Step One: Exercise

If diets don't work, what does? That is the question I kept asking myself. I was 20 years old, weighed 230 pounds and my last diet had failed miserably. I was fatter than ever.

I was a junior in college, and we were studying natural laws in physics class. That got me thinking. I'd always hated exercise. Exercise reminded me of gym class. Gym class reminded me of girls socking me in the stomach and laughing. Gym class reminded me of trying to hang upside down on the parallel bars while my classmates snickered. Gym meant trying to change into a uniform while hiding my body. Even when I actually excelled at something, such as softball, the teacher remained more incredulous than anything else, as in "How can a fat girl hit a ball like that?" To her mind, overweight=underachiever.

I avoided exercise like the plague. After all, I was an intellectual. Intellectuals exercise their minds, not their bodies. The Greek ideal of sound mind, sound body was a farce to me. I didn't get it. Doing housework was enough exercise for me. Carrying laundry up and down stairs left me out of breath and tired. Washing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees every Saturday morning was a necessity. Running around the block was not.

So, after years of avoiding exercise, I realized something. It was a natural law of physics that if I took in more calories than I burned off, that excess food was going to turn into stored fat. I knew that I was taking in a lot of calories. How many? I had no idea. But, I did know that on a daily basis, I was expending the least amount of physical energy possible. Given my 230 pounds, I was easily tired. My skin would get chafed. I had rashes from my too-tight girdle. I hated being in my body, but I was stuck in there.

Instead of reaching for the latest diet book, or taking a magic diet pill or following the trendy plan of the moment, I made a decision. I was going to follow the natural laws of physics. I had to move more and take in less food. Because I was a commuter and had a daily 3-hour roundtrip to college, I decided that I'd get off the subway at an earlier stop and walk the rest of the way to campus. Carrying that heavy book bag, slogging along in all kinds of weather, panting and red-faced by the time I reached class was the price I'd have to pay. I even carried an extra deodorant because exertion left me sweaty and exhausted. I hated it. Yes, I wanted to quit after the first week. But, I kept asking myself the same question: "Do I want to keep getting fatter and fatter? Is that the life I want for myself?" Each time the answer was the same. No!

The second week was a tiny bit easier than the first. I started to time myself. After awhile, I shaved 5 minutes off my walk. I bought flatter shoes. I people-watched on my way to class. Sometimes, I'd give those people fictional lives as I imagined who they were, where they lived, what they did. For the first time in ages, I noted the gorgeous change of seasons. Walking, I discovered, was the only time of the day where I could let my mind roam freely. Walking became my meditation for the day. Instead of dreading trudging back and forth on a daily basis, I began to look forward to it, even in inclement weather. For the first time in years, I felt a certain peacefulness borne of persistence. My breathing got more regular. I didn't always need to use my deodorant. My thighs didn't chafe as much.

Routine. That is what my walk to class became. Routine. I realized that nothing I had ever done to lose weight had ever been consistent. What I needed was consistency. Could I live with walking on a daily basis? Would I do it even on the weekends when I had no classes? Yes, I could and I would! It was my time away from family and college responsibilities. I had to claim that time for myself. Instead of viewing that as selfish, I viewed it as self-caring. I'd made so many sacrifices for my family that I had no clue about being self-caring. What I'd learned in life was to be selfless. No wonder I had no idea who I was. No wonder I ate for comfort. Now, I was reclaiming the self that I had lost many years before. I was no longer willing to hide behind the fat.

I did not worry about what I was eating. I did not count calories. I focused, instead, on movement. I dedicated myself to walking. My goal was to make one change at a time. Once I could consistently stick to my walking program and feel stronger physically and emotionally, I could tackle the food issue next.

Now that you've read my story about starting an exercise program, I'd like you to reflect on how you can build exercise into your life. Can you park farther away in your work parking lot? Can you walk to work or school? Can you dance while doing the housework or the dishes? Can you play outside with your children? Exercise isn't about joining a gym, although I do belong to one now. Exercise is about getting your body moving and keeping it moving. Always start slowly. Don't set a lofty goal. If you haven't exercised in years, commit to 10 minutes at a reasonable pace. Take it one step at a time until you build exercise into your daily routine. Before you know it, you'll actually start to crave exercise if your routine is interrupted. When you begin to feel healthier, breathe more easily, have more stamina, you'll understand that this is about your future health and well-being. You are worthy of this time and effort. You deserve the very best that life has to offer. Please do not wait another day to start. You can do it!