Chapter 1

I was thirty years old before I realized there was something very different about me from everyone else. Oh I already knew I had more health problems than most, was working a dead end job and watching my ass grow more than my mind. Still I thought everyone had these problems.

As usual I was in the kitchen. After working eight hours as a bookkeeper for a stationary store the last thing I wanted to do was exert myself even though I had done nothing but sit around all day. A pot of water was coming up to a boil and my pan of chicken cordon bleu was in the oven making the small condo smell of melting cheese and sizzling fats. Today was different as I had made a rather depressing discovery earlier while trying to find the Chocolate Cheesecake recipe. Apparently my husband liked to surf porn, lots of porn. Since we only had sex once a month I figured his libido was just low but now I wondered if he simply did not find me attractive. Those thoughts made me wish for the chocolate but realize that would not help the situation. Serves me right for poking through the History online rather than waiting for him to come home.

While waiting for the pot to boil I looked down at my size 18 form. Frumpy sweats covered my flabby thighs and large hips. A tee shirt six sizes too big hid my sagging 42DD breasts. I knew that I was hourglass shaped, just large as my measurements were 48, 37, 50. Secretarial spread was not a pretty sight but I did not know how to fix it.

Adding linguini to the boiling water I promised myself that desserts were now off the menu and I should start exercising. Maybe if I lost some weight John would find me attractive again. While stirring the pasta I mourned the loss of all my favorite foods, wondering how I could ever possibly accomplish this seemingly impossible feat of reversing the years of abuse and neglect I had done to my body. Even at 30 I had joint pain in my hips, knees and ankles from carrying extra weight. Asthma, acne, and carpal tunnel kept my 239 pound self from accomplishing anything more than just getting up and going to work every day.

As I poured the cooked pasta into a colander in the sink, lamenting on the state of my life, I accidentally rested my thumb on the very hot pot. The burning heat crawled into my skin and burrowed deeper as I said 'ow' repeatedly. On the verge of tears I finished the transition of the pasta and slammed the now drained noodles back onto the stove to wait. Looking at my finger in the bright florescent lights of the small condo's kitchen I could feel the burn working its way through each layer of my flesh. I knew tomorrow a blister would form making it impossible for me to bend my thumb.

Something snapped in my head. Rather than cry and whine from the unfairness of life, I said NO. Closing my eyes I counted slowly to ten while imagining the inside of my thumb turning cold rather than hot. I did not want a chunk of my flesh cooked so I imagined frigid temperatures fighting the spear of heat. By the time I reached twenty I had calmed down and my thumb no longer hurt. I figured it had simply reached the point of blistering and did not spare the reddened skin a second glance. The timer went off and I pulled dinner from the oven. Looking at the fried chicken wrapped around ham and jack cheese I realized that I had been sabotaging myself for years. Cooking unhealthy foods, eating dessert with dinner every night, rarely making a vegetable or eating fruit was typical. Vowing tonight ended those ways I added a can of green beans to the menu and forgot the oil and parmesan I normally put on the pasta.

John walked in the door and hollered at me. "Karen, I'm home when is dinner?"

He always spent the first fifteen minutes home working out in the basement. At 34 he was a handsome man, fit and trim as well as active. Suddenly I realized all his requests for me to join him were his attempts to help me loose weight. Wishing my metabolism would speed up to the level it was when I was a teen I smiled sadly at him as he hung up his coat.

"Let me put everything in the oven to stay warm and it will be ready whenever you are."

While he changed I quickly tossed everything into pans and back into the oven it went. The noodles got a tiny drizzle of oil to keep moist and the green beans stayed in their cooking water. Once my hands were washed I went down to the basement and stood looking at the equipment down there. I saw it every week when doing the laundry, but somehow I had never thought of it as more than torture equipment. The many weights, benches and bike frightened me but I resolved to change.

A moment later John walked in the door and looked at me with surprise. "Doing laundry?"

"No," I replied. "I want to work out with you if you don't mind."

"Sure. That would be great honey." He said with just a bit of shock coloring his voice.

The unfinished cement walls made it cool down here and the naked bulbs in the ceiling gave it a rather stark look. Still I listened attentively as he explained how to use many things. We used the weight bench and I strained to lift even the empty bar up an inch. Blowing out a breath in frustration I tried again as John urged me on with his hands poised to catch it.

This time when I pushed upwards the bar seemed lighter and moved a whole six inches before my arms shook and I had to lower it. Progress was good to see so I tried again when my flabby arms stopped quivering. This time I actually felt the muscles in my arm contract and flex as I pushed the bar upwards extending my arms fully. It wobbled a bit, as I fought to keep it balanced with unsteady arms. John continued to coach and cheer me on while protecting my head from the steel above me. With more strength than I knew I possessed I gently lowered the bar to its resting spot. Looking at my husband of ten years I clapped like a schoolgirl.