No ... in

I've lost a lot of weight in the past year, and while I still have a way to go before I hit my goal weight, the change is dramatic. So dramatic that it's starting to rattle me a bit. It's not just that everyone I see these days has something to say; I have to expect that. When you see someone who's lost 55-plus pounds, you tend to comment.

People are kind. There's a lot of 'you always looked great,' but c'mon, we know I didn't. We're just not allowed to say it. (Although some people have. There was the one woman I interviewed after a year who kept going -- in front of a bunch of other people -- "You've lost weight. I mean a lot of weight. I mean a bunch of weight." Um. Yes I have. Thanks?)

Like most women I always struggled with my weight. I have a genetic predisposition to weight gain, but if I were to be honest, I just let myself go. I got tired of counting calories and obsessing over each bite that went into my mouth. Plus I am fantastic cook. I say this without modesty because I love my cooking and it matters not a whit to me if anyone else does or not -- although I'm always happier when people do like my food, of course.

So sometime in my mid 30s I threw in the towel. The resulting overindulgence over the years led to a substantial weight gain. I went from being able to cover the lumps and bumps with kicky, fun fashionable clothes, to large sweaters to contrast with what I hoped was a smaller person and finally to dark, plain clothing that didn't call attention to itself or the big woman underneath it.

I wasn't happy and every time I caught sight of my reflection, I would cringe. I wasn't the kind of person who wore weight well. It swelled my features and made my face ugly to my eyes. That big bulky woman was an affront to me. Sadly she was me.

I lost weight from time to time and would make a real run at regaining my former shape, but something would always happen and before you know it I was topping the charts yet again. I wasn't at my top weight, but nowhere near my desired weight, and I avoided scales, reflective windows and mirrors.

Then I got hit by a truck while I was riding my bike across the street in a marked crosswalk. I always tried to keep physically active no matter how heavy I got. I ended up rupturing my posterior tibial tendon, which left me with a titanium rod through my ankle and my foot screwed on just a little off-center. The doctor was really proud of his 10-degree angle, but my foot was never at a 10-degree angle to start with. Now I can hardly buy shoes because my heel goes in normally, but the front of my foot is scewed out to the right. I have to wear a heavy support stocking on that calf because the foot swells if I stand on it too long.

If that weren't enough, my left knee was claimed by osteoarthritis. The doctor -- a different one than the first, but it's managed care and you get as little as they can get away with -- tried arthroscopic surgery with disastrous results. I've since read that arthroscopic surgery is beyond useless with arthritis. In my case it caused a runaway reaction where inflammation froze the knee. So at 53, I found myself getting a total knee replacement.

The arthritis is raging through my body these days. The other knee is in bad shape and my hips cause constant pain. Besides anti-inflammatories and pain killers, so I can sleep at least until the aches wake me, there isn't much medical science has to offer, besides replacing the joints as they collapse.

There is, however, one big thing I can do to make it better and put off the day when I have to get more joints replaced.

I can lose weight.

Trust me, if you ever have the misfortune to have to have a joint replaced, you will understand that where other motivations have failed, the specter of having to go thought that torture again has worked.

So I embarked on an Atkins-derived diet where I eat lots of proteins, eschew sugar and carbs for the most part. I eat lots of veggies and make sure I have a piece of fruit or two on hand. I've found I can have as much fun working my way through the various varieties of tangerines at the farmers market as I used to working my way through carryout.

I was watching Jeff Garlin the other night and he's lost a lot of weight making what he calls "lifestyle changes." I don't want to be negative, but I wouldn't be surprised to find him in a couple of years right back where he was a la Oprah. I say this because he has put himself into such a draconian diet where he never, ever allows himself sugar or alcohol or any other treats, that he will snap.

I allow myself occasional treats (although alcohol is an absolute no-no), but my new creed (and we'll see how long I last)is moderation. I stick with the low-carb, protein and veggie diet for the most part. But I'm allowed one meal a week to eat what I want. I work at not pigging out, but just enjoying eating until I'm comfortable.

I'm also big on bites. I'm allowed a bite of almost anything. But it's just that, a bite. I try to squeeze in as much excitement and appreciation into that one taste as I used to get in eating the whole danged box of treats. I also taste with my eyes. I look at forbidden foods and imagine how they would taste and feel as I ate them -- the icy sweet-tartness of the lemon gelato or the creamy richness of the mint truffle -- after all the actual physical process of eating is fleeting, so if you savor the moment mentally, you can avoid the lasting effects physically.

It's paid off. Now I feel as though I'm a different person, and from the way people react to me, I am a different person. I would love to rail about how unfair it is for people to judge me on my size. I would love to be able to complain that it's staggering how people react differently to the new, thin me.

But I'm as guilty of those judgments as anyone. I'm the one who has been deleting all photos of myself for the past 20 years. I'm the one who recoiled with revulsion at my reflected image. Ask Oprah, no one hates their fat self more than the fat person.

Yesterday, though I got thrown for a loop. I was interviewing two old guys about a statue they are putting in at Marina Park. One of them immediately said on meeting, "You're a pretty thing!". The other kept telling me how pretty I was and they kept flirting and fluttering around like two schoolboys. I haven't been the object of anyone's desire for so long -- no matter how old -- I was totally thrown for a loop.

I'm still overweight, but now I'm closing on on the maximum BMI before I cross back into the "normal" range. I've dropped a couple of sizes and the size I'm in now is starting to get a little loose. It is easier to walk and my foot isn't swelling as much as it used to. My right knee seems to be holding up well and doesn't hurt.

But no matter what the health benefits, the greatest joy comes when I go to the Loehmann's open dressing room where I can try on some really cute clothes and know they look fantastic on my increasingly long-legged, tall and no longer big and operatic body.

And I'm still the same person. Or am I?