I’ve been intrigued and impressed by the Jenny Craig marketing campaign of late in which women refer to themselves as “a size stronger” or “a size healthier” rather than an arbitrary dress size.  I’ve never done Jenny Craig, but if ever I was tempted, this campaign would surely do it.  I’m so grateful that marketers are finally understanding that real women come in all sizes and shapes and we obsess about the numbers enough without continued brainwashing.

Recently, Jenny’s commercials made me realize what I want is to be a size more comfortable.  Over the last few months, my clothing has gotten increasingly snug.  If you’re a regular reader, you know I started running in March but abandoned my plan when I hit the final stretch of finishing my master’s degree.  Since graduation, I’ve found every excuse in the book to remain sedentary and continue eating enormous portions of unhealthy food.  Maybe the truth is that I wasn’t in enough pain.  Literally.  But in the last three weeks especially, my clothes are so tight I have had to unbutton my waistbands on the drive home.

I don’t talk about my job for obvious reasons, but suffice to say I work in a conservative profession that values attire.  I’m suited up and in heels every day of my working life, including “casual” Fridays.  And my job requires attendance at a good number of black-tie affairs, meaning I’ve got a butt-load of money invested in my wardrobe.  My  monthly dry cleaning and ironing bills cost me as much as some people’s car payments, so I really can’t justify buying new clothes just because I’ve put on weight.  I have no choice but to lose enough weight to wear my clothes comfortably again.

And while we’re talking about clothing, I’m going to make a confession.  It pains me to do it, but in some respects, I hope it’ll be liberating.  So I’m just going to say it.  I wear a size . . .

Crap.  Why is it so hard to spit out a number? 

I know one reason.  It sounds crazy, but I blame it all on Barbie.  Growing up, I was Barbie- obsessed.  Along with every Barbie accessory known to Mattel, I had the Barbie scale.  How freakin’ warped is that?  I still hate Mattel for manufacturing a Barbie scale and for deciding that Barbie weighs 110 pounds.  (Barbie’s scale didn’t really work.  It just had a sticker declaring Barbie’s perpetual weight as 110.  This was, no doubt, the sick fantasy of a male toy executive.)

I haven’t weighed 110 since about sixth grade.  In high school I was 5’9” and weighed 130.  I was so thin as to be nicknamed “Boney Joanie,” but because I weighed 20 pounds more than Barbie (and all of my J friends who were 5’2”), I was convinced I was “fat.”  By my sophomore year of college I had grown more than two inches and was weighing in at 140 -- and feeling fatter than ever.  Today, just shy of six-feet tall and 45 years old, I’d kill to weigh 140 again.

After college, I moved to Boston where I had a lot of fun eating -- to the tune of about 25 pounds.  When I came home for Christmas one year, I overheard my cousin whisper to my mom “Look how wide Joan-Marie’s butt is!”  (As if I had failed to notice!)  My backside stayed wide for another two years until Mr. Mom and I decided to get married.  Once a wedding date was set, I became a fanatic, eating 1,000 calories a day and doing bench aerobics seven days a week.  Over the 12 months leading up to my wedding, I lost 30 pounds.  On the day I married Mr. Mom, I weighed 145 and my wedding dress was a size 8.  I wore three inch heels with my very fitted dress and killed, if I do say so myself.

Six months later I was pregnant with Kate and, well, after 12 months of insane starving and exercising, I just went nuts. Or hormonal.  Or something.  On the day I delivered, I weighed in at 201. In spite of breast-feeding, I never lost all of the 56 pounds I gained between the day I married and the day I gave birth.  Two years later, another pregnancy set me back even more, and by the time I faced my 20-year high school reunion, I was seriously tubby and unhappy.

That’s when I found Body for Life.  It’s an exercise and eating program that emphasizes strength training and eating several small meals per day.  Mr. Mom agreed to do it with me and in 2001 we embarked on what became a life-changing journey. 

Body for Life, or BFL as its fans call it, advocates throwing away your scale.  Chart your progress by how your clothes fit or, if you must, by body measurements, says  it’s founder, Bill Phillips.  I embraced this philosophy with all my heart and, over the course of two 12-week sessions, I lost more than 20 inches and two dress sizes.  My body fat dropped from more than 30 percent to 24 percent.  And I gained strength and fitness that I never knew existed in my long-sedentary body.  Not long after BFL, I took up tennis and running.  And for the first time in my life, I started enjoying outdoor activities.  It was then that I started hiking and camping with Mr. Mom, activities I treasure today. And, just as importantly, I learned a ton about nutrition.  Even though I fall off the wagon now and again, succumbing to the temptations of junk food, thanks to BFL I’m armed with the knowledge of how to eat and exercise properly so I never stray too far.  Perhaps the longest-lasting benefit of BFL is that I never fail to eat a balanced breakfast (an apple and two hard boiled eggs), which is so important to kick-starting your metabolism.

So last week when I made up my mind to reverse course, I turned to BFL.  Eating six small meals a day and exercising six times a week is a serious commitment, but I’m doing it because I know it works.  And I know how good it makes me feel to be strong and fit.

And damn the scales.  Seriously, I don’t weigh.  I haven’t since 2001.  I’ll know when things are fine again when my waistbands are comfortable.

And just because I promised to tell you, some of my waistbands say size 12 and some say size 14.  I say to hell with the number when the manufacturers can’t even agree.

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Ranting Postscript: A few years ago after I first started playing tennis, I was watching the Wimbledon Championship warm-ups when they flashed Serena Williams’ height and weight.  (Interesting, isn’t it, that the networks no longer divulge this information for the women players even though they still do for the men?) Serena listed her weight as 135 and her height as 5’10”.  And have you seen her?  She looks like Walter Payton in a dress.  There’s NO WAY that girl weighs 135.  That’s a Barbie weight, and I’m going to continue to blame Mattel that a woman with Serena’s athletic ability doesn’t want to say the real number.  A male player who’s 5’10” with Serena’s physique would not be expected to weigh 135.