I stared at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. Just as I was thinking, Hey, I look thinner, the clock radio popped on.
"Heavy in all the usual places," the announcer barked.
"How could he know?" I laughed at the coincidence. He was just doing his job, reporting the Metro-Detroit traffic, but it might as well have been a report on my weight-loss saga. Weight-loss struggles marked my early married years with a series of discouraging starts and stops.
I felt trapped inside myself. Thoughts of liposuction scared me. Stomach surgery sounded painful. Most frightening of all was the idea of dieting. My husband, Jeff, supported me in my efforts. He even participated with me in some of my diets. I had tried the eat-until-you're-full diet, but my full button never flashed on (or I just ignored it). Jeff liked the quick-easy-shake-gelatin-and-salad diet, but it made me sick (literally). At the end of the first week, I wanted to gag at the sight of leaf lettuce.
I hadn't always been overweight. As a single woman, I kept active riding horses, water-skiing, snow-skiing, jogging, skating, playing tennis, swimming, bicycling, or aerobicizing. But emotional eating finally caught up with me when I married and my activity level fell to a sharp low. I remember responding to normal newlywed issues by second-guessing my true feelings, saying nothing, or laughing off issues I should have worked through. For example, instead of talking with Jeff about how we wanted to spend holidays and then communicating this to our parents, I went along with everyone else's wishes.