• Aprill Brandon •
• Originally published July 14, 2009 at 3:30 p.m., updated July 14, 2009 at 10:10 p.m.

Today, I am going to do something that no woman has ever done before. Better yet, I'm going to do it in a format where it will forever exist, both in print and online.

Today, I'm going to tell you how much I weigh (I'll just pause right here for the inevitable gasps and to give you time to grab your smelling salts).

Ready? I, Aprill Marie Brandon, weigh...ahem...I weigh...oh man...hang on, hang on...I'm going to do it...I weigh...135 pounds.

Whew! There. I did it.

Of course, you're all probably wondering why I felt the need to announce my weight to the world. Women are a species that are notorious for keeping their weight a secret. Even if our lives depended on it, most women would still probably refuse to tell.

Doctor: "Ma'am, you must tell me your weight or you will die."

Woman: "No."

Doctor: "I need to know your weight. It could save your life!"

Woman: "No."

Doctor: "We're losing vital signs!"

Woman: "Never!"

(Beeeeeeeeeeep).

I'm telling you my weight because for once, I am proud of my weight. I've lost 20 pounds and I'm feeling good.

So how did I do it? Believe it or not, I discovered a miracle cure. I found a method that, if done right, works almost every time without fail. And it's all the rage among the medical community.

I started eating healthy and exercising.

I know! Who knew that actually worked? After years and years of trying every hackneyed method out there and paying out the wahzoo for pills and specialized "food" that tasted suspiciously like "cardboard," I lost weight by doing what all the real experts actually say you should do.

Trust me, it wasn't easy. First off, I hate working out. HATE IT. Even just motivating myself to go to the gym seems like a Herculean task. Too easily I can convince myself that I can either go work out, or stay in bed and eat an entire cheesecake while watching reruns of "Seinfeld." Then, if by some miracle I do convince myself to go, I'm usually surrounded by bouncy size-2 blondes who can run 20 miles on a treadmill and not be hacking out a lung and sweating like a sumo wrestler in a sauna like yours truly.

Secondly, I think vegetables are the devil. In fact, I'm pretty sure God never intended for us to eat them. I imagine his reaction when He first saw us eating things out of the ground was something like "Oh, you silly humans. Those are just for decoration! You're supposed to be eating the antelope. The ANTELOPE!"

I don't know who the first genius was to pick up a mushroom, bite into it and say "Hey, this is really bland and gross. Let's make it and others like it a staple of our diet!" but I really hope he died a painful death.

And lastly, I am a recovering diet fad addict. In my brilliant mind, I used to think consuming just black coffee and grapefruit or taking a pill infused with some South African fat-melting plant was a "great" way to lose weight permanently. Heck, I was that girl who would have eaten gravel if you told me it would boost my metabolism.

So as you can see, eating healthy and exercising wasn't as easy as it sounds. It was tough. It's still tough. Momma loves her some Cheetos and a nice couch to park her rear on.

However, I finally got to a point where I was fed up with how I looked, and more importantly, how I felt. So since I tried every other weight loss method under the sun, I felt it was time to give exercise and salads the benefit of the doubt.

Of course, that's not to say I'm now a perfect size six (or even a size six). I still have jiggly bits. Cellulite is still a constant companion. Some days the cheesecake and "Seinfeld" win.

However, I'm still proud of my body, all 135 pounds of it. And no matter what I weigh, that's what counts.

Aprill Brandon is a reporter for the Advocate. She really misses her Cheetos but totally digs her new butt.

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