My Cape is in the Shop

I get a lot of emails, Facebook shout outs, comments telling me I'm some sort of "hero" for being as open as I am regarding my weight and my journey. Well, I greatly appreciate it, but honestly, I'm not a hero. At least not by my definition of what a hero is. I'm just a fat chick who decided she had to embarrass herself thinner/healthier. That's all. No more, no less.

When I hear the word "hero" I think of:

My cousin's wife, Andrea*, whose life has been forever changed by a fast moving, rare, and radical form of cancer whose name we don't even know. I haven't talked to her is a long time. We're not close at all and I don't know what she is feeling or how she is dealing with this diagnosis, but I imagine what I would do if I were her and I think I would have probably just laid down to die. Her doctor won't speculate as to prognosis or other vital information until he gets her MRI results and is able to open her up and see for himself what he is dealing with. But what we do know is that the cancer is "fast moving" "rare" and she's already finding other "places" on her body that are probably cancerous.

I told my husband that if I were in that situation, I don't know what I would do. That if the doctors couldn't guarantee me a high percentage of good health/survival rate I would choose QUALITY of life over QUANTITY of life. Meaning I would rather live only three months post diagnosis then to live 18 months tied to an IV pole. To me that's taking the easy way out. That doesn't say fighter to me.

I have no doubt that Andrea will fight this fight with every ounce of her being. She will be a hero.

My cousin Martin* is a firefighter. He runs towards places everyone else is running away from. He performs CPR, saves lives, rushes into smoke-filled homes looking for people/pets. And while a disagreement between he and I keeps us from speaking, he is a hero.

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. peacefully, respectfully, and with great dignity led a group of Americans to demand a better life for themselves and their families. He too walked into places many people were running from. He knew that with every word he spoke, every march he led, every sit-in he staged that he was one more step closer to death. He was prophetic when he said that "I may not get there with you...". In the face of death, he continued to fight to improve the lives of millions. He is a hero.

Miep Gies, saved from death only by her Austrian accent when the Nazi regime discovered she was hiding Anne Frank and her family, is a hero.

Every person who walked the streets in support, who knocked on doors, who made phone calls, who fought racist mentality, ignorance, and threats of violence and waited in eight hour lines to cast a vote to help America realize the dreams of a man, long since silenced by death, and a nation of Americans who were ready to break the ceiling of racial inequality (even though, unfortunately, we still have a long way to go) to elect President Barack Hussein Obama. They are heroes.

Every person who walks into a drug treatment center with the genuine intent to knock the monkey off their backs and get clean, choosing life over certain death, are heroes.

Every single mother, working herself to the bone to be both father and mother to children long since forgotten by their sperm donors, who works one, two, or three jobs, who puts food on the table and college tuition savings under the mattress are heroes.

I, a 34 year old, morbidly obese woman who got herself into this situation and is trying to save her own life by exposing her most guarded secrets, writing down her most private struggles, may be a motivator, but I am not a hero. I'm just someone trying to fix the mess I made. Trying to get my life back on track so that my husband and I can be happier, healthier, travel more, love longer, and become adoptive parents. That's all I am. It's just that simple. I'm not doing anything that any of you couldn't do.

*names have been changed