I feel like I’m the Kirstie Alley of blogging.

No, I don’t mean that I’m starring in movies where babies talk and it’s somehow cute not creepy (at least in the first one). I mean that I keep saying – loudly and in public – that I’m going to lose weight, only to, well, not lose weight.

From the grand goals and empty promises to the ridiculing myself (For instance, “Am I a good cook? Uh, yeah, obviously. I’m a great cook!” That may or may not have been heard on The Marriage Ref. Probably not. Because of course I wouldn’t watch that kind of dreck on TV. Nope.), I’m following Kirstie’s path.

[Please note that I refrained from saying that I’m following Kirstie’s alley. Because I could have. But I didn’t.]

I don’t mean the path that took her from one of the longest-running and most-loved TV shows to blockbuster (I think, but I’m not looking it up) movies to outlandish reality shows.

Nope. Just the one where I think admitting my weight issues will make me face them and deal with them, only to flop on my face.

*sigh*

I know. You don’t need to tell me to be nice to myself, to give myself a break, to cut myself some slack, not to be so hard on myself. As you may have guessed, I’ve heard it before. And I know it.

But honestly? Going easy on myself – in this department – is what’s gotten me to this place in the first place. And it’s what has kept me here, too.

I keep wondering – WHAT is going to be the last straw? WHAT will make a difference? Keeping my issues to myself didn’t do it, but neither has confessing them publicly. Beating myself up hasn’t worked, but giving myself a break hasn’t worked, either. So what will?

One time when Smitty and I were in high school, we were walking at the park and passed an older lady. [She was probably my exact age now, that’s just how OLDER she was.] I don’t remember what she was wearing, but whatever her attire was, it showed some unfortunate rolls. And Smitty and I swore to each other that no matter what, we would NEVER have back fat.

Um, yeah.

I also swore I’d never shop at Lane Bryant or wear a size that starts with a 2 or be as big as her (whoever “her” was that day). And yet . . .

I’m not writing all this to get sympathy or pats on the back or anything like that.

(Side note: Annalyn has really gotten into “patting” lately, like patting someone’s arm or asking me to pat her back when I put her to bed. Unfortunately, we’re also dealing with some hitting issues, and I’ve discovered that it can be difficult to draw the line between nice, yet firm, patting and outright hitting. Anyway. Back to my rant.)

Nope, I just wanted to be honest with you all and let you know how I’m feeling. AND to ask those of you who ARE losing weight during our Losing It challenge: What has made the difference to you?

Please don’t tell me, “You just have to be ready. You’ll do it when you’re ready.” Because a) That is not encouraging. (Hello? Ready! I’m ready now!) and b) I truly want to know what’s made the difference in your lives.

And as for the next week of Losing It, I’m going to try and implement some of the goals I made last week: eating more fruits and vegetables, drinking even more water, and getting my exercise ball out of the garage and into the house!

P.S. This morning’s Losing It post is the one where you can link up and I remind you of the rules.

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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.

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