I have been meaning to write a post intended to be an ode to my jeans. I purchased some jeans from Lane Bryant (read: store with fashionable clothes for fat people, which is rather appreciated) in, I believe, mid-February. They have started this new deal called 'right fit', so that you get jeans meant to work for your body. People distribute weight differently, which becomes more of an issue the bigger you get, so simple guidelines like 'straight leg' and 'comfort waist' often leave women wanting when it comes to jeans.

I frequently have this issue- my calves are much smaller, proportionally, than my thighs. I have the calves of a woman probably 75 pounds less than I am, while my thighs are just pudgy. All things considered, I have a decently narrow waist in proportion to my hips. When I finally have an actual shape, I'll likely be very curvy. I do, though, have the huge (and much dreaded) lower stomach. I don't know if that part of the body has a specific name, but some women get the pooch there, and I totally am one. I don't just have a pooch, though- I have the entire dog pound. Ugh. I hate that part of my stomach... my stomach in general just disgusts me, but that pooch part is the worst.

Anyway, all of these dimensions make jeans buying rather difficult. If they fit my thighs right, my calves look 5 times bigger because there's so much extra fabric (ok, not five times... 4.3 is more accurate, certainly). And if the jeans fit around my chubbo gut then they are loose in the waist and leave a gap in back and I am always going in the bathroom to adjust my underwear so that they aren't sticking up. If I get jeans that actually are made to fit my waist then I have to pull them way (read: waaaaaaaay) up over my belly button so that my stomach looks like a 30-pound turkey shoved into a football. Then, within a few hours, I have angry red indents in my skin where the fly has been pressing to within an inch of it's life. Another huge problem (mostly because I'm so huge) is that my thighs rub against each other like they're in a fight when I walk, and if the jeans are the stretchy kind at all then the friction causes the fabric to ball up (I think it's technically called pilling). The initial pilling makes the fabric wear faster and faster until the material is paper thin and either threadbare patches appear or if I squat down or something the jeans just rip. Which is obnoxious.

[Sidenote: there's nothing like a little Def Leppard Pour Some Sugar On Me at 8:43 on a Friday morning :) ]

So I think it's rather clear that I tend to have trouble finding great jeans. Lane Bryant has come to my rescue, because I discovered that if I buy right fit blue (you can check out the system here) then my jeans actually fit me the way I want them to. My buying experience was rather pleasant. The sizes come in 1-10 (this is just a sneaky way of making fat girls feel less so), and I immediately assumed I was a 10. I mean, come on, I was (and still am) a very chubby woman, and that's saying it the nice way. In February I was starting to struggle to fit into my size 28 pants. Someday I will blog about that pair, because I love them and the one downside to not being fat is that those pants will no longer fit. Well, and I won't be able to sing "Fat girl in a little car" when I get out of my ghetto (read: not ghettofabulous. Just ghetto. Oh so very ghetto.) Geo Metro ala Chris Farley.

I digress. When I tried on the size 10 curvy/blue (go to the link in the above paragraph if you are confused here, or just read on if you don't care) they were way way way too big. Same with the size 9, and even the size 8 pair was on the loose side. The size 7 felt a little snug, but I knew I was losing weight so they'd be the best bet. So, I settled on 7. I couldn't believe that I was buying size 7 anything, regardless of them being size 7 for fat chicks. I had become so resigned to just being the fattest person I- and most of my friends- knew that I was shocked to be anything less than the biggest size in an obese women's clothing store.

Can I just point out here how utterly degrading that feels? Literally, I cannot think of a single person I know that weighs as much as I do. My church has over a thousand people, and while there are a couple of heavier people, I'm pretty sure I'm the biggest person in the room when I'm there. What child grows up hoping for THAT distinction? I don't remember ever waking up in elementary school and going, "Man, I hope that in 20 years I am so fat that I can't tie my shoes in the morning, and I really hope that I'm fat enough to never be able to fit into another roller coaster; because I really love roller coasters and that would just be such a great life, being humiliated and having to get out, everyone staring at me in disgust, then the security bar can't latch." I do love roller coasters, and that is a true story from about 3 years ago, at the moldy, old-fat-lady age of 23.

I know why I eat so much, and I know why food became my idol, and I know that I had to endure a lot more than your average kid, but how did I ever let myself get here? Why didn't I ever get a little freaked out when my weight crept toward 200 and then 250 and then 300 and then 350 and then just STOP the eating and START the exercising? Honestly, I think this is the nature of addiction. I honestly could not see how bad things were. I thought I was fine. Sure, I wanted to be pretty, but really only so I could get myself a good man. Friends and family tried to tell me that I was killing myself, and that they were concerned for me, and I just wrote them off as judgmental and not really loving me. And then I drowned out the hurt from that perceived rejection with food. Honestly, it's tragic.

I know I'm on a tangent, but I have to say here that I can't even really tell you why I suddenly woke up. I can't say I'll never struggle again, but in January, when I had my MRI, my weight hit me like a wrecking ball to the gut (and mine is so bloated that the ball would likely get lost in the cavern that is hiding a belly button deep inside). The technician who did the procedure gave me the films to take to my doctor, and my stats were printed in the corner of every image. There, plain as day, the paperwork read:

Sex: Female
Age: 26
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: 367

I remember choking back tears. 367 is drastically close to 400. FOUR FREAKING HUNDRED pounds. Somehow, the 320's had become comfortable, but creeping toward 400 just totally freaked me out. Thus began the growing desire in me to change. Starting this blog really helped. It started helping just because I knew a couple of friends were reading. I'm not suggesting that I'll be the next big (ok, poor wording... change "big" to "hot") thing in the entertainment world, though that would be fun, but suddenly my blog is getting 50 hits a day from all over the country, and people are coming out of the woodwork to let me know they're reading this and that they support me. That paired with seeing success stories in other people's blogs, and discovering the online community of people fighting this same battle, has really inspired me to not give up. If I just quit posting because I had quit trying, a lot of people who care would be really let down. Plus, it feels really great to post the successes. Whether it's that I lost 20 pounds, or that I worked out last night- hard- when I really wanted to just set up shop on the couch, or what have you, I just feel great knowing that I am succeeding and I have this record of my journey.

I'm not even ashamed that friends can find out how much I weigh- I am becoming more free in this area than your average size 6 girl, I guarantee you. I weigh 346 pounds, and I am happy about that! Because it's not 367 anymore, and when I read this post in a few months, reminiscing, I'll weigh even less and I'll be all the more free from the chains that I had wrapped myself in.

I am so grateful for Monday's "reboot", because I feel like something just snapped in me. I refuse to let food rule my life anymore. For one, being this obese really gets in the way of life, and not just the occasional amusement park trip. Additionally, Jesus needs to be my actual Lord and Master, not just the fuzzy nice guy in the sky who makes me feel swell when I think that's what I need. As my body changes, my mind and spirit are changing, too... though you need to transverse that, because I believe my mind and spirit change is why my body is changing. Example: Wednesday was a really rough day at work, and Jas and I had predetermined to go to Target to get me a little journal for keeping track of my food. This may cause some to have to change their chones (look it up, I dare you), but I actually prefer the paper & pencil method to the online tracking. I know, technology whore Tami is foregoing the computer for a pencil. You'll get over it. Mostly this change is because it's such a chore to keep logging onto some website to track my food, so I let it build up, then there's too much and I get overwhelmed so I don't do it at all. With my notepad, I just jot it down real quick and if I need to I can research the nutritional info later. And even if I don't write it immediately, it's not as overwhelming to do it later, such as last night's salad. I just did it this morning. I knew in my head what the calorie count was, but now it's written. Sha-zam.

I am totally off of the point again... this is no longer a tangent of going down a stream that's in the same watershed... I've jumped to another continent. Anyway, so Wednesday we went to Target, and Jas said that since I had such a horrible day we could brighten it by getting a treat while there. Trust me, a notebook and the cheapest fitted sheet for a king size bed we could find (ours ripped. Think about that one for awhile.) is not a treat. We looked at movies, Wii games, and even make-up, but there was just nothing I wanted enough to actually spend money on it. Walking out, I felt pretty bummed and I found myself wanting to go home and stuff my face. Suddenly I just thought, "No. That won't make me feel better. I'll feel worse, because I'll just feel fat and miserable and like the loser who can't quit slathering food onto every little issue she faces. Instead, I want more Jesus." So I thought about Jesus and how even getting a treat wouldn't have made my bad day at my not-so-beloved job any better, either. I felt better, just admitting to Christ that I don't like my job and that I am trying to be patient and trust Him for whatever His will is for me next (if you don't know, we're moving to Seattle as soon as our lease is up in June and I am not the commuting for an hour type, so I'm looking for work in the neighborhood where we plan to settle). So I turned to Jesus, not to food; Jesus gained more power in my life, and food lost a lot of ground.

This may sound basic and obvious to most. But I have never done that before. Never have I actually caught myself mentally turning to food, let alone stopped it and turned it over to Christ. This is a huge victory for me, and I truly believe it's the evidence of my reboot being the real deal. So often when I find the success stories of people who have lost, and are maintaining, drastic amounts of weight loss like I aim to do they talk about something just snapping in them, like they suddenly woke up, saw their life, and turned their habits upside down. I can't help but align this to The Matrix- I was comfortable enough in my life, but now that I've gained perspective on reality I just can't go back. I won't go back. Not only can I not refuse the work Jesus is doing in me, but I won't do that to myself and I know there are growing numbers of you reading, and no matter what brings you here, I know that there are people who love me and are cheering me on, some fighting in this battle themselves, and many of you would be varying levels of crushed if I give up. Awkward sentence, but you get it.

This blog is called Foode Fight. It's a play on words, obviously, but it also refers to my battle against food addiction. One doesn't declare war and then hold hands with the enemy around the bonfire singing You Have a Friend and Lean on Me. War is bloody and painful. It requires sacrifice, and last time I checked, rarely is a raging battle a place associated with warm fuzzies and comfort. I'm fighting with everything I have, and though I might get tired, I'm never going to retreat. Even when the 200 enemies (note: after 20 pounds lost, that number is now 180. Boo-yah.) clinging to my body have been decimated, I'll still keep fighting to keep their offspring from trying to jump on board. This isn't a simple fix, where I'll wake up in a year or two with my dream body and everything will be easy. Just as an alcoholic can never have another drink, I'll never be able to treat food casually. I'll always have to be intentional, and I'll always be in recovery long after I reach the maintenance phase. If I pretend anything otherwise then before I know it I'll be back to rejoicing over fitting into barely-under-the-biggest-in-the-store-for-obese-women jeans. That's ok right now, but only because I'm here temporarily.

Enough. This tangent continent just found itself with a huge lake from all of my gushing. To bring it all on back, I love my size 7 blue Lane Bryant right fit jeans (they should be paying me, right? Really, they should.) but they're getting too big. Which is nice. I got a pair of normal size 26 jeans that were awesome in the legs but tight in the tum a couple of weekends ago (they were on super sale) and when I get under 340 (hopefully that will only take a week or two with my upped-ante efforts) I'll give them another shot. I have a lot of cute clothes in size 24 that I can't wait to be able to get back into. I also can't wait until those, too, are falling off :)

This post shot all around the world as far as staying on topic went, but thank you for sticking with it if you got this far. And sincerely, thank you for your support. Here's to the day when I post the official "after" pic next to my barfariffic "before" pic and people who stumble across it gasp out loud... it's pretty awesome that some of you will have been with me the entire time. That means more to me than I can put into words, and we all know I'm very rarely short on words. Obviously.