My "A-Ha" Moment

It seems I have it all together.

I feel good about my parenting style. My boys are treated gently, peacefully, and always with unconditional love. I play with them, I sing songs with them, dance with them, read them long stories, and sing their favorite songs while I wait for sleep to come to them at night.

I'm a good friend. I listen without judgement. I will tell my friend all of my favorite things about them. I am very giving. If a friend likes something I have, I'll either hand it over; or get them one of their own (you know, like stuff-wise; not people-wise: I don't hand out free babies).

I'm a fantastic wife. I am one of very very few wives who still give their husbands; you know. *wink wink* On a regular basis. Not just birthdays either. I could go on about other ways that I'm an awesome wife, but does it really matter? That alone puts me in the top ranks.

I am kind to strangers, soldiers, police officers, firefighters, and the occasional bastard. I once brought an old man to tears when upon noticing his Remember Pearl Harbor hat, I walked over to him and thanked him for his service to our country. I have bought a Police Officer's coffee at Starbucks, I give gift cards out to ANY officer I see in a restaurant as a way of thanking them for keeping us safe. My boys and I made muffins and delivered them to our local Fire Station just because. And, once I was in line behind a lady in the craft store who seriously had 3 buggies slap full of stuff. Her total was $600!! I only had 3 items and I helped her out to her car AND took her buggies back into the store.

So, I think I'm a pretty awesome person.

And I'm sure you think I'm awesome, too.

Except, if you saw me at a gathering of people and you were pointing me out to someone; you would most certainly describe me as "That Fat One".

And that's what kills me. I am so much more than my fat ass.

And so much more than my gut.

And so much more than my chafing thighs.

A medical professional would even go so far as to say I'm Morbidly Obese. Now, no one has ever actually uttered those words to me; thank you Dear Sweet Baby Jesus- because I would eat that person like a midnight snack. But, we all know it's true.

I'm so fat, my seatbelt pisses me off in the car. I'm too short to reach the pedals but too fat to get much closer to the steering wheel.

I'm so fat, that if I wear skirts; my thighs rub together so violently that I get blisters on them.

I'm so fat, that I hate eating in front of people because I think they're judging me.

I'm so fat, it physically hurts to run because my skin jiggles so bad it feels like someone is dropping bowling balls on me.

So, yes. I do pretty much have it all together except that I'm Fat.

I sometimes wish I took as fervent care of my body as I do my boys, my husband, strangers, and the kitchen floor.

I'm still working through the inner guts of why I screw myself up so badly.

Now, before you think that I like to pound cheeseburgers from McDonald's, or guzzle down Coke; let me be clear- I'm a nutrition FREAK. I don't ever ever ever consume corn syrup, caffeine, atrifical flavors, colors, or hydrogenated stuff. I live pretty clean.

I know my problem.

I know it like only I could know.

I over eat.

I am an excessive person. By nature, I go overboard on anything I set my mind to.

When I decided that I wanted to learn to knit; I bought the best yarn, the best needles, and learned the most difficult stitches.

When I decide I want to do ANY craft, I just leap in with both feet. I buy all of the supplies. And not just all the supplies; I buy enough that I could start a business selling said craft.

If someone I love shows an interest in something that is dear to me, I'll be excessive for them, too.

Here's the thing; I think that part of my charm is my excessiveness (is that even a word? Screw it, I'll find out when spell check gets a hold of this. Not that I'll change it, I'm just curious). People really like being around me. Except assholes probably. But then again, who cares what assholes think?

So, in keeping with my excessiveness (seriously, I hope it is a word because it's the only thing that works here); I am going on a 30 day juice fast.

There I said it.

But, since I'm going to also be exercising, too- it's going to be sort of modified. Here's my plan:

I'm going to juice 50 oz a day and eat one protein rich meal.

I will exercise for a focused 30 minutes a day.

I am eliminating all sweets, white flour, and anything prepackaged.

I am going to do this for 30 days and will add back a meal after that.

In 30 more days, I will add back another meal while continuing to avoid the sugars, flour, and prepak's.

The next 90 days will be a defining chapter for me.

I have always been That Fat Girl. I have never felt like that, but I know how I look. Further, I want to have my energy levels so tuned up that the boys have to ask me to slow down and stop running through the kitchen.

I did something today that I haven't voluntarily done in 15 years. I weighed myself. Now, I've been weighed at the doctor's office for each of my pregnancies. But, I don't ever wonder what I weigh.

In fact, the only reason I weighed today is because I have decided to take Dr. Phil's advice and "get real, people". Only when he says it, it sounds like, "Git REEL PEE PULL". But, annoying as that fat bastard is; he's right.

I'm only fat on the outside. Inside is a skinny bitch waiting not so patiently to get out and be seen. She wants to wear semi slutty clothes (not that I'll let her) and run with one of those ipod arm bands because she's too busy being fit to actually put her ipod in her pocket.

She wants to sprint up a flight of 40-11 stairs.

She wants to wear button-fly pants even if they are passe'.

She wants to enjoy just being a regular person in a crowd without comparing to see if anyone is fatter than she is.

I'm going to go overboard with me.

I'm going to put a shit ton of hard work into this body.

I'm going to treat this body like a good friend who really needs some help.

And I'm still going to be the same beautiful girl who loves her boys, husband, friends, and that occasional bastard.

Day 1 is coming soon.

I am ready.