Mission Hotness

Moving North


Perhaps it was the fact that everything here was available and at hand's reach. Or maybe because I felt homesick a lot and found comfort in rich foods and tasty, sugary treats. Three months into starting my new life in Boston, the newest import from Lima, Peru, I also debuted a new weight - ballooning at almost 200 lbs. To me, having been teased as a child and as a teen for being "chubby", it was no real surprise. I always knew I would never be skinny, and I accepted this fact as a reality that would accompany me for the rest of my life. In my new life in North America I fell into a sedentary routine, and with no physical activity other than going out to feed my jerk of a boss's meter - and then back to my desk where I would spend a good 7 hours booking trips and Caribbean vacations for la-di-da Harvard students - my ass grew to almost biblical proportions. At 5'4", and with a tendency to put junk in my trunk, you can only imagine how difficult it could be to fit between two people on the bus. Going up four flights of stairs felt like attempting a marathon with no previous training, and fitting into clothes, well, let's just say I couldn't be particularly fashionable. Or picky. My philosophy was, if it covers the bum and hides the belly, it's a keeper. It was rather depressing, but I learned to live with it and managed to convince the world I was comfortable in my own skin.

Coming from Peru, which once was considered a Third World Country, I was never one to waste food. My grandmother taught me that bread was sacred, and that God would be sad if it ended up in the trash. I did not want a sad God. My grandparents grew up in a time when resources were scarce, and both knew what it was to go without in order to feed someone who needed it more. They worked very hard to get ahead, building the upper middle-class home into which I was born. And even when their financial situation improved they kept a humble view on life; we were always reminded of how lucky we were. Meals were, to us, an opportunity to sit down as a family and showcase our culinary talents, or a damn good excuse to entertain guests.

Our relationship with food was always a positive and healthy one. We ate sensibly and in moderation. The biggest meal of the day was lunch, and we always had breakfast. Fruits and vegetables were staples and always available for snacking in- between meals. We got plenty of exercise by playing outside with our friends. All in all it was a completely different lifestyle, and sometimes I wondered how oh how I drifted so far from it.




Hello Boston, nice to eat you!


Looking back at my eating habits, it's no wonder I gained weight steadily and rapidly. I had the (mis)fortune of befriending the local Au Bon Pain girls, and my A.M. binges were "sponsored" by their generosity. Every morning I would scarf down two bagels with cream cheese and a large coffee (plenty of cream and sugar please!), followed by a mid-morning snack consisting of a Big Kat - that's an extra large Kit Kat for all you non junk-foodies - and soda. Regular, high fructose corn syrup infused soda.

For lunch, nothing could beat an extra-large chicken salad sub with all the fixings, prepared with "extra love" by the Haitian deli guy who also thought my boss was a dipshit, along with a bag of chips, a piece of candy, and a large coke. More candy/soda/coffee would keep me going for the rest of the afternoon.
On my walk to the train I would pass a Dunkin' Donuts where another casual friendship provided me with free donuts for my lonely ride home. Dinner? nothing to beat the blues like a couple slices of pepperoni with extra cheese. It only got worse once I started attending school full-time - in addition to my full-time job. With absolutely no time (or money) in my hands, anything and everything I ate was processed, loaded in fat, sugar and calories, and sometimes free of charge. Talk about a recipe for disaster.



Walking (and biking) my ass off. Literally.



It took 3 years for me to decide enough was enough. I started a new job in a completely different field: I became a live-in nanny for a boy that needed to be walked to and from school every day, and lived in a house that offered vertical living - meaning I had to go up and down four flights of stairs just to get things done. And my bedroom was on the fourth floor, per my request.
By living with a foreign family, I had no other option by to adopt their equally foreign (at least to me) eating habits. Without much effort other than the daily routine, I started shedding pounds as steadily as I once gained them. In a period of 4 months I dropped a full size. This was extremely encouraging to me, and I did my best to try to keep it up after my time with them ended. At that point, I hadn't started a fitness program or joined a gym, so when I realized I had hit a plateau, that was the first thing I did.
A few years later I hit the jackpot when I paired with a vegetarian family who happened to be fitness enthusiasts. Their love for the outdoors quickly rubbed off on me, and I found myself not only hitting the gym first thing in the morning, but biking to and from work, clocking in over ten hours of cardio and five of strength training weekly. I was amazed at how quickly my body changed, and was determined to keep it that way.


Man plans, God laughs


By the time I met my now husband, I was 138 pounds of fit, Latin hotness (or so he made me believe). I had never felt better, or more attractive, than during the time we were dating. I was religiously working out, still biking to work - this time an ever greater distance - and had the love of my gorgeous, sweet boyfriend with whom I would enjoy weekend meals at all sorts of restaurants around the city. The best part was, I could actually eat what I wanted, and I enjoyed the food as much as the company. This time, I knew my body could take it.

Then the big surprise came, and with it a string of bad choices taken under the lame excuse of "I'm eating for two!" Nothing prepared me for the ravenous appetite I acquired when I got pregnant. No bit of food was safe if left near me. I felt that, after all that hard work to keep my weight down over the last few years, I deserved a little break and was entitled to enjoy my pregnancy to it's fullest, whole pints of ice cream and all. Big, super-sized mistake.

At the time of my last prenatal check up, about a week before Emma was born, I weighted in at 192 pounds. Convinced I would deliver a giant 20 pound baby and the rest would be water weight, I was crushed when I learned my little bundle of joy was a mere 6 pounds, 8 ounces.

I started working out again as soon as my doctor gave me the green light, but the problem now was that I hardly had any time for myself. My workouts were usually cut short and very seldom. A year later, I still had 26 extra pounds that were so attached to me, they wouldn't leave.

Nowadays I work as a part-time nanny, and I've been trying to blend my exercise routine into activities that I already do, such as taking the kids to and from places (I "power walk" pushing the stroller), or going back home. The later proves to be the most efficient. Once a week, weather permitting, I bike both ways totalling 14 miles. The other two days, I try to run most of the 7 miles it takes to get home. And the fact that I now have a child helps keep our diet healthy and balanced. Sure, we have the occasional pizza night, but we reserve it for times in which there really isn't any time to whip up something better.

I'm still struggling to lose those last 26 pounds. At this point my routine only prevents me from gaining any weight - which is helpful given an unfailing sweet tooth - but it hasn't really helped me to lose it. I know I have hit yet another plateau, although I have to confess to have slacked in the last 6 months. Now that I have Jamie as my inspiration, I also have a new found confidence in myself, and I know this time around the effort will pay off!