This is what the Bluenose website says today.
8 days till Race Weekend.
 When I opened the gift box containing the paid registration on Christmas last year it seemed like May 2oth was so far away. When I “officially” started training mid January and ran my first of many scheduled runs May 20th seemed like it would never get here. As the miles got longer and I pushed myself farther it seemed like it would take forever for me to prepare myself to step up to the starting line the morning of May 20th, take a deep breath and with a gentle nudge forward begin something I’ve been waiting to do for the last two years.
And now here it is, one week until the official start of the race weekend. There is nothing left for me to do training wise. Since January I’ve moved a total of 536 miles. It’s hard to taper when my brain keeps saying I haven’t trained enough or that I should attempt one more try at 20 miles. All I can do now is trust that my body will do what I’ve asked it to do and if for some reason I physically can’t that my heart will take over and I will finish.
I try even harder to let the voices and the negative thoughts pass. I don’t know if I can eloquently describe what it’s like to have the body of an athlete but the mind of an obese thinker. I wonder if it’s normal to cry without thought because a week from Friday I will be picking up my first official race bib and I hope it’s a really cool number (like 007 or something with a 253 in it).
I’ve been consumed by this marathon and what I want more than anything is to cross the finish line and with a sigh of relief know that’s it’s over…the first marathon is over. Every time you do something new, the first time is always the most scary, the most difficult, the most awkward, the most unknowing and in the end the most awesome. You never forget your first. I remember my first 5k, 10k and half marathon in glorious detail. I remember what I wore. How I felt and what it was like to be done. The other 5k(s), 10k(s) and half marathons I know I was there and I can recall some memories but nothing like the firsts.
The shoes are broken in.
The shirt printed with my name.
My body is ready.
I don’t know how much I’ll be posting over the next 7 days. It could be everyday as I process what I’m about to do. It could be nothing until the race is over. I wish this wasn’t so emotional. I wish I could just be the runner I was meant to be. Having been morbidly obese for much longer than living in this physically fit body it’s boiling down to calming my emotions and trusting that I’ve done the work. I’ve followed the training as much as I could (albeit being sick during those longer runs) and even though I think I could “do more”, I know there is no more to do.
I’m not just running for myself. I’m running for anyone that has thought they couldn’t. I’m running for the person trying to make the right choices and find it the hardest thing they’ve ever done. I’m running for the person that doesn’t believe in themselves because so many times before they’ve tried and failed. I’m running for the person that may be strapping on their worn out gym shoes and at 5 in the morning stepping on the treadmill because they are ashamed that someone would laugh if they saw them breaking a sweat…
So many emotions.
So many miles.
One finish line.
And I promise it will be ours.
There won’t be some catchy picture at the beginning of this post. I don’t have much time as I’m about to put on my running gear and take a quick 3 mile run as I taper into the marathon just 9 days away. I’m writing this more for me than for you. I’m acknowledging that I’ve been putting off writing that “celebrate Tara” post now for close to a week.
See the demons are at work.
I hit the “publish” button on the proverbial nail on proverbial head post and I felt strong. I felt ready to talk about why I am in fact a big deal. Why I was ready to celebrate me so that the world could then begin to celebrate as well. Then the voices started. The ones that are just beyond reach to stop.
“you haven’t done anything spectacular”
“Please, what makes you so special”
“No one wants to hear you go on about yourself”
“Big Deal so you lost weight”
You know those voices right? You have them too. And they’ve managed to keep me from writing a post that I promised myself I would write. I keep telling myself “later” or “tomorrow” or “Look a squirrel”. Over the past week I’ve managed to take little things and make them into big things that bring those old behaviors back with a vengeance.
like breaking babydoll…
I think I’m the only one capable of breaking her most prized kitchen gadget after only having it a few weeks by making almond butter. But it wasn’t the gadget that upset me (okay I was upset) but more pointing fingers at myself and saying “See!!!!! You can’t do anything right”. “You don’t deserve nice things because you can’t take care of them”. “You are the stupidest person ever” “Why do you even exist????”
2 1/2 years I’ve been on this journey and some days it feels like I’ve hardly moved forward. It’s been a year since I left my ex-husband and some days I’m still racked with so much guilt I can’t get anything done. Some days I can’t look at another dog without breaking down and crying. Sometimes I look at Meegan and wonder what I’ve gotten her into. I wonder if I’ll ever look in the mirror and truly love myself enough to keep moving forward (if I could only figure out what that means).
I talked with a friend who feels broken. She’s lost a triple digit and has done some incredible things with her life. She struggling too. Fighting the urges of binging, feeling lost. She saying everything I’m feeling too. The urge to quietly slip into the bathroom and eat until I can’t shove anything in my face and then letting it all go so that I feel like I am in control even if just for a moment or two.
This journey is hard. I don’t care what anyone tells you. It doesn’t stop once you can get into a size 8 pair of jeans or your clothes tag now sports the letter “s” instead of xxl. The notion of staying present and in the moment instead of giving into the urge to binge or the urge to just throw your hands up in the air and say fuck it is something I wouldn’t really wish on anyone. Being conscious. Being aware. Wrapping your arms around yourself and saying “this too shall pass” is harder than anything I’ve ever done physically. I know how to run. I know how to lift heavy shit. I know how to work my body so hard it can’t fathom taking stairs for days afterwards. I know how to put on a head lamp and run in the middle of the night for a 187 mile relay race. I know how to do enough pull ups the callouses on my hands rip.
What I’m still learning is how to love Tara.
There is struggle.
But in that struggle there is fight. I may never get around to that celebration Tara post. I’m okay with that today. I want to do it but emotionally it’s hard right now. I’m not afraid to admit that I too feel lost and am trying hard to stay in the moment. The celebration today isn’t about the weight loss or the miles run. The celebration today is I acknowledge the struggle of staying in the moment. The celebration today is I acknowledge that giving into the urges of binging is not an option any longer. The celebration today is I acknowledge that some days are harder than others and when I can’t look in the mirror I have someone in my life I can look at that will tell me everything I need to hear without saying one word to me.
Keep going Tara…
Keep fighting Tara…
You deserve this.
(We all deserve this)
 Yesterday I read a blog post by someone I have a lot of respect for.
and by a lot I mean a shit ton.
“The World Won’t Celebrate You if You don’t Celebrate Yourself”
It was in reading the first few paragraphs, that I felt my throat begin to close up and my chest started feeling heavy. That feeling of “oh crap, this post is really going to affect me” settled in and I let the tears well up as I forced myself to keep reading…
Even now trying to put words to what I’m thinking and feeling about Mara’s post is difficult. I’ve typed a few words then found a way to distract myself with some other social media because <insert another social media distraction>…
(deep breath)
“Here’s the thing, I’m really freaking proud of myself, but it is fascinating what triggers our most tender parts. Fascinating how you can want to be acknowledged for something that you’re proud of, but you don’t want to be reminded of it. Or told out loud that we are appreciated.” (directly taken from Mara’s post)…
Right before I fall asleep and I’m in that foggy “am I dreaming or am I still awake” zone I often think about how I want my life to be. I won’t lie, I have some big big B-I-G dreams. Being recognized on any given sidewalk type of B-I-G dreams. Sitting across from Ellen, holding up a book that not only brings me the comforts I often think about but also motivates a million people to stop letting life pass them by type of B-I-G dreams…
The only problem is that when I receive a little bit of acknowledgment of what I have accomplished (and bringing me closer to those B-I-G dreams) I shut down (i.e. I down play anything I’ve ever done, shake my head or shrug off any accolades and on most occasions return the accolades with a “oh it’s not a big deal” sort of thing). It’s inherent that I refute the celebration of my life and what I have done to not only survive but more importantly to thrive.
<insert social media distraction>
I was in the paper this week but didn’t really talk about it too much. The only reason I mentioned it on facebook was because Meegan had said something already on her page and I didn’t want it too seem like I didn’t care. I do care. In fact, I wanted to stop anyone I saw that day and say “hey, did you see me in the paper…yhea I’ve lost 100+ pounds, kept it off for 18 months and am about to run my first marathon…I’m kind of a big deal”
I am a big deal.
It’s just I can’t bring myself to outwardly celebrate what I’ve done to get here today.
Then it got me thinking about all the other people I know that have fought tooth and nail, cried and screamed, stood firm in their commitment to take control of their lives but also don’t take the time to celebrate what they’ve done. When we are severely obese it acts as a shield for all the mental anguish that we’ve endured for so long. Each insult, each disappointment, each <insert whatever you want here> is either shielded on inside of us with layers of fat so that others can’t see our emotions as we are feeling them or shielded on the outside of our layers of fat so that the emotions we are afraid to feel can’t penetrate us.
For so long we’ve been pointed fingers at ourselves with thoughts of “I don’t deserve to feel good about myself” (open mouth, insert food), “I shouldn’t take too much pride in what I can do” (open mouth, insert food), “I’m ugly” (open mouth, insert food), “So and so has lost more weight than I and what’s the point anyway since I can’t do anything right and the weight is just going to come back” (open mouth, insert food, feel sorry for self and begin the vicious cycle over and over again).
Here’s a little challenge for you (and me):
Let’s celebrate!
Instead of writing a blog post about what you (I) think you (I) can’t do let’s write about some things we can do and have done. Screw this pity party of “I don’t deserve” and let’s write a post about throwing our hands up in the air in a rocky-like triumph and as loud as possible shout to the blogging world “HEY, LOOK AT ME…I’M KIND OF A BIG DEAL”…
Because you are (I am).
Let’s talk about the B-I-G dreams and how no one deserves them more than you (me). Let’s blog about all the sweat and tears you’ve (I’ve) left behind as you (I) dig deep and change the life changing journey you are (I am) on. It’s going to be hard (I know there will be a lot of wine drinking and social media distraction happening for me when I write that post) but for fuck’s sake if I can’t give myself the opportunity to listen to what the universe is telling me about where I should be going on this path then how is Ellen ever going to know what kind of a kick ass person I am and how will that book ever get written…
The next time I write a blog post it will be nothing but a celebration of Tara…
(insert social media distraction)
What I’ve done.
What I want.
Deserve.
I’m kind of a big deal and it’s time I start believing it.
 It’s three weeks until the Bluenose Marathon.
This last weekend should have been the epic 23 mile run. It didn’t happen. Neither did the 21 mile run scheduled the week before. Six weeks before the marathon I happen to catch the “bug” that had been going around. Luckily I wasn’t as sick as it seems most people had been but it still robbed me of any energy and since then a myriad of “obstacles” has been knocking on my door. Okay maybe not a myriad but when you’re looking down the last few weeks of doing your first marathon anything in the way can seem big…
I ran my saucony(s) into the ground, literally. I knew I was going to need a new pair of shoes so began my search a while back settling on a pair of Kinvara Progrid 2 and giving myself plenty of time to break them in…
 These were the shoes I had picked out, fallen in love with and anticipated with bated breath for their arrival. Except the first place I ordered them from took three weeks to tell me that they couldn’t order them. So I turned to Amazon and when they should have arrived on the 25th, called to find out that they actually never left the warehouse and ended up cancelling the order out of frustration. Funny how a pair of shoes can be so emotional for me. I thought about how I would look in them. What running clothes I would wear to match. If other people would look at them and think “Damn now that’s a fine pair of running shoes”. In the end (and after many many tears) I realized that maybe the universe was telling me something and set out in search of another pair…
Just so happen a few days later a local sports store was having a clearance sale and I went in hopes of finding something. Rows and rows of shoes for me to oogle over. Trying on a pair, running around, trying on another pair. I finally zoned in on a pair of Saucony Grid Dynasty II. Half off (BOOM) and pretty comfy thus far.
So between the shoes, the sick then “Girl” stuff and to top it off an infected toenail, there hasn’t been a whole lot of running happening the last couple of weeks.
But all seems to finally be coming back around to feeling good and now I’m just looking forward to the morning of the race, stepping up to the starting line, taking a deep breath and just earning that first marathon medal.
It’s hard to not get all caught up in the emotional turmoil even when the littlest thing goes wrong. If you had asked me a few days ago I would have told you that running this marathon is going to be next to impossible. I was never going to find a pair of shoes I loved (or liked for that matter), my girl stuff was going to last the next six months (like that’s ever happened) and my toenail was going to turn into some raging infection that would eventually claim not just my toe but probably my foot and fuck it why not take my calf as well…I know it’s just my emotional irrationality playing head games with me but I’m at a point right now where this marathon is feeling Big…B-I-G!
In the time that I should be tapering I’m going to try and get in one more long run. If I can just get to 20 miles then I know all will be okay. I don’t care if I have to walk half of those miles. I need a 20 mile run under my belt in order to feel really good about what is taking place in three weeks. Three weeks!!! Hard to know what I’m looking forward too the most. Fighting my hardest to cross over the finish line of my first 26.2 or waking up the day after knowing I had done what I’ve worked so hard over the last few months to accomplish? Finishing my first marathon so that I can look ahead to my second (registered) and possibly third (not yet registered) marathon? Crossing the finish line so that I can finally take the much needed break and get ready to head back to Tacoma, to see my family and friends for a week with Red and then beginning our drive back across Canada with not only my much missed Dusty but with Peppermint Patty and the rest of my stuff?
The littlest thing are throwing me off course but I fight to stay on the path that I was meant to be on. I know it’s just head games playing with me (Hello Emotionally Fat Tara) but if I have to cry the entire time I’m running in order to cross that finish line then baby had me some tissue because I won’t give up until that medal is in my hand and I’ve earned the right to wear my shirt. It’s hard right now, both physically (and mostly mentally/emotionally) but I continue to remember the fact that I’m running on a regular basis the equivalent of half marathons almost every weekend…it wasn’t that long ago my first half marathon seemed the hardest thing I’d ever done.
The point of this blog today?
Life is going to get in the way.
What you do with what is happening around you is how we learn to fight and survive. Maybe my challenges seem minuscule to what is going on in your world but we are all facing challenges that feel like we’re getting no where fast. Physical challenges. Emotional challenges. Food choices. Day to day choices. It doesn’t matter. If you feel like they are a challenge then they are. Acknowledge them. Acknowledge the feelings that come with those challenges. Don’t just bottle up and hope they go away. Tell someone or blog about it. Let it go to the universe (or baby jesus or unicorns or whatever you believe in). Maybe my shoes, or my head cold or my toe problems don’t seem like a big deal to what you’re dealing with but to me they were monumental…
Until they weren’t.
Now it’s back to getting my head back in the game. Back to spending a few hours on the streets running as much of the marathon route I can get my hands (and feet) on before I need to seriously cut back and prepare for this race. Back to getting caught up in the emotions of what it’s going to feel like when I cross over that finish line. Back to visualizing the crowds (and hopefully some good old cowbell), the runners all trying to accomplish something amazing and back to wondering what it’s going to be like to call myself a marathoner because baby…
That’s Life!
 I knew I was queer from a very early age.
Having a parent own a gay bar and spending much of your childhood watching drag queens dance around while getting the most fabulous Dorothy Hamill haircut in the neighborhood opened the “closet” door much easier for me. There could be some “what came first: chicken vs. egg” or some “nature vs. nuture” arguments made about how I ended up proclaiming my first kiss would be from a girl but that’s not the point of this blog post.
While I’ve known and been comfortable with being queer most of my life, one thing I’ve just started to come to terms with is this idea of gender. Confession: I very much believe in the gender roles played out before my eyes for the last 42 years. Now before you go off and talk about women’s equality and men being overly dominant of their women counterparts I’m not talking about that. I’m not talking about women staying home, barefoot and pregnant while the men beat their chest with a caveman like ferocity and hunt for food with their McGyver tools…(hahaha or am I?)
No, I’m talking about the subtle things that clearly separate the boys from the girls.
The opening of the doors. The pulling out of the chairs. The hand holding positions. The red lipstick and long moments in the bathroom making sure everything looks just right. The perfumes. The high heels. The sharp button down shirt. The carrying of the heavy bags and then flexing so that a particular someone might notice. The distinct separation of clothing because what’s hers is scooped necked and color coordinated while what’s mine is jeans and t-shirts…all boy cut.
I’ve been in weight loss maintenance since November of 2011. You hear stories about people gaining the weight back (and in more cases than not gaining more weight that previously lost). It happened to me a few times. Why it happens there are many reasons. For me I think something was missing and I didn’t really know until I watched Mitch make his transition. I don’t have the right to talk about his transition because it’s a personal story but what I can share what it was like from my perspective and how it affected me to make the changes I needed to make to be more congruent with how I felt on the inside with who I was on the outside.
My whole queer “dating” life consisted of dating girls that could easily pass as boys. In fact the more boyish they looked the more I was attracted to them. I loved them because they too fit into the gender roles that felt comfortable…except not 100% comfortable. I mean someone was opening the door for someone but it was usually them opening it for me. High heels and newly polished dress shoes were worn but I wasn’t the one wearing the dress shoes.
(is this making any sense?)
Watching someone you love, stand up and proclaim not only to themselves, to their families and to the world that the physical body they carried around did not match the spiritual body inside is an amazing thing.
A revelation of sorts.
In June of 2009 he started his transition. In December of 2009 I started mine. I thought it was only weight that I was losing but slowly as my body started to change on the outside, how I perceived it also started to change…no wait, that’s not right. Not change…became more clear. It became very clear that I no longer wanted the door opened for me. I no longer wanted the chair pulled out for me or help with my coat when dinner was over and it was time to leave the restaurant. I no longer wanted to be in a relationship with someone who would be mistaken as a boy or as it was in my case be married to someone that had fully transitioned to male because I didn’t want to be placed in a role that I was no longer comfortable with.
I can never explain to you how difficult it is to be with someone, build a life with someone, settle down into a “happily after” with someone, watch them become congruent with who they are outside with who they are inside and then realize that this was not your happily ever after…To leave behind all that was “right” because it felt “wrong”.
Much like my experiences during my childhood and exploring my attraction to women, my experiences with Mitch and his transition allowed me the opportunity to explore my own gender and realize after many years that while I cherish the gender roles I was trying to force my “square peg” into a “round hole” (yhea I had a giggle over that one too).
Once I acknowledged that I liked my body boyish, that I like my boyish haircut, that I like acting, smelling, looking like a boy my world became very right. I don’t fear gaining any weight back because I’m not trying to hide how I feel on the inside with a body that doesn’t match on the outside. When I let my heart accept my gender percentages, my heart reached out and found me the perfect match.
(and she came with the most delicious heels)
Weight loss maintenance isn’t just about keeping the weight off. It’s about exploring how you feel on the inside and making that match on the outside. Being congruent doesn’t necessarily involve gender it just means allowing yourself to be exactly who you see when you close your eyes. It’s about finding all the pieces of the puzzle and taking the necessary steps to putting that puzzle together.
Sometimes however it’s about throwing away your skirts and buying a good pair of dress shoes.
 This is the shirt from last year’s BlueNose Marathon.
Be Resolute.
Resolute: adjective 1. firmly resolved or determined; set in purpose or opinion. 2. characterized by firmness and determination, as the temper, spirit, actions, etc.
Since the day I opened the large box containing an 8 1/2 X 11 piece of paper that declared I was an official participant in the 2012 BlueNose Marathon I have been resolute. I have also been angsty, nervous, tired, defeated, elated, sore, inspired, timid, concerned, angry, surprised, motivated, emotional.
Above all I have been resolute.
The marathon is approaching fast and everyday I am feeling a different set of emotions as I think about my playlist, my running shirt (and what it will say), the epic recap that I’ll write, the weather, the hills that I’ve gotten up close and personal with over the last few weeks, what it’s going to feel like to run the route with thousands of other runners after spending weeks alone on the very same streets that will earn me my first 26.2 medal (or 42.2 for you Canadians out there). May 20th still seems like a long time away but with only a few more weeks of training and then the slow decent into tapering it’s loud and in my face that the day is drawing near.
 My first official running race was the “Great Kilted Run” and it took place May 23rd 2010. It was the first time I wore a number (#179) as a runner (though I had completed a half marathon walk weeks prior). It was the first time I stood in a crowd of other runners and worried I would finish last or not finish at all. I was 5 months into my weight loss journey. Down 50 pounds (from 270ish ——> 220ish). It took me 37 minutes and 40 seconds to finish that race and by the end of it I thought for sure I was going to throw up anything I had eaten the week prior.
Two years later I’m stepping up to the starting line of my first marathon.
(Be resolute).
When I first started training for this marathon in May of 2010 January I thought a lot about my pace and how fast I could finish. I used to dwell on how hard it was for me to run 3 miles after taking so much time off of running (focusing on crossfit and moving to Halifax) and I was discouraged. Running in weather conditions that I wasn’t prepared for: I was discouraged.
But I was resolute.
I bundled up and ran in below zero conditions. I pushed myself to run even when I didn’t want too. When I was too sore. I learned that ice baths (no matter how much you cry because they are painful) really do take away muscle soreness so that you can continue to up the miles…
3 miles.
6 miles.
10 miles.
13 miles.
19 miles.
(26.2 miles)
As the miles get longer and the temperatures finally start to warm up enough that I don’t need to wear 3 layers of clothing, I’ve made a lot of changes to the way I see this marathon. In daily mile every run is listed as “great” even when it sucks more than expected because two years from the time I started running races and still considered morbidly obese by medical standards I am still running. Paces are no longer listed because at the end of the day it doesn’t matter whether I run an 8 minute mile or a 13 minute mile…what matters is that I laced up my shoes and I moved my body, raised my heart level and worked another day to maintain a 100+ pound weight loss
(be resolute)
 This is the running shirt for the 2012 BlueNose Marathon. This is the shirt that I will probably wear for the next 30 days after I have crossed the finish line. This is exactly what I’ve been doing since January. First just around my neighborhood, then over the bridge to Dartmouth then printing out the course map and getting to know every mile of this marathon. I’ve laughed. I’ve cried. I’ve panicked. I’ve gotten lost. I thought about my Home of Tacoma and my Home of Halifax. I’ve thought about Meegan, about Mitch, about my family that I miss beyond words and about my friends just starting to take to the streets in their own running. I’ve thought about life at 270. I’ve thought about life at 160. I’ve thought about what the person running towards me is thinking and whether they too are training for the Bluenose. I’ve raised my arms like Rocky when I got to the top of Maple Street hill without stopping and on multiple occasions I’ve whispered “Come on Tara, you can do this” when I truly believed I couldn’t. I’ve snorted out loud over something funny in a podcast and I’ve danced on the corner waiting for the light to change. I’ve thought about quitting 11 miles into a 19 mile run and then a few hours later thought I could have run the marathon at that exact moment. I’ve procrastinated a run and then pushed myself to run faster to work out the aggression. I’ve wiped sweat out of my eyes and snot off my face more times than I can count. I’ve needed a cowbell at the turn around point of a ridiculously hard run and in the end I had to cut it short and get picked up by Meegan…
I’ve worried about pace and then let it go.
over and over again.
I’ve worried about my ability to finish and then let it go.
over and over again.
I’ve worried that I’m not ready and then let it go.
over and over again.
Sometimes when you run and you worry too much you forget why you’re doing what you’re doing. This race isn’t about going fast, it’s about going because in 2009 I wasn’t going at all. I was sitting. A lot. When you run and you’re worried about too much, you forget to open your eyes and see what is around you…
 
 
 
 
 
I’m not saying as the minutes tick by and the days pass that I won’t worry about my pace or whether I’ll be the last runner out there. I’m not saying there won’t be days of feeling deflated along with the days of feeling like I could kick some serious ass and take some serious names. It’s bound to happen. This life changing journey wouldn’t be much of a journey if I didn’t fight my emotional battles on an almost daily basis but as I continue to “Run This Town” and train both mentally and physically for this marathon there is always one thing you can be sure of:
I am resolute.
 (hands rest quietly on the keyboard)
I’ve been a little more than absent these last few weeks. The urge to sit in front of the laptop and bang away at the keyboard shelling out words of despair, frustration, elation, confusion, struggle, contentment, resolution LIFE is no longer at the forefront of all that consumes me. Marathon time is fast approaching and it seems that my thought process has come down to two things: Run. Eat. (Repeat).
That’s not to say my brain isn’t on a constant overload of emotions and “oh this would make a great blog post”. It is. When you spend on average 9 hours a week running/walking you have lots of time for thinking, contemplation, crying, and coming up with words that you know would not only be good to read but send the blog world in a tailspin of awesomeness as it got the people standing up and taking action.
But then you get home and get in an ice bath for 15 minutes and you forget about that fucking blog post.
As the marathon gets closer and I spend more time outside freaking out, wondering how the hell I’m going to do this I begin to doubt my own ability to accomplish something I’ve set my sights since the very first time I pinned a race bib to my ever shrinking body. I begin to wonder if I haven’t proverbially bitten off more than I can chew. I begin to wonder what the hell is the point to all of this shit. Why do I care so much about this marathon? Why do I care so much about the food I put in my body? Why do I care so much about standing up and moving forward and trying to grab frantically at anyone that is trying to do the same?
Really what is the point?
When I run past a fast food joint what stops me from going in and filling my arteries with fat smothered in more fat with a side of fat? When I go out for breakfast (and what I what to eat is a stack of pancakes with sweet sticky syrupy blueberries smothered on top) why do I consciously pass up the crispy hash browns and butter smothered toast for a side of fruit? When I go to Costco and wheel my bigger than life shopping cart past the 150 count candy bar boxes and plastic tubs filled with red licorice why don’t I just shut down, tune out and stuff my face with the delicious taste testing morsels like the rest of the zombies instead of standing around contemplating whether I want brussels sprouts this week or do I have a hankering for some baby spinach?
Yesterday I was standing around in the kitchen (after taking my new hand help mandolin for a test spin on some cucumbers) and read a post by Christie over at “Average Mom Wears Capes” titled “The Importance of Waterproof Mascara“. She’s got cancer. I fucking hate cancer. It took my mom. It took my grandmother and it will take a few more people I love before my life is over. All of a sudden my life choices seem so very ridiculous. Why lose the weight? Why run my ass off? Why Why Why…for fucking sake WHY?
We’re all like those ducks in the picture at the beginning of this post.
Spinning around on the belt of life. Unable to detach and fly off into some world of forever living. Choices and decisions made decades ago could come back and ping me off the rotating game of living. I’m a moving target. We’re all moving targets. Most times I wish I lived the life of my cat: meandering from bedroom to kitchen, waking only to eat and then padding quietly back to the warm spot on the bed until the next time he hears me grab a spoon and a packet of wet food from the pantry. Instead I’m constantly thinking about what is it going to be like to close my eyes and never open them again? What if I get a phone call that someone I love is no longer here? How will I know I’ve done all that I’m supposed to do with the time I’ve been allotted on the rotating target game?
Then I remember why…
After reading Christie’s post, I clung to Meegan. I smelled her hair. I touched her skin. I confessed that for the first time I felt like someone was seeing me for me. Looking into my eyes like I was the focus of their life. That it took 42 years for me to feel like I was the most important person in someone’s life and in the instant that I was reading about someone else’s life being affected in ways I can never imagine, I didn’t want her to get sick too. I don’t want to get sick…
So the choices I make now…the running, the food, the crying when I want to eat something but pass it up for a “healthier option”, the moving, the standing up and taking names as I continue to kick ass on my life changing journey it sort of makes sense:
We’re all moving targets…
But my ass moves pretty fucking fast.
(try and keep up).
Video time!!!
And I remembered to do an ASL version.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLXUPYOrb68
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBpXeXufhAY&feature=g-upl&context=G255cb53AUAAAAAAAAAA
Continue reading Tommie Copper Compression Sleeve Review and Giveaway!
First I know you’re all here to check to see who won the Simple Hydration giveaway from last week so let’s just get that out of the way…
Way to go Betsy! I hope you like the bottle as much as I do.
Make sure to shoot me an email so we can get everything coordinated.
Speaking of getting everything coordinated I’m not really sure about how this post is playing out besides the picking of the Simple Hydration bottle. There is a lot on my mind these days with running, eating paleo, getting closer to marathon time and flying back home to get my belongings soon after I cross the finish line of that 26.2 in May. I tried putting it all in some sort of cohesive blend of blogging goodness but one thought leads to another which leads to another and before you know it I’m thinking about whether I remembered to empty out the coffee maker for tomorrow morning’s new brew. Hard to stay focused on one particular thought path when there is so many paths crossing each other to send you off in a new direction.
Random tangent #1 – As I’m writing this I’ve been patiently waiting (allllll daaaaaaay) for a delivery driver to knock on the door. I’m expecting an envelope from my very dear friend Kelly who has been more than a life saver over the past few months while I adjusted to life here in Atlantic Canada. She has kept my beloved Dusty (my Honda Element) on her property and never turns a shoulder when I ask if she could rummage through the plethora of boxes that came with Dusty to look for something that I need mailed some 4000 miles away.
The envelope: A gift card from the Running Room so that I can buy much-needed running gels. But not only did she send me a gift card, she also managed to find my hand-held running bottle from Amphipod as well as my running belt and my lightweight running jacket that are all now on route to me so that my longer miles can go more smoothly and as the weather starts to warm up (just a wee bit) I won’t be snarled down by a heavier jacket with pockets to carry my phone and gels.
Sometimes I forget how much I miss my things until I know a few of them are on their way to me.
Random tangent #2 – Tomorrow I am running 18 miles. Hard to choke that number down but I don’t have a doubt in my mind I am ready for this kind of mileage. The last time I ran for 18 consecutive miles was back in October for the Pt. Defiance 30k trail run that took me 4 hours and 51 minutes to finish and was the closest I’d ever come to DNF(ing) a race. I won’t try to pussy foot around the fact that I’m nervous about the run tomorrow. I am. I’m leaving my front door tomorrow and running 9 miles away from the comforts of my bed and the freshly brewed coffee Meegan will no doubt be brewing (now that I remembered to clean out the coffee pot). 9 miles out…then 9 miles back in.
I feel ready for tomorrow.
My running feels better, feels stronger, feels faster.
Tomorrow there may be a DNF happening…
But we already know what my DNF definition is:
Did Not Fail!
 It’s pretty standard that avid runners have a hate/love relationship with running. At least it does when in comes to this particular runner…
That is we I hate to love to run.
Some weeks will be spectacular while other weeks will suck the biggest donkey balls I can fit in my mouth (yes I did just say donkey balls in my mouth because you and I both know that’s about as sucky it can get). Last week was one of those “for the love of all that is pure and good I fucking hated running”. The sad part about this statement is that it happened during a week of the most awesome weather I’ve seen since arriving in Halifax. I believe the Haligonians thought it was the Armageddon because it was so unusually warm (77ish). For the last 10 weeks of this marathon training I’ve been running in temperatures anywhere between 32F all the way down to -6F…On occasion its warmed up to a lovely 45F and you’ll have found me running in as little as possible since I’ve been bundled to the nine each and every time I run.
Except this last week. Sunny, warm and not a snowflake in sight and I couldn’t get my ass motivated to do even the smallest miles of training. Now before I go on a rant about how for me a short run is now about 6 miles, I know for many people 6 miles still feels like an unacheivable dream. Trust me I remember what it was like not that long ago to cry the first time I ran for 3 minutes straight and how I panicked the first time I was supposed to run for 20 minutes non stop in the couch to 5k program. Those memories are never far from my thoughts each and every time I run. For those of you that look at my 6 miles and think “Holy crap that’s not a short run”, I do the same for those runners who’s “short” run is a constant half marathon…Someday that half marathon run will be a short run for me as those 6 miles will be for a newbie runner today…
Crap, where was I?
Right, so the weather was beautiful and I couldn’t muster up one ounce of enthusiasm for my training. I’ve made some pretty major changes to my eating lately and if I could point a finger at what was the major downfall for the lack of love in both the running and just in general I would say it was the shift in food. I’ve been trying to be very aware of the changes both physically and emotionally over the last 11 days as my body detoxed the sugars and grains and whatever else it needed to get rid of as I focused on a more Paleo palate. When the Moose run came last Sunday I was in day 4 of the shift and the miles did a number on my body. Tired and headachy from the detox and emotional like it was no one’s business made me feel like quitting all together on this idea of becoming a marathoner as soon as I crossed the finish line…
But one must have patience.
Much in the same way I had to give my body time to adjust to the changes when I was first counting calories, reading labels and watching what I put in my mouth to lose weight (and that literally took months), I needed to let my body (and mind – emotions) work themselves out. The only way I can describe it is like putting a glass dome over my body just big enough for me to stretch out my arms and then for the first 7 days of detoxing ramming my body against the glass at full force. One minute I’d be standing there and then the next BAM right into the glass side…I tried to keep to a my running schedule as much as possible but each time it was like running with lead legs.
Eventually ( around day 8 ) the clouds parted and I was feeling much more back to myself. This last Saturday the schedule put me on a 12 mile run and I was prepared for it to suck as much as the other times thinking it was still going to take some time for my body to catch up with all the Paleo changes…
I almost didn’t run. I almost talked myself into just letting this one go because what I didn’t want was a repeat of the Moose Run. Even though this wasn’t a “technical” race, those long runs are like individual races and the finish line is waiting for you at your front door from where you left a little over two hours ago. I found a route that I had been on before that actually goes out much farther than first anticipated (it’s one of those rails to trails thingy) and once you’re out there, you’re out there. Six miles away from home can seem like forever if you’re tired, and in the most outrageous hate part of your running relationship.
 I went out on Saturday expecting the worst. I thought for sure I’d get as far out as possible and have to call Meegan to come pick me up. In fact I was okay with that. I know changes take time. I felt the shift happening, the raising of the glass dome if you will so I knew everything was moving in the right direction…I knew my body was detoxing the way it should. I knew the emotions were coming back under control and most importantly the headaches and the foot pain that seemed to have reared its ugly head in a hot hot manner of painful shittiness (a whole other blog post: Plantar Fasciitis inflammation caused by dairy/grains) were dissipating. On Wednesday of last week I could barely walk from the pain…By Saturday I could get out of bed with hardly a second thought to pain in my feet (but I digress).
Now I’m not saying this 12 mile run was the most amazing run ever. It wasn’t by a long shot, but it was way way WAY better than the Moose Run only a week ago and it was way way WAY better than the shorter runs I had been doing during the week. Overall my pace is still not where I want it to be (this particular run was 10:54 min/mile) but the nike+ shows some nice consistent running at some pretty good clicks.
11 days into a full commitment of Paleo and I see some positive changes happening not only in my running (though I need a few more miles to make that an official statement) but also just in my overall physical and emotional well being. The following statement might be too much information but hell it’s my blog and seriously I’m all about giving the 411 even if it’s a little too much for readers: The first thing I noticed immediately was my bathroom experience. Everything is coming out much better…enough on that as you probably get the idea. My body feels leaner and from what Meegan says it looks leaner. She even went as far as to say it looked like it was getting back to the “JTS” bootcamp days (that’s where I was going before coming to Halifax). The past two days I’ve been touching my little skin pooch on my tummy because it feels smaller and you know when you lose a significant amount of weight you are always touching the extra skin. For me to think it feels smaller means it is in fact smaller. These aren’t big changes physically but enough for me to stand up and take notice.
Emotionally I feel much more balanced today than I did the first few days of full Paleo commitment and even more balanced than I did before deciding to go full Paleo. What started out as a “I wonder if I can actually do this and I wonder what will be the outcome” is turning into a “hmmmmm, I never realized there might be a medical necessity but now I am starting to see the benefits of going full Paleo”…
And this is only day 11.
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When I opened the gift box containing the paid registration on Christmas last year it seemed like May 2oth was so far away. When I “officially” started training mid January and ran my first of many scheduled runs May 20th seemed like it would never get here. As the miles got longer and I pushed myself farther it seemed like it would take forever for me to prepare myself to step up to the starting line the morning of May 20th, take a deep breath and with a gentle nudge forward begin something I’ve been waiting to do for the last two years.