Reliving what it was like to be 410 lbs

Keep moving forward and don’t look back.


It has been my mantra these past 130 pounds. The past was too painful to look at. Looking back was emotionally exhausting. Each blog I have written was overwhelming it its own way. What I didn’t realize was that each post was a quick glance over the wall of a dam. I was overwhelmed by the sheer thought of all those feelings rushing out. No matter how hard we might try we can’t control when the memory floodgates will open. We can only hope that we are prepared when they do and maintain composure as we sort through the muddied feelings, to learn and begin again on new soil.

My dam cracked two weeks ago at Penn State, my alma mater. I was mid-run, after climbing Mount Nittany. I was high on school pride and the accomplishment of climbing a school icon. This short two mile run was a treat to myself after a long day. I wanted to run on the campus I never could, on the campus where I lived my heaviest years. I was dancing near the edge of the dam without knowing it.

My legs were tried after a 6 mile hike and my pace was much faster than normal. That didn’t matter. What mattered was showing off and dominating the past. I had to conquer the school again. I had to gain control of the symbol of my weight gain. I was smashing a wrecking ball in to the weak point of the dam.

It started as a voice in my head. It told me I had to go faster. I couldn’t. It told me to stop breathing so heavily. I couldn’t.

Then the loud crack,

You are still fat.

At first it was only emotion – shame, anger, sadness. Then each building sparked a new image, a new memory. I could see and feel my past self.

I remembered how I hated the bus when it was full. I always sat in the back corner, the only place I could fit. I took up two seats everywhere else. I can still remember how the bus creaked under my foot step. No matter how hard I tried I always bumped someone with enough force to knock them over. I was a linebacker at 6’1” 410 pounds. It was the nasty glances that I remember. They still cut me, even now.

I found the elevator in every building. If there wasn’t one I planned to be there early so I could catch my breath and wipe away my sweat in the bathroom.

I would wait 20 minutes for a bus to take me a few blocks rather than walk. Moving my body was exhausting.

My meals were doubled. I would order delivery or go to fast food restaurants and get two meals, sometimes more. Ordering online was the best option because I didn’t have to talk to anyone. Whenever I heard a knock at the door I would call out to my roommates (who weren’t home) and exclaim, “Our food is here!” At the drive-thru I would pretend to be on the phone with my mom, friend, or roommate and ask them what they wanted while I placed my order. When it was time to pay I would stay on the phone and say, “Yeah, I’ve got your burger. I’ll be home soon.” I ate it all in the next parking lot over.

When my mom found out she said, “We didn’t know you were in so much pain. We only knew you were getting bigger.” Initially, I thought something similar. Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I break through sooner?

All I knew was that I was in pain. That I was getting bigger.

I knew for sure that people stared at me. I was embarrassed. I felt ashamed. I wanted to change, but I didn’t know how. I wanted help, but wasn’t ready for it. I was overwhelmed. I was alone.
I lost 130 pounds in the shadow of a dam that I built. It was quickly erected when I had a time of sustainable calm. For two years I dealt with each issue, one at a time, and the pounds melted away. This past year, I plateaued because life delivered blows that I was not prepared for. The dam was weakened. I was desperately patching it up however I could. Until, it couldn’t hold anymore.

Reliving the worst memories of college was merely a floodgate to release pressure; to learn; to understand my weaknesses. There are still many memories I haven’t come to terms with and I don’t know if I ever will. All I can do is move forward and prepare for when this happens again. There may come a day when the dam gives way completely. If it does, I will pick up the pieces as I have done many times before and start again.

I may appear heavy to anyone who doesn’t know me, who doesn’t know how far I have come. They may see a heavy woman running at a slow pace, unaware that she is on mile four and that just three years ago she could barely walk a mile.


Sometimes I can see her when I’m running, a ghost of the past. She’s running her first mile. It’s only 30 second intervals, but she is running. She can feel every pound in her joints. She can feel her stomach bounce with each step. It’s embarrassing, but she continues on. I run past her, but I look back and praise her determination. My eyes fill with tears as I think about all that she will accomplish.

Keep running, Lauren.

Keep moving forward and learn from the past.



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