Author: Betsy Schow
Publisher: Cedar Fort books
Release Date: January 8, 2013
Amazon | Barnes and Noble.
After many years of being fat and miserable, with a few years of being average and less miserable mixed in, I finally had a lightbulb moment. The reason I was unhappy, was not just the extra 75 pounds of pudge I was carrying. It was the weight of all the things unfinished that hung around my neck. I was always having grand ideas. I'd get excited about this diet, or that workout routine. Or starting a new hobby or project. Problem was, within a few weeks the excitement would fade and that little voice would kick in. You know the one I'm talking about."You're no good at this. You'll never keep the weight off. Why are you even bothering?"And every time I quit, my wall of failures would get a little higher -- making success that much harder to see. The straw that broke the camel's back, was actually the 10 pounds added in a month that broke the scale one morning. Drastic measures had to be taken, I couldn't keep doing this myself.What started out as yet another attempt to get rid of the weight around my middle, snowballed into a year of changing my life, my marriage and the way I raise my kids. Without meaning to I went on an accidental adventure, learning things that fixed the holes in my life, not just the holes in my eating habits. Now I know how to give myself credit for what I do, I can finish what I start, and I've reached impossible dreams. And once you've done the impossible, anything can happen.
Whether your goal is losing weight, running a marathon, cleaning out the basement, or all of the above, this book will teach you how to achieve more than you ever thought possible without sacrificing your sanity or sense of humor.
Excerpt from Finished being Fat
YOU’LL KNOW YOU’VE HIT
the BOTTOM WHEN
YOU HEAR the THUD
Daily routine: Wake up, feed kids, entertain kids, keep kids from killing
each other, put kids to bed, put kids back to bed thirty minutes
later, and then collapse into my own bed and fade into unconsciousness.
Repeat.
My life was a lot like running on a treadmill, a whole lot of effort
to get absolutely nowhere. Not that I had much experience with treadmills,
mind you, but you get my drift. One morning, I woke up depressed
and berated myself for all the things that I wasn’t. Wasn’t skinny, wasn’t
accomplished, wasn’t happy. In a fit of masochism, I decided it would be
a good time to take on my mortal enemy, the digital scale.
The scale and I have always had a hate/more hate relationship. I’ve
tried sweet talking it, I’ve tried yelling at it, and I’ve even tried approaching
it with cautious optimism. Power of positive thinking and all. Recently,
I had given it the silent treatment, refusing to acknowledge its existence.
But apparently I felt the need to punish myself, because there I was again,
at seven in the morning, before the children were awake, naked and ohso-
carefully avoiding the adjacent mirror (because let’s be honest, who wants to see themselves naked first thing in the morning?) and ever so
lightly (because it might make a difference) stepping on the scale. While
I waited for the scale to stop blinking 0.00 and pronounce judgment, I
began to pray.
“Please, God. Just let it be the same as last month. I’m not asking for
it be lower, just . . . please, let it be the same.” God was apparently out of
miracles. The scale read 216.4 pounds—ten pounds more than the last
month. I looked around just to be sure my fourteen-month-old hadn’t
sneaked up behind me, adding her sixteen pounds to the total. Nope, I
was alone. So I hopped off and tried again, just in case. Maybe the scale
had changed its mind, had a technical error, or something. But no, the
evil scale seemed to take joy in my misery and now said 216.6. Ahhhh! I
had gained a fifth of a pound in less than a minute.
Scenes from my future played out in my mind. I would gain a pound
every hour. Within a week, none of my clothes would fit. By the end of
the month, I would have to order everything from an online specialty
store, Blobbos. In a year, my husband would need to physically roll me
out of the bed and onto a Jazzy scooter because I had gotten so big that my
legs wouldn’t support my girth. I was going to be like that woman from
What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. When I died, they would have to cut a hole
in my house just to get me out. Then I’d have to be buried in a packing
crate because surely no one would make a coffin large enough to fit me.
I backpedaled off the scale so fast that I tripped. That’s when I heard
the thud of my life hitting rock bottom. It was so loud it even woke my
husband, Jarom. Well, it was either that or the crash from the scale reverberating
off the travertine. I imagine he ran into the bathroom, expecting
to find that I had slipped in the shower. He probably did not expect to see
his naked, overweight wife sprawled on the floor, trying to beat the scale
into submission.
“Betsy, what the heck are you doing?”
“I’m fat!” I wailed
My husband, always a man of few words, wisely said nothing and
offered me a hand up. For a few minutes, we stood there, him patting my
back and me sobbing onto his shoulder. After I had quieted down some,
Jarom grabbed a pack of tissues and herded me back into the bedroom.
He sat me down on the bed and wiped the tears and snot off my face, then
did the same for his shoulder.
“Now start over and tell me what’s wrong.”
GIVEAWAY TIME!
Win a hard copy of Finished Being Fat by Betsy Schow.
This giveaway is international.
Sponsored by Cedar Fort Books
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