1 Year. 3 Friends. 12 Challenges.

OR

On beginning the weight-loss journey…again

Maybe it was Jake Sedano, some local kid one year my senior, yelling, "Hey, thunder-thighs," as I pedaled my bike south on north street, sweat dripping from my hairline.  Or my grandmother, a skilled seamstress, pulling measuring tape around my torso, quietly shaking her head as she cut out  tissue paper extensions to add to each pattern piece.  Maybe it was my friend's mother pulling me aside conspiratorially, begging me to diet.  Maybe it was one of these moment, I can't be sure.  But I do know that before I turned ten I was sure of two things:  I was big.  Big was bad.

Every moment thereafter was colored by these two revelations.  I was smart, so that helped.  Fat and smart is okay.  Fat and funny is okay, too.  So I was smart.  Sometimes I was funny.  And so I had friends.  The girls weren't threatened by me, and I was a pal to the boys.  Plus, I was connected to all the cute girls.  A pal with benefits.

But this isn't about high school.  I mean,  I'm thirty-five.  I've graduated!  It's just that anyone who has struggled with weight (or anything for that matter) knows that the struggle is played out on the stage of those formative years.  Since then, I've been working to redraft my very own logical fallacy: I am big.  Big is bad. Therefore, I am bad.

And so I stare down the barrel of the gun once again.   Like I said, I'm thirty-five.  I have three girls under the age of five.  I have a husband.  A good one.  I have an advanced degree, a great job, a couple dogs, a cat, a handful of chickens.  And I have weight bearing down on me.  I've tried every cleanse, every fitness app, every popular diet.  So why will this attempt at weight-loss be different?  Because this time "I" am "we".

Who are "we"?  I've known Maureen now for two years and Leigh less than one.  We met at church.  More specifically, we met as a group for the first time by the church piano, hymnals clutched in hands.  We were slotted to sing none other than the upbeat traditional Christmas carol "In the Bleak Midwinter."  And though we practiced feverishly - laughing at the caged, closeted Diva in us all - the song proved prophetic: the Sunday we were scheduled to perform arrived in a deep bank of impassable snow.  But that carol became the platform upon which our friendship was forged.

And now, "I" am "we".  Three strong.  All with varying backgrounds.  All in our thirties.  All overweight.  All with the same goal: To find and secure good health.  This, therefore, is the plan:  We have one year to make significant health gains in our life on and off the scale.  Each month we create a physical challenge.  This month we hiked a local peak.  Next month, we'll swim laps for a determined period of time and distance.  The month after that?  Who knows!  Each month's challenge will be a little harder than the one before.  1.3.12.  One year.  Three friends. Twelve challenges.

 And how will this end?  We don't know, but as one writer writes, "The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on."  So here goes nothing.  The handle has been turned.