This is (was) me.

Obviously I’m in New York.

September of 2009. I’m at my heaviest (I think) so topping the scales at 270 pounds but since I didn’t weigh myself I can’t be sure that it’s not more than that. I stopped visiting the doctor’s because I didn’t like to get on the scale. I didn’t like that I had morbidly obese written in my file. If I didn’t pay attention to what the exterior world was telling me then I could ignore what the interior world was telling me.

In a few short months from when this picture was taken I would decide that what the interior world was telling me was no longer okay. That being obese was no longer okay. That being lazy was no longer okay. That watching the world pass me by when I could stand up and do something about it was no longer okay. It was time to do something and do it like my life depended on it…because it did.

The reason I decided to put this picture up is because I started marathon training this week. In 17 (short) weeks I’m going to step up to a starting line that back when this picture was taken would never had crossed my mind. It’s hard to look at pictures of my former self and not feel a pang of guilt that I waited so long. Being 40 and deciding that being 110 pounds overweight is no longer acceptable does quite a number on your mental stability (or instability). After a lifetime of berating myself into believing I can’t, I had to do something I didn’t know how to do: learn to say I can.

If you had asked me back in September of 2009 on that ferry looking at the Statue of Liberty if I could run, I would have made some knee jerk comment like “oh sure if I was being chased”.

Being chased…

Running away from something.

Out of fear.

Because my life depended on it.

Week one of training is done and my muscles are sore. I’m not used to running multiple days in a row. I’ve never had a training schedule. I’ve never had a certain amount of miles I had to get in on a specific day. This week is about easing into the idea that what I’m doing is real. That I have made the commitment to follow through. That on May 20th at the end of the day I will gently place my first marathon medal with all the others I have collected over the last two years. I don’t run because I am being chased. I don’t run because I am trying to run away from something. I don’t run out of fear.

I am chasing.

Running towards.

No fear.

Because my life depends on it.

Light the fire.

Strike the match and set the flame.

To change.

To life.

To living.

I’ve been thinking a lot (okay maybe obsessing) over the idea that my blog as become more “motivational” rather than the struggles of finding life at the end of the tunnel that I’ve been writing about for so long.

I let the obsession fester (quietly). Am I not being honest enough in my posts anymore? Is there not enough drama happening in my life? Why is my reader count dropping? Why the fuck is that even important to me? Why does this blog mean so much to me? More than once I thought about letting this blog go over the past couple of weeks. I thought about quietly slipping into the background and just not putting my thoughts down. Let someone else write about the struggles of weight loss. Let someone else write about the successes of weight loss. Let someone else write a race recap. Let someone else…

I’ve started a new “thing” in my life. One that requires me to look back over the last two years (and the first 40 years of my life). Where I was then (in 2010) and where I am today are opposite ends of the spectrum. I cried a lot in the beginning. I stumbled. I took a lot of baby steps that were painful both emotionally and physically. I wrote about everything. What I ate. The exercises that I did. Weekly weigh ins. Line graphs that squiggled up and down as I (we) watched the scale decrease in number while life increased in happiness for me. Words shifted and I started to write as if I was talking to myself like I would talk to a friend. I motivated with words instead of just using the blog as a dumping place for numbers, workouts and pounds lost. 

I am here to motivate.

That is what I am meant to do.

To show anyone…anyone that choosing to live is a right we all have. I can’t explain it. I can’t explain why I have the need to tell people (and show people) that we don’t have to settle for obesity, settle for depression, settle for living a life without knowing our full potential. I can’t explain why I sometimes become so overwhelmed at the sadness we have settled for and accept as normal. I can’t explain this need. This need to reach out. To prove to anyone listening, reading, watching that what you thought was impossible…

Is possible.

The struggles of weight loss are fewer and farther in between for me. I’m not out to lose weight anymore. Most days I live, eat, breath and maintain a successful weight loss story. My relationship with the scale is no longer haunting me (though I would guess that’s because there isn’t readily access to a scale). My struggles with depression are fewer and farther in between. I still have days that I feel like I can’t get out of bed and function like I should but those days pass just like days that feel really good to me.

The tone of the blog has changed because I have changed. I lost over a hundred pounds. I over came depression. I found love. I shifted my way of thinking about myself and my life. I want someone else to do the same now. I stopped reading other people’s blogs, stopped engaging so much on twitter, stopped pumping my fist in the air and screaming the proverbial “YOU CAN DO IT” because I started believing I was too motivational and not struggling enough.

Now I realize it doesn’t feel right to me. It doesn’t feel right to not jump up and down, wave my hands and with a resounding voice of affirmation say “I did it, so can you”. Isn’t that what it means to live life? To do what can’t be done and then encourage others to follow suit? Isn’t it sort of my responsibility to turn around every once in a while and hold the hand of someone who is still struggling? Still depressed? Still confused about their own path?

I motivate because I’m never very far from going back to that lifestyle of self hate, self-abuse and self-deprecation. I motivate because when I feel the dark cloud creeping in on my turf, I need someone to turn around and motivate me. I motivate because it’s what keeps me moving forward and we all know how I feel about moving forward.

If the tone of the blog is something that doesn’t resound with a reader any longer then so be it. It’s okay. It’s my blog. It’s my life. I put myself out there to be loved, criticized, supported, ignored…whatever the person who takes the time to read these posts feel in that moment. But if someone feels that this blog is too motivational then I have to wonder what road the reader is on? All I want in life is too feel like I’ve helped someone move a little more forward towards what they deserve…

It’s what I deserve.

I’ve seen a lot of posts lately about the “Word of the Year”. Picking a word for 2012 to signify what kind of year it will be. I was intrigued enough that it got my own brain working on a word…

I’ve spent quite some time thinking about a word but I couldn’t get past the idea of not knowing what kind of year it was going to be. At the onset of 2011 if I would have taken a few moments to focus on a word I think it would have had something to do with running. Or maybe a word about knocking down walls. Or maybe a word on believing in myself. Now that I’m at the end of 2011 and looking back the word I would give it is CHANGE. 2011 was so full of unforeseen changse that just thinking about has my head spinning.

It’s no wonder with all the changes that have taken place over the very short twelve months that everything just sort of came crashing down during December and my transition to moving to Halifax. I’ve been very quiet as of late because everything got so emotionally jumbled up, I didn’t know how to begin talking about it.

Then I had a break down last Sunday.

It wasn’t pretty.

But then they never are.

Outside in the cold, walking. Stopping at a bridge and watching the river flow by. Tears streaming down my face. And finally admitting that I wasn’t happy. That the homesickness had taken a toll on my emotional state. That missing the littlest things of comfort was causing me so much angst that I couldn’t sleep at night. That I felt like every smile was forced and the answer to “is everything okay” when asked was a lie. I felt bad for missing my hometown. I felt bad for missing little things like going to Tacoma Boys for veggies or to Fred Meyer to see if they had any Fage yogurt on sale. I felt bad for missing my parking spot on the college campus. I felt bad for missing Pho on 38th. I felt bad for missing everything about my hometown and that feeling bad snowballed into something else.

It snowballed into confusion.

Had I made the right changes?

Am I where I am supposed to be?

Funny thing about not holding emotions in and taking a huge leap when sharing is that what was once a feeling of a huge burden deflates almost immediately when you let it go. As soon as I admitted I was homesick and that it was causing me to be confused inside the confusion stopped. As soon as I admitted I was homesick and that it was causing me to question my decisions, the questioning stopped. As soon as I admitted I was homesick and that it had pulled me into a bout of depression I didn’t know how to handle, the depression subsided.

Letting go of the emotions that were bringing me down

made room for the emotions that lift me up.

So often we think that what we are feeling is not important. That what we are feeling is wrong when they comes with words like “sad” “confused” “angry” attached. We hold them in and let them build up steam like a tea kettle on a hot stove. Ignoring what’s really going on in hopes that it will pass. Refusing to acknowledge emotions inside for fear of hurting those outside. I still miss my hometown. I still miss the routine of standing in my kitchen and taking my vitamins in a particular order. I still miss getting up in the morning and seeing Meegan staring at me from 4000 miles away on the computer screen. I still miss going to my P.O. box on my way to work and wondering if there will be any mail. But I don’t question where I am or the changes that have happened over the last year…

I am right where I am supposed to be.

I am doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.

Instead of questioning.

I am accepting.

That’s my word for 2012: ACCEPT. Life has a path and while I think I know where that path leads I really don’t. I know that the changes and decisions in my life will always be made with careful thoughts and as I implement those changes and decisions I’m not out to hurt anyone. I accept that there will be challenges in life. Be they physically related or emotionally related there will be challenges and I accept that some days it will be easy to get through. I accept that some days I won’t know how to step up to a challenge and face it head on. I accept that some days I will wake up and feel like I am on top of the world and some days I will feel like the heel of the shoe that stepped in a huge pile of dog shit. I accept that some changes will come with a resounding “hell yes” and some will come with a tear streaked face of confusion. I accept that this life changing journey is hard because I am doing something that most people won’t do:

Take control.

I have no idea where 2012 is taking me. Christ I don’t even know where the month of January or even this week is taking me. I’ve started something big that I’m too afraid to talk about openly. I’m trying to figure out how to make money in a country I can’t legally work in. I’m preparing to earn my first 26.2 with hopes of other races to follow (as soon as I figure out how to pay for the registrations). I’m trying to stay in the moment every second of every day and not go back to what once was or what should be. Everyday I wake up and have to remind myself that I am not where I was…

But that I am where I am supposed to be.

Physically.

Emotionally.

I accept.

So…

I have this trainer.

If you know me (and you do know me right?), you know that the people I train with are very important to me. Superman was my first trainer when I walked into Allstar gym. Long hours on the Wii, rewiring my way of thinking about food, counting calories and a lot of time spent in the mirror learning how to love the body I was in so that I could let it go and go after the body I longed for, the membership was a gift to myself for having lost the first thirty pounds on my own. With the membership came two free training sessions and after those two I was hooked. Superman and I spent a few months together. It was the first time I experienced what it was like to be pushed to the point of exhaustion and have someone pat me on the back and say “way to go”.

When it was time to move  on from Superman, I was fortunate enough to find Godfather. He took my physical abilities to a whole new level. A higher level. A stronger level. A level of pushing down walls and screaming “What’s next?!?”. When I said I couldn’t he looked me square in the eyes and said “I’m about to prove you wrong” and each and every time he was right. For seven months he told me to lift heavy shit (and I did), he told me to move faster (and I did), he told me to keep going (and I did) and he told me that I could do whatever I put my mind to (and I did). With him not only did I knock down those brick walls that kept me from moving forward I did it like it was no one’s fucking business.

For a long time I didn’t have a trainer after Godfather. It was difficult to find my motivation and to keep pushing myself. While I didn’t pay someone to stand over me and say “One more sit up” I did find solace in the classes I was taking at the gym, Coach Robbie at boot camp and Anthony at boxing became my trainers for a short time. I owe them as much respect as anyone I called trainer. Because of them my burpees and my pushups are fucking fabulous. They are a part of who I am as an athlete and for that I thank them.

Now I have a new trainer.

Chris has been Meegan’s trainer for much of her weight loss journey. Though we didn’t meet in person until October of this year, I’ve known of Chris for almost the entire time I’ve known Meegan. Her relationship with Chris is much the same as my relationship with Godfather: Respectfully Intense. When I came to visit Halifax for the first time this last October I felt a sense of gratitude I’ve never felt towards someone I’d never met. I wanted nothing more than to hug him and say thank you for helping to save the life of the person I fell in love with. Without him, Meegan wouldn’t be who she was and without her my life wouldn’t be as it was.

For months like clockwork I would wake up when she was getting ready for the gym. From my side of Skype I would watch her leave only to return an hour later, sweaty, strong and ready to kick ass. He pushed her like Godfather pushed me and I respected the hell out of what they had built together over the last two years. I didn’t know how I was going to fit in to this already established trainer/client friendship. When I got here six weeks ago, I sort of fell into stride. Her time with Chris has become our time with Chris. Instead of watching her leave from my side of Skype, we leave together from this side of Halifax. Instead of feeling like I am intruding on what they had together, I feel like I am part of something spectacular…I didn’t know Chris when I was 230 pounds and crying because I didn’t want to do another set of jumping jacks. I didn’t know Chris when I was 190 pounds and didn’t want to do another box jump…But I know  him now. I came to him as an athlete and someone that likes to push the limits. I came to him as someone that isn’t afraid to lift heavy shit as a female (at least the 13% of me I consider female). I came to him looking for someone I could respect and work hard for so that at the end of the day I could earn the  pat on the back and the “good job kid” that I’ve missed for some time.

I’ve found it in him.

I think everyone deserves to know this man.

While you can’t come with me to sweat it out everyday (unless you’re in Halifax to which I say get your ass in here), you can check out his website. He’s got an amazing blog that doesn’t preach talk about what you should or shouldn’t be putting in your mouth, or how you should spend all your money on a trainer or an expensive gym membership. He just writes about life and what we can do to survive the madness of it all…

Thanks Chris.

Merry Christmas ya freakin wanker!

xoxo

T-Rex

Here is something I know to be true;

I am very good at giving advice.

This is because I’ve done a lot of work (emotionally, mentally and physically) over the past two years trying to change my life for the better. Something else I know to be true? Some days I need to really listen to what I’m saying because the one person that needs to hear it the most is me.

When I sit down to write a blog post I’m mostly thinking about what people want to hear. What’s going to motivate them to keep moving forward, to keep pushing themselves to reach farther than they think they can and go after the life they deserve?  I get easily frustrated with how my posts are going because while I want people to pump their fists in the air and proclaim from this very moment that “This is my life and I deserve to live”, I’m also trying to keep my own emotions in check. I’m am in desperate need of my own medicine. I feel like I am standing firmly in the life I want to lead when all of a sudden the ground opens up under my feet and my emotions come rushing up at me and I don’t know how to contain them.

If someone says to me “Tara, I don’t know how to feel my emotions” I usually respond with “Just feel. Sit with them. It’s only when we stop bottling them up or sugar coating them with food, that the emotions truly leave us and we are free to live.” And yet, here I am this week with some deep emotions and instead of taking my own advice of just sitting with them,  I’m looking for ways to bottle them up, dip them in chocolate, top them with whip cream, nuts and a cherry and pretend that everything is okay.

The truth is:

Everything is not okay.

I am feeling a severe amount of guilt over the choices and decisions that I made back in April to leave my husband Mitch when I found myself falling for Meegan after meeting in person for the first time. Don’t take this post as a “I never should have” with Meegan. I should have and don’t regret anything we’ve done together over the last eight months. I knew my relationship with Mitch was heading in another direction before meeting Meegan, I just didn’t have the courage to say / do something before hand. I should have and that’s part of where the guilt is coming.

I still have some contact with him because we share the financial responsibility for the dogs that we have. I can’t bring them to Nova Scotia with me and he has the house so it just made sense to leave them there in his care. This means that we need to communicate about what the dogs need and I need to find ways to make sure they are taken care of to the best of my ability from way over here.

This also means it opens the door to emotional upheavals every few weeks as we hash and re-hash hurt feelings of betrayal, lies thought told and accusations of ruining one life while trying to find happiness in another. It’s been a roller coaster ride of emotions and with the holiday season here in full regalia I am struck to my core with feelings of guilt and not liking what I see when I look in the mirror. I am in the middle of a full blown attack of my emotions and I am unsure how to get control of them.

It’s hard to tell someone “You deserve to feel your emotions and you deserve to have the life you want” when I am in the mind frame that I am undeserving of anything because I caused someone else so much pain. What should be a joyous time preparing for Christmas is quickly becoming like a knife in my side because it reminds me that for the first time in ten years he probably won’t do anything to celebrate. No tree. No lights. No frantically searching for that perfect gift.

I am constantly thinking about what his life is like and how lonely he must feel. What should be a quick text about making sure the dogs have enough food turns into hours of finger pointing and “how could you(s)”. I can’t get rid of the feeling that I did something awful and he won’t recover emotionally. I took the leap of finding happiness and now feel like I landed in a big pile of “Way to go Tara, you fucked things up again”.

It’s hard to be in my own skin. To shut down the voices. To keep the tears from coming. I try to tell myself to feel the guilt, to feel the sadness for him. That without feeling those things I can’t truly get back to feeling good about myself. It’s affecting the way I eat (not eating enough because I don’t deserve to feed my body), it’s affecting the way I am around Meegan (I don’t deserve to be loved) and it’s affecting my moving forward (I’m unmotivated because of feelings of I don’t deserve to physically take care of my body).

I try to talk to myself like I’m talking to a friend;

“You deserve to be happy”

“You can’t control some one else’s emotions”

“Meegan loves you very much”

“You know it was the right decision”

“He will be okay”

“You need to let go of the things you can’t control”

Nothing is working. I’m trying to be patient with myself. I have lots of time these days to work through these feelings of inadequacies. Too much time in fact. Nothing like being unemployed, unable to work and having to spend day in and day out in your own mind. At a time with everything should be new, exciting and full of promise, I’m stuck with my face in my palms, tears streaming down my face and feeling more desperate to eat my way through all these emotions.

I’m not sure there is a point to this post. This was definitely about me just letting some stuff out. Letting it go to the universe the best that I can. I am not in a good place today but that doesn’t mean I have to stay here. I won’t turn off my emotions because I am scared to feel them. I won’t turn them off because I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy. I will do my best to make food choices about nutrition and not about covering up something I am afraid to feel and I will try to be mindful that I’m not eating enough. I will try to be patient and remind myself that this is how I feel right now but it may or may not be how I feel an hour from now, a day from now, or a week from now.

I will try to take my own medicine

And hope it works.