[I apologize for this because it's not your usual cheery Spring Training update, it's a personal essay that I wrote in December. Truth be told, I'm struggling to come up with stuff to write about this Spring. Juggling two blogs is proving to be much harder than I thought it would be. I promise, I'll be back to normal next week.
Warning: There's some strong language in this piece.
Thanks for reading - Stacey]
2008 was an odd year for me.
It had started off on a positive note. When the new year rolled around, I was three full months into Weight Watchers and I had already dropped 20 lb. The bad news was that I had 40 more to go before hitting my goal of 60.
I was coming out of a really bad time in my life. A traumatic incident such as losing your best friend of 28 years over a guy will make you do silly things like eating enough food to feed six people every night and gaining close to 30 lb in three months.
By September 2007, I had enough. It took struggling to make it up the three flights of stairs to my apartment to become the final straw. It was a hot, late summer evening, I had just gone to the Supermarket and corner bodega to pick up the components of my nightly meal and I was looking forward to gorging like I had never gorged before.
When I took the final step and arrived at my apartment door, which luckily for me was right at the top of the flight of stairs, I honestly thought I was going to die. I unlocked the door, keeled over and truly thought it was the end for me. I could barely breathe, let alone speak or yell or get anyone’s attention and I was living alone at the time which added to my anxiety. Well, I had my feline sons, Jack and Henry, but they were no help as I gasped for air. I stood there with the groceries strewn about my entryway, leaning against the wall, bent at my waist and I was staring at the original 1920′s hardwood floor as my life flashed before my eyes. When my breathing finally returned to normal, I said out-loud, “Enough.”