As I was growing up, food always had a stronger pull on me than anyone else in my family. For years, I had maintained a fairly “normal” weight range, but it was only through countless new diets inbetween periods of weight gains. I was your typical yo-yoer. The battle raged on for years until, by my 40th birthday, it was clear I was losing the war. I weighed 347 pounds.
I had all the wounds of one in a battle — bruises on the outside of my thighs from sitting in chairs with arms that were too small. Stretch marks across nearly every inch of my unexposed body. Flat feet. Not to mention a bruised heart and tired spirit. By 347 pounds, my morale was at an all-time low.