If you know me, you know I'm a big girl. Not tall-big... round-big. I've been fighting it my whole life and a couple of times, I passed by "normal". The first time was as a teen and an anorexic. The second time was while I was dating my second husband and we were ACTIVE all the time - riding bikes, climbing, hiking, walking... ALL.THE.TIME. When I got pregnant, that was pretty much all she wrote - I couldn't get rid of the extra. I tried dieting; I tried exercise; I tried, well, everything. And I was tired. So I got bigger and bigger.
I'm always shocked when I look in the mirror. The outsides sure don't match my brain's image of myself. I forget that I'm as big as a house until I look in a mirror - and I rarely look in the mirror. I don't buy clothes, so I don't have that guide much either.
I turned 53 this year. I wanted to go visit my grandmother in Wales while there was still time (she's 96), so I took my husband and son and introduced them to my favorite place on earth. To do that, I had to fly, which is pretty uncomfortable when you're as big as I am. And while we were there, I found I was limited in what I could do because my body hurt so much. No problem going UP hills, but coming down made my hips scream. I couldn't climb the mountain this time. I had to wave goodbye to my guys as they set out to visit the cairn on top.
That trip made me realize something. I might be 53 years old, but I can still change my life. So I've started. I'm blogging about that little adventure over at 53 And Change. You can visit if you like. Just be nice, okay? I've said enough mean things to myself already. It's time for a change.