If I was going to really do this right, I should have started it sooner. But when?
When I went to what I not so fondly referred to as fat camp four years ago?
When my first love rubbed my tummy and asked if I had ever considered losing weight?
When I first lost weight my freshman year in college and became a man-magnet?
When I gained weight because of getting too much of a kind of attention I wasn’t equipped to handle?
When I lost 50 pounds on Optifast?
When I gained 50 pounds when my husband got cancer?
When I lost 60 pounds through sheer discipline, strict calorie control and exercising so much I eventually got hurt?
When I stopped loving king at a scale at all because it made me want to kill myself?
When I figured out that I should treat myself as well as I expect my friends to treat me?
When my Hgb A1C started creeping from pre-diabetes into the stop fucking around and do something zone?
The first time I ate a whole bag of potato chips without even realizing it?
When I signed up for a bariatric surgery seminar?
Does a journey start with the first step or with all of the things that make you think you might need to take the trip?
As usual, I am full of questions.
Maybe this time some of them will be answered.