Saturday, January 12, 2013


The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way: "a fortunate stroke of serendipity".

My name is Leanne, I am 47 years old - almost 48, I have 2 grown up kids (DS 22 & DD 20) and a coal mining farmer (BM) who is soon to be my hubby.

In fact, it's the upcoming nuptials that took me down the path that has, rather belatedly (but better late than never) led me to Michelle's 12WBT.  I swore that even though I knew that I would still be fat for my wedding, I would not be this fat.

Is it just me, or does the word 'wedding' conjure up pictures of pretty young things in voluminous gowns of fluffy meringue, or rather snugly fitted sheaths of satin, surrounded by hosts of attendants, dozens and dozens of guests, and a reception being held in an appropriately decorated Olympic sized stadium, all with a bill to match?  It feels wrong somehow, to give our day the tag of 'wedding'.  Sure, there'll be a minister, and vows, and yes there will be decorations, but that's about where the similarity ends...

So, I won't be this fat... How fat is that exactly?  It's huge.  I am 161cm, weigh 164kg, and wear size 24/26 clothing.  I won't sit on plastic chairs, most outdoor furniture or even some dining chairs, in case they break, I have to manoeuvre  myself into seats at the cinema, I don't fly because I don't want to be humiliated, I can't use buses for lack of space, my office chair has to have metal legs.  I even have to drive a fuel guzzling SUV because anything smaller is so low I can't get up out of it, and I basically don't fit into the Eco friendly ones.  Every where I go, I am constantly assessing my environment - can I get through the door, can I sit at that table, will that chair hold me, will the (timber) steps take my weight.  I am obese.  In fact I am morbidly obese, so much so, that on many of the charts I've looked at, I am off the chart!

Now, I'm not putting all this down and rabbiting on with continual use of the 'F' word in a bid to garner sympathy from whomever will be reading this.  I'm doing it in an effort to own my numbers, to own my size, and to own the abuse I have inflicted on myself.  Is it over kill?  Maybe.  But not to me.  To me it's completely necessary to make myself aware of exactly how fat I am.

Many of us, maybe even most of us, look in the mirror every day, or look at their reflections in shop windows as they walk by, and mentally give themselves the once over, making sure that their hair is right and that they haven't accidentally tucked the back of their skirt into their undies.  I don't.  It has been so many years since I actually looked at myself, that I can't remember the last time I did it.  Oh I will look in the bathroom mirror to make sure I have a clean face or to apply mascara, or to brush my hair, but that's it.  I don't look at me, I only look at the part of me that needs attention at the time.  I don't look at the whole person that is me, because I don't recognise that the person looking back from that mirror or shop window, actually is me. That person is a stranger.  She's short, and she's fat, and she looks like crap.  She's not me.  You see, in my head I am slim, I have always been slim, and even though I am overweight, I am sure as hell not fat!  In my head.

Knowing I would be getting married within a year, I made the commitment to myself to lose weight and to get fit, so I went and got myself a personal trainer - who came to be affectionately known to me as Madame Lash.  I took before photo's so that I could update them periodically when I would lose focus/hope, which I knew I would, and that was the first time I actually got to see what I had done to myself.  It was awful, and just so sad.  The training went well, Madame Lash devised a program for me which had to be changed each week as I improved so rapidly, and after 4 months I took some progress pics.  We were both so blown away with the results we had achieved in just 4 months, that we stepped up the regime.  Training was only once a week, and try as she might, Madame Lash found it practically impossible to get me to do any extra walks etc for the rest of the week.  Then one day in September, Madame Lash lost her young son in a tragic accident, and of course, there was no more training.  I could have gone to a different trainer, but I really liked, admired and trusted Madame Lash, plus training with someone else feels a bit like cheating in an odd way...  One day, when she is ready, I'll be back there.  Since September all I have done is make excuses for myself.  I'm upset over Master Lash, I'm on holiday, Father-in-Law is terribly ill, Christmas, blah blah blah...

So now, it's a new year, and in what I have come to think of as pure serendipity, I have the 12WBT, and 12 weeks until my wedding - there's that word again!

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