Their philosophy about eating: "For now, we eat what we always ate, just less of it," Melisa says. "Except pop. We quit drinking pop, most of us. We used to drink a lot of pop. Cases of it."
Five evenings a week for two hours they go at it in the fire station.
"The fire hall makes all this possible," she said. "People heard what we were doing and donated exercise machines. We bought exercise DVDs on eBay.
"I figure we've spent maybe $250 on the whole thing."
Everyone's welcome. "People come and go," Karen Harris said. There are eight regulars, including Melisa Ferrell's husband and son and Karen's daughter. They weigh in every few weeks. By their records, they have shed 416 pounds between June and January.
Karen lost 48 of those pounds. "It's not just the weight," she said. "I'm in better shape now. My triglycerides used to be out of sight, up in the 700s. Now they've dropped into the 200s."
"There's diabetes all over my family, and I don't want it," says Shannon Hager. As of Feb. 1, she'd lost 55 pounds.
Annie Toney cut her blood pressure medicine in half while she lost the 90 pounds. She has a new grandson. "Lots to live for."
"I don't get child support or alimony, so me and my young'uns live on just what I make," she says. "But nobody can say to me, 'I took care of you.'"
Kevin Ferrell, Melisa's husband, a diabetic, can't walk the road since he got hit by a car while trying to help get people out of a wreck. He has a steel rod in his leg. With limited workouts, he's lost 17 pounds.
Melisa's son, R.J., baby-sits the women's kids while they work out. "He's lost 30 pounds just chasing the kids," Melisa said.
Karen's 14-year-old daughter, Ashley, works out with them in the evenings after school. She's lost 12 pounds so far. An honor student, she wants to be a pediatrician.
They keep other people alive
Streaks of dawn light the ridgelines. The walkers stand at the top of a hill, quiet, looking down at the valley where a mean dog lives, right before the road starts up a steep hill.
"I fit into a size-6 jeans yesterday," Michele says. "I'm down from a size 14.
"We all make more or less minimum wage," she says, "so now we've lost all this weight, there's this question of where to get new clothes."
Somebody tells her to tie a rope around her pants like the "Beverly Hillbillies." They laugh and start down the hill. "Better get your Moses stick ready, Melisa," Annie says.
Melisa keeps a big stick hidden in a ditch before the mean dog's house. She finds it. When the dog runs out, snarling and snapping, she shakes her Moses stick at him while the others file past, up the steep hill.
"When we first started, we couldn't even walk a quarter-mile," Karen says. "Now look at us."
Sometimes Karen and Annie work security 24 or 48 hours straight for Hobet. "Need the money," Annie says. "Glad to have it."
"But our kids miss us," Karen says. "That's the tough part. My son called me up on the job the other day and said, 'Mommy, I miss you. I want you to come home,' and I said, 'You know I can't.' It killed me."
Outside work, they're always on call for the Fire Department. They answer calls for heart attacks, people who fall off roofs, snakebites, brush fires, drug overdoses. The nearest Emergency Medical Service takes awhile to get there, Michele Egnor says, "so sometimes we're the ones who keep people alive."
They get paid nothing for that. Given the stress in their lives, why do they do it? "For the community," Karen says, in a tone that makes it clear she wonders why anyone would ask such a question.
"Spaghetti dinner's next Saturday at the station," Michele says. "How many pounds of sauce should I cook? A hundred?"
'We know what you can do to help yourself'
On the surface, people who study prevention of chronic disease might not give these women much chance of beating diabetes: They don't have college degrees or middle-class salaries. They have no sidewalks, running tracks or gyms. The nearest grocery store is 20 minutes away if you drive fast.
Yet so far they're beating the odds, partly because they believe they can.
"Lots of people think, 'My grandfather had sugar, my dad had sugar, so I'll have sugar, and there's no point in trying,'" Annie said. "They've had it fed into their brains that there's nothing they can do about it. But we take medical classes and stuff like that for the Fire Department, so we know what you can do to help yourself."
"At some point," Melisa says, "we'll hit a plateau, and it's going to get harder to take the pounds off." What then? "Maybe then we'll look at what we eat." She pauses. "Maybe the smoking."
The most powerful thing they have may be each other. Research says people who have friends who are trying to get healthy or lose weight have a much better chance of doing the same themselves.
Looking ahead 10 years, what do they hope for? They fall quiet. "I hope we're all together," Annie said after a pause. "If we make it that far, and we're all healthy," she said, "I hope we can still joke and cut up and be one big family."
Reach Kate Long at katel...@wvgazette.com or 304-348-1798.
"The Shape We're In" was written with the help of the Dennis A. Hunt Fund for Health Journalism, administered by the California Endowment Health Journalism Fellowships, at the University of Southern California's Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism.