So, I thought I'd take a few moments and tell a little about myself.  I am a Montana girl, through and through - farm/ranch raised.  I guess you could say I was a very slightly chubby kid.  I wore a few of those horrible 'chubbette' sizes that Sears was so proud of back in the '70s.  (Back then, there was no thought about what self-image little girls might develop if they were wearing chubbette on their labels.  How cruel, right?)  I am a throwback to my grandmothers.  Every other woman in my family reached at least 5' 4 1/2", but I need to take a deep breath to say that I'm 5' 2".  I love to joke and laugh and I often say that I'm not overweight - I'm undertall.  Of course, the correct height for this weight would mean I was playing center ahead of Yao Min in the NBA.  Yeah, I know - the archetypical jolly fat girl.  In high school, I reached a really nice setpoint weight of 132#.  That was my weight.  I didn't have to struggle to keep it there.  It just was.  But I had terrible self-esteem and a pretty dysfunctional family to support it.  So I was sure that I was fatter than anything.  My junior year, I went on my first diet.  I ate nothing but two slices of toast, a small glass of milk, a cup of yogurt and a  cup o' soup every day for four months.  I think about that amount of food now, and what I must have been doing to my metabolism.  Really messed it up.  I went down to 113#. Man - I think now what I must have looked like:  Blonde hair to my waist, a C-cup bra and a tiny little waist.  Of course, then, I had no clue.  I still had no self esteem.  My boyfriend was afraid I was becoming anorexic (Ha!  He had no idea.  Unhealthy relationship with food, yes.  Anorexic?  No!)  I went back to eating normally and my setpoint returned.  My senior year, I got pregnant, and the race was on!  I had screwed with my metabolism the year before, and now I was doing it again, but this time with a baby.  I went from 132 up to 182.  I know - lots of people gain 50 pounds with a pregnancy, but I just never lost it.  I got married mid-pregnancy, got control of my very own fridge and cookie jar at 17, and pretty much set a pattern.  I miscarried a pregnancy two years later, and followed that almost immediately with another pregnancy.  Soon, I had two little girls and a weight problem.  I yo-yo-ed a bit.  Lost 60 pounds with Richard Simmons' book - gained it back; tried Barbara Edelstein's method for 30 pounds later on - gained it back; used phen-fen for 25 pounds - gained it back; sensible diet and exercise for 30 just last year.  Yes, it's back *sigh*.  Of course, with each of these efforts, my setpoint has moved up and up.  To tell the truth, even though I own a very nice scale, I have not been on it for at least a year.  But I'm wearing clothes ranging between size 20 and 24 and that probably means at least 260.  Deeper sigh.  My sister says I'm a lucky shit.  I'm sure that I didn't mention that my sister is a fitness freak.  She eats really, REALLY healthy.  She works out daily, and incorporates other physical activity into lifestyle as well.  She is the single most disciplined person I know.  I hate her.  No, really I love her to bits, but it's not easy being her sister.  The reason she says I'm lucky is that these years of morbid obesity should have pushed my body into some kind of co-morbidity.  The only co-morbidity I have is my BMI.  No diabetes, no heart disease, no high blood pressure.  Stiff knees, but hardly a morbidity.  Yes, my GP says that someday, without a change, I will have  a heart attack.  No fun to think about.  Also, I got divorced when I was 24.  I was very focused on parenting my two little girls.  I finished college, built my career, went to grad school, continued raising them, etc.  For years, I didn't so much as look at men.  Guess what?  They weren't looking at me, either.  Over the years, I became invisible.  Not for purposeful, functional things.  I worked, I provided, I conversed.  But did I smile, flirt, receive compliments?  No way!  So the years passed.  Now I'm 46.  My blossoming twenties are dust.  My thirties died on the vine.  My forties are even fleeting.   I hate the idea of being fat and fifty.  I am hoping that I can, with some compliance and copay assistance, convince my insurance company that the second half of my life is worth their investment.  I sure think it is.  I now have four grandchildren that I love with all my heart.  I think I may even be ready to make room in my life for a man (think of that!)  I want a second chance to be me - the fully alive version of me!