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point, someone said, “So, tell us about you.”
    I wasted no time in telling the truth. “The first thing you should know is that you absolutely sent me over the edge this morning, with the whole we-want-to-know-your-story plea. I cried all the way to my room!”
    “Why?” several people said in unison.
    “Because I don’t
have
a story. Or at least that’s what I thought. But the more I considered it, the more I realized that I
do
have a story to tell. And it’s the same story so many wives and mothers would tell you, if they were sitting here instead of me. I love my family, and it’s with the best of intentions that I invest everything I have in them. But at the end of the day there’s nothing left for me. I am my own last priority.”
    I paused to collect my thoughts and then continued. “I’m tired of being this way. I’m tired of looking like I’m headed to a funeral every day, with all the black I wear. I’m tired of waiting until nightfall, when no one’s around to see me, to play outside with my son. I’m tired of worrying about whether I’ll live to see my son grow up, or whether I’ll sit by my husband in a rocking chair when we’re eighty, or whether I’ll even make it to forty years of age. I’m
tired
of
being
fat
.”
    The room was strangely quiet as I spoke, and when I finished, silent tears rolled down my cheeks. I should have been curious about what my interviewers were thinking, but I was not. I had spoken straight from the heart and could only hope that it was enough.
    In the end, of course, it was.
SAVIOR ON A STEEL HORSE
    M aking the shift from being a viewer of
The Biggest Loser
to being a contestant on the show proved far more challenging than what I had expected. At eleven o’clock at night following the final round of interviews, eighteen of us received a knock on our hotel door and instructions to meet downstairs in one of the on-site ballrooms. Once seated, J. D. Roth congratulated us on successfully completing such a rigorous casting process and informed us that, officially, we comprised the cast of
The Biggest Loser, Season 4
. In response, some laughed, some cried and still others cheered.
    “But let me tell you what you’re in for,” J.D. cautioned. And with that the stories began to unfold. As he talked about how incredibly difficult the next four months would be for us—physically, mentally, emotionally—I felt my stomach start to churn. What had I gotten myself into? I knew only time would tell.
    My castmates and I had exactly one hour to pack up our things, place phone calls to loved ones and turn over cell phones and laptops to production assistants’ hands. When Mike answered the phone, I heard his groggy, “Hello?” and remembered that it was 3:00 AM his time. With equal parts shock and awe, I said, “I did it! I made the show!”
    In that moment, the same husband who thought it would take divine intervention for me to land a spot on reality TV believed in miracles once more. I sat on the floor of my hotel room and cried precious tears as he conveyed how proud of me he was. “When do I get to see you again?” he finally asked.
    “I don’t know!” I replied. And as the words came out, I realized that I really
didn’t
know when I’d see him again. Or when I’d see my six-year-old, Noah. Or when I’d be back home. “I have no idea what all of this means. Really. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know what I’ll be doing, I don’t know when we’ll be able to talk again.”
    I wouldn’t be allowed to communicate with my family for more than two full months after I found out I’d made the show. All Mike knew was that I was living in California, and that I was trying to lose some weight.
    A wave of trepidation washed over me, but I knew that I had to go. “Take care of my baby, and tell him I love him. And Mike? I love you so much too.”
      
    O ne of the early twists of Season 4 was that six of the eighteen original contestants were