A post I wrote 7 years ago.

When I was eleven, my mother signed me up for a weight loss class.  Having battled the bulge for years on end, she was alarmed when, at that awkward age, I, too, started piling on the pounds. So, every week we drove out to the local University, where a pair of graduate students conducted behavior modification experiments on a dozen prepubescents.

Thus began my war with food.

My best friend at the time was something of a jock.  Taking my challenge upon herself, Wendy ran me through her fat camp.  Some days I’d jog along while she nipped my heels with her bike. Other times she’d have me perform 120 pushups. For motivation she called me Annie Bananie with the Big Fat Fannie. Or Chunk-a-Munk.

Yes. Friends like that are hard to find.

By eighth grade, I was skipping meals for days on end.  I took to doing laps–200 in a row–at the local Howard Johnson’s pool.

At 7 PM, I would fling myself into bed just to stay away from the fridge.

After a few weeks, the binging would begin.  Two apple pies a day. Chased down with a loaf of bread.

For no particular reason, the cycle would go dormant. Only to begin again when life got complicated.

By the time I got to college, I was an expert on dieting.  I counted calories in a spiral notebook, did aerobics, and swam each morning. At  5’2″, 120 pounds, I was hardly the fat girl. But, in my head that’s just who I was.

As an adult, my focus on food refused to wane. With each of my pregnancies I packed on 50 pounds. Because, knowing my belly was going to grow big, I figured I might as well dig in. But, being fat terrified me. After giving birth, I quickly starved myself back to my normal state.

In Iran, it was easy to keep slim.  Without a car, without entertainment, I pushed a stroller 10 miles a day.  There was no such thing as convenience foods, the sweets held no appeal, and the meat I bought was usually covered in flies.

For the first time in my life I turned my nose up at chow.

And, of course, back in the States, the pendulum swung right on back. I ate anything placed in front of me, and I did this with some zeal. To lose the 30 lbs I gained, I tried every kind of diet.  There was Weight Watchers and South Beach and who could forget The Zone.

To deal with my eating disorders, therapy helped.  Running made me appreciate the beauty of my body. I learned to speak my truth instead of stuffing it down with food. Despite all that, I still hear the siren’s song.

It should come as no surprise that I’m a fan of fitness books. But, at this stage of the game, after thirty+ years obsessing, a new offering  has to teach me something new. It has to focus on balance and philosophy, not another form of abuse.  I want to stay young and vital, and I’m convinced much of that is about holding down the weight.

The Secrets of Skinny Chicks, by Karen Bridson, was written for me. I loved the premise of her book from the very first page:

While I was strong and fit and healthy fifteen pounds ago, I wanted to see just how fit and fabulous I could get….I studied…for details on what the chicks with fabulous bodies actually did to look the way they do….What I hadn’t expected, however, was just how hard it would be…I marveled at just how ill-informed the rest of the world is about what these women with fabulous bodies do to look that great…Behind every pair of size 5 jeans is a woman who exercises daily and counts her calories.  She is conscious of what she needs to fuel her body properly and how to feel good about herself every day, even when she slips up…You may look at these women who work out two or more hours a day and eat just 1600 calories most days and say ” I will never, ever be willing to live my life that way.”

So, Bridson went out and interviewed spectacular women– body doubles and supermodels and beauty pageant competitors. These women work hard–have to work hard– at perfecting their bodies. Compiling all the data,  Bridson pinpointed 50 “secrets” to their success. If you want to be successful, model successful people.  Here are a few tips that have really made the difference for me:

• Plan meals and shop to fit your plan

• Keep a clean food environment

• Find yummy replacements for the bad stuff

• Think ahead about risky outings

• Learn what your body’s metabolic rate will allow

• Make salad your friend

And the secret I think is the most important:

• Set a goal, create a plan

Without a goal, we just meander along. Two steps forward, and then we find ourselves in Iran.

For much of my life I’ve been perfectly aimless.  Wishing things were better, without naming specifics. How powerful I feel when I define what I want.  Then pencil in an action plan. And check the tasks off.  It’s like Karen Bridson says:

Self-esteem comes from accomplishments.  Self-esteem often comes from an awareness that the requirements of a sought-after goal have been mastered.

Get fit and healthy. Stay young. Back then, my mom didn’t know any better.  But, I do now.