 I don’t blog much about my life these days.
When I first started “A Life Changing Journey” back in February (ish) of 2010 (back then known at 263andcounting) I blogged daily about what was going on with me. I wrote about my workouts at the gym, my attempt to complete the couch to 5k program and the foods that I ate. I talked a lot about my struggles with daily living and being surrounded by an environment that made it difficult and some days down right painful to make the choices that lead me down a path of weight loss success.
I still write about my struggles but it’s more geared towards those that take a few minutes to read what I have to write. I weave my words to capture my reader(s) into understanding that this journey that we’re all on (whether it be weight loss, ending depression, making hard choices, standing up and taking control) is a journey that is shared. I blog to help those coming behind me that there is a light at the end of the tunnel if you just keep moving forward.
Personal blog posts are few and far between.
I have a lot going on in my life and it’s been a long time since I sat down and just wrote about what’s going on with me. Today is going to be that post. There won’t be any monumental message here. No pat on the back or a gentle push forward. No “hey we’re in this together” or “you deserve to love yourself”. No “I understand your struggle” or “let us love you until you learn to love yourself”. No talk of a past that shaped who I am today. No words of wisdom…
Just me.
(bulleted style!)
- As I write this I am carb loading like a mother fucker! Why? Because I’m about to strap on my running shoes and do one of the scariest things I’ve ever done in my life: I’m running 18 miles: at once. I know there are some of you that will say “Oh for the love of all that is pure Tara, you did Ragnar Ultra style and ran 31 miles back in July”. I know I know it sounds silly but trust me when I say this is not the same for me. It might have been harder physically to do what I did in July but emotionally this is tougher. I know I can run 13 miles without stopping. I know I can run 31 miles when it’s broken down into three segments over a 187 mile relay race. What I don’t know is if I can run more than 13 miles without stopping and by the time this blog post is published I’ll be well on my way to finding out for myself if I can do this. This is the milestone I need to get to in order to move forward to the illustrious 26.2. I’m pretty sure I have my first marathon picked out but first I need to spend about 5+ hours in the woods proving I can do 18.
- The Point Defiance 30k race that I’m doing this weekend (and quite possibly while you’re reading this) is going to be my last big race of the year. This has a lot of significance for me: it will be my last monumental race in my hometown (where I’ve lived my entire life) and for the first time since I’ve started running I’m going to just run for pure pleasure and not because I’m training for something. I may do some themed holiday races but there will be no double digits racing for me until I am settled into my new home in Halifax.
- I’m approaching my one year weight loss maintenance “anniversary”. This time last year I was getting close to the 100 pound weight loss bench mark and even though I continued to lose up to 120 pounds it was the 100 pound mark that was the most important to me. November of 2010 is when I stepped on the scale and looked down and for the first time in my adult life entered the medically approved category of “normal”. For the past year I slowly moved away from the weight loss journey trying to figure out how to live in a body of normal size, deal with the demons that don’t just disappear because I can slip into a size 8 and come to terms with the idea that I will always battle those demons because they come to me even a year later stronger and more determined than before. I’ve spent the last few months getting used to the idea that my body weight fluctuates and what I thought was a number I wanted to be at may in fact not be the number my body wants to be at. I spent the last few months going back and forth between wanting to count calories and just wanting to eat, wanting to weigh myself daily out of fear and challenging myself to stay off of the scale for over a month now. I am no longer on a weight loss journey, but I am still on a journey.
- The official countdown to moving to Halifax has started. I just came back from my first visit and am patiently waiting for December 7th to arrive so that I can go and pick up Meegan from the airport and make the final preparations to our drive cross country back to our home. I have been in our apartment, I have walked in my neighborhood, and I am ready to go back. This brings up a whole new wave of emotions: leaving what I know and jumping head first into so much unknown. I’ve never lived anywhere else but here in my neck of the woods. I’ve never lived more than 30 minutes from the very house I was raised in. Moving to a new state is one thing: Moving to a new country is another. Meegan and I are doing everything we can to make this transition as smooth as possible. We looked and found our apartment together (via skype and pictures but still together), I spent Canadian Thanksgiving with her in our new home. I worked out with her trainer (who will be my trainer) and we even ran a race together (Valley Harvest 10k). I’ve been in contact with a running group (Heart and Sole) as well as made contact with a few interpreters in the area. I feel a sense of urgency lately to see people and go places that I haven’t been too now that the days are ticking away. I am also feeling a sense of detachment to my current home as I dwindle down my belongings and a stronger sense of longing to my Halifax home as I once again resume my marriage through skype.
- I left my gym for good. I didn’t wait for my membership to run out before finding a new place to leave my sweat. I’m doing a combination of boot camp / crossfit and it has been amazing. I’m back to pushing my body to the limits and loving every minute of it. Even when I’m too sore to get out of bed.
- I am officially ending my “great stair climb of 2011” goal. I made it to just over 60% or 8400 floors climbed. Ending my gym membership put a damper on completing this goal and I’m not about to cry over not climbing the 13, 428 floors I had originally set out to climb. Seriously.
- Life in general is pretty fantastic.
It’s more than fantastic.
It’s life changing!
I’m still in Halifax.
Enjoying what will become my new home in just a few short weeks (seven to be exact): My new home, my new apartment. Running a 10k with Meegan. Meeting her friends (who will soon become my friends). Domesticating: buying curtains, deciding where to put pictures on the wall and carving pumpkins.
Life is good.
There will be plenty of time for blogging once I return to the states this week. Until then I’m shutting down this computer and enjoying my time with Red and acclimating myself to my new surroundings. So instead of a blogpost: A Winner! Time for the Lollihop give-a-way winner…
That’s Alexa!
This was her comment:
The box coming to you will make you feel great too!!!
Congrats!
I am not a product whore.
It’s hard not to be while on this life changing journey that centers around weight loss. We are inundated with different products supposedly invented to help us lose weight, eat well, be happy, fart rainbows, run marathons, fit into a size 6, get rid of heat rash, and/or miraculously take away our excess skin that flaps and makes an embarrassing noise if anyone is within ear shot.
Spend some time on this journey and you know how easily it is to pimp yourself out for free products. We essentially become the prostitutes for the weight loss industry.
One of the things I’ve tried to adhere too is not approaching companies asking for free samples / products in return for a product review. I didn’t lose my weight using any specific product. I only used a calories in / calories out approach and my Polar HRM (here is my shameless plug for them). I didn’t use beachbody, or shakeology. I didn’t use weight watchers or prepacked meals that I had mailed to me…
Because I am a “quiet” product user I am often surprised when I am contacted by a company asking if they can send me some product for me to try and of course give my honest opinion about what I thought. If you take the time to find me, contact me and have a little patience about when I can find the time to get out a review, I will obliged and do so with appreciation.
So when Suzanne Xie, co-founder of Lollihop sent me the following email: ” You have an awesome blog and an amazing story. As a longtime blogger who is just starting to pay more attention to what I eat, I’m so glad I came across your site when looking for new ways eat well and live better. I wanted to reach out to you since I’m working on a product to make healthy eating more enjoyable and accessible. It’s a little box that I’d love to snail mail to you. If you could let me know your mailing address so that we can send it out this week, that would be amazing. Thanks and be well! ” I sent back a simple reply of “send anything you’d like snail mail” and I waited…
 I had to gank this from www.katywidrick.com because I forgot to take a picture before I shoved something in my piehole! Holy “this is some good stuff” Batman!
The best part about this little box of goodness that showed up in at my door is I had no idea what was coming. The emails sent back and forth were simple and unrevealing. When I finally got my hot little hands on the Lollihop box, I opened it and it was like a little ray of sunshine was shining in my face. I didn’t know where to begin and I didn’t want to sit down and open up everything all in one day.
I took my time.
And it was worth it.
Lollihop has a great new product ready to launch and if I wasn’t moving to Nova Scotia in a few short months I would actually register for their monthly boxes of tasty little treats. At first glance they seem to be a little on the pricey side but with 8 snacks (most of which can be divided into multiple snacks) consisting of a variety of gluten free, vegan, and organic possibilities you’ll quickly find that the 6 month or 12 month subscription is worth it. Also noteworthy is the free shipping included on multi-month subscriptions…
Of course there were some snacks I enjoyed more than others (the Somersaults, Terra Chips, and the GoMacro bar were my favorites) but in the end I enjoyed everything that was sent…
And now you can too!!
What’s the point of a good product review if there wasn’t a give-a-way attached to it? Suzanne has been giving these boxes away left and right and for good reason: This stuff is worth buying. For the next week (until Friday October 7th) you all have a chance to get October’s box of goodness (oh what could possibly be in there?). Unfortunately this only applies to my US readers (trust me I’m heart broken over this too as I will soon be a Haligonian).
Because I like them so much I’m going to make you jump through the obligatory hoops (separate comment for each):
- Leave me a comment here and tell me you love not only me (cause while I am not a product whore, I am an attention whore) but that you hope to love Lollihop as well.
- Go to Lollihop’s FACEBOOK page and like them, then leave a comment that says “Tara, over at lifechangingjourney thinks you’re the bomb” (link me your comment)
- Head over to Lollihop’s TWITTER page and follow them. Then come back here and let me know.
- Finally after all is said and done come back and leave me another comment answering the following question: “I love myself today because……”
Four opportunities to win! Four opportunities to get your healthy little hands on some delicious morsels for you tummy and feel good about what your eating!!! GOOD LUCK AND HAPPY SNACKING!
 www.esslythe.com I started to feel unimportant.
It might have started when I was born. So few pictures document what my life was like during those first few years. I remember a father left. A mother drank. A brother touched…
It might have started young. Maybe it was during the days of waking up in the mornings, dressing myself, walking myself the 4 blocks to school and sitting alone at a cafeteria table eating cereal out of a box. Maybe it was during the long afternoons of sitting alone in my room watching endless hours of tv because I longed for the adults portrayed in the shows to magically appear and become my parents. Maybe it was during the summer days spent riding around my little town on a bike looking at all the pretty houses and wondering what was life like inside those walls…
Maybe it started in junior high school when I spent more hours in the day letting the boys put their hands down my pants than I did talking to my mom in a month. Maybe it was during my first “relationship” where I let an adult exploit my body and believed her when she said she loved me because isn’t this how love is shown? Maybe it was during the endless nights of waiting for the one parental figure the universe had given me to return home. Stinking of stale cigarettes and cheap booze only to fight violently with my brothers and then remind me that I wouldn’t amount to anything if I ended up like them.
(like her)
Maybe it started when I got a little older and started to think about the path my life was taking. Instead of looking ahead at my future I choose to look down at the money I had just stolen so that I could get high on Meth and get lost if only for a few hours (days, weeks, months, years).
Maybe after she died is when I started to feel unimportant.
Alone.
Really alone.
I can’t pinpoint when. I just know what is. I’ve spent the last forty years of my life feeling unimportant. Second best (third best, fourth best, forgotten). Never first in anyone’s mind (including my own). For almost twenty-one months now I’ve fought tooth and nail, kicked and screamed, cried and cried and cried some more to feel important to myself. To put myself first. To acknowledge that I am somebody and I am somebody fierce. Some days I wake up and feel like the world is shining down on me and everything I touch is going to come alive because I am someone important. That what I do, what I say and the actions I put forth are because I love and am loved. Other days I feel like you could look right at me and not see me…
Not care.
It’s difficult allowing myself to feel whatever it is that I need to feel. It can change so rapidly and most times I am like a catcher in a ball game ready for whatever emotions are coming my way. To catch them and cradle them in the proverbial soft oiled glove until they pass. Other times I feel like I just got kicked in the stomach and want nothing more than to curl up in a small dark corner and forget my existence. It is in the times that I feel unneeded, unnecessary and unwanted that I turn inward to the voice of reason to help walk me through this portion of my journey…
I hear nothing.
Today is just today. Today the feelings of being no one outweigh the feelings of being someone. This journey isn’t just about triumph and losing weight to sculpt the body I deserve. Its about acknowledging that this life comes with it’s “Hell yes I did” moments along with the “pass me a fucking tissue I can’t stop crying” moments. It’s about understanding that there will be days I feel loved, powerful, life changing, important and days I won’t. It’s about not being afraid to wave my hands in the air to get the attention of someone and ask them…
“Can you see me?”
 A few days ago Meegan and I were having one of our regularly scheduled Skype dates and she mentioned an article in the Huffington Post (Canada) about predictors that your partnership will succeed. As a newly married couple still living 4000 miles apart we have lots of opportunities to talk about things that might other wise be difficult standing in front of each other. There is a big safety net between two people when your communication comes down to seeing each other for a few hours a day via a computer screen and a few hundred texts going back and forth when away from said computer screen. We talk a lot about what our expectations are for when we are finally living in the same country, under the same roof and building a lifetime of memories together. We talk about what our communication styles looks like when we’re calm and in the moment and what they looks like when we’re listening to the demons of our past and sure we’re about to fail miserably at whatever task is at hand…
This particular article is an interview with the author about what makes a successful marriage and it’s the last question that sparked my interest in making a blog post (that will of course have nothing to do with marriage or being successful in a relationship with someone else but rather with ourselves) – “What advice do you have for women who are looking for a mate?”
This is the author’s response:
“You ultimately know who makes you happy. The good marriages tend to be between people who are truly paying attention to each other, who celebrate each other’s achievements, who are nice more than they are negative, who want to de-escalate arguments, who have similar values about money and family and who share the domestic and emotional burdens. I don’t know that science has taught us how to meet the right person. My personal advice is don’t focus so much on meeting the right person, but on filling your life with interesting people and things. That often leads you down a good path.”
The truth is, we shouldn’t just be applying this to the person (or persons) we choose to make a life with. This is something we should be applying to ourselves as we travel this life of losing weight, gaining control and changing our lives for the better. Too many times we are looking for the “Perfect Me”.
- If I just lose (insert number here) pounds I’ll be the perfect me.
- If I can get down to a size (insert number here) pair of pants I’ll be the perfect me.
- If I could just stop eating so much I’ll be the perfect me.
- If I could run faster or exercise longer I’ll be the perfect me.
- If I could just get my emotions together I’ll be the perfect me.
- If I could just stop binging I’ll be the perfect me.
- If I could just stop hating myself I’ll be the perfect me.
- If I could just stay on this weight loss journey I’ll be the perfect me.
You want to be the perfect you? The right you? The you you’ve been searching for your whole life? Then start paying attention to yourself. Stop looking so far down the road to the person you aren’t and look at who you are today. You are trying to change your life – give yourself credit for what you have accomplished and what you continue to fight for. We can’t be perfectionists any longer and then turn to food when we feel like we’re not doing enough or accomplishing what we think we should be. We can’t point fingers anymore and say “I want to do what (insert name here) is doing because look at how perfect s/he is” and then shove sugary/salty/crunchy/gooey/sticky/calorie laden foods in our mouths because we know deep down inside we will never be as good as the person we’re chasing.
Pay attention to yourself. Don’t go wandering off into your past rehashing what you think are old mistakes / failures / slips ups / wrong doings. Don’t go wandering off into a future you have no idea even exists. Stay here. Right now. Look at what you’re doing: Is it helping you move forward? Yes? Keep going. Is it hindering you from moving forward? Yes? Then knock it the fuck off and make the changes you know you need to make.
Pay attention to yourself. Stop looking at what the person next to you is doing / accomplishing. Who cares how fast they run or how much weight they can lift? Who cares if they are running a marathon after only running for three weeks and you’re barely walking around the block. Who cares if they’ve lost ten pounds this month and you’ve lost six ounces (and you think it’s due to your legs not being swollen anymore after walking around the block). Stop being so negative on yourself and find the positive in everything you do. Negativity breeds itself. The same goes for positivity. Riddle me this; If you run around the block today and say “Well that was a shitty job because I should be able to run two blocks” what’s the likelihood you’ll attempt to do it again and push yourself to do more? Run the same block and pat yourself on the back while say “Hell yes I did and you can bet your sweet loving ass I’ll do it tomorrow” and I can almost guarantee you’ll do it better than the day before and you’ll go farther.
Pay attention to yourself. De-escalate the negative thoughts in your head before they become so loud and obtrusive you can’t find your way out of your own thinking unless your flashlight is made out of cheese whiz and little debbie’s cupcakes. We didn’t get to be 100+ pounds over weight because we’re farting rainbows out of our asses we’re so pleased with ourselves. The negativity in our lives (whether from those around us or compounded by our own perceptions of who we are) got us to the point of obesity and it will strap us in and keep us locked down for the rest of our lives if we don’t cut the strap and surround ourselves with the positive attitude of “I can. I will. I deserve this change more than anything”
Pay attention to yourself. You don’t have to carry the emotional burden of where you are in your life alone any more. If you are reading this blog: You are not alone. You think no one else in the world understands what you’re feeling or going through. You think no one understands the frustrations, the fears, the anger of having to make the changes necessary to save your life. Let me be very clear: You are wrong. I (we) know what defeat feels like when we’re having to admit we’re morbidly obese. I (we) know what it feels like to cry over food because we’re trying to make healthier choices and for the love of god why doesn’t this baked chicken breast turn into an large extra cheesy pizza with a two liter to wash it down with. I (we) know what it’s like to shed every piece of clothing, do our bathroom business and pray to whatever entity we believe in before we step on the scale and hope to see a loss and not a gain. I (we) know what it’s like to be afraid to go outside and try our hand at running because everyone (and I mean everyone) is going to look, point and laugh at the fatty trying to run. I (we) know what it’s like to lose 10, 20, 30 pounds and yet no one notices the difference because we’re so overweight that the loss doesn’t even begin to add up to what we have to lose to get into a “normal range”….We get you.
Pay attention to yourself. Fill your life with things you love. Love to walk? Then make that your passion. Love to swim? Then for the love of all that is pure get your ass in the water. Love music? Find a zumba class and shake that sexy body of yours until you’re so sweaty and full of happiness all you want to do is move forward in your life and catch the wave of change you deserve. Fill your life with foods that make you feel good emotionally hours after you eat, not minutes because you’re trying to stuff an emotion away. Discard the negatives and fill your life with the positives. Stand up and move forward. Fill your life with people that care about you and want to see you take control as much as you do. Fill your life with people way ahead of the game and get on their coat tails. Fill your life with people just starting out on their own journey and lend them a hand. This is your ball game: Pick your best team.
Stop focusing on the “Right you” at the end of the journey.
Focus on the “right you, right now”
It will lead you down the right path.
You know, the life changing one.
YOU:
You’re so frustrated with yourself.
Here you are again deciding to do something about the weight that you’ve carried around for so long. This will be the (insert number here) time you’ve cleaned out your refrigerator, thrown away all the half eaten bags of chips waiting to be consumed during late night parties of channel surfing or video game playing. You cleared the cupboards of the cookies, the chocolate bars, the left over Halloween candy that you bought on sale a week after the trick-or-treaters stopped pounding on your door. You opened up the freezer door and looked longingly at the ice cream that you mustered up the courage to discard…after you take a few spoonfuls of course because seriously you can’t let just throw away good ice cream. You vowed to only buy veggies, rice cakes and sugar-free jello. No high calorie foods from here on out. This is the last time! The weight has to come off…
ME:
Used to feel the same frustration.
The first time I had consciously decided to lose weight I was about 210 pounds. After being fat my entire life I was ready to do something about it. I was young (early 20’s). I couldn’t rely on me being a drug addict anymore to “regulate” my weight. I lived in a neighborhood where pizza and fast food were a stone’s throw away from my apartment. I worked crappy hours and I wanted to be healthy. I vowed to only eat healthy food (no exercise because seriously it was not my thing). In the midst of all this I broke up with my first girlfriend and I give all the credit to her for losing the 30 or so pounds and getting down to 170ish. Chain smoking and being so distraught over the break up does wonders on a girl’s appetite. Over time though I found the missed comfort in the foods I ate. The “I’ll just go once a week for pizza” became the “I eat pizza everyday” diet. The “one Jack in the Box cheeseburger isn’t going to kill me” became the “one Jack in the Box cheeseburger for breakfast, lunch and dinner” diet. The 170 was quickly replaced by 210 and the number slowly crept in an upwards motion.
From there is was a running standard of try / fail. I would try. I would fail. I would try to eat better. I would fail. I would try to move more. I would fail. I would try to make conscious choices about how I was taking care of my body. I would fail. Over and over again I would look in the mirror and proclaim “This is it! This is the time I would be successful and finally lose the weight and be happy….”
I failed a lot.
Until I didn’t.
YOU:
You’re so frustrated with yourself.
You want to move. You even get excited when you decide to join the gym or renew your membership for the (insert number here) time. You set your alarm so that you can be an early bird and get to the gym before anyone else. You have the motivation, the drive, the will. Everything goes great for the first week. Then it doesn’t go so great after that. You start to feel self-conscious because the people around you look so much stronger than you. You don’t understand how to work the equipment and for the love of god you can’t be on the treadmill more than 10 minutes at a time before you feel like you’re going to hurl. You lifted the weights last week and now you’re too sore to even lift the weight off the ground let alone above your head. The stairs you so enthusiastically took last week now taunt you and laugh because you’re still out of breath after the second floor. You sleep in one day. But vow to go back the next day. Instead of going back to the gym where all the skinny people are you decide that working out at home will be better. Jillian Michaels is in the dvd player ready to scream at you as you sweat your ass off because this time it is going to be different. The next time you walk around your neighborhood people are going to take notice of how fast the weight is coming off of you…Until you decide that you’d rather watch tv than do sit-ups in the middle of the living room floor. Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’ll begin again. Tomorrow turns into next week. Next week turns into next month. Next month turns into Jillian Michaels joining Billy Blanks, Tony Little and Richard Simmons on the bottom shelf and once again you’re growing into the couch from which you so desperately try to escape.
ME:
Used to feel the same frustrations.
Countless times I joined a gym. Countless times I stopped going and pretended I didn’t give a shit. Countless times I watched runners on the streets and thought they were crazy but wished that I was able to do the same thing. Countless times I would get stuck in some redirected traffic because of a race in my city and while swearing out loud for inconveniencing me I was wondering what it would be like to look down and see a number on my shirt. I wondered what it would be like to climb stairs and not be out of breath. I wondered what it was like to look in the mirror and see muscles instead of flab. To see definition instead of heat rashes. To be stronger and thinner instead of morbidly obese.
Countless times I gave up on changing.
Until I didn’t.
I stopped looking at what I thought was the final destination (having to lose 100+ pounds) because that’s what scared me and kept me from moving forward. 100 plus pounds?!? That’s impossible and seriously the way I was going if I put it off any longer it was going to a lot more than 100 – 120 pounds. I stopped thinking about what I was going to look like six months from now, one year from now because in my mind I was still going to weigh 270 pounds. I allowed myself to be frustrated at having gotten myself to this place. This place of obesity. This place of the size 24 pants and XXL (and sometimes XXXL). This place of feeling like I will not succeed and it will be just like all the other countless times. I allowed myself to feel…
Then I allowed myself to CHANGE.
Not in leaps and bounds. Small achievable steps. A flight of steps today. Three flights next week. A walk around the block today. A two mile walk with my dogs next month. A three minute run without stopping today. The ability to run a sub two hour half marathon a year later. Not being able to even lift the lightest bar in the weight area of the gym today. Flexing my arms and seeing a pretty nice freaking gun show almost 24 months after I started this journey.
There were countless times I didn’t…
Until the one time I did.
YOU
You’re so frustrated with yourself.
You can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here), you can’t (insert word here)….
ME:
I couldn’t either.
And I believed that.
Until I didn’t.
Now I can.
I don’t care if this is your first attempt at changing your life or your 99th time (or more) and today you’re at that same crossroads you’ve been at before: Move and Live or Stay and Die. You keep fighting. You keeping struggling to make the choices and decisions that put you on a healthy path, not just to losing weight but to reclaiming what is rightfully yours: Your life. You fight for your life. You fight to love yourself. You fight to find the good in you even when for so long you thought the only thing you were good for was so that the world had something to point and laugh at.
Allow yourself to feel frustrated and mad. Allow yourself to feel scared at the unknown. Allow yourself to feel fucking fantastic even if the goal you succeeded at seems small and worthless. Nothing about saving your life is small. Nothing about standing up and taking control and fighting for what you deserve is worthless. NOTHING!
YOU (ME):
Deserve this.
 www.foreverdc.com
I have a miss today.
It’s not a miss for a friend or a family member. Not for a place I love to visit or my favorite spot to get coffee and people watch.
It’s not a miss for strapping on my running shoes and spending time outside or for breaking a sweat in the gym.
It’s a miss for the old.
(And the new.)
I miss the confines of my old “prison”. The way of life that led me to weighing 270 pounds, not really caring about the food I put in my mouth and caring even less about the physical shape of my body and the stability of my emotional and mental well-being. I miss not having to think about things like how many calories does this slice of cake have after I’ve eaten a second helping of lasagna or having to ask myself “am I eating out of boredom” when clearly I’m not hungry. I miss coming home after sitting in a cubicle all day and spending the next 4-5 hours sitting on the couch watching repeat episodes of “Law and Order” or “NCIS”. I miss waking up first thing in the morning and wondering if I can forego a shower in order to log into World of Warcraft before having to leave for work and then finding the closest fast food drive thru and ordering anything I wanted and getting it as big as possible because who is going to judge you when you eat alone in your car and can throw away the “evidence” before anyone even notices?
I miss shopping in Lane Bryant where my choices in clothing style were limited to how many xx’s came on the label. I miss not having to think about whether something looked good on me, just whether it fit. I miss waiting in my car in some parking lot hoping a spot will come open right up front because I never thought about parking farther away and walking. I miss filling my shopping cart with bags of potato chips and two liters of diet soda and never taking a moment to think about my choices when I grabbed a fistful of red licorice and returning again and again eating more than my share (and more than the shares of multiple people). I miss opening up my drawer in the office and finding my hording gone wild with hundreds of bite size chocolate bars waiting for me to eat unconsciously until my stomach hurts from all the sugar. I miss eating until my stomach was bloated and then purging because I wanted to keep eating…
I miss being lazy.
I miss not caring.
But today I do care. It is in that caring that I also miss the new. Being in limbo between here and there knowing my everything is about to change in ways I never even imagined when I first decided the life in the before (even though it is missed today) was actually no life at all. I loved my people in the old. I loved my food in the old. I loved the laziness of my life in the old but I didn’t love me in the old. I don’t live there anymore because I chose to fight to love who I am. I live in the today and that includes sharing a life with someone that understands my relationship with food. Someone that understands my relationship with my old body, my old life, my old way of thinking and encourages me to grieve and mourn so that I can gently lay that life down and leave it behind and look forward to what lies ahead of me.
I miss the new because I know what it looks like and have to wait patiently for it to open the door and invite me to walk through. I miss the long walks that will be taken after meals are cooked together. I miss the standing at the starting lines that will happen repeatedly as we both take off weaving our way in and out of runners vying for our place in the sea of finishers. I miss the mornings of having coffee and then planning what vegetables we’ll try at the farmer’s market. I miss the mornings at boot camp together looking over and seeing her sweat and pushing her body as hard as possible and feeling my heart grow with admiration and wondering if the same is happening over there. I miss the hours spent in the kitchen cooking meals that are healthy not only for our hearts but for all aspects of our being. I miss wondering what episode of “Law and Order” is on at the moment and then laughing because I haven’t watched anything on tv for over 7 months. I miss parking as far away as possible to where we are going just so I can use the excuse “we need to move more” but really its so I can hold her hand that much longer. I miss sitting around, looking at pictures of my dogs and crying because I miss them so much and her listening as if she too loved them as much as I do. I miss the hug as I go out the door needing to take a few hours to myself either running or with peppermint patty because I miss the old and am still trying to lay it gently down and leave it behind.
It is in the new I find the strength to leave the old. What I know to be in front of me is what makes leaving what is behind me easier. I know I will never go back to weighing 270 pounds and wondering what life would be like if I just made a few changes here and there. I know what life is like now. I know that small changes lead to bigger changes and bigger changes lead to life changes…
The old leads to the new.
I know you find comfort in the ways of the old too. Not having to think about making healthy choices or whether or not you’ll break a sweat today. But we don’t deserve to live there anymore. We deserve to care about our bodies in ways we never thought possible. We deserve to push ourselves, all the while thinking we can’t only find out that it was our mind that was stopping us not our bodies. We deserve to cry in frustration because we’re trying so hard to get where we desperately want to be not because we’re stuck in a life that is doing nothing but holding us back. We deserve to run, swim, bike, zumba, yoga, walk, box, skip, hula hoop, dance, climb, and lift our way to a body that is screaming to meet us. We deserve to lay down the life of old and pick up the life of new that is so much better for us. The life of health. The life of love. The life of new and knowing we deserve everything that is laid out before us…
Only if we gently leave the life of old behind us.
 http://organicclimber.com I love to run.
Ever since I ran my first half block and felt my heart rate go up and my muscles burn from the exertion, I have been hooked. I’ve stepped up to my fair share of races since completing the Couch to 5k program back in April of 2010. I’ve earned the 3.1, the 6.2 and the 13.1. I’ve even earned the title of “ultra” runner with Ragnar but have yet to run more than thirteen miles consecutively.
Confession:
I’m scared too.
I can’t quite pinpoint my reasons behind the fear but as I watch my friends (both in real life and in the universe of bloggerdom) go beyond the 13.1 and onto the full marathon status I’m left standing here wondering why I can’t get beyond what I know. It might be the fear of moving for that long or of not being fast enough. It might be the fear of not being able to finish or not sure I could go out my door and practice running for 20+ miles as I train but one way or another I am bound and determined to get there.
By way of trail running.
   
To date I’ve completed two trail runs. The first being the Summit Ridge Run (10 miles) back on August 20th and more recently the Dash Point Park Run (Half Marathon). Right now I have a love/hate (mostly hate) relationship with trail running. However, there is just enough love in that part of the relationship that keeps me curious and wanting to do more.
Trail running is nothing like street running. I’m not talking just environment either. Everything about it is different. The pacing, the breathing, the footing, the exertion…whatever I thought trail running was going to be like: I was wrong.
That is why I’m starting to love it more and more.
(though I still hate it!)
Being out on the trails takes a different kind of running brain. You know the one I’m talking about. The one that occasionally falls asleep while your feet hit the pavement only to “wake up” a few minutes later and realize you don’t remember running the last 1/2 mile. The one that can get so lost in a song on your iPod you stop thinking about how fast you’re going or how much longer you have to go before you’re finished. While I’m no expert (shoot, I’m not even knowledgeable beginner yet) it’s these two different running styles that have made trail running a difficult transition and yet I’m compelled to challenge myself beyond the 13.1 mile marker.
- THE ENVIRONMENT: I probably don’t have to state the obvious. With street running you have your basic components of concrete, cars, traffic lights, the occasional dog barking at you and of course the ability to see what’s in front of you and see for a clear distance according to your eyesight capabilities (if I run without contacts I can’t see two feet in front of me). Trail running…no cars, no traffic lights. You still have the occasional dog but usually they are attached to a nice two legger in full control. As for the ability to see what’s in front of me and see for a clear distance according to my eyesight, there have been times on both races I can’t see what’s up ahead because the foliage is so overgrown I feel like I should have strapped a sickle to my back. I’m not sure what I was imagining when I ran into the woods on my first race a few weeks back but the biggest challenge has been not tripping on large roots protruding from the ground or the big rocks I thought were secure going up a an incline. It’s beautiful running in the woods. Trees so old and knotted I felt like I could curl up at its base and it would tell me a story or sing me to sleep. The smell and taste of oxygen going into my lungs as I expel carbon monoxide in a forceful manner trying to keep my footing. The absolute quiet around me because the underlying buzz of the city is no where to be found and the only thing I have playing in my ears is my feet hitting the dirt or if I’m so inclined the low volume of some Ray LaMontagne.
- THE PACING: One of the things I quickly figured out is time has no sense of purpose out on the trails. I went into it thinking if I can run 13 miles in just under two hours on the streets then my first trail race of 10 miles should be well under the two hour mark. It took me two hours and nine minutes to finish (12:59 pace). I went into the second race thinking “okay if I did 10 in 2:09:00, then an additional three miles should put me at about 2:40:00ish”…Three hours and nine minutes later I was crossing over the finish line (14:27 pace). It’s exhausting running for three hours. It’s even more exhausting when there are little critters buzzing around at your feet and you get distracted by the cute little squirrels in the trees…okay I’m making that up to make it seem like I’m getting distracted in the woods but truth be told, it really does take me that long to finish 13 miles and without any distractions. If I was on the streets and it took me that long I would be discouraged. When I first started running, a 14 minute mile was the norm. I was still overweight, had never run in my life and my thighs rubbed together so much is was uncomfortable to run faster. The longer the distances become the more I have to resolve myself to being one with nature for hours and hours at a time.
- THE BREATHING/FOOTING/TECHNIQUES: Any knowledge I brought about street running to the starting line quickly when out the imaginary window the first time I lost my footing. The roots, the rocks, the hanging limbs, the “shit there’s barely room for one person on this freaking trail”, the small bridges, the inclines, the declines…every time I felt like I finally had a good stride going or had my breathing under control the ground beneath me changed and I was either speeding up or slowing down according to what I was trying to avoid or get around. One of the biggest challenges in transitioning to trail running is the amount of time I spend walking. Going up a hill on the streets is about putting your head down and mustering up the energy to get to the top. Going up a hill on the trails is about walking and carefully putting your foot down in a place that isn’t going to cause you to slip or lose your footing. Then the energy exerted trying to get up the hill extends the walking period while I wait for my heart to get from the 180 bpm range back to the 150 range. This is hard work people!
- THE EXERTION: On most street races you come to a water station and you find just that: Water and some sort of electrolyte liquid. On trail races (and ultra races as well but these usually go hand in hand) you come to a water station and you practically find a picnic laid out in front of you. Bananas, potatoes, bagels, energy gels, oranges and whatever else you can cut up into small pieces and put out for the masses. The reason? We’re fucking tired and need the extra calories to keep going. Seriously. On my 13.1 race I wore my Polar heart rate monitor just to see what kind of calorie burn I was getting. I usually burn about 100 calories per mile. When I looked down after crossing the finish line (through the tears of exhaustion) I had burned just under 2000 calories. My entire calorie intake for the day burned in three hours. The other noticeable difference is the camaraderie around the stations. It’s hard not to strike up a conversation with sweat pouring down your face, a banana shoved in your mouth and the shared knowledge that there are still many miles to run before you’re done. People hang out. Catch their breath. Then they move on. Trail running is a special breed of people. You get to know each other. It’s not about finishing first (at least for most trail runners). It’s about staying upright and not getting lost by taking a left when clearly (or not so clearly) you should have taken a right…
- THE PANIC: This has been the biggest challenge in transitioning to trails. This doesn’t happen to everyone (I don’t think) but it has happened to me both times. I’ve panicked mid race. The feeling of being alone on the trail, not having mile markers to tell me how far I’ve gone and how far I have to go, feeling enclosed at times by the trees and bushes and the “Omg, this is never going to end” feeling left me at some points stopped in the middle of the trail and saying out loud “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE” only to have silence answer me in return. There have been times I’ve wondered if I’ve accidentally wandered off the trail and become confused about where I was going. I’ve cried like a baby for someone to please just show up on the trail so I know I’m not lost and when I finally exited the woods last week during my half marathon I had an emotional break down I wasn’t expecting. Having to say out loud “Tara, you can’t just stop and tell a volunteer you’re done. You have to keep moving in order to get out of the woods” is quite an experience in talking oneself down from Mount St. Freakout.
So with all that you might wonder why in the hell would I ever return to the woods? I don’t know how to answer that question. All I know is I’m intrigue by what trail racing brings to my life in the challenge department. This is where I believe I can break through the barrier of running for longer distances. My last big race of the year is slated to take place on October 15th. It won’t be the marathon I’m still chasing but then again maybe it will be since eighteen miles in the woods is probably damn near like running twenty-six on the street…
 Pt. Defiance 30k! If not, at least the food will be good!
My number was 47.
My time was 3:02:17
My overall place was 84/94
This is me just after I crossed the finish line. The girl next to me is Chris. We’re both dead tired and can hardly stand on our own two feet beat. This is the end of the race but it’s not the end of the story. In fact, it’s just the beginning. The beginning of finally being able to call myself an olympic triathlete and just another stepping stone to my ultimate goal: Becoming an IronManWoman. I won’t lie, this race was hard. Harder than Ragnar and harder than any running race I’ve done previously. It was physically challenging. It was mentally challenging. It was at some times emotionally challenging but when I crossed over the finish line after three hours and two minutes of moving in some forward fashion it was by far one of the most fun races I’d participated in since I began changing my life’s journey (though in all honesty it took me a few days to realize just how much fun it was). I needed to wait a a bit to start this recap because for some time afterwards I was cranky, sore and didn’t really see the accomplishment of what I had done. I see it now. I feel it now. I am proud of what I’ve done and I’m ready to recap this delicious race.
To really tell the story we can’t start at this picture.
We have to really go back to the beginning…
(Cue Wayne’s world music)
 
One of the most important things I learned about doing triathlons is to have yourself a bucket. It helps for a variety of reasons; Keeps everything in one place, easy to transport all your gear (shoes, clothes, food) and when you’re dog tired you have a place to sit instead of planting your ass on what is usually wet grass. I like to take my bucket one step farther and decorate it. Taking an hour or two the day before your triathlon to decorate can help you (at least help me) visualize exactly what is about to take place. I was kind of a wreck thinking about how I hadn’t trained as much as I should have, how Meegan was going to be cheering me on from 4000 miles away instead of right next to me, and how this was going to be a mixed (co-ed) triathlon (meaning the big kids were coming out to play and I was about to step into their playground). I asked Meegan to draw me something for the top so that I would see it every time I was in transition and know that she was cheering me on from way over yonder (yes I did just say yonder) and for shits and giggles I recruited the Honey Badger to remind me that not only does he NOT give a shit, he also takes what he wants and if I had anything to say about this race I was going to be taking what I wanted: a finisher’s medal.
If you had been in my room during the early hours before the race, you would have seen me laying awake at 3:00 in the morning waiting for my alarm to go off at 4:00am. You would have seen me staring into oblivion trying to come up with every excuse why I shouldn’t be doing this race and how I wasn’t going to finish. You would have seen me cry a little at the fear of starting. You would have seen me get up and pace about in the dark house hoping to release some of the anxiety. Eventually you would have seen me rise just before the alarm and settle into getting ready…
- Wet suit (check)
- Running Clothes (check)
- Shoes (check)
- Socks (check)
- Towels (check)
- Food / energy gels (check)
- Race number (check)
- Timing chip (check)
- Peppermint Patty – my bike (check)
- Freak out (check check and double-check)
Nothing left to do but go get my medal.
 Lake Tapps With Michael (eye candy massage therapist turned running partner turned cool ass friend and brother like companion) in tow we head out early Saturday morning. I find my rack (which thankfully was in the very back giving the 8 of us sharing it more room to spread out), place peppermint patty on the end and set about looking at all of the participants. Last year, about this time I completed the Trek Tri sprint triathlon. This was nothing like last year. Trek tri is really set up to “hand hold” you through your first triathlon. Don’t get me wrong, it was nothing to shake a stick at and anyone that completes it is just as much a triathlete as the next person but I didn’t see any $3000 bikes last years. I did this year. I didn’t see any sponsored teams last year. I did this year. I didn’t see trainers and athletes going over spreadsheets, or swimmers greasing themselves down for faster transition times and then precariously attach fancy gadgets to their bikes as they prepared for the start last year.
I did this year.
 When it's all business around you, I say party like a rock star (or at least pose like one) Thankfully this is where my new friend Chris comes in. She was on the same rack as I was and as it turns out was doing her first Olympic Triathlon too. It calmed my nerves to have her in my space as we talked about how long we thought it was going to take, how we didn’t think we were ready and what our strongest part of the triathlon was going to be (mine: running *fingers crossed*). I also ran into someone from the gym who was doing her first sprint triathlon so it helped me to remember some key points by giving her a few tips about what to expect once you get started. My mind is racing by the time I get my wet suit on and all I can think about is getting started (oh and that I had to pee immediately after zipping myself into this rubber skin apparatus). I kept reminding myself to get into the water as soon as possible to asses the temperature. Last year I almost panicked and quit before I started because the water was so cold and I wasn’t prepared. The second most important thing I learned last year (the first being the bucket) was to immerse yourself in the water before they blow the whistle. Get the shock of the cold out of your system. The last thing you want to have happened is to go head first into the water only to find you’re unable to catch your breath because the water was so damn cold.
Luckily this year the water was warm.
I get in and out of the water a few times, swim around a bit to get used the feel of the wet suit and then I go about forcing people to high-five me because everyone is so freaking serious. Yes, I know this is a competitive race for some but for Pete’s sake people let’s wish each other luck and if you won’t let me pat your ass the least you can do is high-five me. The Olympic boys are sent off on their way and in just a few short minutes I’m about to start my own Olympic triathlon…
 Come on in, the water's fine The Swim
(31:15 74/94)
The swim in any triathlon is the hardest part for me. This one mile leg proved that once again. I’m not afraid of the water (including open water swim) so fear doesn’t play a part in why this is the hardest. It’s the physical aspect of it. I practice my swim in the gym pool. I know I can go the distance with no problem but I’m so used to stopping and drinking water or taking a break that to go the entire distance without stopping is a challenge.
I like to stay in the back of the pack as we take off because having a few dozen pairs of legs flailing around you can lead to some foot/mouth action that I’m not to keen on. Don’t get me wrong, I like a pretty pair of feet in my mouth, just not while I’m trying to complete my first olympic triathlon. Immediately the competitive women distance themselves from us “we’re just trying to finish” women and I settle into a nice stroke. We have to go around the buoy triangle twice before we can get out of the lake and head back to the transition area. First time around I spend most of the time trying to get my bearings and remember the techniques to open water swim (instead of focusing on the big floating markers in the water focus on something beyond them on land to keep yourself in a straight line) and when I come around to start my second lap I’m feeling pretty good. I didn’t veer off too badly (not like the girl who swam at us in a perpendicular fashion setting herself way off course) and only had one run in with the plant life that caused me to stop and untangle myself. When I rounded the last buoy and headed back to shore I took a look behind me and there were only a handful of olympic women still in the water. I didn’t care. I never came to this race to compete with the other participants. I came to do three things: 1) Start. 2) Finish 3) Party while I’m move. I zone in on the big yellow floaty thingy and as soon as I could touch my feet to land (slippery, mossy, “I should have swam closer to shore” land) I was ready to finish this triathlon like it was no one’s business.
 Out of the water...  Out of the wet suit  and on to the bike  Me and my Peppermint Patty The Bike
(1:22:30 84/94)
The oly boys are long gone as are most of the oly girls. There was no vying for space on the road as I was one of the last participants out of the corral. By the time I got to getting to where I was going some of the competitive racers were starting their second 12 mile loop of the course. Biking is my second strongest portion of the triathlon so I settle in to a nice (yet relatively slow) 15 mph pace and take in what is going on around me. Bonny lake is a beautiful place to have a triathlon and there was no denying that mother nature was good to us that day. Sunny but not too warm. Clear skies. Open roads with little to no traffic and cows.
Yes I said cows.
When you’re going to a triathlon knowing that your sole responsibility is to not drown, not crash and not trip you find that relaxing comes a little easier. Yes I was always looking out for someone to pass and yes I was taking the small pleasure of calling those passes “Decepticon” kills as if this was a Ragnar race (Go Team Optimus Prime) but when you have a beautiful mountain and wide open farm land to look at while on your bike you can’t help but want to take a few minutes and smell the roses… or in this case: the manure.
I can’t tell you how many times I gave a hearty “moooooooo” to the hundreds of four-legged bovines that were out to pasture, sometimes screaming “I’ll be back around again so keep an eye out for me” to remind me that this triathlon was about having fun. I could never compete with the cyclists zooming past me at 24 mph with their fancy cylinder shaped helmets and their fancy clipped in shoes. They came with a purpose and that purpose was to place in their division. I came with a purpose and that purpose was to empower myself and all the other people who have struggled with obesity to get up, move forward and find the life we deserve to live. With every decepticon kill I encouraged the rider to keep going, that they were doing awesome, that the scenery was to die for so keep their head up. Every time I went by someone who was overweight and still found the courage to get up that morning and step up to the starting line I slowed down so they could read my shirt and remind themselves that they too are their own afters…
 The sign on the back of my shirt  The Run
(1:02:34 82/94)
Mile swim (check). 22 mile bike ride (check). All that’s left is the 6.2 mile run and I am officially an Olympic triathlete. There is only one minor problem: I’m exhausted. I rack peppermint patty, and I feel like I’m moving as slow as molasses when I start running. Michael is running with me for a short bit to let me know how I was doing time wise and to give me the much-needed boost to get this done. Running is the strongest leg of the triathlon but it comes last so it takes a while to get into the grove of things…
A long while.
The day is starting to warm up, my hamstrings are sore, I’m hungry and again I am one of the last olympic participants so there is hardly anyone on the course once I veer off from the sprint runners. Not a whole lot to see and do except remind myself that in less than an hour I’m going to be done and to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t until between mile three and four that I started to feel better about my pace and getting excited to be just a few miles from the finish line. The running course was brutal. Lots of hills and not country rolling hills either. Steep, muscle burning, “screw this I’m walking” hills. I walked more than I wanted but when I look at my mile pace (10:28) I’m actually really impressed that I did as well as I did. You can’t tell from this picture but my new friend Chris is behind me. We started together and we managed to finish together with a little coaxing on my part. I didn’t get a chance to tell her how proud I was of her and what an honor it was to meet and rack our bikes together. Luckily though her last name is posted on the race results so maybe I’ll try to stalk find her on Facebook. Michael took this picture at mile 5 where he was waiting for me. He was a sight for sore eyes and gave me that final push to keep going as he ran with me to the finish line.
 crossing the finish line This time last year I was finishing my first sprint triathlon. Hours after I finished it I vowed to go onto an olympic distance triathlon. I’ve got my eyes (and heart/soul) on completing an IronMan some day but hours after finishing this all I wanted to do was curl up with a stuffed animal and listen to soft jazz as I rock myself to sleep.
It was hard.
Harder than anything I’ve ever done.
I loved every second of it.
My body wants to be pushed beyond what I think are its limits. It wants the sweat and sore muscles. It wants my brain to think I can’t so it can step up to the plate and prove over and over again that not only I can, but that I will. Maybe you’re reading this and thinking “there is no way…”
This once morbidly obese person thought so too
(I am an Olympic Triathlete!)
 I’m doing an Olympic Triathlon today.
You’d think this kind of statement would lead to a blog post about how this is a huge success for me as far as milestones go while on this Life Changing Journey. Don’t get me wrong this is a huge milestone. Crossing that finish line today (fingers crossed) is another stepping stone on the quest to challenge my body to do more physically than it ever has my entire existence.
However…
This is not about succeeding.
This is a blog post about how in my head, I’ve stopped succeeding because deep down inside I’m still attached to a number on a scale that went from 270 pounds down to 150 pounds and over the last few months has crept back up to 168 pounds. Even just writing that last sentence makes me want to close this laptop and pretend like this blog post never happened. I can already hear the uproar of responses forming in people’s head as you read this:
“150 wasn’t a healthy weight”
“it’s still 102 pounds lost”
“you’re still in a size 8”
“don’t make such a big deal out of it”
“weight fluctuates so much even in a day”
“look at what else you’re accomplishing”
“the number on the scale isn’t important”
“I wish I could say I lost over 100 pounds”
(the list can go on forever)
But let me be totally honest here, losing a significant amount of weight and then seeing even a slight gain can wreak havoc on the brain (at least my brain). I’ve been on this journey for close to twenty-one months with nine of them being at “goal” weight or less (remember my initial goal weight of 170 was an arbitrary number). Once I hit 170 I continued to lose until finally reaching what I considered a “not so healthy” weight of 150. I didn’t like that number. I didn’t like how I got to that number. I didn’t like how my brain had gone from eating too much and not exercising to exercising too much and not eating. It was difficult admitting I had gone too far on the weight loss spectrum and refused to stay there. So I once again changed my eating/exercise pattern until I settled in on a weight I was comfortable with (somewhere between 155 – 160).
And there I stayed for a little while.
And then I wasn’t there anymore.
Over the course of the last couple of weeks (maybe months but I don’t really know) I’ve gained a pound here and a pound there. I tried to rationalize the number I saw but as anyone who has lost any weight (be it 25 pounds or 500 pounds) knows you begin to panic that you’re going to gain all the weight back. Anxiety settled into the old tape recorder lodge in my psyche and instead of talking about my fear of gaining weight I kept in locked away to fester and ooze into my everyday thinking.
It festered.
It oozed.
I panicked.
With a little coaxing from Meegan I finally started to sort through what I was fearing most about having a weight gain and ultimately putting it out on the blog that I am considering going back into weight loss mode rather than maintenance for a while to get back down to a weight that I am more comfortable with. The following is the exerpt of our conversation via skype.
Me: confession: I feel like I’ve failed now that I’m in a place where I want to lose more weight. Like I can’t keep it off for good. I’ve been wanting to blog about it but haven’t because I’m afraid people will stop seeing me as an inspiration even though it’s a stupid 8 pounds.
Her: When in fact that’s more inspirational than anything. That you recognize that you have gained that stupid 8 pounds and that you want to do something about it. That your life has shifted signifcantly and in it your focus changed and you found 8 lbs of baggage in it. Now you don’t want to carry that anymore. so you’ll take action. You should blog about it. You will be bigger inspiration than ever and it will fuel your fire.
Me: it makes me want to cry
Her: because its hard. there isn’t anything in that that is failure. Failure would be seeing the 8lbs and being miserable and not doing anything, failure would be letting that 8lbs turn into 20, failure would be being part of the 95% who put ALL of the weight back on and then some, failure would be not setting new goals for your current healthy lifestyle. 8lbs does not a failure make.
Me: that’s what I’m afraid of…that no matter how much I “buckle” down it won’t come off or just keep going up
Her: 8lbs can’t make or break you. If you live your life the way you want, eating healthy and balanced and getting your workouts in that make your body, mind and soul feel good, than it doesn’t matter what the scale says. if you are the muscle and force you want to be, and not plagued by the fat you’re worried about than it doesn’t matter what the scale says. We both know at least 5 of the lbs we have gained back isn’t muscle. So we get rid of that. and we feel better…fuck the weight on the scale.
Me: it’s not that easy for me…I try to say fuck the scale but in the end it’s still too important to me
Her: than that is the part you have to work on letting go. and that’s why you’re still weighing yourself every day. right now that is more important to you than the balance of fitness and food. ultimately you are allowing the scale to govern who you are, I know that’s not who you are. I want our life to be about living in a healthy, balanced way, eating well, moving hard, and feeling good. Not worrying about what the scale says…Can you honestly tell me that your life changing journey and everhything that has changed has been about the weight on the scale?
Me: I worry what the scale says cause that’s how I measure my success (hmmmmmm blog post).
It’s true. Twenty-one months later I still measure my success based on what the scale says. It’s hard to admit that instead of seeing the true successes of this journey (running farther, getting stronger, pushing physical boundaries) I am still tethered to the three digits that flash up at me when I step on the scale. I worry that people will stop seeing me as an inspiration and when I tell them to move forward as if their life depended on it (because it does) they’re going to stare blankly at me and say “But what about you Tara?“
What about me?
As I was getting ready yesterday for the olympic triathlon that I’m doing even as this blog is being posted I needed to come up with a sign for my shirt. If you’ve been following me for any length of time you’ll know that I like to wear a sign while running to encourage / inspire others and to get the much needed encouragement from those willing to give me a high five along the route. Normally I put down my beginning weight of 270 pounds and then my current weight to signify the 100+ pounds I’ve let go of in both the physical sense and in the emotional sense. It was the first time I was too afraid to put down my current weight of 168 pounds. For me it was admitting publicly that I wasn’t 155 – 160 pounds anymore. I was admitting that I have gained weight even though the other participants wouldn’t know me from any other person on the street. I should be screaming from the roof tops that I’ve lost this amount of weight and have kept it off successfully but instead I thought I would post the picture on some social media outlet and everyone would know my BIG SECRET.
Instead I made this sign:
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how this journey is about facing fears and not letting things fester and ooze when there is a big world out there willing to listen to what I have to say. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering if admitting the gain (as “small” as it is in the grand scheme of things, it feels huge to me) is exactly the spark I needed to make some changes in order to get down to a number I am more comfortable with or whether or not this is exactly where my body wants to be right now. I’ve spent some time questioning if holding the panic of “I know I’m going to gain all my weight back” inside isn’t what has also kept me back from moving physically (did I mention I didn’t really prepare for this triathlon I’m doing today).
Mostly I’ve been thinking about my own after.
I am in control.
(I am my own after)
What was lost and gained will be lost again.
(I am my own after)
I am not a failure.
(I am my own after)
I am succeeding.
(I am my own after)
I move.
(I am my own after)
I live.
(I am my own after)
I inspire.
(Are you your own after?)
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I don’t blog much about my life these days.
