By MONICA WATROUS

By MONICA WATROUS
KNIGHT RIDDER NEWSPAPERS
UST OVER THREE YEARS AGO, I TOOK one timid peek in the mirror and haven't been the same since.
I was perched on the bed at a friend's plush duplex with three other high school freshmen. A mirror occupied an entire wall across from us. We were all chuckling about something when I accidentally caught a glimpse of my reflection. My grin instantly faded.
I beheld my blubbery arms, bulbous hips swathed in size-16 Levi's, a bulging gut spilling over my waistband, pudgy cheeks burying my facial features.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. This image I saw, however, merited only one syllable.
Fat.
I shuddered, slumped dejectedly and through the evening periodically stole glances at the portly girl in the mirror, deliberately torturing myself.
That night at home, while restlessly tossing and turning in a tangle of bed sheets, I felt this overpowering The Little Engine That Could-type of conviction to lose 40 pounds.
'STICKS AND STONES'
I had always had issues with my weight. But through my first chubby 12 years, the occasional fat joke from some random bully barely bruised my self-esteem. In those oblivious days of pre-pubescence, I still believed the mantra about "sticks and stones...." While a smattering of crash diets peppered my preteen years, I wasn't too preoccupied with my weight until high school.
But nothing would prepare me for what I would encounter.
The morning after my mirror experience, I promptly prepared a healthy breakfast. My mom, stationed at the breakfast table, observed as I cored an apple and toasted a bagel.
"No cereal or Pop-Tart this morning?" she asked.
"Nope," I announced proudly. "I'm watching my weight."
At lunchtime I dismissed a gnawing hunger, plopped down at a table and waited for my friends to arrive from the lunch line.
"How come you're not eating, Monica? Where's your usual fries and cookies?"
I'm not hungry today, I lied.
After school, I nuked a Lean Cuisine and guzzled water. Then, clad in Spandex shorts, Nikes and a baggy T-shirt, I retreated to the basement, where I punched and kicked, panted and wheezed through the 27-minute beginner's Tae-Bo video.
After five months of regular Tae-Bo and a careful 1,000-calorie-a-day diet, I had lost not 40 but 50 pounds. I gained respect and admiration, objects so crucial and paramount to a teenager in a world of judgmental, superficial peers.
In those days, as I sauntered through the high school halls, heads swiveled, eyes trailed, jaws dropped. The attention was fabulous. Addictive.
LOSING CONTROL AND SCARED TO DEATH
I'm not exactly sure when my innocent diet careened out of control.
I detached myself from my family and friends. I became withdrawn. Instead of hanging out and having fun -- the essence of being a teenager -- I stayed at home and snuggled with my obsession.
Then one weekend I was digging through the bag of potatoes my mom had just purchased, pursuing the smallest one. To my dismay, they were all rather hefty.
I clutched, the smallest -- a 5-incher -- pierced it with a fork and tossed it in the microwave. Wearily propped against the kitchen counter, I impatiently eyed my rotating lunch.
And then, unexpectedly, my sister declared, "Wow! That's a big potato."
Suddenly self-conscious, I felt a flush spread up my neck and ignite in my cheeks.
"Yeah," my mom chimed in. "Look at that thing!"
I faced them, quaking with fury.
"You're saying I'm fat because I'm about to eat this big potato!" I said accusingly, feverishly. "Well, forget it. I won't eat it!"
I snatched the scalding spud from the microwave and hurled it into the trash. My family gawked at me.
I staggered out of the kitchen and scrambled up the stairs to my bedroom. I tumbled on the bed facedown, melting into the covers. My lower lip quivered; my eyes stung with tears.
It wasn't about the stupid potato or the irrational notion that my family had conspired to tick me off. It was the fact that I knew I was no longer normal about food or my weight.
And that scared me to death.
Burrowing my face in my pillow, I wept.
XNext week, Monica Watrous, now a freshman at the University of Missouri-Columbia, discovers binge eating.