Twelve days ago, a false step in a slippery bath made me stop and rethink what I'm doing with my life. In my rush to get on with pre Christmas errands, I fell in the shower and damaged my shoulder. I could not pull myself out. My wonderful, long-suffering DH (aka Mr Century) couldn't move me either. I was in massive amounts of pain, and very panicky. Poor Mr C heard me scream, and after trying to extricate me and failing, he called 999.

In the ten minutes it took for the paramedics to arrive, all kinds of things went through my head. What have I done to myself? Will I be in hospital for Christmas? What will I tell my mum (who worries if I stub my toe from the other end of the country)? My weight was making me feel as though I was twice my age- nearer 75 instead of 37. Something had to change.
So, the paramedics arrived. Mr C had draped towels around me, so I was roughly decent. They checked my pulse, asked me all of the relevant questions, and then it took both of them to get me upright. Once I was sat on the bed, and calmer, we realised that I had come off relatively lightly.I was badly bruised on my knees, thighs and chest. The close encounter with the bath taps had cut into my breastbone, but that was more of a scrape. The paramedics checked me over again, filled out their paperwork, advised me to rest, take painkillers if required, and go to my doctor if the shoulder pain or mobility got worse.

I had been incredibly lucky, but also felt massively guilty. We had had the best part of six inches of snow over the past three days, and there must have been other demands on the ambulance service other than heaving a huge panicky female out of her own bath. Something had to change.
Let me state the facts. As I said, I'm 37. I'm with a wonderful bloke, who has been with me for the best part of 15 years. We married in 2005, and while we have no children, we have a torty garden tiger called FOF. I've never been a dainty or particular girly female. I'm 5'10", and as of 7.45am today, I weigh 287.75lbs in my nightshirt. Twenty stone, seven and three quarter pounds. Roughly 130 kilograms. I'm a size 22-24 in UK sizes, and it's about time I sorted my life out properly.

This is my own stupid fault. The women on Dad's side of the family have always been on the bigger (not taller) size. Mum (aka the recycled teenager) was plump until she hit her late teens, and then it melted away, and the largest she's ever been is a size 16, after two children. My sister is also tall, and and on the bigger side (although she's got a lot less to lose than me). Genetics made us tall, life has made us fat.

So now I need to change my life. I don't have a huge amount of time to exercise, as I do an round 80 mile commute to my job in education. I leave the house around 7am, and most nights don't get back until 6.30pm on a good day. I have always been a comfort eater, and this has got worse over the last few years. Hormonally, my thyroid is slow, and my periods are all over the place (and always have been). I'm knackered the whole time, and feel that there is a whole chunk of life that is passing me by.

So why am I blogging? I need help with my weight loss 'journey'. (Sorry for sounding like an escapee from reality TV hell!) I want to lose a hundred pounds, which will take my weight down to 187lbs (13 stone 5). That will take me down roughly 10 BMI points, and will take me back to a weight that I haven't been since my early 20s. I'd like to be there by the time I'm 39, which is April 2011.

I will be going back to SW, as C, my consultant, has been great, even when I've been messing it up at every step. I'll record my weight here, and use this as a means of recording the good and the bad.