A "skinny" Tyler Rhoades, pictured with Blake Lewis from the IHS production of "The Man Who Came To Dinner." Blake is the fedora'd chap leaning on my left shoulder.
Now, because I'm not a little sissy little girl, I didn't take that as an insult. I'd not been directly (or indirectly) called "fat" before in my life...except for that doctor I saw one time who told me it might be a decent idea for me to lose a little weight. But he was a professional, and I didn't begrudge him his professional opinion.
The way I see it, Tara...sweet innocent Tara...laid it out for me in plain English. I was fatter now than I was then. No malice...just observation. Understand, though, that her off-hand comment did not lead me on the path to "weight loss." No, I'd estimate that since the night she called me "not skinny," I probably packed on another good 10 to 20 pounds. Not in sadness...but more in ignorance. But I was well-aware of the "shrinking" habit of my pants waistlines...
-- My experiment with the South Beach Diet was a miserable failure (I remember one "meal" I was supposed to eat was seven cashews. Seven. I downed them in one swallow like a strung-out Bellevue mom...then realized I couldn't eat anything for 2 more hours. Before those cashews had even traversed the length of my esophagus to end up semi-digested in my tummy-tum, I knew that this was not the diet for me).
-- I had a gym membership...and went about 3 times a week. But I never did much more than sit on the cycle for 20 minutes while I read a book -- not the most strenuous workout in the world. Plus, I didn't change my eating habits one bit; so my "bad food fetish" was more than making up for those hundred-or-so-calorie outings I did on the stationary bike.
So, pretty much, I figured was content to try to hold my weight steady at 220-230. I thought, if I could keep it there I could avoid the uglifying stigma of super-obesity, as well as the health risks that came along with that.
However, flash-forward to March of 2007. The polarizing event finally happened. Erika visited a personal trainer at 24 Hour Fitness. Her trainer, Nick, showed her how to eat and exercise. She parlayed this information to me. I scoffed. She gave me "a look." Then I told her, "Okay, I'll try it."
The plan was pretty simple -- eat X number of calories, scattered over 6 meals a day. Breakfast 400 calories. Snack two hours later = 200 calories. Lunch 400 calories, etc. You could eat almost anything, so long as you stayed under that calorie limit.
So, I prepared myself mentally, and Erika prepared my meals every stiking day for the last 6 months. Did I mention that I'm marrying perhaps the most amazing person in the world? But I digress.
Six months on the diet? Well, my waist is down...I'd say about 4 inches or so (went from a 38 to a 34). My poundage is at 200 (last time I checked), and I'm still eating healthy...which is really the weirdest part of the whole thing. Not bad...really...
Anyway, this blog entry is getting way, way, waaaaay too self-congratulatory for my tastes. I just thought I'd take a second to fill you all in, in case you're surprised next time you see me. This way I don't have to tell the whole story again.
In case you were curious, here's a before (taken December 2006) and an after (taken September 2007):
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