If you’ve read my “About” page, you already know the answer to this one. Before I met my husband in college, I had never set foot in a gym before. Okay, that’s slightly a lie. There were those times in middle school P.E. class when we had “weight training” week. We all crammed into this tiny weight room. And while I curled probably all of five pounds – yes with both arms – the boys in my class dangerously attempted to lift way more than they had any business lifting.
My most vivid memory of that time was when one of those boys took all the weight off one end of his bench press bar, and subsequently the bar tipped due to the imbalance and conked him in the ear. A bloody mess ensued. (Don’t worry, he lived. With not even a scar to be seen.)
Prior to meeting my husband, my favorite meal was Burger King’s Crispy Chicken Sandwich with a large fries and medium orange soda. Mmm…I still crave it to this day. But back in those days, I ate that every day. If it wasn’t the chicken sandwich, it was a nice, big, juicy Whopper.
Before college, I didn’t exactly eat very healthy either. Anyone who’s Filipino would understand that hot dogs are breakfast food. (It’s part of the sausage family, right?) Therefore, corn dogs were a perfectly acceptable way to start the day.
But when I went to college, I discovered the dorm room cafeteria food. I ate a burger at least 4 times a week. The cafeteria ladies piled meatloaf and mashed potatoes a mile high on my plate. And as my mother taught me, there are starving children in Africa, so I had to finish all my food.
Before I knew it, my Freshman Fifteen quickly turned into Freshman Thirty. My size -3 turned into a distant memory. My clear complexion turned into pepperoni pizza.
At the time, I didn’t even realize what was happening. Then I went home for the holidays, and my family so graciously pointed it out to me. (Families are great for that, aren’t they?) But I had no idea what to do about it.
What? You mean what I eat impacts my weight and my skin? What? I should work out? How do I do that?
Fast forward a couple years, and I met my husband. When I met him, I had lost about twenty of the Freshman Thirty I gained, but I was definitely not fit. (Losing weight from stress and partying doesn’t count.) Skip over the awkward first time in a gym, the encounters with disgusting protein shakes, and the time my mom told me I was starting to “look like a man” (those are all better topics for future postings), and here I am today. In probably the best shape I’ve ever been in.
It’s been a long road. So, have I always been fit? That’s an emphatic hell no.