Upset, I listened to my wedding photographer grovelling. “I’m sorry about losing your photos, but I can do another shoot,” he apologised. “It’s not quite the same, is it?” I choked. “We’ve still got the snaps guests took,” my husband, Dallas, said, trying to comfort me.
It was April 1998. Both 20, we’d just got married at Australia’s University of Queensland Gatton Campus Foundation Building. A chubby kid and teen, I’d gone from over 100 to 75 kilograms before the wedding with Weight Watchers’ help. I was pregnant now and I knew it would be a while before I looked as good again as I had in my missing photographs. I was furious but there was nothing I could do. I had to make do with snaps friends had taken.
After our little girl Shaylee was born in December 1998, shifting the baby weight was hard. Brianna followed in April 2000, leaving me with more stubborn kilos. “I’m getting fat,” I occasionally sighed to Dallas, a welder. “You’re a little bit bigger, that’s all,” he’d say tactfully. I tried diets, but never stuck to them. Dallas, always supportive, went along with them, even though he weighed just 65 kilograms.
In 2005 I fell pregnant again and in February 2006 had our son, Cooper. Afterwards, working in aged care, I juggled full-time hours, running the home and raising three kids. Permanently exhausted, most nights I’d get home, microwave a packaged meal and slump before the telly. The weight really piled on. One day I hopped on the scales and felt sick when they hit 100 kilograms. After that, I avoided the scales.
I started buying my clothes from the racks for ‘bigger women’. Not even 30, I dressed twice my age and found I had no energy. Sweetly, Dallas never made me feel unattractive. “I still love you,” he said when I complained about putting on weight. On our tenth anniversary in April 2008, when I turned 30, he even asked me to renew our wedding vows. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel good about myself,” I said. The thought of standing in front of everyone, on display, was horrible.
Inspiration strikes
My mum, Kay, then 48, was a big lady at 137 kilograms and a size 26. Maybe it’s my genes, I thought. In 2009 she began dieting. Mum and Dad, Gary, were farmers and split their time between farms in Queensland and the state of Victoria. In January 2011 I hadn’t seen mum for six months because she’d been in Victoria. I was at home one day when a woman walked in. “I thought I’d surprise you with a visit!” she grinned. It took a moment to register. “Mum?” I asked. “Yes,” she beamed, doing a twirl. It was incredible. She’d lost so much weight I hadn’t recognised her. “You look fabulous!” I gasped.
Mum had lost 46 kilograms. I was thrilled and inspired by her determination. But I couldn’t ignore one glaringly obvious fact. “My own mum is much lighter than me!” I sighed to Dallas. “I’ve got to do something.” First, I had to weigh myself. I hopped on the scales and they actually cracked before stopping at 134.2 kilograms. I burst into tears. Too ashamed to join a diet class or gym, I put myself on a strict diet, avoiding packaged and fast food, and walking a kilometre every day.
After six weeks I’d lost nearly 10 kilograms and felt like a million bucks. One day, we had a wedding to attend so I bought a gold flower-print cocktail dress. “You look beautiful,” Dallas smiled when he saw me. “Take a photo,” I said. When I saw the photographs later I froze in horror. I looked fat, frumpy and old in my dress.
Honestly, it was terrible. “You said I looked beautiful,” I snapped to Dallas tearfully, waving the photo. “Why didn’t you tell me what I really looked like?” Panic appeared in the poor man’s eyes. “Er…, I…, well I thought you looked good,” he said. Of course, it wasn’t his fault. What was he supposed to say? “You look enormous darling?”
Getting serious
I was angry with myself really, not Dallas. It was time to get serious about losing weight, so I decided to go back to Weight Watchers. Jenny, the lady who ran the Gatton branch of Weight Watchers, was the same woman who’d helped me all those years before. “You’re 168 centimetres. Your goal weight should be 71 kilograms,” she said. It seemed like an impossible dream.
Jenny explained Weight Watchers worked on a points system. “You’re allowed 40 points of food a day and that decreases as you lose weight.” A grilled palm-sized chicken breast was eight points, while a Big Mac was worth 26 points. “You can eat what you like, so long as you stay within the points,” Jenny said. She also advised I exercise more and insisted I ate breakfast to avoid snacking.
Working with the points I was amazed at what I could have. Breakfast was egg on toast, with asparagus, mushroom and tomato. For lunch, I usually had a meat salad and yogurt. Afternoon tea would be rice crackers and for dinner, a palm-sized portion of meat with lots of veggies. The whole family ate the same as me. Instead of packaged food, we ate real unprocessed food. It was more effort, but worth it. “I like your diet dinners better mum,” said Brianna.
I started losing around 0.5 to 1.5 kilograms a week. Within 12 weeks I was down to about 114 kilograms. “Every five kilograms you lose, we’ll do something nice, see a movie or go out to dinner,” Dallas said. I started Zumba classes and stepped up from walking to running. The weight steadily fell off. By the end of 2011 I was down to 90 kilograms. “The last kilograms are the stubborn ones,” Jenny warned, so I told Dallas I needed a big incentive.
I suggested that when I reached my goal weight we should go for a formal high tea at the Foundation Building where we got married. I’d got a lot of support from other Weight Watchers members online and thought it would be nice to get together for the tea. “You hit your goal weight and I’ll buy you a new car!” Dallas grinned. “You’re kidding!” I gasped. “No,” he laughed.
Meanwhile, the kids loved having a fitter mum. We got to do more things together. Just a simple picnic would have exhausted me before, but now I could throw everything in the car at the last minute and off we’d go. By the first week of September last year I was down to 72 kilograms. “Bet you never thought you’d have to buy that car,” I teased Dallas. We went to a local dealer and I picked out a perfect blue Holden Cruze. “Thank you!” I beamed, throwing my arms round Dallas.
I’d virtually lost my own husband in weight. “I can’t believe it,” he laughed. “Before, it was like you were carrying one of me around.” “Mum, you look really good,” Shaylee told me proudly. “I can get my arms round you now,” said cheeky Cooper, giving me a cuddle. Excitedly, I picked out a ball gown for my high tea. “You look incredible,” Dallas grinned when I tried it on. This time I knew he meant it.
“You know, I feel confident now. I’d like to renew my wedding vows,” I said. On September 29 last year, at the Foundation Building where we’d married 14 years before, Dallas and I held a high tea and renewed our vows in front of 60 friends and family members. As we lit a candle to signify our unity, Dallas’ eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m so proud of you,” he said. I was 71 kilograms.
I might not have my original wedding photographs, but flicking through the album from the renewal of our wedding vows I don’t mind so much now. After all, I reckon I look better in them than I did on my wedding day!
Christine Groves, 35, lives in Queensland, Australia
