The Bering Blog

What Is Truth?

Truthiness is a word comedian Stephen Colbert coined to describe “things that a person claims to know intuitively or ‘from the gut’ without regard to evidence, logic, intellectual examination, or facts.” Truthiness isn’t concerned with truth per se, but rather what one imagines is the truth.

My image and a short synopsis of my weight-gain/weight-loss story are currently on Oprah’s website. The photo looks a little like me – there’s some “truthiness” to it – but it’s not an accurate portrayal of the everyday me. The story also misses a few important facts. It says, “…she says she lost all control and gained 106 pounds in a single year—topping out at an all-time high of 296 pounds.” What I really said, and I told the producers this several times, is that I gained 106 pounds over a four-year period (1999 to 2003). And one of the most important reasons why I gained so much weight is that I was hypothyroid and wasn't diagnosed at the time. The eating was secondary.

The story also says I lost 165 pounds in a year. Right. Like that happens without surgery. It took me two years, two months and 12 days to get to goal (Jan. 1, 2005 through March 12, 2007). I told the producers that, too. I guess pinching the truth a little makes a better story. 

When I hear the word “truth,” I sometimes think about the speech Jack Nicholson’s character makes in the courtroom in the movie “A Few Good Men.”

Jessep (Jack Nicholson): You want answers?
Kaffee (Tom Cruise): I think I’m entitled to them.
Jessep: You want answers?
Kaffee: I want the truth!
Jessep: You can’t handle the truth!

The truth can be tricky. If there are two sides to every story, whose truth do you believe? Whose point of view constitutes the real truth? Stories, after all, filter through individual eyes and ears and belief systems making room for dozens and thousands of different truths.

Sometimes the truth is too much to bear, too hard to hear, too “out there” and unbelievable.

Small towns are particularly susceptible to “truthiness.” I know this first-hand as a long-time resident of a small town, a member of the local press, and as the subject of a few rumors, one of which just won’t seem to die.

When one person’s truth doesn’t jive with someone else’s truth, people on the outside of the truth set up “sides.” When this happens to you, when you hear a rumor, do you ask yourself whose “side” you will believe? Will you choose to perpetuate the rumor or will you choose to stay quiet? Will you go the source and ask each individual yourself what their truth is and make your own decision?

I’m guilty of perpetuating rumors. I’ve told a few stories in my day. I doubt there is anyone out there who can say they are innocent of such a deed. I’ve also chosen to stay silent. Only on a rare occasion have I gone to both parties and asked for their version of the truth. It makes me extremely uncomfortable and so most of the time I end up with my point of view based on, what can essentially be called, “truthiness.”

I’m blogging about truth and truthiness because this is something I want to meditate on in the upcoming days. What is my truth? How do I form truth and how do I make sense of things in my mind? How do I talk about “truth” with my friends and others? Where do my prejudices enter into my thinking about truth? What do I do when the truth is uncomfortable? How do I contribute to others’ truth?

Deep stuff, my friends. But if we are to live, as Oprah and Bob Greene say, our “best lives,” we must address what is in our hearts just as surely as we address how we treat our bodies.

Smile!

My granddaughter recently starting smiling (click on the photo to enlarge it); real heartfelt smiles and not those smiles that you swear are smiles until someone comes along and tells you it’s just gas. 

In the paper yesterday was a little story about what your smile says about your personality. It referred to the website www.whatyoursmilesays.com where you take a quiz that reveals your smile personality.

Apparently I’m an “Influencer.” Here’s what the Smile People say that means: “You’re spontaneous and live life to the fullest. You’re a leader and want to be noticed and appreciated for your ideas and what you do. You are social and outgoing. You don’t like to waste your time or energy on boring details or the same old routine tasks. You are boisterous, imaginative and playful. You love to share a good story or a bit of humor, and your animated voice and body languate help you communicate well. You tend to ignore the rules since you don’t think they really apply to you. Your enthusiasm is contagious and you can always be counted on to get the party going and the group motoivated. You enjoy a good conversation whether it’s on the phone, over dinner or out socializing. A good day is when you brought out the best in someone else or when someone noticed your talent and work. You are optimistic, charming and a real people person. You want people to like you. You see the ‘big picture’ and can inspire others.”

In other words, I’m self-centered but happily ditzy.

Really, though, that’s a lot of pressure to put on someone just based on their smile. I’m not that social and I really do like boring details and rules. I am not the life of the party and I’m not all that optimistic, either. I admit I want people to like me and to be appreciated. I’m kind of neurotic that way. But as with horoscopes, these types of quizzes have to be general to appeal to the masses.

I want to know what other Smile Personalities are out there. If you take the quiz and get something other than Influencer, let me know what that means and if you think it applies to you.

Added Nov. 25: My friend Val's Smile Personality is Driver: "Your lifestyle is active, fast paced asnd you're always on the go. You want to get things done, so you multi task becasue you think whydo one thing when you can do 3 or 4? You enjoy solving problems, meeting challenges and competing. Your communication style is fast, driect and to the point. You make decisions quickly and are impatient with people who waste your time. You tell it like it is. You're adventureous, bore easily and are willing to take risks. You challenge the status quo and break the rules. You gain energy from being in charge and meeting new goals. You make direct eye contact and shake hands confidently. You set high standards for yourself and for others. You're the type to get things done." Val says it's pretty darn close.

Cassidy is an Analyzer: "You are smart, careful and accurate. You are a deep thinker who considers the details before you speak. You catch mistakes that others miss. You have great insights and opinions, but you don't always get a chance to express them. You like to read books and other activities that make you think. You like to work by yourself and relax at home, because you enjoy solitude. You like to take your time, play by the rules and wish others would do the same. You have a place for everything and that makes your life organized and easy. People may have a hard time reading your body language and knowing what you're thinking or feeling because you like to keep your emotions to yourself. Others might consider you a serious person, but you do see and create humor in things that others might miss. You want to be right and you value being seen as accurate and logical. You have high standards and others may say you are a perfectionist." Cassidy said sadly, this is quite accurate.

Pam is a Supporter: "You're warm, friendly and like a relaxed pace. People describe you as loyal, steady and dependable. Your relationships are the most important thing in your life. You are cooperative, a team player and you'll work to avoid conflict, even making personal sacrifices to do so. You speak slowly and thoughtfully. People say you're a good listener, though sometime you feel interrupted by others. You don't rush in, but instead look carefully before taking action. You are helpful, supportive and nurturing of others. You're the shoulder to cry on and the one who remembers birthdays. A good day for you is when everyone gets along and you have helped others. You prefer working patiently, behind the scenes getting one thing done at a time. You like to know what you are going to do every day." Pam says the same thing as everyone else, that it's pretty accurate.

On to a completely different subject – new blog finds! I’m adding the following blog links to my blog roll: http://caronthehill.blogspot.com and www.poundy.com.

Car On The Hill is a blog written by Frances Kuffel. Here’s how she describes herself and her blog: “I'm a writer & walker of Labrador retrievers, the author of “Passing for Thin: Losing Half My Weight and Finding My Self” (Broadway Books, 2004). I'm currently working on a sequel, "Just This Once," about weight relapse. I'm in particular need of stories from women who have regained & relost a significant amount of weight, and women who have had lap banding or bypass surgery.” Her blog covers many weight-related random thoughts. Good stuff.

Poundy.com is written by Wendy McClure and this is her bio on her blog: “I’m 35 years old and I live in Chicago, where I work as an editor and a writer. I started this site in November of 2000 to write about body image, weight issues, and diet culture because I thought there was a lot more to say about this kind of stuff besides what you might read…I have a another site called Candyboots, which I built in April 2003 as a home for my stupidly popular collection of Weight Watchers 1974 Recipe Cards. I write the pop culture column for BUST magazine. In the spring of 2005 I published my first book, I’m Not the New Me.” Her entries and links are sometimes hysterical, always interesting.

I love good random writing about weight issues. I’ve spent nearly three years being so freaking anal about food and my weight. I need to lighten up (pardon the pun) and learn to laugh a little about it all because I don’t know all the answers and that’s OK.

Make Way For The New Elliptical

I was six months pregnant and on bed rest the day I heard Johnny Olson from “The Price Is Right” announce, “Lisa Hanson, come on down! You’re our next contestant on The Price Is Right!”

I laid there wondering if she was the same Lisa Hanson I knew from high school home room. We’d graduated a year and a half earlier and I remembered she was going to design school in California. I thought, ‘There have to be thousands of Lisa Hansons in the country. Surely this isn’t the one I know.’

But it was. And she won her way up on stage where she played that fill-in-the-check game and won a piano. Twenty five years later, I wonder what she did with that piano. She was 19, going to school, and I doubt she lived in a place that could accommodate something so big. One of these years I’ll go to a school reunion and maybe I’ll get a chance to ask her about it.

At the end of the Oprah show Wednesday, you’ll hear her announce that her guests would receive a Life Fitness elliptical, treadmill or home gym. I can’t wait to see the expression on my face. I was floored. It only took me two seconds to choose the elliptical, and then one second later I thought, ‘Where will I put it?’

My husband and I and our three large dogs live in a small Cape Ann with a dining room, living room, and bedroom on the first floor, and dormered bedrooms on the second floor that barely accommodate a full-size bed or anyone taller than 5’5”. We call the small downstairs bedroom the Zen Room. It’s the place we watch TV, listen to music, and chill in our chairs, like Archie and Edith Bunker. Mine is a papasan chair from Pier One Imports. Larry’s is an Ektorp from IKEA. They suit our personalities and we don’t share easily.

The Zen Room seats two people comfortably and maybe a dog, thus the reason we’re not the hosts of choice for the neighborhood Super Bowl party. It’s a calming room that looks out over the back yard. It’s our favorite room of the house. But as soon as I heard I was getting an elliptical, I knew that room was history. I rationalized that I could make the living room Zen-like. I mean, now often does Oprah give you an elliptical?

So yesterday, the transformation began. Furniture and knick-knacks were moved to the garage and basement. The entertainment unit, TV and stereo were moved to the living room and hooked up, although I can’t get a DVD to play on the television. I obviously missed a cord somewhere. My poor stepsons moved the love seat at least 15 times before I found a spot that worked. Our chairs are in what, right now, feel like the right place, and I placed the water fountain and the little red Buddha in similar places to their original sites in the Zen Room. It’s bigger space, but it feels right.

The elliptical will be here in a few weeks. My Zen Room will be a gym. To quote Martha Stewart, it’s a good thing. The gym at the university closes or has limited hours during semester breaks so now I don’t have to worry about or make excuses for not working out. And, I don’t have to haul my butt to the gym on snowy days. I’ll just hop on the elliptical and watch the show fall in the back yard.

I wonder if Lisa Hanson rearranged her student apartment to accommodate her new piano. That bugs me. I need to know. I mean, there are hundreds of people who win living room furniture, refrigerators, chest freezers, dining room suites, and grandfather clocks every year, but what if they don’t need them or have room for them? What do they do?

I guess I’ll go ponder this in my revised Zen/Living Room. But if any of you know the answer, please let me know. And if you know Lisa Hanson from Armstrong High School in Plymouth, Minnesota, class of 1981, please let her know I have a question to ask her.

A Not-So-Martha-Stewart Thanksgiving

I listen to way too much Martha Stewart Living Radio on Sirius. So much so that I’m feeling a little impotent this Thanksgiving.

I don’t make a centerpiece from kumquats and pinecones and I feel a little guilty about that. My stuffing is made from a pre-sliced loaf of bread and not homemade, and I didn’t raise my own sweet potatoes fertilized by the droppings of rare Amazon parrots.

Martha slaughters her own turkey. I buy one at the grocery store. At least this year I bought a free-range organic turkey at Whole Foods. It’s a step up, right?

Party Potatoes, I’m sure, won’t be on Martha’s table this year. They are an artery-clogging combination of butter, sour cream and cream cheese that completely negate the nutritional value of potatoes. It’s so far removed from being a vegetable that it should be classified as a dairy.

When my kids were little, I always made enough Party Potatoes for Thanksgiving so they could have them for breakfast the next morning. One year, my youngest daughter got up early and took the lion’s share of potatoes before her sister woke up. This led to a screaming match and tears. “They’re just potatoes,” I said laughing. “No they’re not!” my oldest daughter fired back. “They’re Party Potatoes! You don’t understand!”

My stepsons aren’t real fans of Party Potatoes and my daughters tease them for liking normal mashed potatoes like it’s some kind of embarrassing fetish. I swear they’ll never grow up.

Martha might be amused by our traditional “Black Olives Over The Eyes” photo. Many years ago, my little sister held black olives up to her eyes while I was taking a picture of the table before the feast. Every year since, my girls, stepsons and any other “child” at our table, pose for this classic photo. The photos serve as a history of who dated whom and when.

Of course no one in the photo actually eats black olives and they simply put them back on the relish tray before I have a chance to ask if they’ve washed their hands. It’s kind of gross now that I think about it. How many unsuspecting dinner guests have eaten black olives placed over the eyes of children? Please don’t report me to the Martha Stewart etiquette police.

My favorite part of Thanksgiving is when we sit down at the table about a half hour before the food is ready and we each pray out loud what we’re grateful for, and the rule is that it has to be more meaningful than just grunting “Thanks for the food.” My stepson, Kevin, bets me a dollar every year that I’ll cry when it comes my turn to pray. I’ve not won a bet yet.

This year, as always, I’m grateful for my home and my family. In particular, I am grateful for my new granddaughter, friends old and new, and the opportunities that have sprung from difficulty, i.e. my weight and arthritis issues. I’m grateful for the pain; it has been an invaluable teacher. I’m grateful for the anguish; it has kept my feet on the ground. This year I learned over and over that good can come from bad, but it doesn’t just happen. I am an active participant in my present and future.

I am also grateful for this writing outlet. You all, through your comments and emails, give me a perspective on the joys and concerns of life that I would not have through traditional means. What a gift! Thank you.

I wish you all a very happy and peaceful Thanksgiving. Don’t eat too much, maybe take a walk, but mostly, surround yourself with the people who make you happy. That’s something Martha and I agree on.

My Oprah Debut Will Be….

Wednesday, November 28! Here’s a YouTube preview: click here.

I’m a little excited about being part of Oprah “history.” Together the 21 of us lost 3000 pounds. Oh my.

Last night when I got the call about the air date, I got a little nervous. When I was in Chicago for the taping, I thought of it in just that way: it was a taping. I met some really fun people, had my hair done, tried on mad numbers of clothing, and then with a knot in my stomach, walked out on a stage in front of 300 people to show then that I had, indeed, lost a few pounds. That was doable. When did I forget that cameras were filming all of it and eventually a few million people were going to watch this show?

Ain’t reality grand?

I’m not going to stress about this any more. I’m going to watch the show with Shari, who went to Chicago with me, and I’ll sit on her couch with my hands over my eyes like I’m watching a horror movie, and peek out between my fingers once in awhile until I get comfortable seeing myself on screen.

I keep reminding myself of the reason I did this in the first place. If even one person decides to lose weight, exercise, take control of her life because she saw me on Oprah, it was worth it all.

Please let me know what you think of the show. There are so many amazing people on it. I can’t wait to watch it. I’ve completely forgotten what I said.

Introducing: Shari's Writing Page

She was the sweaty brunette who always took my elliptical. I was the sweaty blond who always took her elliptical. And as we secretly cursed each other when one of us got to the machine before the other, neither of us had a clue how many more things we had in common until we talked about dogs.

I think it was last February. Shari was driving out of the gym parking lot at the same time as me. I saw dogs in her car and I thought she couldn’t be all bad if she liked dogs. So the next time I saw her at the gym, I asked her about her dogs. We’ve been friends ever since.

What feeds our friendship and makes our conversations so interesting week after week is our growing list of similarities. I’ve already mentioned the sweaty workout and dogs. We’re both middle children from large families. We’re only a few years apart in age meaning we experienced the ‘80s in similar ways. She has wrist issues, I have wrist issues. Her dad owned a store that she worked in as a kid. My dad owned a store that I worked in as a kid. We grew up in small towns. We were both cheerleaders. Our mothers share similar traits. We’re afraid of heights, take the same thyroid medicine, and we wear mouth guards at night because we grind our teeth.

It was Shari who suggested I write to the Oprah show when she saw the announcement on their website and it was Shari who kept me sane in Chicago. While there, we also discovered two more things we have in common: a love of room service and limo rides. (click on the photo to enlarge)

What really seals our friendship is our love of words and writing. Shari is a writer, in a different vein than me, and I asked her if she’d be a contributing writer on my blog, like Val and my brother Marty. She was a little reluctant at first, thinking, like many of us self-doubting writers, that she had nothing interesting to say. I understood her concern. It’s one thing to be assigned an article to write on a topic outside yourself. Those are safe and predictable things to write. It’s a completely different beast to be asked to write about whatever you want to write about. I know my blogs aren’t always appealing to everyone, but I’ve learned to trust my inner voice and to use my blog as a springboard for other writing.

I think Shari’s is a voice many of you will appreciate. I’ll stop talking now so you can visit her site: Shari’s Writing Page.

The Oprah Adventure Continues

I’m sorry I’ve been so out of touch this week. I’m catching up with my life after two weeks of Oprah prep and execution. I finally updated Marty’s Writing Page and Val’s Writing Page, and I’m working on a new writing page for my friend Shari, the one who started all this Oprah brouhaha in the first place. I should have her page in place tomorrow.

Here’s what I realize since I got home last Friday: My life is the same, but I’m not the same. I slew a lot of dragons these last two weeks and I learned a lot about myself and others.

For instance, I hadn’t been on an airplane in 10 years. Flying scares me, but over the years I’d gained so much weight I knew I would not fit comfortably in the seats.

More than my own comfort, I worried  about the physical and emotional comfort of those around me. When I sat in an auditorium or theater seat, my 300-pound body spilled over to the seat beside me. That’s why I always sat at the end of rows so I could maneuver as much of myself as I could to the aisle. In an airplane, the seat space is small and there is no allowance for a large body other than to inconvenience the person in the next seat. I knew I’d be embarrassed. I’d feel unworthy. I didn’t want to deal with the other passengers’ disgusted looks and so I stayed home and prayed no emergency would arise that would force me to fly.

Today I weigh 130 pounds. I fit in most seats, but the eyes take awhile to catch up to the body. When I see small chairs or seats, I still panic a little. I always wonder, “Will I fit?” My fear of flying didn’t go anywhere either, so two dragons were slain when I stepped on that plane for Chicago. We took off, we landed, I was fine.

On a much lighter note, I’d never had my eyebrows waxed before. A few of my friends have it done, but I’m blond, Norwegian and generally hairless there, so it never occurred to me to visit an aesthetician. I just load on the eyebrow makeup.

Have you ever been lectured by an aesthetician? It’s a little like disappointing your first-grade teacher. You lay there on what looks like a gurney, a bright light shines on your face, and she hovers over you wearing a mask like she expects mad gobs of gunk to come squirting out of your pores. She holds a tweezers and tape for ripping out your hair. She sighed, disappointed in the sad shape of my brows and said to me, “I’ve been doing brows for 25 years. I love brows. They are my life.” That’s when she proceeded to pluck and pour hot wax on my eyebrows. “Keep your eyes closed,” she kept saying.

She said I need to use a blond pencil, perhaps taupe, but never anything in a honey color. OK, I said. I promised her I’d throw away the light brown pencil if she just let me walk away with my face in tact.

As for my hair, you know that the hair lady at Oprah straightened it for the show. While I didn’t recognize myself at first, I confess I liked it that way. So last Saturday, I bought a flat iron. Sunday I bought shampoo, conditioner and product specifically designed for straightening hair. Today, I did it. It took me an hour, but I did it. I blew my hair out with a big brush, flattened it with an iron and went out in public. No one laughed or stared so I assume it looked OK. I went with my daughter to her doctor’s appointment and I watched Claire in the waiting room. A woman asked me when I had my baby. I told her I was the grandma. She said no way, that I looked too young to be a grandmother, and so now I’m pretty sure I have to straighten my hair every day.

On to the clothes. I doubt I’ll wear the outfit in that combination again, but I do like the jeans and the shirt (although I won’t wear it quite as low on my arms as I did on the show), and the boots are amazing. The belt, well, it’s pretty flashy and I live in Appalachia, so I think the belt will be willed to my granddaughter.

I might be a little too confident in clothes selection, however, because when I was at Macy’s today buying a new eyebrow pencil, I also bought…..

…….leg warmers.

(Michael, if you’re reading this, please don’t hate me.)

Yes, those 1980s throwbacks are BACK! I loved them in the 80s, wore them into the 90s, and am very glad to see them for sale again. I promise I won’t wear them in public unless I’m going to a Flashdance party, but I’ll wear them in my house because I get very cold in the winter at night in my fleece jammies. Don’t laugh. I know I’m no Jennifer Beals, but I really like leggings. Stop laughing!

My Oprah adventure continues to amaze me. And it’s not just the flying and the eyebrows and the clothes and the hair. I met so many awesome people, had so many interesting moments. They keep coming to me, flashing in my mind when I’m driving or cooking or working out. Was I really there? Did that really happen? Yes, it did, and I smile and shake my head throughout the day when I remember.

I was glad to get home and back to my life. But I’m not the same person who got on that plane for Chicago last week. I’m even better.

Chicago Thursday & Home

     Two days ago I was glammed up and shaking Oprah Winfrey’s hand. Today, I’m wearing leggings and a sweater and grocery shopping at WalMart. I love that about life. You just never know.

     Here’s what happened on Thursday. Shari and I packed our bags and went to the lobby to wait for our limo along with the other folks from the show. It was like the last day of summer camp when everyone stands around talking, exchanging email addresses, taking photos. Here’s a group shot with half our group and one of me with the hot Russian door man.

The limos were an hour late, which turned out to be a good thing because it gave us all more time to swap stories. We were all a little nervous, too, unsure of how our moment in the spotlight would unfold.

The limos arrived and Shari and I shared a ride with four other people, one of whom was Michael the head stylist. Here’s a photo of Michael, Jahi and I (click on the photo to make it bigger). I definitely had the best seat in the limo. Jahi lost a lot of weight and is now a competitive body builder. Michael saw me naked and still has a smile on his face.

At Harpo, the producers were in full “show mode.” I was led right to the makeup chairs where a very nice, very tall, thin, beautiful woman worked magic on my face. I managed to get some good makeup tips before I was handed off to the hair lady. She’d touched up my hair the day before so we were already BFF. She, too, worked magic and made my curly hair oh so straight. The producers wanted me glammed out which meant bangs in my eyes. I hate hair in my eyes. It itches and pokes my eyeballs, not to mention I can’t see much. But I was willing to sacrifice for Oprah.

When that was done, a few of us went to final rehearsal. There were a lot more people in the studio than were there the day before. Camera guys, sound people, directors everywhere. Kelly, Jahi and I were the second segment of the show. We quickly ran through rehearsal in our street clothes, but Kelly and I had on the shoes we’d be wearing. Nothing screams redneck quite like the crop sweats and t-shirt I was wearing with $200 suede boots.

After rehearsal, I went to the changing room where Michael helped me get dressed. I thought he was my friend until he and Lisa chose big gold hoop earrings as the accessory. My earlobes still haven’t forgiven me.

After I was dressed, PP&BFF went over the script with me. She told me, “Oprah might ask this question and so you might want to say this, but then, she might ask you something completely different and in that case you’re on your own.” Great. I could barely remember my name at that point, let alone the answer to a question I might get asked. I started pacing a little, memorizing the following: “I can tie my shoes, cross my legs, fit in airplane seats, I work out five to six days a week.” I figured if I could remember the highlights, I was good to go.

I went back to the dressing area to hang out with some of the other folks. Shari had been taken to the green room along with a few other friends, trainers and SOs that had accompanied other guests. I talked to Artie and Melissa and Cathi and Nancy. We were all in a zone, trying to deal with the unknown.

We were taping the show at 1:30. At 12:45, Kelly, Barbara, Mandy and I got called back to the stage. The director made a change. We weren’t going to walk out and sit between Bob Greene and Oprah. He decided it would be better if we stood there and chatted. Kelly was thrilled because she was sewn into a little green dress that had the possibility of showing the world a little too much Kelly. I was worried because I didn’t know what to do with my hands. At least when I’m sitting I can fold them in my lap. I’m a hand talker. I fling my hands everywhere when I’m talking. Dammmmit. I was so cool up til then.

After showing us our new marks, they whisked us off stage because the audience was starting to file in. They didn’t want them to see us. I started pacing again. The audio lady came over and hooked up my microphone on to my bra and wired it under my arm to the top of my shirt. As I said before, modesty gets you nowhere in television. I did a quick sound check and she left me to hook up another guest.

1:15. Time to get lined up. Kelly, Barbara, Mandy and I were brought to the hallway outside the back of the studio. Hair and makeup people kept walking by, fussing with our faces and hair. Then I heard a producer say, “Oprah’s walking.” She doesn’t want to see guests before the show because it interferes with the spontaneity of the meeting on stage. We were then led to the another part of the hall and watched the show on monitors. Nancy was first. Then David. I couldn’t listen to David’s story because it was so heartbreaking. I had tears in my eyes. The makeup artist saw me and whispered, “You can’t cry!” So I paced the floor and blocked out David’s voice.

A producer took Kelly and me backstage. I was nervous, but not overwhelmingly so. That surprised me. Lisa had told me to stand tall, like a string was pulling me up straight. I was tall and beautiful in that moment. Kelly went out on stage and did her thing. I got on my mark. They started my montage. I watched 10 seconds of it and had to look away. I heard my voice talking about how I felt when I was 300 pounds and I saw the photos of me and I got sad and I knew I couldn’t take that person out on stage with me. I had to be positive. I looked away. The guys behind stage kept looking at the monitor and then at me, their faces skewed in disbelief. Yes, I thought. That was me. This is me. We’re the same person inside, just not on the outside.

Then I heard Oprah say something like, “Come on out, Lynn, and show us what you look like now.”

And so I did. 

I walked out, the crowd clapped and cheered, I smiled and waved a little (at least I think I did) and then I hugged Bob Greene. Then there was Oprah. Oprah Winfrey. She shook my hand and gave me a hug and when I looked in her eyes, I was calm. She has the most soulful, calming eyes. I knew that anything I said up on stage, she would hear. I knew she was in the moment, not thinking about what she was going to do after the show. She was there. Right there. And I was able to answer her questions as though I were talking to her at my dining room table. Before I knew it, the segment ended and the director led me to my seat.

I did it. I let out a huge breath. Some women in the audience gave me smiles and thumbs up. A man behind me said I looked fabulous. Fabulous? I was just so happy to be sitting down and breathing again that I hadn’t thought about what I looked like up there. I can’t wait to see the actual show.

After the final interview, we were all called up on stage for the last segment. Standing there, looking out at the audience, I felt empowered. I thought, ‘I’ve lost a lot of weight. I really worked hard for this moment.’ While I didn’t lose weight for that moment, I finally appreciated and understood what I’d done the last (nearly) three years. 

Back in the production area, we were all relaxed and happy and so full of joy and energy. So were the producers. Adrenaline was everywhere. My flight home was changed since taping ran long and I was scheduled to fly out at 8:00 rather than 5:00. Shari and I shared a limo to the airport with David, his trainer Chris (see photo), Mandy, Barb, Donna, Mandy and a few of their friends. I didn’t care that it would take an hour to get to O’Hare. I wasn’t driving and I got more face time with some amazing people.

At the airport, we all said good bye. Shari’s flight didn’t leave until the next morning, so the driver took her to her hotel and I was alone at O’Hare. I repacked my bags, changed my clothes in the ladies room, and headed to the kiosk to get a boarding pass. A very nice woman from Ukraine helped me, but when she asked for my ID and I gave it to her, she looked concerned. Oh no! I thought. This makeover makes me look nothing like my ID! I explained to her that I’d just been on the Oprah show and, well, you’d think I’d just met Jesus himself. She was all about Oprah and we laughed and talked like we were old friends.

Then I went through security. I was prepared to be questioned and I was, but again, the guy thought my story was just outrageous enough to be true and let me through. It was smooth sailing from there.

My daughter picked me up at the airport and I stayed with her Thursday night so I could pick up Shari the next day. Friday morning, I washed out the straight hair, stuffed my curly hair into my new Oprah ball cap, and drove home. The French manicure is fading, but I still have a million memories and stories and new good friends.

I met Oprah Winfrey. I also met 20 other amazing people who walk a similar walk as me. I slayed dragons and took chances and am today not the same person who boarded that plane to Chicago on Monday.

I know this was long and I thank you for getting to the end of this blog. As I told you all last time, I couldn’t have done this without your support. Thank you so very much.

I know it's not always easy, but don't you just love the way life unfolds sometimes?

Chicago Thursday Morning

Sorry I didn’t get to blog yesterday. I was busy all day being driven around in a limo to rehearsals and fittings and hair and makeup and nails. (That’s not a sentence I expect to write again in my life.) Fortunately the only thing that got waxed were my eyebrows. Whew!

There was an Oprah sighting when I was getting my makeup on. She was on her way to the studio to interview 100 Osmonds. Of course I missed it. So did Shari. Oh well. Today I’ll hug her for real (and Bob Greene, too) and that’s better than just seeing her from afar.

The Harpo powers picked the black/grey tight jeans combo for me to wear on the show. They said they want me to be their “rocker chick.” I hope they realize I’m 44 years old and a grandmother.

I’ll also wear a big studded belt that costs more than my entire wardrobe on any given day and knee-high suede boots. The shirt is off-the-shoulder and my bra straps show which feels really awkward because my mother always told me to never show your bra strap in public. Sorry Mom.

I didn’t recognize myself after they were done styling my hair and putting on makeup. I was a bit shocked actually. The reflection in the mirror was pretty, but it wasn’t me. Dina the hairstylist with two assistants (one of whose job is merely to hand her combs) blew my hair straight and ran a flat iron through it. No one would ever guess I had curly hair. They did the same thing to Cathie and Kelly and Tori, all of whom have curlier hair than me.

The makeup they use for camera is thick and I looked like a cadaver. That’s disconcerting all its own. I couldn’t get the mascara off my eyes before I went to bed last night and my eyeballs were glued to the insides of my eyelids this morning. I’m definitely stopping at Walgreens when I get back to Pennsylvania today and buy a bottle of makeup remover. 

I know I’m supposed to have fun with this whole process, but the makeover kind of messed with my head. It’s like when I was 300 pounds, I still felt like the same person inside but I didn’t look like myself. Now when I finally feel and look like the same person, my look totally changes. I’m still the same person, but the outside doesn’t match the inside. I think I’ll bring my curls back on Friday.

I also think I think too much.

I’ll write when I get home and am in comfy clothes and my face is breathing again. I’ll also be sure to write a blog when I know the day the show will air. Most likely it will be later this month or December.

Thanks for reading and for all your support this week. You’ve helped me stay connected to the real me.

Chicago Tuesday

Getting fitted for a bra is like wiggling yourself head first through a child’s padded steel wire playground tunnel. I had so many women stuffing my breasts through straps and lace today that if I swung that way, it might have qualified as foreplay.

Laugh if you will, but trying on clothes for four hours is hard work. I’d never taken my clothes on and off so many times, and never have I unabashedly undressed in front of a man I hadn't planned to sleep with – Michael, the head stylist, whom Oprah’s people flew in from LA the night before. (Thank God I remembered to pack "normal" underwear and not just thongs!) It was a matter of efficiency. No time for modesty. If I’d kicked him out every time I needed to take off one pair of jeans and put on another, I’d still be in that Macy’s dressing room. Besides, he didn’t give a damn about my stretch marks. His goal was to make me look good and we had fun doing it. He’s hilarious and a little snarky. He wanted to know the story behind my tattoo, and we both agreed the hotel we’re staying in needs to do something about the sandpaper they call toilet paper. Hello, Charmin? Emergency at 676 Michigan Ave.

Each of the guests for this show (21 in all) needed to have three outfits for the Harpo people to choose from. I ended up being photographed in six for some reason. The powers that be wanted me in something tight. Well, they got tight. Tight jeans, tight dresses, tight tights. I have no idea which one they’ll select (I’ll find out in the morning), but I’m hoping for the purple knit dress and knee boots. I have a feeling they’ll select the $200 jeans and the off-the-shoulder sweater with pointy boots and a belt. The dress is something I’d wear in real life, but most of the clothes I tried on today are way out of my league – fun, but expensive and not appropriate for grocery shopping at WalMart.

Tomorrow’s schedule is packed tight. I start out at Harpo Studios for a fitting and then I’m off to a salon for a makeover and (hmmm….) waxing. Afterwards I go back to Harpo for rehearsal. I will not meet the divine Ms. O until Thursday when I walk out on stage. She doesn’t like to meet guests, even celebrities, before taping. It takes away from the spontaneity of the conversation, she says. I haven’t had time to be nervous about that and I doubt I will until that very moment.

It takes a lot of people and a lot of money to be Oprah. You can’t sneeze at Harpo without at least two producers handing you a Kleenex. They are nothing if not attentive. Things seem chaotic, but there is a perfect rhythm going on underneath the chaos and each program has its own perfect production formula.

As a side note, I talked to a few of the women who will be on the show and they all said the same thing about their audio taping experience yesterday as I did. I was so relieved. I thought I was the only one.

Today was everything yesterday wasn’t. I’ll let tomorrow unfold the way it needs to. I’m finally having (gasp)…….fun.

I’ll write again tomorrow. Good night from Chicago.