Touching toes
Ahh… This morning I sat on the side of my bed…stretching, stretching, stretching. Wiggling my toes. Bending over, touching my toes, massaging my ankles.
I know it seems silly to some of you, but I use to weigh almost 400 pounds. Stretching, bending over and touching my toes, ankles was not easy. Back then, I would bend over only if it was an emergency. Like, I had to pick something up– God forbid. It was quite a task, the blood would rush to my head, I’d break out in a little sweat, and become almost breathless from performing an everyday simple function – bending. So, today, I celebrate stretching, bending, and touching my toes. It feels good, and so do I.
Chrisetta Mosley
I am a product – and now a survivor – of childhood obesity. As a child, my family always told me that my extra weight was merely baby fat and I’d eventually grow out of it. I never did. Instead, my childhood is filled with memories of not being able to ride a bike, flattening its training wheels from being over the recommended weight, and avoiding P.E. classes by any means necessary. For years, I wore my fatness like a wounded soldier wears a Purple Heart - with pride. I owned the look. I dressed it up. I worked the room. There wasn't a skinny girl who intimidated me. I made sure my hair was laid just right. Nails polished. Outfits coordinated to the tee. Accessories to compliment every outfit. But everyone has a breaking point, and mine came in the spring of 2004 when I tipped the scale at nearly 400 pounds 388 to be exact. I was MISERABLE trapped inside of that body. I no longer wore my Purple Heart with pride. Rather, I was ashamed and frightened. Ashamed that I had allowed food to become my everything – frightened I would die because of it. Drastic times called for drastic measures... Today, I’m bound and determined to live a better, healthier, active lifestyle. I realize I’m no longer a passenger in my life, I’m the driver. I’m overcoming my inhibitions and I’m slowly but surely saying farewell to my old childhood nemesis, obesity. For once and for all, Farewell Fatso!