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Slow but Sure: How I lost 170 pounds with the help of God, Family Circle, and Richard Simmons - Hardcover
Slow But Sure is the inspirational account of an ordinary woman who took charge of her life and achieved extraordinary success.
In 1993 Sandra Dalka-Prysby, of Beverly Hills, Michigan, was a forty-eight-year-old wife and mother to three teenagers. Standing 5 feet 7 inches tall, she weighed 325 pounds and smoked up to three packs of cigarettes a day.
But Sandy loved life. She wanted to be there when her children became adults, participating fully in her family's joys and triumphs. So she vowed to take charge of her eating habits, give up cigarettes, and lose 150 pounds. And within four years--with the help of God, to whom she often prayed for strength; her family, who gave ongoing love and support; the editors of Family Circle magazine, who provided her with a nutritionist while chronicling her weight-loss for their millions of readers; and diet and exercise guru Richard Simmons, who stepped in when Sandy had reached a discouraging plateau--she exceeded her goal. Giving up the cigarettes turned out to be the easy part, but by 1997 Sandy had at last succeeded in losing 170 pounds. And she has kept the weight off ever since.
A self-proclaimed PD (Professional Dieter), Sandy is an unimpeachable witness to the struggles that many women (and men) will recognize from their own lives. Slow But Sure chronicles her journey to good health, during which she learned the value of sound nutrition and regular exercise. Re-creating her journal entries, she bares all--the small triumphs and treacherous detours, the fears, the embarrassments, and the joy. With total honesty she speaks to all people who, like herself, have despaired of ever losing weight, and assures them that they, too, can succeed.
In 1993 Sandra Dalka-Prysby, of Beverly Hills, Michigan, was a forty-eight-year-old wife and mother to three teenagers. Standing 5 feet 7 inches tall, she weighed 325 pounds and smoked up to three packs of cigarettes a day.
But Sandy loved life. She wanted to be there when her children became adults, participating fully in her family's joys and triumphs. So she vowed to take charge of her eating habits, give up cigarettes, and lose 150 pounds. And within four years--with the help of God, to whom she often prayed for strength; her family, who gave ongoing love and support; the editors of Family Circle magazine, who provided her with a nutritionist while chronicling her weight-loss for their millions of readers; and diet and exercise guru Richard Simmons, who stepped in when Sandy had reached a discouraging plateau--she exceeded her goal. Giving up the cigarettes turned out to be the easy part, but by 1997 Sandy had at last succeeded in losing 170 pounds. And she has kept the weight off ever since.
A self-proclaimed PD (Professional Dieter), Sandy is an unimpeachable witness to the struggles that many women (and men) will recognize from their own lives. Slow But Sure chronicles her journey to good health, during which she learned the value of sound nutrition and regular exercise. Re-creating her journal entries, she bares all--the small triumphs and treacherous detours, the fears, the embarrassments, and the joy. With total honesty she speaks to all people who, like herself, have despaired of ever losing weight, and assures them that they, too, can succeed.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Sandra Dalka-Prysby, a freelance writer, lives in Beverly Hills, Michigan, with her husband and three children. She has been profiled in Family Circle on several occasions; has appeared twice on "The Maury Povich Show," and three times on QVC with Richard Simmons. Slow But Sure is her first book.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
When is enough enough?
For me a number of things occurred in 1993 that helped me reach the point where enough was enough.
The year started the same as every new year of my adult life. I resolved to lose weight and get fit. In years past, I had failed in this resolve. This year would be different... it had to be different. Never before had I been this heavy--325 pounds. Never before had I smoked almost three packs of cigarettes a day. Never before had I been this close to turning fifty years of age. I was killing myself and time was running out!
I had never been slim, much less average in size. I was more than 9 pounds at birth--a hefty beginning that would prove to be a barometer of the years to come. Soon after I was born, my parents' marriage began to dissolve. My mother, overwhelmed by an impending divorce and the responsibility of two infant daughters, did what she could to handle a difficult situation. This included feeding me extra bottles of formula whenever I cried. By my first birthday I was covered with baby fat.
As the years progressed, the baby fat became just plain fat. A little con I devised as a youngster helped increase my already plump body. I would wander to nearby houses, knock on the doors, and tell the kindly neighbors how sad I was because I didn't have a daddy. Mrs. Baker was good for homemade cookies and milk. Mrs. Jackson always had ice cream with chocolate sauce, and dear, sweet Mrs. McGovern, she had everything--candy, chips, peanut butter and butter sandwiches. The only price I had to pay for these wondrous food treats was a few minutes of listening to these women's little aggravations. But the food was worth it, and I also learned to be a good listener.
My mother was frustrated with my weight. She tried to combat the fat by serving me healthy meals with lots of fruits and vegetables. She did give me sweets, but limited them to a few cookies at lunch and maybe a small bowl of ice cream at dinner. She couldn't understand why I was gaining so much weight. I, of course, kept my little forays a secret.
When I began attending elementary school, I discovered another way of getting food. While my mom packed me a small but nutritious lunch, the other kids' moms weren't as concerned about calories. The other kids had lunches loaded with food--too much food, especially cookies. I couldn't let this food go to waste. After all, there were starving children somewhere. To remedy the situation, I'd retrieve all the leftovers and, at the same time, satisfy my growing sweet tooth.
My sweet tooth as well as my appetite continued to get satisfied during my teen years. I was the neighborhood's favorite baby-sitter and had lots of jobs. Almost every time the parents gave instructions before leaving they would add "and eat whatever you want." I did! I'd eat half of a half gallon of ice cream. Cookie crumbs were all that remained of a bag. A package of lunch meat became just a slice when I was done.
As my teen years continued, the sweet tooth combined with a desire for salt. A Coke and fries, lots of fries, was the snack of choice for all teenagers in my generation. Daily after-school trips to drive-in restaurants (your food was delivered to your car) included a couple of Cokes or sometimes a malted milk shake (vanilla, of course!) and at least one generous serving of fries. A few hours later, a large dinner topped this "snack."
This kind of eating was taking its toll. Not obese but "just overweight," I pushed into a size 16 for high school graduation. Not to worry. I was heavy, but I was also popular and had lots of friends, even boyfriends. Who cared if I was larger than most? (My mother did!) I was young and I was healthy. Weight wasn't really a problem.
In college I became even larger. I lived in an apartment with three other students, and we all took care of our own food needs. My budget was more limited than my roommates' so my "balanced meals" were lots of peanut butter sandwiches washed down with Kool-Aid, lots of boxed macaroni and cheese washed down with Kool-Aid, and, my special favorite, rice with cream of chicken soup on top, washed down with Kool-Aid, of course. (The beverage of choice because it was so inexpensive.) For lunch at the university's cafeteria, I'd order two servings of toast (four slices for 50 cents), and using the free condiments, I'd create dill pickle and mustard sandwiches. Or I'd have two orders of mashed potatoes and gravy (70 cents). These eating habits moved me up first to a size 18, then to a size 20 by college graduation.
My entry into the working world was also my passport to unlimited "good" foods. Now I had money. I had the means for morning doughnuts (never just one), hamburger plates for lunch, and pizza for dinner. I also had money for the vending machines--for the 10 A.M. candy bar and the 3 P.M. candy bar(s).
During my twenties, my size 20s were getting tight. Luckily, I sewed many of my own clothes so I could fool myself about the exact size I wore. By this time I began to get worried. I wasn't concerned about my health (I was young), but I was worried about the way I looked. Although I dated, I wanted to get married, and who would want to marry a fat lady? I needed a svelte body to pursue my quest for a husband. A diet of near starvation in my late twenties brought me down to a size 14 in less than six months. I was ready!
Soon I was dating just about every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the Detroit area. I happily settled on a Tom. After two years of dating and with my thirty-third birthday a month away, Tom and I were married in a lavish ceremony complete with the bride in a gorgeous size 16 gown. (Tom's love made me so secure that I decreased my dietary efforts and the numbers on the scale started moving back up.)
Three months into the marriage, foot surgery took me out of commission for six weeks. My wonderful husband (I did pick a good Tom!) felt sorry for me because I had to be off my feet and sedentary. His sympathy translated into a half gallon of ice cream every other day. Recovery resulted in a 30-pound weight gain and a return to size 18.
By early 1983 I was coping with three children under four years of age and this almost thirty-nine-year-old mother was overwhelmed, a word that would be part of my life for the next few years. Each time I got at least two of the kids down for a nap at the same time, I rewarded myself with a treat. My newfound "happy food" was chocolate eclairs, three at a time. Although they were expensive, I deserved them! I also learned the age-old motherly habit of "cleaning off" my children's plates. Heaven forbid I should throw any leftovers down the garbage disposal. Instead, I ate half a hot dog from one plate, the untouched spaghetti from another. I was becoming a bona fide member of the Clean Plate Club and I was expanding in the process. Size 20 clothes were getting too tight and the stretchy slacks I wore were ripping at the seams.
As my children, Andy, Libby, and Emily, grew, so did I. Fast foods accounted for much of this. Fast foods that were "necessary" because of our busy lifestyle (a soccer game here, a ballet lesson there). Convenience foods resulted in poor dietary habits for the children and more girth for me. But what was I to do? There just wasn't time to cook. I did the best I could with such demanding schedules.
This "best" carried me over the 200-pound mark. In addition, my cholesterol was creeping up to a dangerous level (250), as was my husband's, my son's, and my youngest daughter's. But did I change our eating habits? It would take several more years and 100 more pounds for reality to hit.
Enter 1993. The number on the scale was a shock. I never, ever thought I could weigh more than 200 pounds. Now I had passed the 300-pound mark. Nor did I ever think I would wear a size 28. I had to face reality. No longer was I overweight. I was obese, an awful word in anybody's vocabulary! And, to make matters worse, I was smoking up to three packs of cigarettes a day.
Something needed to be done, and I had to do it!
On Friday, New Year's Day, 1993, I began a diet--my final attempt to realize good health. I thought I had reached the "enough is enough" point. I thought I was ready for success.
I was wrong. In the weeks that followed I goofed so many times that I spent the first few months of the year riddled with guilt. I did manage to take off, put on, and take off 15 pounds, but it wasn't easy. It was the same old battle I had fought for years, I was discouraged. I thought this time would be different.
By May 1993, I was 310 pounds and extremely depressed. In a few weeks we would be taking a family trip to Washington, D.C. How could I walk around the nation's capital and visit all the monuments? My excess weight was restricting my movements in our own home. It would wreck the family's vacation!
My 160-pound husband told me not to worry. He would take the children sight-seeing. I could relax, he said. But I didn't. How had I reached the point where I could no longer share things with my family? What kind of wife and mother was I?
Sight-seeing wasn't my only concern about going to Washington. While there, we would be staying with a former boyfriend of mine. We hadn't seen each other for years (I was under 200 pounds at our last meeting) and I was embarrassed. What would he think of me? Why did I get so fat?
The other concern involved my son, a wonderful then-thirteen-year-old. Our trip was planned around his Odyssey of the Mind world competition at the University of Maryland. I had coached his seven-member team and it had a good chance to win the finals. If they won, I would have to accompany the team up onstage to accept the award before an audience of thousands. (I wasn't sure I could even climb the steps to the stage.) I didn't want my son to be ashamed of me. I even thought of saying a prayer that the team wouldn't win. Now I really felt guilty! How could I have done thi...
For me a number of things occurred in 1993 that helped me reach the point where enough was enough.
The year started the same as every new year of my adult life. I resolved to lose weight and get fit. In years past, I had failed in this resolve. This year would be different... it had to be different. Never before had I been this heavy--325 pounds. Never before had I smoked almost three packs of cigarettes a day. Never before had I been this close to turning fifty years of age. I was killing myself and time was running out!
I had never been slim, much less average in size. I was more than 9 pounds at birth--a hefty beginning that would prove to be a barometer of the years to come. Soon after I was born, my parents' marriage began to dissolve. My mother, overwhelmed by an impending divorce and the responsibility of two infant daughters, did what she could to handle a difficult situation. This included feeding me extra bottles of formula whenever I cried. By my first birthday I was covered with baby fat.
As the years progressed, the baby fat became just plain fat. A little con I devised as a youngster helped increase my already plump body. I would wander to nearby houses, knock on the doors, and tell the kindly neighbors how sad I was because I didn't have a daddy. Mrs. Baker was good for homemade cookies and milk. Mrs. Jackson always had ice cream with chocolate sauce, and dear, sweet Mrs. McGovern, she had everything--candy, chips, peanut butter and butter sandwiches. The only price I had to pay for these wondrous food treats was a few minutes of listening to these women's little aggravations. But the food was worth it, and I also learned to be a good listener.
My mother was frustrated with my weight. She tried to combat the fat by serving me healthy meals with lots of fruits and vegetables. She did give me sweets, but limited them to a few cookies at lunch and maybe a small bowl of ice cream at dinner. She couldn't understand why I was gaining so much weight. I, of course, kept my little forays a secret.
When I began attending elementary school, I discovered another way of getting food. While my mom packed me a small but nutritious lunch, the other kids' moms weren't as concerned about calories. The other kids had lunches loaded with food--too much food, especially cookies. I couldn't let this food go to waste. After all, there were starving children somewhere. To remedy the situation, I'd retrieve all the leftovers and, at the same time, satisfy my growing sweet tooth.
My sweet tooth as well as my appetite continued to get satisfied during my teen years. I was the neighborhood's favorite baby-sitter and had lots of jobs. Almost every time the parents gave instructions before leaving they would add "and eat whatever you want." I did! I'd eat half of a half gallon of ice cream. Cookie crumbs were all that remained of a bag. A package of lunch meat became just a slice when I was done.
As my teen years continued, the sweet tooth combined with a desire for salt. A Coke and fries, lots of fries, was the snack of choice for all teenagers in my generation. Daily after-school trips to drive-in restaurants (your food was delivered to your car) included a couple of Cokes or sometimes a malted milk shake (vanilla, of course!) and at least one generous serving of fries. A few hours later, a large dinner topped this "snack."
This kind of eating was taking its toll. Not obese but "just overweight," I pushed into a size 16 for high school graduation. Not to worry. I was heavy, but I was also popular and had lots of friends, even boyfriends. Who cared if I was larger than most? (My mother did!) I was young and I was healthy. Weight wasn't really a problem.
In college I became even larger. I lived in an apartment with three other students, and we all took care of our own food needs. My budget was more limited than my roommates' so my "balanced meals" were lots of peanut butter sandwiches washed down with Kool-Aid, lots of boxed macaroni and cheese washed down with Kool-Aid, and, my special favorite, rice with cream of chicken soup on top, washed down with Kool-Aid, of course. (The beverage of choice because it was so inexpensive.) For lunch at the university's cafeteria, I'd order two servings of toast (four slices for 50 cents), and using the free condiments, I'd create dill pickle and mustard sandwiches. Or I'd have two orders of mashed potatoes and gravy (70 cents). These eating habits moved me up first to a size 18, then to a size 20 by college graduation.
My entry into the working world was also my passport to unlimited "good" foods. Now I had money. I had the means for morning doughnuts (never just one), hamburger plates for lunch, and pizza for dinner. I also had money for the vending machines--for the 10 A.M. candy bar and the 3 P.M. candy bar(s).
During my twenties, my size 20s were getting tight. Luckily, I sewed many of my own clothes so I could fool myself about the exact size I wore. By this time I began to get worried. I wasn't concerned about my health (I was young), but I was worried about the way I looked. Although I dated, I wanted to get married, and who would want to marry a fat lady? I needed a svelte body to pursue my quest for a husband. A diet of near starvation in my late twenties brought me down to a size 14 in less than six months. I was ready!
Soon I was dating just about every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the Detroit area. I happily settled on a Tom. After two years of dating and with my thirty-third birthday a month away, Tom and I were married in a lavish ceremony complete with the bride in a gorgeous size 16 gown. (Tom's love made me so secure that I decreased my dietary efforts and the numbers on the scale started moving back up.)
Three months into the marriage, foot surgery took me out of commission for six weeks. My wonderful husband (I did pick a good Tom!) felt sorry for me because I had to be off my feet and sedentary. His sympathy translated into a half gallon of ice cream every other day. Recovery resulted in a 30-pound weight gain and a return to size 18.
By early 1983 I was coping with three children under four years of age and this almost thirty-nine-year-old mother was overwhelmed, a word that would be part of my life for the next few years. Each time I got at least two of the kids down for a nap at the same time, I rewarded myself with a treat. My newfound "happy food" was chocolate eclairs, three at a time. Although they were expensive, I deserved them! I also learned the age-old motherly habit of "cleaning off" my children's plates. Heaven forbid I should throw any leftovers down the garbage disposal. Instead, I ate half a hot dog from one plate, the untouched spaghetti from another. I was becoming a bona fide member of the Clean Plate Club and I was expanding in the process. Size 20 clothes were getting too tight and the stretchy slacks I wore were ripping at the seams.
As my children, Andy, Libby, and Emily, grew, so did I. Fast foods accounted for much of this. Fast foods that were "necessary" because of our busy lifestyle (a soccer game here, a ballet lesson there). Convenience foods resulted in poor dietary habits for the children and more girth for me. But what was I to do? There just wasn't time to cook. I did the best I could with such demanding schedules.
This "best" carried me over the 200-pound mark. In addition, my cholesterol was creeping up to a dangerous level (250), as was my husband's, my son's, and my youngest daughter's. But did I change our eating habits? It would take several more years and 100 more pounds for reality to hit.
Enter 1993. The number on the scale was a shock. I never, ever thought I could weigh more than 200 pounds. Now I had passed the 300-pound mark. Nor did I ever think I would wear a size 28. I had to face reality. No longer was I overweight. I was obese, an awful word in anybody's vocabulary! And, to make matters worse, I was smoking up to three packs of cigarettes a day.
Something needed to be done, and I had to do it!
On Friday, New Year's Day, 1993, I began a diet--my final attempt to realize good health. I thought I had reached the "enough is enough" point. I thought I was ready for success.
I was wrong. In the weeks that followed I goofed so many times that I spent the first few months of the year riddled with guilt. I did manage to take off, put on, and take off 15 pounds, but it wasn't easy. It was the same old battle I had fought for years, I was discouraged. I thought this time would be different.
By May 1993, I was 310 pounds and extremely depressed. In a few weeks we would be taking a family trip to Washington, D.C. How could I walk around the nation's capital and visit all the monuments? My excess weight was restricting my movements in our own home. It would wreck the family's vacation!
My 160-pound husband told me not to worry. He would take the children sight-seeing. I could relax, he said. But I didn't. How had I reached the point where I could no longer share things with my family? What kind of wife and mother was I?
Sight-seeing wasn't my only concern about going to Washington. While there, we would be staying with a former boyfriend of mine. We hadn't seen each other for years (I was under 200 pounds at our last meeting) and I was embarrassed. What would he think of me? Why did I get so fat?
The other concern involved my son, a wonderful then-thirteen-year-old. Our trip was planned around his Odyssey of the Mind world competition at the University of Maryland. I had coached his seven-member team and it had a good chance to win the finals. If they won, I would have to accompany the team up onstage to accept the award before an audience of thousands. (I wasn't sure I could even climb the steps to the stage.) I didn't want my son to be ashamed of me. I even thought of saying a prayer that the team wouldn't win. Now I really felt guilty! How could I have done thi...
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- PublisherDoubleday
- Publication date1999
- ISBN 10 0385492170
- ISBN 13 9780385492171
- BindingHardcover
- Edition number1
- Number of pages224
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