Fat Chance (30 page)
Authors: Julie Haddon
“Believe me,” I said quietly, “I know what those tears are about. But I’m not letting you off the hook. Tell me you’re worth all this effort.”
We went through several cycles of this—my insisting to hear those words, her getting choked up and finding herself utterly incapable of saying them—before a breakthrough finally came.
“I’m worth it,” she looked at me and said. “I’m
worth
it.”
“Yes, you are,” I said. “Now, let’s get started.”
I
believe in the coming days that more and more people will be talking about this issue of worthiness, and, in my view, that’s a
very
good thing. If you and I refuse to believe that we are worth the time and effort it takes to implement necessary change in our lives, then we’ll never get our lazy butts off the couch—(oops … would that be considered negative self-talk?)—throw away the empty bag of chips we’ve just devoured and make a
good
choice for a change. We just won’t. We’ll never accomplish more
than we think we’re capable of accomplishing, and we’ll never realize that capacity until we first realize that we’re
worthy
of those accomplishments. I believe that principle like I believe in gravity. You can try to deny it, but as soon as you find yourself falling from the top of a building, you’ll see that it’s still remarkably true.
There are kids who crave our care, spouses who crave our companionship, colleagues who crave our contribution and communities that crave our service. But more importantly, there is a God who craves our
hearts
. He created you and me for a specific purpose, and nothing brings him more delight than when we desire to know him and love him and find out what that purpose is. “It’s in
Christ
,” Ephesians 1:11–12 says, “that we find out who we are and what we are living for. Long before we first heard of Christ and got our hopes up, he had his eye on us, had designs on us for glorious living, part of the overall purpose he is working out in everything and everyone.”
25
You are precious to God. You are purposed for good. And you are worthy of the life of your dreams.
Recently I ran a 5K with my friend Stacey. Like me, Stacey had never been an athlete, and I knew that her first road race would bring with it a fair amount of fear and uncertainty. Actually, she’d be a nervous wreck, but I chose not to tell her that.
She kept babbling something about how there was “no way” she could run 3.1 miles without stopping, and despite the fact that I blew off her doubt, I knew exactly how she felt. I’d pitched my tent in the no-way camp once too.
I saw Stacey a few days before our race and tried to prepare her for what was to come. “Listen,” I said, “here’s exactly how it will all go down. When we start the race, there will be a big band playing loud music that will rev you up and make your heart pump fast. Your adrenaline will be soaring so high that when the starting-gun sounds, you won’t even notice the first mile. You’ll be totally consumed with weaving your way through the crowd, noticing the too-short shorts on the girl in front of you and trying to figure out how the woman pushing a stroller with triplets who also has her six-year-old by her side could
possibly
have just passed you.
“The second mile—now, that’s the toughest. It will seem like it takes forever to run because your adrenaline level will have settled down, the streets will be wide open and your mind will close in on the fact that this is the farthest you have ever run. During that mile, focus on your breathing and
absolutely
nothing else. Keep putting one foot in front of the other, and remind yourself frequently that in twelve short minutes or less you’ll be done. Whatever you do, remember that you will not
die
during mile two! I’ll be right by your side, and I promise you, we’ll pull through.
“The third mile is by far the most exciting mile of all. Mile three represents every dream you’ve dreamed that you believed would never come true. Your mind will race as you consider the fact that you are about to accomplish a very impressive goal, and that you are officially a runner! You’ll feel like you’re flying as you near the finish line, not only because you’ll have caught your stride by then, but also because you’ll notice that the super-fast six-year-old is now standing on the curb with his shoelaces untied whining about how he can’t take another step while his do-it-all-and-do-it-well mom tries desperately to figure out how to fit him on the back of the stroller so that they, too, can complete the race.
You’ll hear the crowd cheering as you stretch out those final strides, and as you catch sight of your husband, who is hopping up and down like a crazy person, you’ll feel that same sense of elation over what you’ve just done.
“That, my friend, is a 5K. It’s going to be the best day of your life.”
When I was on campus I followed this same approach to life. Rather than focusing on the big, scary picture, I focused on each individual frame. When I stepped onto the treadmill, I’d remind myself, “It’s only an hour, Julie. Do the best that you can.” When I did my dishes after a meal, I’d think, “Just scrub your little heart out. Don’t worry about what everyone else is eating that smells so
incredibly
good right now.” When it was time for bed, I’d say to myself, “Don’t worry about how difficult or challenging tomorrow will be. Your job for these next seven hours is to rest, and rest well.”
Even now I work to break down my day into chunks. “For this hour,” I said just this morning, “my only goal is to get Noah to school on time.” After I did that successfully, I focused on calling back the doctor. Then I focused only on bathing our dog Flower. Then I turned all of my attention to completing chapter ten of this book. One simple step at a time, I got through all of my plans and had a satisfying day in the end.
Like all worthwhile pursuits in life, weight loss happens one simple step at a time. Looking too far ahead discourages even the sturdiest warrior I know, so I find it helpful to focus on what’s right before me, each and every day.
I
NEVER WANTED to be the poster girl for weight loss. First of all, you can’t be the poster girl for weight loss unless at one time you have been obese—or morbidly obese, as they preferred to call us in
The Biggest Loser
land. In normal, everyday life, people who are obese are referred to as heavyset or big-boned or, you know, the lady with the short bob and tortoiseshell glasses. But this was not the case on the show. Lest there be any lingering doubt among players and viewers alike, producers wanted to make sure we all knew that the “stars” of this
particular
show were
fat
.
Obese.
Morbidly
obese, even—perhaps a mere hair’s breadth away from death.
These are words that rarely connote happy, positive things. When you think of obese, you don’t think of adjectives like
disciplined
and
productive
and
fit
as much as you think of ones like
overindulgent
and
lazy
and
gross
. And those descriptors weren’t ones I wanted to be known for. I wanted to be known for something strong, not something weak. Yes, if I’d had the opportunity to dictate the course of my life, I would have picked a far different path for sure. Like the one walked by Miss America.
As I mentioned earlier in this book, I did pageants in my twenties and thought that if I could just overcome my “little weight issue,” I would join the ranks of those who got to saunter down runways wearing a gown and a crown and pretending they were Barbie in real life. But that was before I actually met one.
My husband Mike used to judge beauty pageants, and when he migrated from that field into his current pursuits of PR and graphic arts, people got wind of his new role. In no time he had a Web site design business, which in the early days consisted largely of pageant winners. I’ve had the opportunity over the years to meet many of them, and I remember like it was last night the first time I actually got to enjoy dinner with a current Miss America. As expected, she was stunningly beautiful and perfectly poised and had motivation to spare. But surprisingly, when we entered the restaurant, there was no trumpet fanfare sounding, no men in tuxes awaiting our arrival with bundled roses in hand, no gown, no crown and no pizzazz at all. It was just … her. In jeans and a boring shirt. That was the night when I realized that for Miss America, the glamour ends the night she is crowned. Still, I was enthralled. Jeans and a boring shirt beat morbidly obese any day of the week.
A
nother of the Miss America winners I met along the way happened to be married to a congressman. And once I made it on to
The Biggest Loser
, he called and asked if I would address our national representatives after my season ended. He was a fan of the show and explained that many officials had been working on legislation to solve the insurance crisis that had been created by the soaring rate of obesity in this country over the past several years. “I can’t believe what you all are able to do in such a short amount of time, and without any surgery or drugs!” he said during that call. “How is it possible that nobody from the show has come to Washington to help Congress understand the power of diet and exercise so that thinking can be incorporated into the bills that are put forth?”
The last time I had been to Washington, DC, was on a choir trip during my senior year of high school. Thankfully, I wouldn’t be standing on risers in front of the White House wearing a pink wrinkle-free polyester dress and gigantic bangs this time around.
I was asked to come share my story and to explain exactly what it takes to see massive life-change as a thirty-something stay-at-home mom. Julie Hadden on Capitol Hill—it was a frightening thought for all who know me well.
J
axon was born exactly three days before Mike and I were to head to Washington, DC, and the thought of leaving my brand-new son was more than I could bear. There was a time when missing an opportunity like that would have crushed my spirit, but as I looked into my sweet baby’s eyes, all I could think about was how
this
opportunity trumped everything else.
Unexpectedly, several months later Mike and I would be able to visit our nation’s capital, and the experience was every bit as amazing as I imagine it would have been immediately on the heels of finale week.
Because of my presence on the show, we were afforded an insider’s “red jacket” tour. I never saw a single red jacket, but I saw lots of other fun things. Like the inside of Dick Cheney’s office. I was asked to wait in there while my DC contact momentarily ran to her office. Although she assured me that the vice president was out of town, the entire time I sat there, all I could think about was what on earth I would say to the man if he suddenly returned.