I was a competitive athlete from junior high through college and then a recreational athlete after college. I was always really strong and really fit. Even after college I would go for 15-mile walks on the weekend, just to be out and moving around.
Then one year I gained 100 pounds in under 18 months without changing my diet or exercise. I just gained. As I gained I got less and less happy, especially as my doctors were at a loss to figure out what had happened.
Then I moved from a decent job in a big city, with plenty of parks and public transportation to get me moving, to a horrible job in a remote area with few things accessible without a car. I had finally stopped gaining dramatically, but now I was depressed -- overweight, new (awful) job, new state, no money, free food (the job had a cafeteria) = more weight, less caring. I kept seeing doctors, trying to figure out what had happened. One -- a short, fat woman -- told me I was just eating too much and should be eating between 800 and 1200 calories a day. I'm 5'11". That wasn't going to happen. I finally found a good doctor who was testing all the possibilities (PCOS, thyroid, Cushing's, etc.) and then moved to another city. Phooey.
Before I left, though, I was diagnosed with PCOS -- homones were off, I had the perfect string of pearls, etc. -- and thus got treated for it in the new city. The Metformin helped, and I was able to eat normally and lose weight. Hooray! Then I met my future husband and lost even more weight -- hooray!
Then I went off the Metformin -- I don't even remember why at this point -- and boom, back up the scales went. I changed jobs again and moved to a new state, where I went to see a new endocrinologist. He was not a nice man. He dismissed all the previous tests that showed that I had PCOS and told me that I didn't have it. He said that I'd had what he called a metabolic shift, and from now on, for the rest of my life, I'd have to wake up every morning and ask whether I wanted to be fat or not. This didn't go over well with me! But I needed health insurance, and they refused to insure me because of my PCOS diagnosis, so I acquiesced and had him write a letter to them telling them that I didn't have it.
And then I got mad, and then I got stuck.
I gained more weight, reaching my max about a year and a half ago. It took me a while to process what he'd said and the reality that he was wrong in one way -- this wasn't anything that I had chosen -- but right in another -- there was nothing I could do about it, it wasn't going to go back to normal, and I WOULD have to make the decision every day whether I wanted to be fat or not.
I made one more last-ditch effort last January with another doctor to see whether there was a medical reason for my gain. There was one hormone that was "off" -- the levels were too high -- but my doctor wanted another doctor to see me, and because he's a specialist in the field, his screening procedures are pretty rigorous, and then last Valentine's Day, I broke my leg. So. I was unable to even walk for 6 months of 2008, which SUCKED. Luckily, my body decided to give me a break, and I only gained 8 pounds over the year. However, I was really unhappy with being where I was, physically.
The weight had come on so quickly, so I just expected it to somehow go away quickly. And I kept expecting it for 1, 2, 3, 4...9 years at this point. Even now, eating 1650 calories a day and burning 3500 calories a week, I'm losing maybe a little under 7 pounds a month.
But I had to accept that although I didn't cause the problem, I had to solve the problem. And here I am. It sucks, and I'm still a little pissed off about it, but it was this or lose the rest of my self-respect, my husband, and, frankly, the ability to move. It was NOT fun trying to go up and down stairs on crutches with a very badly broken leg swinging around. It was even less fun to hear people muse that perhaps my weight had to do with my breaking my leg.
I still get pissed off that I have to struggle SO HARD to lose even a modicum of weight, when I didn't get to even have any "fun" in putting most of it on (100 just...appeared...in 18 months; 40 was through depression, frustration, food, and lack of movement over the next 9 years), but that's the truth of the matter, and there's NOTHING I or anyone else, or the miracles of science for that matter, can do about it.
Geez, now I'm all pissy! I try not to dwell on my past specifically because I get mad about it, and the last time I got mad about it, I sat around and ate pizza because if my stupid body was going to decide to be fat without any input from me, I might as well enjoy the ride! So...no more anger, just determination...breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...
(ETA: Whoa. Sorry for the screed!)