALOT. While running 5 miles a day and eating under 400 calories a day. In four months. It's a wonder I didn't drop dead back then considering my body was probablhy eating my heart muscle. The fact that I didn't...well...I attribute it to my needing to get more done first, or God/whomever is up there just not wanting me ruining his party just yet.
So I started graduate school. Supposedly I wanted to get off 'the drug' and crazy dieting. Suddenly I was above that-and apparently I was above censoring my hand to mouth routine as well and naturally I gained it back.
So I decide "I'm just going to get a Lap-Band now", that will give me what I need to get the job done and become the size 6-8 that I was in high school. But I was not fat enough by US standards to get insurance to pay, so I self-payed and made the trip to Me-Hi-Co.
So I got the surgery, and lost 40 pounds. Then I gained it back plus 20. Awesome. Seems the band didn't quite keep my hands from opening the fridge and spooning the ice cream. Damn doctor should have just given me $10,000 worth of zip-ties to handcuff myself. I have often read the band "is only a tool", well that is the damn truth. But I think I am the bigger tool here...and of course I do not blame the doctor (I'm just an angry hungry person at the moment).
Then I get married, to a wonderful supportive man, who strangely still finds me sexy in spite of the jiggle when I can even stand to look at myself in the mirror. We have no full-length mirrors in the house. This was not by chance.
Back to my boy...my 170lb gentle giant, who I lost to Wobbler's Disease on April 18th. I cried my eyes out, petted his head, then proceeded to wrench my back. "Lifting him?" you might ask? That is the worst insult of all, simply bending over his limp body, I wrenched my back, because I am fat. So I cried alot over the next few days-missing him, but moreso so angry with myself for not being able to lift him at the end, such that a stranger had to help my husband.
So to you I ask you to please sit back, send your comments/thoughts, and follow my journey as I seek to better myself inside and out (isn't that the crap dieters always say), fit into a size 6 without a shoehorn (what we all really want), and stick around to honor my boy's sweet heart and the little piece of blue sky that he added to this world. So I give you Polar's Page...enjoy.