My Big Fat Mouth

Ok, so I have a problem. I am one of those people who hate to be told they can’t do something.  With that said, I just wrote out a $500 check to my husband, post dated for July 4, 2012 and I’m sweating bullets trying to figure out if I have literally written a check my ass can’t cash. 

The Peachtree came and went.  The soreness came and (after an awesome massage) vanished.  The congrats floated in sporadically from co-workers and family members, but eventually that has died down too.  When it all settled to the bottom the only thing left floating at the top was my longing to do it again…but better. 

Finishing in 1:45 was a let down.  I should have, and could have, finished a lot sooner and last night I told my husband as much.  “I can do better,” I told my him. “I can run it in…..45 minutes if I trained right.”  (Why oh why did I ever open my big fat mouth? I was just throwing out a number really.  I wasn't stuck with that number until...) 

“Yea right!” he says. “Come on, there is no way you can finish—how long is it?”

“Six miles,” I said with my arms folded in total disbelief that he was actually saying I could not do it!

“Ok, there is no way you can finish 6 miles in 45 minutes.” He laughs, “I’ll give you some money on that one.”

“So, wait,” (damn…this is the part leading to the part where I should have kept my mouth shut), “are you telling me that I cannot run it in 45 minutes?  That is what you are saying to me right now? Seriously?”

“Yes. That is what I’m saying.”

“Fine…let’s bet then.” (Dummy…)

“Aiight, bet,” he says as he holds out his hand. 

(Here’s the part where I should have just shut up… I should have shut up prior to this point but as stated in the opening paragraph I have a problem with people saying what I can’t do) I slapped my hand in his and firmly shook it as I said, “$500. And when I do it in 45 minutes I want my check right there at the finish line.”

“Go ahead and write my check now then,” he said chuckling as he turned off the bedroom light.  I laid my head down and closed my eyes…that’s when the panic hit me.

I can’t possibly shave 1 whole hour off of my run time in…12 months!  Can I?  Whether it is humanly possibly or not, I am going to try my hardest.  I have a 3 step plan for aiding in my quest.  Step 1: train better.  Now that I know I can do the Peachtree, know the course and know how long it took—I can train much better than before.  Step 2:  get stronger and lighter. That is where strength training will come in.  The slimmer and stronger I am, the easier it will be to really move my body. My legs are strong so that is not an issue…it’s the rest of this body I’m worried about.  Step 3: run more.  The more I run, the better equipped I will be to really run the Peachtree.  So, I have some 5ks and 10ks in mind, spaced out far enough to negate any ‘overdoing it’ injuries. 

So, instead of pushing to do the Peachtree just to do it and say I did it, I am pushing to do it so I can cash a check for 500 big ones and get bragging rights for a while—unless I open my big fat mouth again.

The Runner

I DID IT! YESSSS....

38 weeks all came down to this one day. Weeks of training, dropping poundage, tennis shoe shopping, and nervousness have all been for this day. (FYI-- It took me about 5 minutes to get up off my comfy spot on the couch and shuffle into the office to tell you how the race went—I’m not so sure I’ll be able to get back—so enjoy this post) The end result of the Peachtree Road Race was me laying on the grass in a pool of sweat under the red balloon marked “J-K” waiting for my husband and son to find me. But I suppose the best way to start any story is always from the beginning—so lets start there shall we?

July 4th 2011 came with me rolling over and looking at the clock every hour on the hour. 12:30 am…1:45 am…2:30 am….3:45 am…4:15 am and finally the alarm clock went off at 5:00am. Naturally, being the amazing light sleeper that I am when I haven’t had a good night’s sleep (you so don’t believe that do you?), I turned off the alarm clock (meaning to put it on snooze) and told myself that I would wake up in 5 minutes. An hour and a half later I woke up to the little dog’s butt in my face and the husband saying it was 6:30 am. I threw the dog somewhere in the corner, shot out of bed and went running into the bathroom. “Oh God. Oh God! We are going to be late!” (I think I may have resembled the rabbit in Alice and Wonderland slightly) The husband calmly reassured me we had time when I tripped over the leg hole of my underwear as I tried to walk and put them on at the same time (not a good idea for future ref). Calm down he says. We’ll get there he says.

In the car chugging water so I don’t fall out before the race even starts, my nerves creep in. The closer we got to where I needed to be the more I couldn’t seem to feel my feet and for some odd reason I suddenly have the urge to use the bathroom. (TMI, I know) We finally arrived at a closed road and tons of runners walked toward their start wave groups. I hopped out of the car, forgetting that I couldn’t feel my feet, and wobbled just a tad. This was it. Race number on, shoe tag thingy on, and running clothes on…this was it! I fell in line with the others and made my way to Start Wave U.

By the time I got to our starting spot I had probably walked 100 miles, but when the announcer said it was time to start my body was already warmed up and ready to go. I had contemplated walking (I had a plan after all) but I decided to start the race running and run I did…a full 2 minutes and 30 seconds (I told you I had already walked 900 miles to get there). The route was nice. Bands were playing, people were cheering and clapping. I ran/walked the first mile and when I passed the 1 Mile marker a smile crept up on my face. I was finally doing it and there was only 5 more miles to go. I ran mile 2, and by the time mile 3 came along I was ready to go (no not go as in run—go as in go home). Heartbreak Hill or Cardiac Hill as they sometimes call it wasn’t all that bad. I was expecting it to be this Mt. Everest of a hill, but it wasn’t. It WAS a pain in the ass to run (that’s why I stopped running half way up) but all in all it wasn’t so bad. Mile 4 was my “what the hell were you thinking” mile. By this point I saw most people walking and talking a lot more. My stomach was full of water and since I apparently have a bathroom issue, I stayed away from too much more of it.

Something happened when I passed the 5 mile marker. My legs didn’t bother me quite as much and my body wasn’t as tired. I pumped my arms as fast as I could and power walked/ran the fifth mile. Mentally I was through saying “wtf???” and I was telling myself that I had finally done it. “You did it! You made it! One more mile and you will have your tee shirt and you will be able to say you finished the race! YOU DID IT!!!!”

With the mile 6 marker in sight, I found my ‘go-get em’ song, T.I.’s Bring Em Out, and ran my ass off for the rest of the way. There was no way I was going to walk across that finish line. One foot in front of the other I started off slowly at first but when I heard someone say the finish line was just beyond the flashing traffic light—I zoomed through the crowd. The white banner up ahead said “FINISH” in big bold print and I ran as fast as I could rapping and singing along with T.I. and Jay Z and made it across with a sigh of relief. I scooped up my shirt, grabbed some goodies from the food tables Publix had set up (I just love them), and made my way like a zombie to the family meet up area. I tried standing at first, but I gave up on that after about 1 minute. I plopped down on the grass chugging my water and trying not to fall out (I knew I would go into a coma if I did). 38 weeks, $33 entry fee, hundreds of gallons of sweat, jacked up sweated out hair do’s, thousands of calories burned, hundreds of salads, and 40lbs later I did it….and by golly I would do it all over again and next year I plan on doing just that! Happy 4th!

Here are my race results:

Chip Time: 1:46:23
Distance: 10k
Clock Time: 3:07:34
Overall Place: 49,018 out of 55,090
Gender Place: 22,724 out of 26,705
Division Place: 3157 out of 3507
Age Grade: 28.6% (not the greatest. LOL)

15 Seconds of Fame...

Well, not fame per say.  I thought I would share a video from this week about me running the Peachtree.  This was actually done a month or two ago and I've slimmed down even further since then. 

Revelations of a Control Freak (who just happens to be insecure too)

This morning, via a conversation with a close friend, I realized something about myself.  I am an insecure control freak who has a plan for the back up to plan to the original plan.  When I can’t see the outcome of said original plan I tend to freak out and often times give up.  I know what you are thinking: “What the hell does this have to do with running a race?”  Well…everything really. 

In just about 30 days I will be running (and walking…lets face it people—I’m not completely ready to run the entire thing) a race with 60,000 other people…well—59,999.  I have no control over what these others do. I have no control over whether the race will turn out ok.  I have no control over the weather or even my performance as a whole.  Now, couple that with feeling like all 59 thousand people are watching me and you’ve got one big ass mess.  It hinders me—the insecure control freak thing—from doing what I love to do or from trying new things.  For the past couple of weeks I have been a mess (nervous and gassy—we have discussed this already) over the race inching ever closer and me (this is the insecure part) not being prepared enough or good enough to even be in the race.

But here is the thing that I know: I am perfectly capable of completing the race on my own and I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be.  I don’t have to have a plan for the plan for the plan and whatever the outcome will be it will be.  So you’re asking “If you know that, then what’s with this el stupido post?”  Well, just because I know it doesn’t mean I am fully aligned with it.  I mean people know eating an entire box of Girl Scout Cookies will cause gained poundage but do they still do it?  Um…duh…of course.  Eating the entire box feels so much better than stopping.  Eventually, though, there is this light bulb that goes off and they stop at the serving size (or at least one sleeve)—so I am hoping my light bulb will go off too…and soon.

If I don’t learn to let go and stop trying to control everything then every goal I have, not just this one, will be hindered because I will be too busy making sure all plans are in place and operational.  And, not to sound like the dude on SNL, but I AM good enough, I AM smart enough and ‘gosh darn it’ people like me.  Besides, half of those people are not even going to pay me any attention—as if they care!  Ok, ok. I’m shaking it off and letting it go.  No one can stop me…except me…so Me—get the hell out of the way.  I have a race to run.

The Runner

I Think I Can?

It happens to the best of us. We get ourselves into something we can’t quite squirm out of and we are faced with it at one point or another.  For some it causes anxiety attacks, others it requires multiple bathroom breaks, and for the rest of us the cage door opens and we get a terrifying case of the nerves. When this happens the immediate thought is “What the hell did I get myself into?” and the sweating of the palms, quickened pulse, and possible gas ensues.  Today…I found myself in this very situation (yes…gas and all—it seems to happen more and more as I get older. I was never the gassy nervous type) and even as I type this post I feel extremely nervous (and yea…gassy)—palms sweaty, room sorta spinning…well…tilting a bit and my stomach is full of butterflies.  The Peachtree is only 40 days (and counting) away and as of today, I don’t feel ready in the least bit (ummm…my arm is feeling a bit strange—a tad like Jell-o. That’s not normal is it?).

I can’t possibly back out, although that is what my quitter instinct is telling me to do. I want to…but I can’t. Damn it me and my big fat mouth. The blog, the twitter account, the friends, the relatives…I’ve spent the past few months just giggling and jumping up and down blabbing away to everyone, and now I feel stuck!  What to do? What to do? (can you tell I’m mentally pacing?)  I am going to be a part of a small news story about local people who are running the Peachtree…how would that look to be the girl who was training for it then quit because she got nervous and gassy?  Crap! (Ok, room is getting darker now and I’m burping. This is clearly not normal)

(Deep breath) I can do this, right?  I can continue to workout, run the race and make it to the end without being wheeled around on the Man Down cart.  I can most definitely do this. I can just put one size 10 in front of the other and move toward the finish line.  I can finish out my last week of Insanity (which has been pure hell by the way—for those interested) and move on to other training methods. I can. I can. I can.  Can’t I?  I can celebrate the fact that I’m going to complete a major goal I have wanted for years.  I can take in the fact that I have 1 month and 10 days to go, suck it up, and go harder. I can. I can. I can.  Why….hell yea! Of course I can!

The Runner

Shut Up and Do It

“Ugh. These jeans look awful,” she said as she gingerly stepped out of her dressing room.  “Don’t they make me look…fat?”  I shrugged, stared, and then gave her the girlfriend nod of disapproval.  “I need to lose some weight. This is getting out of hand!” I flinched when the door slammed, rocking the neighboring doors.

The entire afternoon was filled with more nods of disapproval and dressing rooms.  By the end of our non-shopping shopping trip, I had bags full of goodies and Rebecca had a pair of shiny new earrings.  “Those are one size fits all,” I teased her as we passed by the ever inviting mall coffee shop.

She threw me a weak smile, and continued to complain about her weight.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I didn’t realize I was getting bigger. I want to cry right now…you know?  What am I going to do, Jess?!”  Before I could answer, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries tugged on her sleeve.  She grabbed my arm and made a beeline toward the shop.  “I need a cookie or cake or something!”

I twisted the top off of my ‘more expensive than it should be’ bottled water and took a drink as Rebecca rearranged her purse, iced coffee—with whip of course—and mini bag holding her one size fits all earrings in one hand so she could inhale the cake she held in the other.  “What am I going to do, Jess? I’ve got to get this weight off of me by the summer,” she said between biting and chewing her colossal sized piece of pound cake.

I stopped next to a trash can and put my bags down.  “If you don’t like something,” I started as I reached out and gently grabbed the cake, “then change it.”  And with that I dropped the cake in the trash.  “See how easy that was?”  I picked up my bags and sauntered off to the next store.

So often we complain about what we don’t like.  I am not innocent—I do it too, but my overall attitude about things is that if you don’t like something then change it.  Easier said than done, yes, but it does not mean it can’t be done. 

The first part in solving any problem is making up your mind to change it.  It will most likely be a difficult journey (depending on the problem of course) but there are a million and one ways to get support for that part of it.  Our biggest issue is stepping out or changing direction or letting go.  Weight, relationships, hair, clothes, jobs, homes…anything can be changed if we just do it.  Whine about it for a moment, sure.  Cry about it for a day or two, ok.  Live in it? Wallow in it?  Toss it back and forth over and over?  No thanks.  Sometimes we regret the decisions we make.  Sometimes what we decide is not what is best for us, but instead of worrying about what will happen--just do.  Make a plan and do it.  If a bump comes along then change it up—no one ever said you can’t go back to what you know if your plan doesn’t work out.

I have seen and heard stories over these past few weeks about people in all types of situations from money, to job, to weight and the solution to them all is to shrug it off and change it.  Allowing your problems to suck the life out of you isn’t really living life at all.  It’s just putting extra stress and strain on your back.  Who wants to live like that?  I sure as hell don’t.  Get it together, dry your tears, throw out your complaints, and change it.  You have the power to start in the positive direction—God, friends, and family can help you do the rest.

The Runner

A FAREWELL TO 30

Dear 30lbs,

At one point I thought I needed you to protect me from the world.  I thought you were what I needed to make it through the day with just a shred of sanity.  How little I knew myself.  How little I knew what strength I held beneath your cover…behind your wall.  I am grateful you gave me shelter and fed my fears.  I am grateful you fought so hard to hold on—without the fight I don’t think I would have ever known what a wonderful woman was buried beneath your protection.  I can’t say I am unhappy to see you go.  I am actually quite relieved you have decided to bow out gracefully. 

I stand looking at you and I feel sadness for all that your presence represents.  My heart can
only hope to never see you again with your solemn, twisted sense of love.  What you hold is not love—it is a weakness disguised and warped.  Without you I plan on doing so much more than I ever thought I could, and for that very reason I am excited to see you go—yet I must admit…it does hurt a bit.  You never meant any harm, that much I know.  You never meant to keep me boxed in…your only intent was to protect me and shield me from what hurt and disappointment lay in wait.  The thing is…I don’t really need you for protection.  God shields me and protects me. The happiness and the joy I feel on an everyday basis will give me all the fight I need should I get hurt or disappointed.  The fight I know is just bubbling on the surface is all I need to keep me strong through whatever trials may come.  I am fully equipped to handle life without you and your extra baggage.

I stand here at this weird place bidding you ado and running into the direction of more happiness, peace and joy wondering what will become of me.  I suppose now that you are gone I can continue to work on uncovering more of myself.  Well, I suppose I should go now—I have some working out to do.  Take care, 30.  This will be the last time I ever see you.

The Runner

Turning Points

“It’s up to you!” he yelled in her ear.  The noise of the plane and the wind gushing into the open door made it hard to hear—and jump.  “You don’t have to jump!  Either way, you have to make a choice,” he said glancing at the pilot, “and fast!”  She stood staring down at the ground through the wispy clouds.  Jump?  Really?  I can’t possibly do this. I just can’t, she thought as she turned away and sat her shaky body down in the nearest seat.  But why not?  You’ve come too far to back down now, she thought to herself. 

Moving quickly, she shot up from the seat and gave her instructor the thumbs up.  It was now or never.  Once out of the safety of the plane, wind fighting against her, and the ground hurdling toward her she smiled and yelled at the top of her lungs “Too late to turn back now!”

Ever been in an icky place?  Not sure which way to turn?  Stop or go?  Give up or push through?  I was there and I didn’t like it one bit. For the past month and some change I have been doing the Insanity workout (yes, I bit the infomercial bullet).  At first it was new and exciting—hard as hell, but still new and exciting.  After 4 grueling weeks of jumping, running, butt kicking, and sweating I was confident that the second 4 weeks would be much of the same.  Ummm…yea—not so much.

I popped the DVD in, strapped on my HRM (heart rate monitor for those who don’t know), took a sip of water and by 30 minutes in I was leaning on the wall ready to walk out on it all.  My legs felt like noodles, my arms were soaking wet with sweat, my core was done for the day, and my heart had had enough.  I looked to my left and saw the video with all of the little people jumping, running, butt kicking and sweating.  I looked to my right and saw the stairs which would lead me to freedom.  I could hear Shaun T saying “You can do this. Dig deeper people,” but I could hear my stairs saying “This shit is for the birds. Why are you even doing all of this anyway?  For what?  A pound lost?”  I shook my head in agreement with the stairs…they had a point.  I turned my back to the tv and took a step toward “freedom”, but in the midst of it all something happened.  My quitter switch flipped.  I turned away from the stairs and went back to the workout.  I finished that workout with a new energy (the next day I cried in the middle of the next one because my body was completely wasted but that's a story for another day). 

Sometimes it takes being pushed to your limit to realize it’s too late to turn back.  At this point in my journey, it is entirely too late for me to go back to what I was.  I can run, I can jump, I can play, and I can shop in a regular store!  I can walk up the stairs w/o dying, I can almost cross my legs comfortably, and I can be present.  It is definitely too late for me to turn back now…thank God it is because I like this version of myself a helluva lot better.

The Runner

The Hare Strikes Again

So I got this stupid notion to run a marathon.  Mind you, running a marathon is not stupid nor is the idea insane when someone other than me has the desire to do it.  The problem (and I do see it as a problem—not on a therapist level just yet, but I could see it going there) is that I am naturally a hare (we have actually had this discussion before but I thought it bared mentioning again).  So far, through out this entire process—losing weight, the race, training, and so on I have been channeling the tortoise 95% of the time.  I have made it a point to set small goals for myself each month so I don’t get overwhelmed, and surprisingly it has worked!  So why now?

I bought a magazine for female runners.  I love, love, love this magazine.  I like love it so much I could just eat it (yea—that was extreme…let’s forget about that comment), and because I love it so much I spend time reading every inch of every page.  On the first page is an ad with a svelte woman running past some place at Disney World with some animated dragon breathing fire behind her (that alone…svelt woman, fire breathing dragon, and Disney World…is kick ass).  I notice the ad is about a marathon happening at Disney.  Err? Marathon?  Why yes! Of course you can do a marathon. It’s only 26 miles—plus you’ve got time.  You can do it!  Yea—that’s exactly what I said to myself.  Dilusional…I know.

Forget the fact that I (A) have yet to complete my training for the 10k, (B) have yet to even run the Peachtree, and (C) have yet to run a 15 min mile—which this marathon requires by the way.  Forget all of that.  Let’s just focus on one tiny little fact I have obviously skipped over….THIS IS A MARATHON!  This is a 26 mile run which requires the runner to travel a mile in 15 minutes by way of actually running (or else the little ‘man down’ cart will come and whisk you away).  WTH was I thinking?  I wasn’t. I was just believing that I could do it. I was believing that in the 9 months I have before the race I could complete a few 5ks, the Peachtree, lose a ton of poundage, and find the time to train for 26 miles of non stop running. 

This is not to say that I am not going through with it.  I am actually…well…sorta.  There are other options such as running a Family 5k or a half marathon (13 miles sounds a helluva lot better than 26) that would ultimately have the same effect as running a marathon.  I would be a part of the Disney run and I will have put more mileage under my belt.  I will just tuck my proverbial little furry tail between my legs, scuttle off, and keep my focus on doing things one at a time.

The Runner

Feeeeeed Meeeeeee!

There was this puppet show on Nick a few years back called Mr. Meaty.  It was a tad creepy—the ugly puppets and all—but it was quite funny.  In one particular episode one of the characters had a tapeworm and didn’t know it.  Every time he was around food or was about to eat something it vanished into thin air.  If memory serves me right (which half of the time it doesn’t) the ugly puppet employees decided to video the one with the vanishing food problem and when they looked at the video in slow motion they saw the tapeworm shoot out and inhale the food.  Ok…now with that said…my ass is hungry.  That’s it.  I am not eating anything different than I was before but it seems like my stomach is never ever ever ever happy (did I say ever?). 

Great example: Yesterday I had steel cut oatmeal for breakfast.  Nothing different from what I’ve had before and normally I don’t eat again until lunch time (I generally eat about 6-6:30 am, then a snack at 10am) because I am just not hungry.  What is wroooooong with me?  Even after I eat my stomach viciously growls at me wanting more.  I am sure to drink enough water so I know it is not the fat girl inside me mistaking thirst for hunger, and I know that when the stomach says eat you should probably do so but my goodness!

Right now I am in a really confused space.  Do I shove my body full of proteins and such?  Cram it full of veggies with tons of leaves and fiber punching power?  Do I just grab what I can?  And why is it happening?  Normally when a kid is grabbing everything in sight we say it’s because they’re going through a growth spirt…am I growing?  What is it and how the hell do I fix it?! Even as I typed that I think I already found the answer.  I’ll just have a ginormous piece of chocolate on chocolate on chocolate cake with a mixing bowl size of ice cream on the side and call it a day.  My stomach is bound to be happy with that…I know my inner fat girl will!

The Runner

Shut Up Already

I was surfing the net looking for the initial reviews on the new Insanity Asylum workout and ended up finding myself highly annoyed.  The commentary banter at the end of some of these posts is just asinine.  Let me explain something, just one little thing to you people who think that just because my ass jiggles and my jeans have a double digit in the tag---it doesn’t mean I’m any worse at working out or even sticking to a work out plan than you. 

For four friggin weeks (could you tell I wanted to curse right there?) I have been sweating and jumping and pushing and grunting while doing this Insanity workout.  Yes, there are some moves that I may need to modify or had to modify at the beginning, but let me just say that I can do anything I set my mind too.  Besides, if you pay close attention to the people in the back, whether they are faking or not, they slack off or just leave all together.  Don’t assume just because a person is overweight, fat, plump, curvy (whatever you want to call it) they can’t do those things that make their bodies change. 

No, I am not saying this is a skinny vs. fat issue.  What I am saying is that when you see me running, keep your bugged eyes and surprised looks to your damn self.  When you ask me what I’m doing for a workout and I say Insanity or P90X or whatever, keep your “wows” and your “really?” to yourself.  I know I’m a big woman. I know that I jiggle and I shake and my waist is somewhat non existent.  I realize that my chin is doubled and my legs could possibly resemble the big turkey leg on Fred Flintstone’s plate, but just because I am all of that doesn’t mean I can’t do what needs to be done—what is getting done.

People, fat, skinny or in between, will only stick to something if their mind is in the right place.  So stop scoping out my groceries while I’m in line, stop gaping at my ability to run a mile (ok…more like a ¼ of a mile), and stop friggin (wanted to curse again) assuming that my fat ass can’t keep up with and stick to something as intense as Insanity.  One day, while you are gaping, scoping and assuming, I’ll be able to run circles around you—just wait and see.

The Runner

Big Dreamer

Ok, so here’s the thing—I am a chronic over envisioner.  Yes, I am well aware that is probably not a
word, but stick with me here—just for a sec.  I have an irritating tendency to get an idea (most of the time it’s pretty awesome) and let my brain will totally run with it—leaving all common
sense behind.  I have been trying for months (maybe years, the time slips by so quickly when you are a daydreamer) to slow my roll, but that’s kind of hard to do when you are training  your 286lb pound body (currently 261, thank you) for a 10k.  I mean, really the thought of an almost 300lb woman running 6 miles is a pretty big deal—especially when getting out of bed was a chore.  Anyway,
here’s the issue I am having and I think I have been bitten by the envisioner bug….again.

There is a bike ride happening in October for breast cancer here in Atlanta.  There are different
levels of activity a rider can commit to, from 20 miles to 100 miles.  Want to take a guess at which one I’m thinking of choosing? Yes, you are correct! I am seriously gravitating toward
the 100 mile ride, how….ever….it’s 100 miles.  Not only do I NOT own a bike, but would I even be able to sit that long or better yet, will my legs actually work long enough to finish? 

I never thought I could run 30 seconds let alone 6 miles.  I still can’t, run 6 miles that is, but I’m
working on it. I never thought I could do the 60 minute Tae Bo workout completely without sprawling in the floor mid-way through and watching them finish.  Now, there were a few times when I did lay in the floor, eyes closed, cursing under my breath—but as of today I can actually
complete the whole 60 minutes with less curse words.  I never thought I could do the Insanity
workout…like at ALL, but after watching the infomercial long enough I decided to give it a try.  As of this morning, I am 17 days in—I do have a tendency to flip Shaun T the bird on occasion but that’s
only on certain days.  So with all of that said—if I made that my goal—to bike 100 miles—I could totally do it……right?

I can do it. I can do anything I set my mind to and that means this.  My inner self is shaking her
head ‘no’ but I will just turn around and pretend not to see her (wink).

The Runner

Mountain Shmountain...You've Got Nothin' On Me

Ever had a problem that you decided to face head on?  It looks huge right?  Weight loss, debt, savings, marital issues, car repairs…no matter what the problem the mountain seems massive.  “Oh I’ll never get ___________ .”  “How can I possibly ________!”  We have all said it…we’ve all thought it. 

My goal to run the Peachtree Road Race happened while I was just shy of 300lbs.  About 7lbs away to be exact.  “You can never run that race. You’re too big!” “You can barely climb the stairs let alone run a race.”  (That last one was a valid point)  What a mountain to climb!  Not only was I aspiring to run the race, but who was to say I would actually make it?  When I found out about the switch to the lottery system, I was even wearier.  “You’ll never get picked.” March came, I registered, and I made it in. Whew…mission accomplished—mountain morphed into a hill, but now I have another mission to complete—another problem if you will—and it seemed like a huge mountain as well until I actually said something out loud.

When I first started thinking about losing weight, like seriously thought about it, I had over 87lbs to lose before I hit 199.  Of course, I don’t want to stop there (175 is more like it) but I haven’t been under 200lbs for 13 years.  Do you know what can happen in 13 years? That’s almost half of the time for someone to pay off their home; it’s a child’s entire scholastic career (K-12) before heading to college; it’s about half of the time the Oprah Show has been on air!  For 13 years (for 2 of those years I was breeding—so we’ll subtract 2)—for 11 years I have been carrying about a lot of extra jiggley baggage. 

One night I was putting the dishes in the dishwasher while having a conversation with the husband about fitness and what not.  Without thinking I said, “I only have 62 more pounds to go before I get below 200lbs—I can do that hands down.”  Immediately I stopped in my tracks and let what I said sink in.  That 87 pound massive mountain I was staring at did not seem so frightening after all.  Don’t get me wrong, 62lbs is a lot. My daughter weighs about 65lbs—so essentially I’m attempting to lose an 8 year old—but the fact that I can not be phased by a goal so big is amazing. 

I went back to doing the dishes, smiling at myself. I took the step towards my mountain(s) and the closer I get—the smaller it seems.  It has not been easy and I’m sure the rest of the journey won’t be a piece of cake (mmmmm…cake), but knowing that the big looming jagged rock ahead will eventually become a pebble is making it all worth while.

The Runner

A WHOLE LOTTA SOMETHIN'

It's been weeks...months...since I've been in this room.  I see some new faces, some old and I wonder what happened to them.  Did they get lost like me?  Are they still on the path but no longer needing the support of the group?  I slink into the room trying not to raise any heads in my direction.  I just want to sit and listen.  All of the talking, soul searching and tears endured over these last few weeks have worn me out--just silence for now will be fine.  A small round woman leans over and taps my leg.

"Hi," she whispers with a wide smile. "You are Sommer, right?"  I just nod. How the hell did she know that?  Reading my face she softly chuckles, "Oh, Nancy told us all about you.  She said you were her strongest group member yet. We've all been dying to meet you...I see what she meant."

I sat and stared at her for a moment, still puzzled, and she patted my leg and turned her attention back to the front of the room.  The strongest member yet?  Me?

Hell yea, me.  I’m astrong woman—not that I like to brag or anything—but I am.  Over these past few weeks I have dug deeper into myself than ever before.  I am still in the process of working out all of my kinks, but damn it I am wonderful.  I found out that I can do just about anything if I put my mind to it—running is no exception.   

March 1^st hit my calendar and I stopped, having to catch my breath.  March is the month when online registration begins for the Peachtree Road Race.  I sat and stared at my desk calendar for a while, debating on whether or not I could make it, and I smiled to myself thinking about how strong I really am.  I have had two children (could have died with one), been married for over 10 years (that’s a battle in itself), been broke, been on the verge of losing my home, been lonely, been almost 300 pounds, and have been emotionally and spiritually broken but—I’m still here. Through everything I have learned a lesson and carried it with me, so some little 6.2 mile race in Atlanta hell heat won’t break me—it can only make me better. 

Tomorrow morning I am looking forward to hitting the gym.  I am ready to pound out these 2.5 miles because baby...I'm a whole lotta somethin'.

THE LIL' RUNNER WHO COULD...

I stood in the middle of the room scanning each face staring back at me. “Hi guys,” I say as I lift my hand at a lame attempt at a cheerful wave, “I’m Sommer, but you already knew that.”  Soft chuckles fill the room and the doo doo brown metal chairs squeak in a Tin Man sort of way.  “As I go through this journey, I find that as I push myself to do more…be more…I get scared and I quit.  I suddenly realize I have an extra option.  It’s not just do it or don’t.  It’s do it, don’t, or quit.  I…am…a quitter.”

The room fell eerily still.  Even Rudy Clap Guy didn’t see the need to celebrate my breakthrough.  Nancy stood up and quickly wrapped her arms around me in that momma bear hug kind of way.  When she let go, she stares deep into my eyes and asks, “Ok. So now you have a choice to make. What will it be?” 

Good question.

When I was on the elliptical machine this morning, I worked myself until my legs hurt, (they are still kind of soar.  I’m sort of walking like a bowlegged cowboy) and the entire time I’m huffing and puffing I keep saying to myself ‘this is too damn hard’. My feet stopped moving but something had me pushing on.  It could be my competitive nature—always wanting to push myself to the point of no return—but either way I had the thought of quitting.  I don’t want to be a quitter.  When things get rough I don’t want to stop going.  I don’t want to, but most of the time I do.

I swear, on a hard day when the kids have totally smashed my last nerve, I have runaway from home in my head more than once.  When my son was first born I plotted my escape when I thought of the fact that I would be tied to him forever.  Forever worrying about another person, trying to teach them about life with no instruction manual is a very overwhelming thing for a 21 year old…but just like my battle with the elliptical, I stood there unable to move—willingly pushing myself to the point of no return.  Good thing too because he’s an amazing kid. 

I think I’m at that space right now.  I’m staring at this goal and I’m saying to myself  “I’ll never be able to do it!” but, just like with my children, my husband, my life as a whole, my goals are met just one bit at a time.  I look at myself at 90 and say, “I can’t live that long!” or I look at my husband and think “50 years?!  Never!” but so far I’ve made it to age 31 with no real mishaps and I’ve already knocked out 10 of the 50 years of marital bliss.  Little bites at a time is how it has to be done and I have to remind myself of that or I’ll go bananas (oh! Bananas…mmmmm…that sounds good).

I finished my workout a hell of a lot stronger than when I started.  I actually ate an exact 1 cup of cheerios this morning and didn’t feel like I was cheated.  I actually ate my snack and felt fine.  I actually let that elliptical kick my ass this morning and I lived to tell the tale.  I think I’m going to be okay, but I just have to believe that I’ll be fine.  I can’t give up on this one.  This one I can’t let go of.  I have to hold onto it for dear life because I really do think that when I accomplish the goal my life will be forever changed.  Wish me luck.

The Runner

PRESTO CHANGO...

We all packed into this tiny little room like sardines, only less smelly.  The plastic cups and bowls filled with fake food shed some light on where we were exactly.

“Hi!” a small brown haired woman squealed as she be bopped into the room. “I’m Jessica, but everyone calls me Jess, and I am one of the lead nutritionists here at Good Eats.  Today we are going to discuss nutrition and what role it plays in your individual journeys.”  Everyone squirms in their seats, probably because we all know where this is going.  Either that or they were positioning themselves to catch me if I went down again.

“You don’t have to be the Saint Pantry,” Jess chuckled, “you just have to take it easy.  Food is our friend. Everyone say it with me…Food is my friend!  Great. Give yourself a clap!”  Enough with the clapping already. “What we want to do today is learn about our relationship with food and also change our thinking when it comes to this stuff,” she says as she holds up an odd plastic clump which resembles vomit more than oatmeal.   Hmmm…change our thinking?  How and the hell are we going to do that? I think to myself.

My relationship with food isn’t built on a solid foundation.  For instance, I have only ever smoked weed once and even that was a fake try (like Bill Clinton...I never really inhaled) because from a very young age the movie we watched in our Dare class was enough to build my drug free life on solid ground.  Yet I have eaten many slices of cake.  Go figure.  The change in thinking about food being a fuel vs. just something to occupy my time is going to be a little rough. 

Usually, food is top of mind everyday.  In the bed before I wake the kids up in the morning, I’m thinking about what to make for lunch.  On the ride to work I’m thinking about snack time.  At snack time I’m thinking about dinner and at dinner I’m thinking about breakfast for the next day.  And on those days when I’m too preoccupied to actually think about food, my family reminds me with the ever so annoying “What’s for ___?”  Simple activities are food related, too.  Instead of thinking about carving a pumpkin and getting messy with the kids, I’m thinking about cooking pumpkin seeds and if I can actually use the insides for edible pumpkin flavored stuff (which the answer to that last one is no…I don’t have the brain energy to actually make it work).

I know in my heart that I need to reroute my FPS (food positioning system) and look at food for what it is.  Food is the fuel my body needs to operate properly, and honestly all that crap I shove in my mouth isn’t doing me any good.  I mean, would I put sugar in the gas tank of a Lamborghini?  Of course not.  (Oh….wow…breakthrough!  That was neat. I just felt my brain open up and soak in the analogy. Wonder if I can do it again?) I can’t promise myself that I won’t have M & M’s or a piece of cake, but what I can promise myself is that as the days wear on I will change my thinking little by little.  I am the tortoise after all…

The Runner

LET'S EAT...

All 10 B.R.A members are standing in line at a cafeteria type restaurant.  I slowly turn my head to take in the decor--seemingly stuck in the late 80's early 90's.  The line of people over the age of dead are shuffling slowly down the line, making stops along each station, pointing shaky fingers at their food of choice. 
 Nancy turns to us and smiles.  It seems weird that her cloud of blond hair and pale pink leggings fit in oh so well with the decor.  "Ok guys, here we go.  Today is the first day of the rest of your healthy lives." Rudy Clap Guy high fives someone behind me.  "Now, what you eat is totally up to you," she says walking backward slowly, "and there are no wrong answers here.  Ok? Just remember, our goal is to get good for you things." And with that she turns around and starts beaming at the weird looking guy in charge of the salads.

'Good for you things'?  What the hell is that exactly?  Am I suppose to eat the Caesar salad or that carrot raisin stuff?  Is it better to eat a wheat roll or a white one?  Should I have butter?  Can I eat broccoli casserole or should I get mashed potatoes instead? 

Oh no! Oh no!  I feel my hands go numb, and my heart skips a beat at the sound of my tray crashing to the ground.  My legs give way and the rest is well....

"B.R.A member down!  B.R.A member down!" Rudy Clap Guy shouts. 

"I think she's overloaded with choice, Nance!" Ms. Talks A Lot screeches.  I just want some cake, I think as the weird looking Salad Guy kneels down beside me.

Food. Its the necessary evil of our lives.  Although, it really doesn't have to be an evil at all. Food is actually meant to be our fuel, but somehow over the years it has gotten confused with celebrations, mourning, boredom, and everything else in between.  Add on to that the gajillion choices we have piled on top of one another and it's a recipe for disaster. 

Just think about this for a moment...every time you feel bored you drive down to the gas station, pull up to the pump, choose from 10 different types of gas, and fill up your gas tank.  You get a raise at work and WHAM! Citgo here you come!  Not only would your tank be full all of the time, but you would be wasting money left and right.  That's pretty much what we do to our bodies--well, ok, I'll take you out of it and just say that's pretty much what I do to my body.

For the past two weeks I haven't really changed my eating habits.  I mean, I have cut back a little on certain things but for the most part I just eat whatever I like.  This week I plan on making small changes so eventually I can stop dreaming about grocery stores (yes...it totally happened).  I'm still channeling the tortoise so I won't just sweep the pantry clean of not-so-good-for-me foods, but I will make a conscious effort to watch my intake.  I also have to be careful of which choices I make.  Just because there are 50 different types of cereal doesn't mean all 50 are what my body needs.  Sticking to simple, customizable foods may be a good choice. 

Thank God we polished off the last of that 4 layer red velvet birthday cake this morning (what? don't judge me--like you've never ever ever had cake for a mid-morning snack) or else this would be a lot harder than it has to be.

The Runner

GIT IN MA BELLY!

A small mousey looking guy stood up and scanned the faces of our small little group.  “I’m Henry,” he said.

“Hi Henry,” we all say in unison.

“And…well…I’m hungry.”  Well, he’s straight forward isn’t he?  Most of the time it takes the group members 2 or 3 minutes just to stammer through their issue—not Rodent Guy.  “I’m hungry all of the time, and I know that this is a runners group but ever since I started moving more, my stomach wants more.”  He turns his attention to Nancy—which is good because his beady eyes give me the creeps.  “Isn’t that counter productive?”

Nancy, usually not a squirmer, squirms a bit at Rodent Guy’s question.  It could possibly be his serial killer look that makes us nervous, but I bet he’s a pretty neat guy once you get past the urgency to dial 9-1-1 every time he looks your way.  “Henry,” She starts with a warm smile. “It’s ok to be hungry.” 

Say what?

It is kind of unsettling to be hungry.  There’s this one episode of SpongeBob (don’t judge me—ya’ll watch it too) where Squidward told him to empty his mind of everything but food service, and SB being who he is he did exactly that.  When Squilliam (Squidward’s rival) asked SB his name—his brain went haywire and these little SpongeBob’s were running around in his brain pulling out papers and setting the ‘office’ on fire because they were panicking.  That’s what happens when I’m hungry.  A bunch of mini-me’s are running around in my brain yelling “What do we do?!” “She’s hungry!”  It’s a pain in the ass really.  Aren’t we supposed to be hungry?  When did it become wrong—or better yet unusual--to be hungry?

This book I read last year Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat gave me the exact same advice Nancy gave Henry—it’s ok to be hungry.  It can be easy to forget, especially when everything in society says ‘eat this’ or ‘take that’ so you won’t be hungry.  This morning, I ate breakfast and felt satisfied.  About 2 hours later, I felt hungry.  Wait.  Why was I hungry?  Trying to keep a lid on my mini-me’s so they wouldn’t run amuck in my brain, I ate something—but I felt very guilty for eating.  And now, 2 hours later here I sit feeling hunger in my tummy again. 

Many of us have been on this diet and that diet and we forget that food is indeed fuel and if we want our vehicle to run properly—we have to fuel it up.  For many of us, eating no matter when (or what) has turned into a guiltfest.  So what you had a cookie.  Big deal you ate a muffin the size of your head for breakfast.  Who cares if you drank a diet Coke with your salad.  It’s not the end of the world…and neither is being hungry. 

I know what Dr. Oz and the rest of the body-do-gooders say: Eat small meals every 2-3 hours. Easy to say—harder to do.  I’m realizing on this journey to be fit enough to run the 6.2 miles in the humid Atlanta hell heat on July 4^th that some brain rewiring has to take place.  I suppose a change in my eating habits is the natural step to take after step one (getting my ass off the couch), and as scary as it feels—I’m just going to embrace it and keep moving. 

The Runner

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

My arm was still a little sore from banging it on the ground when I went down during our first exercise. Nancy says it happens all the time, "that's the reason why I do it," she said. That doesn't really take the sting of embarrassment out of the situation.

Today we are discussing nutrition. Oh joy.

"Today," Nancy says pulling the cloth dinner napkins off the mound of mystery on the table, "we are going to talk food. How many of you have eaten one thing on this table just this morning?"

Between the syrup, waffles, doughnuts, and biscuits none of us had our hand down. Nancy smiled her mom-knows-more-than-you-smile. "And how many of you think this is real fuel for your body?"  If doo-doo colored metal chair creaks are crickets the room is full of them.

The crap I eat has got to be 98% processed and 2% something my body would recognize. One night, my body had had enough.

I woke up feeling like I had swallowed 10 matches. Suddenly still shots of those commercials with wincing men and women sitting in front of a half eaten burger or slice of pizza flashed before my eyes.  What the hell am I doing to my body?  I know, I know—channeling the tortoise and all that jazz.  Trust me, I’m not going to start making drastic changes just yet, however, changes do need to be made—especially since I find myself rummaging through the linen closet for any kind of heart burn relief at 2 o’clock in the morning. 

I think we’ve been duped people.  Much like the images we see in magazines not being 100% organic, the food on our plates isn’t all that real either.  That hamburger you are eating for dinner tonight from the drive-thru you just zipped in and out of is more like ground beef lips and knuckles cleaned with ammonia.  Oh yes, they like to trick us by giving you healthier options—but really?  Is that Caesar salad better for you than the ammonia-ground beef-lip-knuckle meat?  Not hardly. 

I’m finding that the things we grew up loving isn’t the same food we grew up eating, and I need to get back to that.  A chicken breast the size of my forearm just isn’t right, and an apple the size of my 9 year olds head isn’t natural.  Yes, yes, I know—it will dip into my pockets just a bit more, but that’s ok with me.  I would rather pay for an apple now (a regular size apple) than pay the repair bill for a hole in my esophagus.

The Runner

FULL SPEED AHEAD!

We stood in the parking lot in a semi-circle nervously chatting as we awaited Nancy’s arrival.  Since I’m socially disabled (I’m going to another group for that), I don’t do much other than nod my head at the new girl talking to me about something I have no interest to hear.  Rudy Clap Guy starts to clap and cheer as he spots the blonde cloud of frizz bouncing with every step she runs.  Wait…she’s running?!

 Out of breath, Nancy holds up her hand and doubles over trying to catch her breath. “Oh…thanks…so…much,” she huffs.  Resting a hand on her hip and dabbing sweat from her forehead with her hot pink wristband, she beamed at us. “I just ran 3 miles!”  We all clap, even me.  We all looked at one another and smile and nod at Nancy’s accomplishment.  “Today, we are going to start the first leg of our journey.  All it takes is one foot in front of the other.  Now, we are going to start slowly but if you feel like you can do more—then go for it.  Just remember….you are the tortoise.”

We stretch for a bit and we begin to walk.  By 10 minutes in I am ready to go faster.  I can do this, I think side glancing Ms. Talks A Lot.  Let’s just see how far I can go.  My feet start moving faster.  My body feels good.  Is this what running feels like?  I can’t believe I’m running!  This is amazing!  But…wait…wait…what’s happening?  My lungs—they feel like they’re on fire.  My leg--what's that pain? Oh no! Oh no! I didn’t notice I had sort of melted onto the grassy median of the parking lot until I heard Rudy Clap Guy yell, “B.R.A member down! B.R.A member down!”   Sigh. I so didn’t channel the tortoise.