“She’ll lose her baby fat when she starts walking.”

Welcome to the first official week of Losing It: Not Just Our Sanity. Each week for the next 10 weeks, Jessie from Vanderbilt Wife, Ashleigh from Heart & Home and I will be sharing a peek (or in the case of this wordy ramble, an oversized bay window) into our weight loss journeys.

If you’d like to take the challenge to Lose It (#LosingIt10 on Twitter, by the way), write about your own journey, link to this site in your post, and share a link to your blog post in our weekly carnival. The bloggers who link up at least six out of the 10 weeks will be eligible for our prize package of a six-month subscription to The Six O’Clock Scramble (a meal planning service), a Weight Watchers pedometer and a gift card to Dick’s Sporting Goods.

The winner will be the person who loses the largest percentage of his or her body weight during the 10 weeks.

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Apparently I was a chubby child. I say “apparently,” because for my entire life my family has teased me, from reminders of my grandma’s promise (see above title) to my parents thinking the trash bag commercial slogan was a perfect fit for my brother and me.

I’m talking about “Hefty, Hefty, Hefty! Wimpy, Wimpy, Wimpy!” I’ll let you guess which one was me, and no, they did not mean that I was strong.

And then there’s the Sears girls size: husky. Husky? Are you kidding me? Was there not a single compassionate woman on that panel?

Oh, my. The memories, they are so warm and fuzzy. Kind of like my gigantic, stretched out and faded yoga pants.

Honestly, my family isn’t nearly as mean as those overly sensitive adolescent stories may indicate. But still, I don’t remember ever not thinking I was fat.

I remember my mom telling me I had nice legs and thinking she was crazy.I remember towering over my tiny friend, Nichole, in a three-legged race and wondering if I’d crush her if we fell.I remember doing hundreds of crunches and lunges in my bedroom after I was supposed to go to bed.And I remember not being able to shop the popular mall store, 5-7-9, because I did not, in fact, wear a size 5, 7 or 9.

I remember being fat.

The funny thing is – and I suspect I’m not alone in this – that when I look back at pictures of myself, all I can do is cringe. Because really? That was “fat”?

Oh, to be “fat” again.

It appears that at some point, I actually did lose my baby fat. Unfortunately, even without the chubbiness of my early years, the curves were still there. Meanwhile, my friends – and, of course, the popular girls I so envied – were stick thin.

I was curvy before curvy was cool.

And so the self-image issues continued. Not that things like basketball uniforms helped. (Please, God, don’t ever make me put on a pair of those ridiculously tight shorts again.) But I wish I could have seen myself for what I really was. And I wish I would have learned then how to care for this body, curves and all.

But I didn’t.

So when I started dating Mark and eating out at restaurants, things like “portion control” and “salads with the dressing on the side” didn’t even cross my mind. And when I went to college and experienced the all-you-can-eat buffet? It didn’t occur to me not to eat scrambled eggs and hashbrowns every morning for breakfast.

Even when my clothes stopped fitting and I gained the Freshman 15 30, I didn’t change my eating habits. After all, who can resist sharing a bag of tortilla chips and jar of Tostitos cheese dip with her roommate? In one sitting? At midnight?

I did lose a bit of weight before my wedding, but it didn’t last. That weight returned so fast that I still have lingerie in my closet with the tags on it. Because it didn’t fit. And yes, I realize it’s silly to keep it in my closet for 10 years. Don’t start with me.

In the decade since I got married, I have gained 80 pounds. And just so you know, saying that out loud makes me want to climb in bed, hide under the covers and never come out again.

Except to eat. Because that always makes me feel better. [Insert sarcastic font here.]

In 2002 – yes, eight years ago – I joined Weight Watchers. I have been a member six times since then.

Thanks to Weight Watchers and countless magazine articles and infomercials, I’m not nearly as ~~ignorant~~ naïve as I was in high school and college. I KNOW how to make good food choices. I KNOW I need to exercise regularly. I KNOW what’s healthy and what’s not. I KNOW.

It’s just a matter of DOING IT. And that is something I have failed at, big time, every time.

Not this time, though. As we kick off Losing It, I’m saying, “Yes, Grandma, I will lose my baby fat!” I will lose it when I start walking. And kickboxing. And dancing. And eating vegetables. And measuring portions. And counting points.

I will lose it.

How are you going to lose it?

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I’ll edit this later today with my percentage weight loss. I weigh in at my weekly Weight Watchers meeting over lunch, and I’m going by their scale. (Because you cannot tell me my doctor’s scale was right on Wednesday. I refuse to believe it.)

UPDATE: I did not lose. And no, I don’t want to talk about it. But next week WILL be better!

How did you do? Link up below – and remember, use the permalink to your post, not the link to your blog.