What's the opposite of anorexia? You know how skinny girls with anorexia look in the mirror and see fat blobs? I've had the opposite of whatever that is for at least a decade, because when I look in the mirror I still see the girl I was in college.

In truth, I haven't been that girl since...well, since college.

See, about ten years ago, I started gaining weight. All my adolescent life I was a skinny Minnie. Told over and over again to "eat more!" No matter what I ate back then I couldn't gain a pound.

Shucks, when I was a junior in high school, my mom bought me a case of Ensure so that I'd at least get my vitamins. Aside from the ribbing about drinking "old people's drinks," chocolate Ensure was pretty darn tasty.

The point is that for years I was a size 3/5. Then, in college, I filled out a little, and finally was a nice 5/7. Not bad. I wasn't as skinny as my high school days, but I was in great shape.

And then I met Derek.

Okay, no, Derek did not force feed me donuts, chocolate and cake. But he may as well have. Suddenly eating was grand. I loved food!

Once Derek was in my life, my metabolism somehow decided there wasn't room for both of them and took off.

A year before we got married, I remember thinking, "I only have around 10 pounds to lose. Easy."

Then when we got married, and I weighed in at 165 pounds, I thought, "Wow. Twenty pounds. Still not too hard. I can do it after the honeymoon."

That honeymoon has lasted almost 10 years. Add to that extra twenty pounds law school and my 14-month-old Quinn, and you have my current weight. Or at least the weight I hit a month ago: 200 pounds.

Just typing that number makes me grimace.

I don't know what happened. Whether it was the free pizza at law school or the "Hey, I don't have gestational diabetes anymore! Gimme another slice of pie!" attitude after Quinn's birth. Somewhere along the way, I reached the point of no returns and exchanges with sugar, carbs and saturated fat.

"No way," I said to the scale. I had to do something. For one thing, Derek and I want to try to have one more child. At this rate, if I got pregnant now, I could likely qualify for the Biggest Loser.

Second, I noticed how winded I became walking upstairs with Quinn and how exhausted I felt after just 15 minutes with her. Yes, she's an active child, but it probably isn't just her hyperactive nature making my heart beat a thousand beats per minute.

Third, I really didn't want to develop diabetes again. After Quinn was born, my doctor told me that because I had gestational diabetes, my chances of getting Type 2 diabetes was increased by 30 percent. That would be sentencing myself to almost no sugar or chocolate for life!

Finally, it'd really be nice to walk into a store again and know, just know, that things would fit. While it may not be the best thing to happen to my budget, my self-esteem would benefit nicely off significant weight loss.

The first step, as with any recovery program, is admitting you have a problem. And here I am, admitting to you, my cyberfriends and readers, that I have a problem.

A big problem. Ahem.

The next step is to create a plan - this is the harder part. I've always had a plan. I had a plan to write the Great American Novel, a plan to lose 20 pounds (remember that?), and a plan to get Quinn to read at 3 months old (an exaggeration, but have you seen those Your Baby Can Read commercials? Quinn's still eating paper!) - sticking to said plan is much, much harder.

And so I am enlisting you to help keep me honest. Within this column, you can see a box of my weight, measurements and progress, or lack thereof. By having to check in monthly with the numbers, I hope to be too embarrassed to eat cake, munch cookies and supersize every portion. There's something to be said about having to publicly enter numbers that blatantly demonstrate failure.

"That's nice and good, Gen, but what am I getting in return?" you ask.

Well, you're gonna get columns that track a normal overweight person's progress. I'm not set up at the Biggest Loser ranch nor do I have a nutritionist monitoring my every bite. I don't have the equivalent of another overweight person's pounds to lose, but more of that of a third-grader.

We'll take a look at all of the different weight loss programs out there and sit down with a nutritionist or two. Heck, maybe I'll even give the Raw Food Diet a try. (Not likely, but hey, I thought I'd mix it up. I can't help but love cooked veggies.)

I have to admit something before we begin: That 200 pounds freaked me out so much that I've actually lost 10 already, just watching my sugar intake (the diabetes diet is pretty great for weight loss) and lightly exercising here and there. But 10 pounds is not enough. I need to get down to weight that no longer prompts my Wii Fit Plus to scream, "THAT'S OBESE!"

My goal for the year is to lose 50 pounds. I'm not making promises, because those always seem too easy to break. But I'm going to make an earnest effort to get it done. If anyone wants to join me in my crusade to ditch their own third-grader, you are more than invited. I would love to display your progress as well!

We'll be like the Biggest Loser contestants except that we won't have Jillian perched on our elliptical machine, trying to peer past the fat to the healthy child within.

When we reach our goals, we can all enjoy a nice steak dinner with a baked potato heaping with sour cream and bacon, and then celebrate with a molten chocolate lava cake.

Ugh. Old habits die hard, I guess. Scratch that dinner.

We'll celebrate with terrific svelte photos of ourselves instead.

Heck, maybe we can get team T-shirts. I'm thinking "I Ditched the Third-Grader."

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