Authors: Julie Haddon
Fat Chance (27 page)
I know what it takes to get a decent picture of me. I require good lighting. A proper angle. Several hours in a salon, getting blonder, tanner and ready to roll. The truth is, photographers could have shot me hanging upside-down on monkey bars at the Season 4 finale, and I would
have been elated over the results. But now? Now that real life has had its way? I needed more time than I was being given, and an understanding publisher too.
As it turned out, neither would be made available. The shoot was a go for sure.
The location for my photo shoot was a very cool salon in Jacksonville called The Beauty Lounge. In the middle of my session some of the staff decided to order “the best pizza in the world” from next door. “While I’m trying to be cute and skinny?!” I wanted to say. I could have died. You
know
how I feel about pizza.
I stood in seriously high heels for four hours straight on the evening of my photo session, determined to play nice and hopeful they’d get a decent shot. Amazingly, when I saw the result of that night’s hard work, I felt
proud
. I wanted to send the images to everyone I know, not because I looked great, but because I looked great for me. The woman looking back at me represented confidence, contentedness, real progress made. I spent so much of my life hating every photo that was ever snapped of me that to actually feel drawn toward one was more satisfying than I can possibly convey with words.
I
t’s not looking good regarding my making it to Louisiana today. In the last ten minutes I have been told via the blaring airport loudspeaker that my flight now has been moved to twelve-fifty, which means I’ll certainly miss my Atlanta leg and will likely be spending the night in Georgia. For the
love
!
But logistical nightmares aside, I’m still excited about this trip. I’m ready to meet the woman who won the contest, the woman whose profile I’ve read and whose story I know all too well—mostly because it’s so much like mine. Like I had, she’s reached her midthirties without ever truly knowing good health. But also like me, she’s reached a point where she is really ready to change. I can’t wait to have one-on-one time with her so that I can hold her hands in mine and say, “You’re not one of these tiny high-school cheerleaders who then ballooned as an adult. I get that. I
lived
that. You’ve
always
been chubby, and you’re wondering if you’ll be overweight every day from this point forward. Which brings me to why I’m here.
“This is you now,” I’ll continue, “but this won’t be you forever. I’m here to help you dream up an image of who you’ll become so that one day, you’ll be the one flying all over creation and ringing strangers’ doorbells with the message of hope that they need.
You’ll
be the one who will have a compelling tale to tell, the story of how you once were fat but now you’re thin, how that was you then, but this …
this
is who you are now.
This
is the real you.”
A great band called Something Distant recorded a song called “The Real Me,” and each time I hear it, it’s like hearing my story being sung. “It’s been so long,” the lyrics go, “I’ve been held down / It’s taken until now / That I could finally breathe.” The song continues this way:
I’m not placing any blame,
I’m tired of playing the same old games,
In this moment, I’ve got to move on,
And all along, I’ve had the strength to carry on
So hard to believe,
That I’m actually free,
All I want to be,
Is the real me
.
The last four lines of the song get me every time. “As I breathe, I can finally see. Through all the things I’ve been, this is the real me, the real me.”
18
What a gift this woman in Louisiana will soon receive, the gift of an entire team of people who are committed to finding the real her. It’s that same gift I’ll never forget.
Years ago, author Max Lucado published a story about the Wemmicks, a population of small wooden people who had been hand carved by a woodworker named Eli. The Wemmicks were as diverse as you’d expect any community to be—some had big noses and small eyes, others were short with big hands—but they had all been made by the same carver.
Day in and day out Wemmicks went around town handing out stickers to one another. People who had pretty skin or who could run fast or jump high or carry a decent tune were given stars, and people who said silly things or had chipped paint—well, they were only given dots. Punchinello was one of the “dot” people, and as a result he believed he was something of a substandard Wemmick—a Wemmick not worth his wood.
But then Punchinello met Lucia, and Lucia had neither stars nor dots on her. “That’s the way I want to be!”
19
said Punchinello. “How do you do it?”
Lucia said that all Punchinello needed to do was to go visit Eli, and he would explain.
Punchinello made his way to the woodcarver’s shop and was greeted with a strong, deep voice. “Punchinello!” said Eli. “How good to see you.”
20
Eli picked up his creation and after taking in all those dots said, “I don’t care what the other Wemmicks think … and you shouldn’t either. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special.”
21
Punchinello wasn’t sure he was buying it. He couldn’t run fast. Just like me, he couldn’t jump well. His paint was obviously peeling. But as if reading his mind, Eli interrupted Punchinello’s thoughts. He explained that the reason stickers didn’t stick to Lucia is because she had decided that what
Eli
thought about her was far more important than what all of the other Wemmicks thought. Eli told Punchinello that stickers only stick if you let them, and that as long as Punchinello came to visit him every single day, he would be reminded of Eli’s care, and all of those dots would fall away. “You are special because I made you,” Eli said, “and I don’t make mistakes.”
Punchinello turned to leave the woodcarver’s shop and had the thought,
I think he really means that
. And as he did, the first dot fell to the ground.
Overweight people are all too accustomed to the “dots” of others’ judgment, rejection and painful prejudice. I know, because I used to wear them. And it was incredibly difficult to avoid buying the lie that somehow I was “less than” all the thinner, star-covered people around me.
Upon losing nearly a hundred pounds I mistakenly thought that I would also lose the propensity to let other people’s opinions shape my view of myself. On too many occasions since the show, I’ve fallen back into the old paradigm of thinking that I just wasn’t all I should be. Specifically, it happens every time I open a magazine or watch TV. I see flawless skin and stunning faces and bodies that are perfect in every way, and it’s all I can do to remember that I, too, am worthy, exactly as I am.
I would have to learn the hard way that you can lose all the weight you want, but unless you simultaneously lose the psychological assumption that you are inferior to other people, your weight will probably come back because you’ve failed to address the deeper issue that’s lurking in your soul.
There will
always
be someone prettier or smarter or funnier than I am, and so with some degree of regularity, I think back on how I felt at my finale, when I broke through that paper and for once presented an image of myself to the world that I was deeply and completely proud of.
I remember that I am still a work in progress—physically, mentally and spiritually—and that God promises new mercies for
every
day.
I remember that although I am not perfect, I was created in the image of God and that he clearly makes no mistakes.
And with each and every remembrance, thankfully, I drop another dot.
You and I are
worth
the good decisions we make. We are
worth
all the abundance we can bear. God says it. I believe it. And, as Beth Moore—one of my favorite inspirational speakers—says, “that settles that.”
L
AST SUMMER I received a call from the producers of
The Oprah Winfrey Show
, asking if I’d be interested in appearing with several other former
The Biggest Loser
contestants, as well as with Jillian and Bob, to show America that it really is possible not only to lose weight but also to keep it off.
I didn’t need much time to formulate a reply. “Heck, yeah, I’ll be on
Oprah
! When’s the taping?”
After arriving in Chicago and being escorted to Harpo Studios, my friends and I were led through a rehearsal of the show. At some point during that run-through I remember taking note of the stage, the lights, the cameras and the intimate studio and thinking, “Holy guacamole. I’m going to be on the
Oprah
show. You gotta be kidding me!”
For years I have tuned in at four o’clock in the afternoon to watch Oprah interview world leaders and superstars, athletes and stay-at-home moms with incredible tales to tell. And now I was going to sit on that same stage? It was almost incomprehensible to me, given the fact that a mere twelve months prior I was embarrassed to be seen in public, let alone by millions on national TV.
I didn’t get to meet Oprah before the show started. Evidently that’s a practice of hers, so that her on-stage reaction to people will be genuine and fresh.
Halfway through the show, after I heard her interview several other former contestants from my seat backstage, including Season 5’s winner
Ali Vincent and my
The Biggest Loser
all-time favorite Suzy Preston from Season 2, I heard Oprah in her classic announcer’s voice say, “Come on out,
Juuulie Haddddden!
” I waited for the screen to part that I had been standing behind and then walked to my center-stage mark as audience members cheered and hollered and clapped. Talk about surreal!
The other
The Biggest Loser
contestants and I had to be ushered out quite quickly after our show so that Celine Dion could set up for her appearance on the second show that was to be taped that day. Imagine my surprise when they didn’t ask me to stick around and sing back-up for her!
I approached Oprah to hug her neck and then hugged Jillian and Bob before I took my seat by their side. As the applause died down, Oprah began asking questions about what it was like to be on
The Biggest Loser
, especially given that it had meant being away from Mike and Noah for four months straight. “Who took care of your son that whole time?” Oprah asked.
“My amazing husband,” I replied. “But what was funny was that everybody in town thought that I’d left him. While I was gone, nobody was allowed to know where I was or what I was doing. People in the community would come up to Mike—who by all appearances had become a single dad—and say in a pitying tone, ‘We’re praying for you, hon.’”
I told Oprah that when I came back from being on the show, those same people were like, “Mm-hmm, cute little blonde thang went and got all skinny to try to get back with her man!
We
see how it is.”
“Oh yeah,” Oprah said with a laugh, “everyone has to be in everyone else’s business, right?”
“Exactly!” I replied. “I wanted to say to those people, ‘Hey, cut me some slack! My absence was legit!
Really!
’ But you know, people think what they want to think.”
While I was on stage people from the audience kept waving at me. I thought they were being so sweet, and so I waved right back. It wasn’t until later that I realized they were trying to get my attention to tell me that I’d left the price stickers on the soles of my shoes.
Just then producers had us cut away for a commercial break, and by the time the show resumed I had taken my seat on the front row of the audience, along with other
The Biggest Loser
contestants. Oprah was interviewing Jillian about her training philosophy, basically
asking what it takes for a fat person to endure such grueling workouts.