The Battle Begins, or, It Starts with a Chubby Childhood

My hope for this blog is that it will be a little different from other chubby girl blogs.  I hope it will be more than another blow by blow of "My Journey to Thinness".  It's been done, sometimes really well, but done.  Mine will be revisiting some of the highlights and lowlights of my dieting life (which is the majority of my life), and some possibly intelligent commentary on our society's collective insanity on the subject of weight. I invite you to laugh with me or at me, it's all good.  Or at least read the thing.

Ever heard certain folks described as “naturally thin”?  (yes, I envy/ hate/want to be them too.) Well, I’m "naturally chubby".  Why don’t we hear that term very often, even though some people clearly are?  We seem to acknowledge that some people have thin genes, but if you're chubby or fat, then our culture thinks it's all your fault.  I’m pretty sure my case is at least partially genetic.  My parents were, my grandmothers were, and I have been since childhood.  I have a picture of myself at maybe age 3, playing out in the sunshine with no shirt on, smilingly oblivious to the cellulite on my tummy. 

The first diet I ever went on was around age 8, and it was eating only what my mother approved.  I suspect it was 1970's Weight Watchers style, with a dash of Atkins for good measure.  I remember eating open faced grilled cheese sandwiches, made under the broiler (I've never heard of anyone else doing this) and cottage cheese, and I'm sure a few other equally delectable treats.  At a certain point,  after losing perhaps 10 pounds, mom told me I had lost enough weight so I could stop dieting. I then proceeded to put not one iota of effort into maintenance.  I’m sure I gained it all back. 

Grilled cheese wasn't all I was eating.  What chubby girl doesn’t love Doritos, and sugary cereal?  I was no exception.  Probably as a consequence of my passion for them, my mother rarely bought them.  One of those special, special times that she did buy Doritos, though, I was soon under the kitchen table, Doritos in hand, stuffing my face.  Eating Doritos is a noisy undertaking, even if you are trying to be sneaky kid quiet. She heard the crinkle of the Doritos bag, and possibly the muffled crunching, from wherever she was in the house.  “Are you eating those Doritos?” “No”, I lied, with absolutely no guilt.  None.  Maybe Doritos suppress your conscience, or just arouse your id so much that it cannot be denied, which may be why they are such a successful junk food.  According to Wikipedia (so it must be true) Doritos are a $4 billion dollar a year product.  That is one hell of a lot of Doritos we're eating.

I have to give my parents credit.  They did their best, in spite of their own weight battles, to instill some good habits in me.  Pretty often, they pried me off the couch and away from HR Puffenstuff, or whatever equally quality 1970's television programming was on, and got me outside.  They encouraged me to play with the neighbor kids, on my jungle gym, and in my sandbox.  My dad took me to playgrounds and taught me to ride my bike.  My mom took me to swim lessons, gymnastics lessons, and horseback riding lessons.  And they tried to set a good example by losing weight and exercising themselves.

And so begins my feast or famine story.  I hope you'll stay tuned to see if I've found any middle ground here in the middle of fat country.