Yes, I lost 80 pounds in 2006. Here's a "Before" picture. I want to relate my weight loss journey to you in hopes that it may inspire someone to see their own way to accomplishing their goals.
I only began this journey because in 2004, when I was 49 years old, a successful and happy San Francisco real estate professional, my wonderful physician pointed out to me where I landed on the Body Mass Index (BMI) chart. She showed me that at 5' 10" and 236 pounds I qualified as Morbidly Obese and, according to the BMI, to attain a Healthy Weight of 167 I'd need to drop 69 pounds. I went home and thought about it. Then I called Jessica just to make sure I'd heard her right. Yes, I had.
So I hung up and forgot about it for a year. I had always been vain and happy with the way I appeared and had rich, fulfilling relationships. I had given up heavy cigarette and alcohol habits years ago and, quite frankly, didn't think I should be required to divest myself of one more thing for cryin' out loud!
Then, in 2005 two things happened. In July I turned 50. In November my Mother died. Though I never consciously said this to myself, I think I realized that I was now the last word on my care and well-being. I said to myself, well, what if I were to lose just one pound a week. That would be 52 pounds in a year! Sounds sane and easy, yes? It was.
On January 1, 2006, I began this way. I decided I could eat anything I wanted, in any amount, for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But never, ever, ever would I have a dessert or snack. Not even an apple. Not even a grape. I also weaned myself of drinking juices with meals. I diluted them with water until, slowly, I got used to just drinking the water.
But every time I said "no" to myself it was easy just imagining the fabulous spread I'd have each Friday night. I looked forward to it all week. The terrific San Francisco dining experience we'd have and, most important, what I'd have for dessert. Sometimes I'd have more than one dessert. My entire meal would was an orgy of over-the-top indulgences. And you know what? I began weighing myself just once a month and saw I was losing weight. Sometimes the four pounds I was aiming for. Sometimes more or less.
Then we went on vacation in Paris. Just as an aside, you know how everyone relates how shocked they were to discover they'd lost weight after a French or Italian vacation of stuffing themselves with cheese and butter and chocolate and cream and wine and fat fat fat. Oh well, they sigh, it must be all that walking we did! Yeah. Well for the record, I gained weight. Even with all that crazy running around Metro stations.
In any case, Harrison had brought a copy of the book French Women Don't Get Fat by Mireille Guiliano along as vacation reading. When I'd exhausted all other reading material, I picked it up. It changed my life.
To be continued.
