I Need Goals!

I started running in 2007, I think.  At least that's what my oldest event shirt tells me.  I started out with half marathons and continued with half marathons.  In the last year I've ventured into cycling, which I absolutely love, hence; the R.A.I.N. Ride. I've done the Rebel Race, a mud run, and ran Dances With Dirt, an Ultra trail running relay.

When I started running, my initial goal for the half marathon was for daily motivation to run.  I was running to lose weight and maintain my health, not because I enjoyed running.  It was pretty much a form of self torture.  I was at least 25 pounds overweight, if not more.  I didn't want to go into 13.1 miles without the proper training, therefore; I would be more likely to be consistent with my running and exercise in general.  Whether it worked or not is another blog for another day.

Since 2007, my running has been very inconsistent.  History seemed to always repeat itself.  I would try hard, be as consistent as my childrens' active lifestyles would allow me, and run as much as possible about 3 months prior to every half.  I would complete the half, then somewhat if not completely disappear from the gym/running scene.  I would sign up again for another half to rediscover my motivation to get back to pounding the pavement.

Last year's seriously unexpected hysterectomy obviously sidelined me, again.  Again, that's another blog for another day.  Regardless, once again I was spending less days out on the street.  Of course, I rebounded.  Strangely enough, even after my last half, an obnoxious knee issue and the completion of other races I've completed within the last year; I have yet to regress.

I seem to be motivated more than ever. I dread missing a daily run or a bike ride. I want to run every 5k, 10k, 15k, and half marathon I'm aware of. I search for organized group bike rides as often as possible. I eagerly read others' blogs to hear about your triathalons, marathons, trail runs and century rides. Obviously, I can only do what my family obligations and financial abilities will allow me.

With my current motivation level I've been seriously thinking of higher goals, bigger things.  I have yet to decide what "bigger things" I would like to move onto.  Do I want to do a full marathon or do I want to stick to the half that's incorporated into a 70.3 triathalon?  Once I know, you'll be the first to know!

I want to hear from you why I should or shouldn't graduate to the full marathon versus a triathalon.  If you have a better idea, you can tell me that too.

Diary of a mad fat girl ......

The following is not my story, but it is Jane's story.  Jane has a story that's been weighing on her shoulders for the majority of her adult life and she chose to tell it.  Jane requested to remain anonymous, so Jane is not her real name, but this is a true story, a story that rings true for many, a story that many claim they could have written about themselves.  This is Jane's original story.  There has been no editing other than to change her name.  Oh, if any of you get stumped with the initials DH, it refers to her Dear Husband.  

So, I know the title seems a little harsh, but to me it holds many truths. I'm not exactly sure what motivated me to write this, but I felt an overwhelming need suddenly. This may be long, so bear with me. I was watching the "Biggest Loser" as I do every Tuesday night thinking the same things. "I can do this" and "what's my problem?" I always have the best intentions and have probably started as many diets and exercise programs as there are days in a year. Nothing sticks. The mental anguish my weight puts me through is weighing heavy on my mind (no pun intended).

I haven’t always been a “big girl” but I have owned that title most of my adult life. Growing up my mother always had us eat fairly “healthy.” We didn’t get Pop Tarts, ice cream, Swiss Rolls, chips, pop or must junk food. If we had chips, it was pretzels. If we had ice cream, it was sherbert. So naturally, I REALLY wanted all the junk when I was old enough to get it myself. As a pre-teen and teen I babysat frequently in my neighborhood. I vividly remember pilfering through pantries and refrigerators looking for junk food at other families’ homes that I had no access to at my own. When I began to drive and got my first car, I would go to Taco Bell every day after school and get a BLT soft taco before I went to work at 3p.m.  I think as a child I kept my weight fairly under control because I was always active in sports. The first time I noticed that I was truly “different” from my thinner friends is when I couldn't borrow clothes and swap back and forth like everyone else or shop in the cute stores.

At this point, I think my first defense mechanism started to develop. I became a comedian. If I could make fun of myself or use sarcasm to break the ice, then someone else couldn't get to me first. I used sarcasm and comedy to build a wall to protect myself. I became very outgoing, friendly, talkative and almost the class clown. I made a decision early that I would succeed in all other areas of my life to overshadow the fact that I failed miserably at health and self-image. I graduated with honors from high school and went to college right away. I received my Bachelor’s degree in nursing. I excelled, I always got good grades and I strived to be “perfect” in this area of my life. I strongly felt the need to make my parents proud to avert the shame I knew they must be feeling at my appearance. Although they never made me feel ashamed, there were always those subtle comments or hints that confirmed what I knew they must already feel about me.

Dating was awkward for me. I just knew there wasn't going to be a guy that would EVER be interested in me or love me as I thought I should be loved. I was insecure. I fell for guys that I knew from the start were bad news. I fell for the jerk, the loser, the cocky one and ones I just knew weren't for me. Finally, as my career was going well and my social life with friends was great, I met DH online. We talked for some time before I finally felt comfortable to meet in “real life.” The first day he met me he told me I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever met. I didn't believe him. I really made him work to prove it to me.

While dating DH, I decided to go back to school to further my career and became a nurse practitioner. I entered the world of women’s health and have never left. I love empowering women, helping educate them and trying to make a real difference. I just wish I could empower myself. I’ll be honest, I hate myself. It stings just typing those words. However unfortunate though, it’s true.

This weight and self-image issues control my life and almost every move I make. I don’t get ready in a bathroom. I shower and then I sit on my bed in the morning do my hair and makeup looking into a small grapefruit-sized mirror. Less mirror, less Jane. My wardrobe is mostly made up of black—slimming of course. I don’t have pictures of myself taken or allow myself to be in them. I have a son who I adore more than life itself, and hardly any pictures of the two of us together. I don’t try clothes on at stores—the mirrors are too big. If I get food through the drive through, I eat it before I arrive at my destination-less people to see the  cliche “big girl” eating fast food. Let’s not even get started on bathing suits, pools and beaches.

I’m not sure what my point in writing this was, but I know that no one in my life really knows how I feel or how I mentally struggle with my weight issues. I don’t feel comfortable enough to discuss it with friends, family or Facebook. Sometimes I don’t even feel comfortable enough discussing it with my DH. People who are naturally thin or who have great metabolisms don’t understand. I’m sure many think, “just stop eating so much,” or “get off the couch and workout.” I wish it was that easy. I depend on food. I use it to comfort me, fulfill me, make me happy, keep me company and soothe me when I’m sad. I look forward to it and enjoy it more than anyone ever should. I center my life around it and it has a gripping hold on me mentally, physically and emotionally. It’s spirit-crushing looking around an office of 40+ employees of both men and women and realizing you most likely outweigh them all. DH is 6’1” and about 170lbs. It sucks. He doesn't get it. His issues with food are 180 degrees different than mine (he’s put on about 30-40lbs. in the past year). It does make maintaining a healthy marriage harder.

I know I have to figure out something—and soon. This is literally killing me slowly. I have hypertension (since my early 20’s) and ended up with gestational diabetes and in the ICU with after delivering my son. Thank goodness he was healthy at delivery, but I don’t wish my experience on anyone. Laying in an ICU because your blood pressure won’t come down despite a constant drip of medication, is no way to spend your first few days of new motherhood. Here’s the hitch. I desperately want to have another child, but I’m terrified of pregnancy again. You would think this would be motivation enough, but once again I have yet to make a concerted effort. I have often thought of seeking the assistance of a surrogate, and then realize how ridiculous that sounds. I can have someone give me all the babies I've ever wanted, but if I’m not around to raise them, what’s the point?

I need help. I am strongly considering therapy. Of course I have the gym membership, but that’s just $23/month I consider a donation to LA Fitness lol. I stepped out of my comfort zone earlier this year and tried out for the Biggest Loser, but alas, my charm didn't win them over. As I said earlier, I’m not sure what the point of this exceptionally long and wordy post was, except a chance for me to type out my inner most thoughts and realizations. I am not looking for ridicule or even sympathy, but maybe I feel as though I can trust my virtual family more than my own in ways. So moral of the story, next time you walk by a “fat girl” on the street, don’t judge. You may not know the internal struggle she deals with or what her life circumstances are. And if we ever have the chance to meet in “real life” you’d probably never guess I was the author of this post. I don’t act like the downtrodden self-pitying big girl. In fact, I’ll probably talk your head off and act like I’m the happiest person on Earth. I’ll get this figured out one day. After all, before too long it won’t be a choice but a necessity.

Thanks for making it this far and I apologize for the redundancy.   Jane

Everyone has a story! What's yours?

Wordless Wednesday: R.A.I.N Ride 2011 One Day One Way 160 Miles

Conquering The Wall

I ran the Rebel Race this last weekend.  This was my first obstacle course race ever.  I've done many half marathons, a trail relay, a century and a half bike ride, so I'm not a total newbie to what most outside of the runner's & cyclist's community consider a tad extreme.  As most of are when doing something new, I went into this with a few nervous jitters and some fear.  I wasn't scared of the running, this was only a 5k.  I've ran 3.1 miles over and over again.  That was the least of my worries.  I had read and seen the course description on Rebel Race's website, so I was somewhat familiar with what I was about to get myself into.  As the Rebel Race promised, I started off my dash toward the woods, slid through some mud and into the river for more mud sloshing.  I went over and under the logs in the river and climbed back out the slippery slope where I was expected to do a forward roll in the mud. So much for only washing my hair once this week.  Everything was great so far.  Getting wet and dirty was not what I feared, it was what I expected. I continued my trek jumping through tires with confidence that was about to be shot down as fast as my children disappear when it's chore time.

I was wishing this moment wouldn't come.  I knew there was no way to get around this, literally.  I approached the cargo net wall with much hesitancy.  Must it be so high?  There was no way my arms were going to pull this body up those ropes.  My upper body strength is equivalent to the amount of motivation my children have to maintain clean bedrooms, non-existent.  I nervously began my ascent.  Much to my surprise, I've underestimated my arms' ability and easily maneuvered to the top of this wall.  As I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back and "yeaa for me", I realized my premature excitement.  I still had to hurl myself over to the other side of this wall and make the descent. All this time I wasted worrying about my lack of upper body strength was misplaced.  My real fear, the fear of heights, came to the surface.  Once I looked down and over the side of wall, I was done.  My legs started shaking so bad, I was sure to be the reason for Japan's next tsunami.  I remained still for fear of falling as my legs now registered a 10 on the richter scale.  Regardless of the encouragement from the other participants, I was unable to get past this mental block and came back on the same side I went up.  I was determined to finish the rest of the course, while wishing, hoping & praying for no additional "walls".

I scrambled through the tunnel and made it across the ditch with ease.  I completed sit-ups, push-ups and leg lifts with military effort.  I picked myself up off the muddy ground to be greeted by not only one, but two more walls.  Before you begin to "Oh, No!" for me, much to my own amazement, not only did I make it to the top of both walls, I crawled over both and came down the OTHER side of both walls.  "Yeaaaaa, freaking', whooo, whooo for me!!!"  Of course, I didn't repeat that outside of my own head.  I'm sure I would have gotten the same look from the other participants that I get from my husband when I say "Gag a maggot".   "What was different about these two walls versus the first?", you ask. Be patient people. I'm getting to that.

I continue with my boot camp crawl on my elbows and knees, leap over the flaming fury of fire and proceed to what I believe is close to the finish.   What?  Another "insert bad word" wall?  Are you kidding me?  Let me guess!  Some jerk I refused to date in high school found out I was registered, figured out one of my worst fears and set this entire shebang up just for me, right? No, wait a minute! This is how karma rears its ugly head for throwing a worm on my best friend's head when we were younger, much younger. This wall was just as high as the first, but constructed of intermittent boards versus the net. I did the last two walls with unexpected ease, I can do this one.  WRONG!  I made it to the top and once again, froze up faster than my frigid, cat lady destined sister. I couldn't make myself throw my leg over that wall to climb down the other side. Once again and with much disappointment, I crept down the same side of the wall I came up.  I finished my adventure with a crawl through a very muddy pit under barbed wire.

"So, what was the difference between the two walls you conquered and the two you didn't?", you ask again.  Lacking the proper psychiatric training, my non-professional opinion brings you this conclusion. The two walls that didn't like me both had the same characteristic.  When approaching the very top and attempting to climb over, I was in a position that I could look down and see the ground regardless of where I focused.  The other two walls were solid structures and I could throw myself over the top while staring at the walls themselves and ignoring the fact, that at any given moment I could come crashing to my imminent death.  Would I do this course again?  Absolutely!  I'm determined to conquer this fear.  Hopefully, when I do, it's about 10 feet closer to the ground.