Fat Chance (33 page)

When we watch
The Biggest Loser
these days, Noah still tells me that I’m the best contestant they ever had. He helps me work out. He monitors every morsel of food I eat. And he encourages me to keep reaching for the stars, each day that I’m alive.

Everybody needs a Noah—that person who believes in you without hesitation, without wavering, without doubt. He doesn’t even bat an eye when he talks about me to his friends. “My momma did this” or “my momma did that.” He is so proud of me that it makes me want to be proud of myself.

I
n addition to the people in my town and in my own house who inspire me every day, I’m also moved to action by the moms and dads and kids whom I hear from online. People from America and New Zealand and Great Britain and Singapore tell me how they print pictures of me from the show’s site and post them on their bathroom mirror or on the fridge, and how those pictures keep them motivated to lose the next twenty pounds. They talk about how tough it is to
find time to exercise—I know!—and how much tougher it is than that to believe that they’re
worth
that time.

There are posts about polycystic ovary syndrome and about blood-sugar issues and about the challenge of hitting a plateau, and with every entry, I find myself in awe that readers are sharing these things with me. Seriously, the stories that appear there just blow me away. They ask for dieting tips, they ask for a workout companion and, interestingly, they ask for prayer.

They are daughters of fathers with prostate cancer, wives of husbands who have recently been laid off, mothers of housefuls of children, sisters of workaholics and friends of those in chronic pain. And almost without exception, they’re people who, just like me, are desperately “battling the bulge.”

“I thank God for you!” a woman named Becki recently typed. “You have given me such inspiration!” The truth, Becki, is that
you’re
the inspiration, the one who convinces me not to quit. Heather, Lisa, Theresa, Sarah, Chris, Trenda, Paula, Mary, Amy, Hannah, Kristin, Jerry and Rich—people like
you
keep people like me going.
You
make it fun to chase dreams.

W
hen I started my journey toward weight loss, I just wanted to lose a few pounds. Really—that was it. I remember looking toward heaven and begging God to help me. “I’m in a ditch here and
have
to lose this weight,” I’d pray. “I have no idea how to regain the control I’ve so obviously and terrifyingly lost.” I wasn’t thinking about serving as an inspiration to
anyone
during those days. I just wanted to get out of my ditch.

Similarly, when I watched my friend Melissa bawl her eyes out because she feared that her baby would not live even one more hour, I’m sure her top-of-mind thought was not how that set of circumstances would one day minister to other people. She wasn’t thinking about how her life would speak to the lady who had just birthed a baby who was dangerously premature. She was just trying to get through the night.

But interestingly, sometimes it’s the thing you struggle with most that God chooses to use for good. I never thought that God would use my greatest challenges in life to serve as my platform to change other
people’s lives, but that is precisely what he has done. My weight always held me back and yet it is my weight that now sets me free.

Change isn’t always fun, but when you realize that the thing you most wish you could change about your life could one day revolutionize not just your world but the worlds of countless others, somehow that change is much easier to bear. Now that I’m on the other side, I realize that real change is possible, it is
powerful
and, most importantly, it is worth every ounce of pain.

Have eyes to see the inspiration all around you. What’s more, choose to be the inspiration you seek. I speak from experience when I say with great joy that you never know who will be watching.

F
OR AS LONG as I can remember, my son Noah’s heroes have always been villains. Sure, he’s had Spiderman phases and Batman phases and Superman phases too. But regardless of what he was watching, he was never more captivated than when the villain appeared on the screen. The Joker, Scarecrow, the Penguin, the Green Goblin, Venom—you name the villain, I guarantee Noah loves him. Or her, as in the cases of Ursula and Harley Quinn.

I asked him recently why he loved the bad guys so much, and he said that it was because they could
always
find a way out. Try though their opposition did, they just couldn’t seem to be kept down. In the know-it-all tone only an eight-year-old can nail, he reminded me that the Joker even put a microchip into the character of Robin before he was killed so that he could return as Robin and then reinvent himself from there. Who knew kids got the strategy of it all?

Now that he’s old enough to weigh in on such decisions, Mike and I agreed that in the new house we just moved into, Noah should be able to decorate his room the way that he wanted. Not that there was
anything
wrong with his old room: It was done in the cutest fire-truck theme, complete with a bright red wall and furniture that was painted stark white. Adorable! And, evidently, “babyish,” as I’ve recently been informed.

Since Noah has always loved monkeys, I found bedding and furnishings in an animal-lover theme that I just knew he’d like. “Nope,” he said when he saw it. “Keep looking.” After also being told that the themes of
soccer and music just weren’t “cool enough,” I suddenly remembered why I’ve always said this particular kid could make a mute person scream.

I
returned from an out-of-town speaking engagement a few days ago to find that Noah had taken the room-decor task into his own hands. His latest phase, it seems, is Jillian Michaels—in her own right, a villain who also can’t be kept down.

Stepping into Noah’s room I saw a giant—and I mean
giant
—framed poster of my former trainer, complete with the slogan “Back in Black,” and was told immediately that there’s a
The Biggest Loser
banner to come.

“Why Jillian?” I asked my son.

“
Duh!
” came the response. (Every mom’s favorite word, right?) “She’s, like,
won
every
season
, Mom,” Noah elaborated. “Also, she was allowed to kick your butt!” That one elicited a laugh from us both.

“
And
she knows Tae Kwon Do.
And
she rides a motorcycle.
And
she bosses everyone around.
And
we both like the color black.”

I had the distinct feeling Noah could have kept going this way, enumerating every last awe-inspiring characteristic of the undeniably unparalleled Jillian, but I didn’t stick around to find out. As I walked back into the living room a smile came upon my lips. Despite all of Noah’s explanations, I knew the real reason he wanted Jillian on his wall. The woman who had ridden up on her bike and shocked an entire viewing audience had also ridden her way into my son’s heart.

F
or Noah’s seventh birthday Mike and I took him to LA. We thought it would be fun to celebrate his special day in the city that I’d called home for four months straight. Plus, instead of toys or games, the one gift he asked for was to meet Jillian.

Kind woman that she is, Jillian agreed to join the three of us for dinner. Hollie had relocated to LA by then, and so she came along, too, and with halos perfectly in place she and I ordered salads even in the face of higher-calorie fare. When Noah couldn’t decide what he wanted to eat, Jillian ordered for him. I was flabbergasted when I saw his meal arrive. “You got him deep-dish
macaroni and cheese
?” I asked Jillian.

“He’s a
twig
!” she said. “Plus, there’s real food in there.”

Yeah, right. Just “real food” I’m not allowed to have.

After we finished our meal our server appeared with a birthday cake for Noah, with seven lighted candles on top. My son’s eyes turned into saucers as he scanned the table to see who could have coordinated such a surprise. He finally got to Jillian. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” she said with a smile.

He nodded excitedly as an ear-to-ear grin took over his face.

“Just don’t give any of that to your mom,” Jillian added.

Talk about cruel: a giant piece of moist chocolate cake with fudgy chocolate icing, just eight inches from my grasp. So close, and yet so very, very far away.

We all left the restaurant, but before we made it to our rental car Jillian said, “Hey, Noah, come here. I want to show you something.”

I never know what to expect when Jillian’s involved, so I trailed Noah as he ran over to where she stood. Three seconds later I heard him say, “Oh,
coooool!
” as Jillian hoisted him onto the back of her bike.

“You may
not
take my child for a ride,” I clarified.

“Killjoy,” came the reply.

Jillian let Noah take the driver’s seat and pretend-ride for a good twenty minutes before we called it a night and headed back to the hotel. It was an ordinary evening that would have an extraordinary impact on my son.

In my heart of hearts I know that Noah’s admiration for Jillian runs deeper than the things he’s able to put words to. He knows that she took care of me, that she pushed me, that she believed in me and that she took me all the way to the end of the game. He knows that without her none of it would have been possible. And he loves her because of it.

What’s more, he sees how passionately she serves
every
player she trains. These days my family has a standing appointment every Tuesday night, which happens to be when
The
Biggest Loser
airs. Regardless of what else is going on in our lives, Noah won’t let us miss a single episode. He cheers for various players, but mostly he cheers for his favorite villain of all. When she’s happy, my son is happy, and when she gets mad, he gets mad too. It’s the most charming codependency I’ve ever seen.

I’m not sure how much our now eight-year-old grasps about what “transformation” means, but this much I know: Noah saw his mom’s insecurities on display for all the world to see. He saw her overcome them and learn to run real fast. And he’s well aware that because of one motorcycle-riding bad girl dressed in black our lives are forever changed.

W
HEN I RETURNED
home from
The Biggest Loser
campus, I knew that I needed to find a trainer who could pick up where Jillian Michaels had left off, and thankfully, I found that and more in Margie Marshall. Margie helped me to remain focused and confident while I worked to shed those last few pounds. Not only did she motivate me physically, but she also encouraged me to grow spiritually. Margie is still my trainer today, and when I decided to add this section of sample workouts to the book, I knew she would be the perfect person to contribute.