Stefanie Arias

You know how some people say they struggle with their weight all their lives and can't remember a time when they didn't worry about it?

I'm not one of those people. I remember the exact moment I started thinking about my weight.

I was in the fifth grade. It was the day in PE when we had to run a mile. My friend Michelle and I had taken a break from running to walk for a bit, but after just a few seconds, she wanted to run again.

“I need to lose weight,” she said. “My mom said when I get close to 100 pounds, I need to go on a diet.”

When I got home from school that day, I went into my parents' bathroom and got on the scale. 95 pounds. From that day until now, weight has been a constant thought in my mind.

By the time I entered high school, I was 5-foot-6 and 125 pounds. Compared with my friends, who all weighed less than 110, I thought I was a cow. I gained every year, which was stressful because I was on the dance team and my body was under constant scrutiny.

I wasn't the only one who felt pressure at this point. My friend Lisa would eat only one piece of fruit a day. My friend Amanda would bring a sandwich bag with dry pasta for lunch, suck on it until it got soft enough to swallow and claimed that it puffed up in her stomach and made her feel full. It was yo-yo dieting, and it didn't work.
 
By senior year, I was two inches taller and weighed 165 pounds.

Then graduation came, and I thought the pressure was off. It didn't matter what I ate or how my body looked in Lycra. I had thought about my weight for so long, I decided then and there not to worry about it any more.

I didn't until more than a year later at my doctor's office. I got on the scale and nearly fell over. I hadn't gained the freshman 15; I'd gained the freshman 40!

If I had taken action right then, I wouldn't be in the predicament I'm in now. Seven years and 60-plus pounds later, I weigh more than I ever have in my life.

I've made small, half-hearted efforts over the years to lose weight, but I realized last summer that I need to take this seriously, and I need to do it now.

My parents, who both are 52 years old, had some major health problems in July and August. Doctors found a blood clot that ran almost the entire length of my mom's leg, and more were discovered in her lungs. My dad was sent to a cardiologist because of the amount of blockage in his heart.

I think if my parents had taken better care of themselves all along, these close calls would not have happened. So, without trying to, they've scared me into taking action.

My sister and three of our friends are joining me on this weight-loss journey. We've started our own little support group, and for the last few months, we've met up every weekend for a healthy, home-cooked dinner. We watch recorded episodes of “The Biggest Loser” for inspiration. We weigh ourselves, talk about our struggles and document progress.

We've taken “before” photos of ourselves hoping to be able to compare them with “after” photos when we all reach our goals. Mine is the loftiest: 120 pounds. So far, I've lost 13.

Losing all that weight is not going to be easy, but I think having people to do it with makes a difference. I didn't want anyone to know how much I really weigh (I usually get looks of shock when I confess it to people; apparently, I carry it well), but making it public knowledge makes me own up to it. It's also the first real step I've taken to do something about it.

I'm hoping that writing about this challenge will not only motivate me to keep going to reach my goal, but also motivate others who are in the same situation. If I can do this, anybody can.

Stefanie Arias | 210SA Contributor