Pull up a chair and grab a tissue

4 08 2010

Seriously you’re going to need it.

To know me is to know that up until 7 months ago I was a severe introvert. So severe that going out with people who I considered my good friends was difficult for me to do. It started when I was a small child during elementary school. I wish an adult had intervened when they saw me in kindergarten throwing a tennis ball up against the wall day in and day out, alone and removed from the other children during recess as this would become a daily practice for the next seven years until I went to junior high school. As I became a young adult, I would have one or two friends that I hung out with and that was it. I knew everyone in school but only in the context of sharing a classroom together.  Going to school / work became my social outlet. I considered my co – workers some of my best friends but when they wanted to leave the confines of work, I froze. I passed up housewarming parties, birthdays, weddings…you name it, I missed it.

Five years ago, World of Warcraft became my social outlet.

I paid $15.00 / month so that I could log into a virtual world and be connected to other people without the social anxiety of having to face them in real life. It started out simple enough. I played for an hour here and there. By the end of the first month I was playing upwards to four to five hours a day. By the end of my fourth year playing, I could easily spend ten to twelve hours a day during the weekends. I would get up two hours early  on work days just to log in for a bit and get that social fix that I needed. I was more comfortable interacting with a fantasy world than I was interacting with the world around me.

I’m changing that.

I’m taking myself way out of my comfort zone on a daily basis because this LCJ just isn’t about losing weight. It’s about making Life Changes to becoming a healthier person: Physically, mentally and emotionally. For some people it really is just about losing some weight. A little change in the diet and add some exercise and that person is on the path to success. For me, if all I was doing was changing my diet and adding some exercise, I would fail miserably. Every decision / choice / thought I make / have  must  be done consciously. Even those decision / choices / thoughts that seem to keep me from moving forward. I’ve had some bad days. I’ve had some days where I needed a serious reality check but I’ve learned to stay in the moment and then move on. I don’t linger any longer on what I did to fail but rather what I can do to succeed. One bad decision / choice / thought  is a) not bad and b) just a decision / choice / thought.

One of the hardest parts of this LCJ is leaving the fantasy world  (the proverbial tennis ball/wall) and putting myself out into the real world and learning how to be an active part of my community (I’m the adult intervening now). I’ve met some pretty awesome people along the way and get to share my story with some of them.

Yesterday I shared my story with Abe.

I’ve watched Abe for quite a while at the gym. He’s a very heavy man. In the beginning he would get there super early in the morning and head straight for the treadmill. Hoodie and all. He wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone. Come down the stairs, step on the treadmill, look straight ahead and then immediately vacate the premises when finished. The cool thing about Abe? He comes back day after day. He hopped on that treadmill for close to two months and just recently started working out with a trainer. Yesterday’s workout with the Godfather was especially brutal. Halfway through our hour together I needed to take a lap around the gym to get my shit together and I noticed two things about Abe:

He was using a weight machine.

He wasn’t wearing a hoodie.

I walked past him and thought this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I turned around, walked up to him and said “I’m really proud of you for not wearing your hoodie in here. I know it’s a hard step to take and I just wanted you to know that I know it’s a hard step to take“. He laughed and said his trainer makes him take it off and that he didn’t think anyone would notice.

Oh I noticed all right.

I didn’t have much time to talk to him because Godfather wanted to get back to kicking my ass like no one’s business but we exchanged names and that brief but very important acknowledgement that we’re part of the same battle. Every time I see him now I’m going to make sure to say hello. He doesn’t realize it but he’s a soldier in my army now.

An Army set forth to save my life.

To save his life.

To save your life.


The case of the missing Mojo!!!

30 07 2010

A week ago I announced that I lost my mojo. I’ve been feeling pretty negative in this portion of my journey. I’ve thought a lot about why, when I should be dancing naked in the streets proclaiming my admission into the Onederland club, am I constantly looking in the mirror and not liking what I’m seeing.

Fear is the answer to that why.

I’ve been doing this weight loss / move more eat less / get stronger, faster, fitter journey now for exactly 7 months and I realize there is still so much more to go. This is a life time commitment. I don’t just want to get down to 170 pounds and be done with it. I don’t want to wipe my hands clean at the destination and call it good. I don’t want to reach that goal and take a seat on the sidelines and wonder what’s next. There is fear when deciding to make a commitment to change one’s life, especially when that decision means the difference between dying a slow death surrounded by depression and obesity or standing up and fighting for something you’re not even sure is achievable.

Even today with all that I’ve accomplished, I am still fearful losing the fight.

You’d think after losing 65+ pounds with nothing but plain old determination I wouldn’t be carrying around this fear of “what if I can’t do it”, but in fact it’s stronger now that it was when I took my first flight of stairs and replaced my first diet coke with a glass of water back in December. The fear is different, yet the same. In December it was a fear of “what if the weight doesn’t come off” and now it’s “What if I can’t run faster”. Seven months ago it was “What if I’m still hungry after eating my limit of calories”, now it’s “What if I give up during my first triathlon”. Two hundred and eighty days ago it was “What if no one believes I can do it”, now it’s “everyone believes and I’m trying to believe in myself”.

Last week I said I thought I lost my mojo. What I should have said is I’m scared. But being scared doesn’t mean I sit on the sidelines. It doesn’t mean I throw my hands up and announce to the world I’m ready to give up. In fact it’s just the opposite. Now is the time to dig deep, draw lines and scream “WWOPD”. Want to know what he’d do? He’d transform into that sweet semi truck and plow right through anything even remotely looking like fear!


While I can’t transform into that sweet ass ride, I can transform that fear into determination to work harder and step with more deliberation and purpose.

The fear won’t stop me.

It will only fuel my desire to succeed.

Oh and in case you’re still wondering about the mojo, a very strange thing happened today when I decided it was time to update my wardrobe as my current selection is becoming a little more baggy and a little more gangsta than I like to appear. I brought my new clothes home and as usual went about taking pictures…

The bottom pair is a size 34 in men’s. Seven months ago I was wearing a size 44 in men’s and a 24 in women’s. I noticed something sticking out of the pocket there. Bent in closer to inspect:


The bottom shirt is a 17 1/2. The top button down is a 15. Again what is that sticking out of the pocket?


Seven months ago I was wearing XXL t-shirts. Today I walked out of the store with only Mediums! Wait a minute? What is that? Don’t tell me, let me guess…

That’s what I thought!

OWiS #30 (on a Sunday)

25 07 2010

I need to find my mojo.

I don’t know where it is but it is not residing inside my body, mind, or emotional state. I feel like my posts lately have been about how “bad” I’m feeling about myself and how unmotivated I am to keep up with this journey. Is it because I hit Onederland and am (insert any emotion) about staying under 200? Is this my sabotage weight? You know the one where you reach it and you start to get comfortable with yourself so you stop working as hard? While I’ve enjoyed not logging my calories during the weekend I’m wondering if this is now the right path to take. I make a decision and then I immediately start to question whether I’m even capable of making a decision. How do I know what’s the right thing to do?

I haven’t run since the 10k last Saturday.

I’m afraid to admit that I’m experiencing pain in my feet. They hurt all the time and I’m pretty sure it’s due to plantar faciitis. I had it before and eventually had to use splints when I slept for it to finally dissipate. I don’t have insurance and even if I did I don’t think I’d go because I’m afraid the doctor will say something like “Well Tara, you never should have started running to begin with”.

It’s a little ironic because while I look young for my age (it runs in the family), this is the first time I can say I feel my age. Being 40 and asking your body to move in the way I’ve asked mine has been difficult to say the least. It would be one thing if I had been athletic at some point in my life since there is muscle memory that helps to get you back into shape. I’ve never been athletic. Any attempts at doing some sort of sports when I was a kid was quickly forgotten about because my mother couldn’t care less about what I was doing as long as she could keep tabs on me while keeping her bar stool warm. I ate a lot when I was a kid. I would steal money out of her purse and go to the corner store and buy cans of pie filling and as much candy as possible all consumed while sitting in my room in front of the television. I remember being 9 and making french toast on my own for the first time…6 slices drenched in syrup would be a normal adventure.

When I was a small child and left alone in the house with one of my brothers to watch over me (and by watch I mean told to stay home while they went out with friends) I used to sit at the dining room table and eat sugar out of the bowl. Hours upon hours just sitting there watching the t.v. and spooning sugar into my mouth. By the time I reached middle school and was completely raising myself dinner was whole boxes of macaroni and entire Tyson frozen fried chicken boxes.

Why the hell am I even talking about this stuff?

Today’s post was supposed to be about a weigh in and it’s turned into a “holy fuck no wonder I need therapy” sort of post. I would give anything to be waking up finally out of this fat slumber and be 20 years old. Hell I’ll take 30 too. I didn’t wake up until shortly after my 40th birthday and it’s slow going and dealing with aches and pains I didn’t even know existed.

Back to my mojo.

I’m lacking it. My workouts have been less than stellar. People tell me I look great and I’m starting to think I can stop doing what I’m doing and be happy. But I’m not. I want more. I need more. I want to flex my arms and see muscle, not just the shadow of muscle. I want to see my abs not just feel them when I put my hand on my stomach and cough (please tell me I’m not the only one that does that). I want to do really awesome strong shit like push ups and pull ups  and not half assed ones either. When I play baseball next year I want the other team to go “okay everyone move back we got a giant coming up”.

Will I feel this lackluster tomorrow? I don’t know. Will I be sore and achy? Don’t know the answer to that either. What I do know is I’m going to end this post with some good news and some direction as to what I’m doing for the next few hours. First the good news: There is a loss this week and I’m officially “overweight” and no longer “obese”. I’m down 10.2 points on my bmi and that’s pretty spectacular. I’m going to put on some gym clothes and go for a run as soon as this post is over. I don’t know how long the run will be or how far I’ll get. I’ll probably walk some but I’d rather be walking and running towards a healthier life than walking towards the freezer and grabbing a box of Tyson’s frozen chicken!

  • Week 0 = 263.5 (-0.0)
  • Week 1 = 257.4 (-6.1)
  • Week 2 = 255.0 (-2.4)
  • Week 3 = 254.6 (-.4)
  • Week 4 = 253.8 (-.8) *I started c25k
  • Week 5 = 248.2 (-5.6)
  • Week 6 = 247.2 (-1.0)
  • Week 7 = 246.2 (-1.0)
  • Week 8 = 244.4 (-1.8)
  • Week 9 = 241.0 (-3.4)
  • Week 10 = 240.6  (-.4)
  • Week 11 = 238.0 (-2.6)
  • Week 12 = 234.8 (-3.2)
  • Week 13 = 232.8 (-2.0) *joined a gym
  • Week 14 = 230.0 (-2.8) *graduated c25k
  • Week 15 = 227.8 (-2.2)
  • Week 16 = 225.6 (-2.2)
  • Week 17 = 222.4 (-3.2)
  • Week 18 = 219.2 (-3.2)
  • Week 19 = 221.4 (+2.2) *the brother situation
  • Week 20 = 213.8 (-7.6)
  • Week 21 = 212.0 (-1.8)
  • Week 22 = skipped
  • Week 23 = 208.0 (-4.0) *over the course of two weeks
  • Week 24 = 207.6 (-.4) *switched over to new scale
  • Week 25 = 204.8 (-2.8)
  • Week 26 = 202.8 (-2.0)
  • Week 27 = 200.8 (-2.0)
  • Week 28 = 203.6 (+2.8) *lost my job
  • Week 29 = 197.0 (-6.6) ONEDERLAND!
  • Week 30 = 196.3 (-.7)

Brick wall…

22 07 2010

When you believe in a thing, believe in it all the way, implicitly and unquestionable” ~ Walt Disney

I write that quote first thing because I am living with some serious mental blockage. You’d think after being on this journey for almost 7 months the proverbial brick wall would be coming down but I woke up this morning feeling like someone added another layer to it.

As my body changes shape (getting thinner) and I start to notice more muscles coming through (getting stronger) I also spend more time focused on what else is still there: loose skin. I don’t like it at all. I don’t really like the way my stomach feels (skin wise) and I definitely don’t like the way my thighs look. I’m having a hard time not being negative about what my body looks like today even though I don’t weigh 263 pounds anymore and I am stronger right now in my life than I’ve been in the 40 years that I’ve walked this earth.

I want to be strong, fit, fast and at my goal weight of 170 and I want it to happen right now. I know, I know slow and steady wins the race but try telling that to my loose, feels like aunt bettie’s underarm gibblet, skin.

Today I woke up weighing the same as I did yesterday. Same as I did two days ago. Same as I did on Saturday. I didn’t feel fat on those days. Today I woke up feeling fat and unhappy. The mind has a wonderful way of sinking it’s teeth right into you at the first sign of negativity. It didn’t take too long for rest of me to catch up with that negativity and for the first time since I started working out with a trainer, I thought about canceling. I didn’t want to go and sweat in front of other people. I didn’t want to go and look at myself in the mirror wearing a swim suit. I didn’t want Godfather to tell me to jump on that red box. I wanted to crawl back into bed and just forget about this journey.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) I am a stickler for keeping appointments.

I went. In fact, it was pretty awesome. There were some parts that I  struggled through. I had to look in the mirror a few times while doing squats and the face staring back at me was not thinking the best of thoughts about what my body looked like. Godfather did want me to jump on the red box. He wouldn’t let me leave until I got up there and it took me 30 minutes to battle the “I can’t” and get over to the “I can”. He did this really wicked (and by wicked I mean mind boggling) thing after watching me stand in front of the red box and contemplate why I  couldn’t convince myself to jump. He stood in front of me and told me to put my arms out and not let him push them down. I did. He pushed but I didn’t really waver. Then (with the declaration that what he was about to say was not true but to listen) he said the following words to me:

You’re lazy

You’re fat

You’ll never be strong

Then he told me to put my arms up and BAM he just pushed them down like it was the easiest thing in the world. He then said (with the declaration that everything he was about to say was true, to look him in the eyes and to listen) the following words:

You’re stong

I care about you

You deserve this

Up go my arms and sure enough, he can’t push them down. I was letting myself think all those negative thoughts and they were keeping me from getting on the box. I didn’t jump up right away in a fit of super human power. In fact it took another 15 minutes of serious mental work to jump and jump high enough to land my feet.

So I struggled today at the gym but like I said, it was awesome. At one point Godfather gets down on the floor with me and does everything that I’m doing. How awesome is it to look over while doing “I think I’m going to throw up” crunches and see your trainer doing the same thing? You can’t give up or slow down when you totally want to kick the ass of your trainer and show them who’s boss (he’s still the boss!). I walked away from our session, out of breath and a little irritated with myself. But I also walked away with something else…

One brick out of that wall.

I don’t know where you are on this journey. I don’t know how high your brick wall is or even if you have one. Whatever it is you are trying to accomplish it must be done with every fiber and you must believe. There are going to be days where you just want to crawl into some dark hole and hope that no one notices that you’re gone. You’re going to look in the mirror and wonder if you’ll ever make it. You’re going to wonder if it’s all worth it. You’re going to try to convince yourself you’ll start again tomorrow. Some days you’re going to stand in front of your red box and wonder if you can…

The answer is yes.

You can.

You will.

Right now.

Today’s topic: Butter

21 07 2010

Now that life has become some what unstable (oh remind me to write about stable vs. unstable soon) I’m finding myself outside of the home a lot. I’m not really doing too much, just trying to stay out of the house where negative images of being unemployed lead to sitting around the house feeling sorry for myself which then lead to lethargicness and finally defeat.

Since I’m only interested in winning this battle called Life, I take the extra time to spend it outdoors at different places. Sometimes being lethargic but in places like the library, Starbucks or the park with other people to watch, keeping my mind engaged and therefore on track. This means that I am finding myself out when it comes time to eat something.

Okay, here is a little background info first before I continue. On Tuesday, Godfather asked me which meal was my biggest during the day which is dinner, as this is the one meal I have with my husband. He has challenged me to switch the paradigm and focus on making lunch the biggest meal (I know, not a new concept) and have a smaller dinner. This way the body will burn off more of the calories consumed since it still has plenty of time in the day to do it’s little digestive dance instead of going to bed and having to work overtime while I catch some zzz’s.

*back to the story*

Being out of the house more means I am relying once again on finding food to eat in other places than my refrigerator. Not an easy task when I am counting calories and now adding lunch as the biggest portion of my food intake. I tend to go to grocery stores as there is more of a “natural” selection (fruits, yogurts, breads, organic stuff). I go past the deli of my local Fred Meyer (Kroger for all you Midwest / East Coast dwellers) and I eye a delicious looking premade turkey baguette. No cheese on that bad boy. Bread + turkey that’s it. The nice lady bags it up, I’m ready to nom nom nom my way into bliss and just as she rings me up she asks if I want mayo / mustard for the sandwich…

Here is the moment of truth. I declined because I want to make healthy choices. I declined because I don’t need the mayo to make it delicious and easier to eat. I declined because I just want to taste my food in the most natural state possible (not that smoked turkey meat is in it’s natural state but you know what I mean) and don’t want to slather it with condiments. I feel good about the food choices that I’ve made. I bought some extra fruit and my favorite Fage (blueberry) as a snack for later. I feel confident in my ability to stay in control even with all the distractions around me (bakery dept, chinese take out next to the deli, soda pop machine).

About three quarters of the way through the sandwich I realize there is something other than turkey and bread in this concoction. Upon further inspection I come to realize that they put butter on the inside of the baguette.


All that conscious effort put forth so that I can make healthier choices just gone down the tube because for some reason Fred Meyer thinks people prefer to have butter on the inside of their sandwich (just in case mayo / mustard isn’t enough). Well Fuck me! (sorry for the “f” bomb, but it had to be written). Man it pissed me off. So much so I had to talk about it in therapy today. Yep, my therapy session was taken up by butter.

Chalk it up to another lesson learned: next time have them make my sandwich right then and there. I actually thought about purging. I thought making myself sick would make me feel better but today I’m just going to let it go. They didn’t purposefully put butter on it to sabotage my day (yes, I did think that for a fleeting second). That sandwich isn’t going to cause me to be way over in calories (in fact I’ll still be under – but yes I had that fleeting thought too). I’m not going to say “screw you” and go willy nilly on the rest of my food (that actually did NOT cross my mind).

I’m going to let it go.

I know I’ll obsess over it for the rest of the night. I know myself well enough to know obsessing is going to happen. I also know myself well enough that I can eat the fruit I bought, have a light dinner if I’m hungry later, drink my water and still have a successful day. I won’t be obsessing over the fact that I ate butter. Instead I’ll be obsessing over the following question:

Who puts butter on a turkey sandwich?

Apparently Fred Meyer does.

Run, Tara, Run / The red box / Inspiration

19 07 2010

I thought long and hard about how to start this particular post. Then I decided instead of starting at the beginning, I would start at the end and go from there:

This is me getting ready to cross the finish line of my first 10k that I ran last Saturday. My husband is taking this picture and I had just screamed at the top of my lungs “I DIDN’T STOP ONCE”. I am about to finish running 6.2 miles and I am smiling. The greatest thing about this race is not that I didn’t come in last (many people finished before me, some finished behind me), it’s also not that I finished faster than I anticipated (I guessed 1:20:00). The greatest thing about this race is I stepped up to that starting line. There are so many things in life that keep us from stepping up to the “starting line”. We don’t think we can do it. We’ve been told countless times we can’t do it. Maybe we’ve been in front of the starting line but fear kept us from taking that first step. Maybe we’ve taken that first step but one reason or another we didn’t get very far and soon after we found ourselves on the sidelines.

Are you ready to step up to your starting line?

Can I be totally honest with you right now? I almost didn’t want to do this race. I made the mistake of looking at the previous year’s times and comparing them to the one and only time I’ve run 6 miles (1:19:00). I began to doubt myself something fierce. I didn’t want to come in last. I started thinking about maybe just pretending to set my alarm and “accidentally” sleep through the race. I was scared to run in my vibrams and felt that if I ran in my regular running shoes I’d be pretty much just calling myself a pussy. I sat with these thoughts for a few minutes and then I remembered what I said to someone else just the day before who was getting ready to do her first 5k. She was scared about coming in last and about all the other people in the race. I told her not to think about the people doing the race but to think about all the people NOT doing the race.

I needed to follow my own advice.

It didn’t matter if I came in last. It didn’t matter what other people were doing. This was my race. This was about me and what I’ve done over the last 6+ months. I’ve been running  just under 5 months and here I was trying to convince myself that sleeping through the alarm was the way to go. I had to stop worrying about what hadn’t happened and revel in what was happening. Come Saturday I was going to step up to the starting line and I was going to run.

It was awesome!

At every mile there was someone shouting your time to you. I’m used to doing a 12 minute mile outside. I wasn’t anticipating that I could keep up that pace for 6.2 miles.  The first mile the person said 10:39. WHAT? Did he just say 10:39? I looked around to make sure there weren’t any other runners around that he might be directing that too. Nope, just me. Second mile the guy said 21:48…WHAT? Third = 32.56…That means I just beat my last 5k (37:00) by almost 4 minutes!! What the hell is going on here? At the 4th mile I turned off my iPod to make sure I was hearing the number correctly: 44:19. I was consistently running an 11 minute mile. At this point I’m not really pushing myself too hard. There were quite a few hills and I’m just trying to remember to put one foot in front of the other. I’m tired but not exhausted. I’ve got certain people in my cross hairs and working hard to lessen the gap between us. Mile 5 = 55:03. The last mile was before me and I knew I was going to finish and at this pace I was going to finish at least 10 minutes sooner than my last run. As I turned the corner to begin the last 1.2 miles I realized this was the hill we started on, only we ran down it. There was nothing but this hill and the finish line. I didn’t know coming down it was a mile in distance. I knew that now. The race quickly became about this hill and nothing else. I wanted to run the entire 6.2 miles. I didn’t want to walk once. I ran the first 5 miles and the only thing left between me and the finish line was this damn hill. The people in my cross hairs were walking. I pulled my cap way down. I tuned out and I ran. I didn’t think about the 11 minute pace any longer. I didn’t think about the people I was passing.  I kept my sight a few feet in front of me and resolved to get to the top of the hill strong and then finish the race stronger.

I reached the top of the hill.

The people I paced myself with the entire race were behind me. There was nothing in front of me now except the last part of the race and crossing over that finish line. I had no idea what my time was. As I got closer to the finish line and could see the race clock I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. 1:08:23! All that self doubt. All that worry. Thinking the only way to could get over the fear was to not even try. I almost never even stepped up to the starting line. I was covered in sweat and snot (still perfecting the snot rocket), my legs hurt, and I was out of breath.

You know what else I was?


Can I tell you about a red box that has become a big part of my life in the last few days. I think a big reason I finished the race as strong as I did was because I thought about this red box quite a bit while running. I thought about a lot of things actually. I mean when you’re going to be running for over an hour you have lots of time for thoughts to come and go. I thought about my decision to stop counting calories during the weekend and the success I am having at not freaking out over my food choices. I thought about my friends that are one their own weight loss journey and how much I rely on their encouragement to keep me moving forward. I thought about what my life was like 7 months previous where I played a silly video game for hours upon hours thinking that was what I needed to keep me sane when in fact running on the present country road, on an island, with a number attached to my shirt and being outside was what I needed. I thought about not being on anti-depressants any longer. I thought about not being a drug addict and how lucky I was to survive that portion of my life. I thought about my brothers, my mother and how much I missed them. I thought about seeing my husband at the finish line and taking a long bath once this whole thing was over.

But mostly I thought about this box.

Last Thursday morning as I walked into the gym, the Godfather told me to grab it and put it in the middle of our work out area (which by the way is in front of everyone!). I set it out and he tells me I’m going to vertically jump this baby.



I’m pretty sure I’m not.

Here’s why I like the Godfather; it doesn’t matter what I think. I can say “no” all I want, all he hears is “yes”. I can say “I can’t” and what he hears is “I can”. Sometimes when you don’t believe in yourself, you only need one person to believe and before you know it:


A few posts back I was in a bad funk. Being fired from your job and gaining weight because of stress has a way of bringing the funk and plopping it right down in front of you. While venting I wrote the following sentence – “Every time someone says “you’re such an inspiration” I want to scream back at them “TO WHO, CAUSE I’M NOT INSPIRING MYSELF!!!” I was feeling sorry for myself. My friend Aaron wrote one of the most heart-felt replies that I go back and read on a daily basis. He also asked me point blank “Tara, who inspires you?”

I couldn’t let that question pass by without taking the time to write about who inspires me. I don’t even know where to begin. I feel like I’m going to miss someone or someone is going to feel left out if I don’t mention them so I won’t go into specifics but here is a glimpse at who inspires me.

  • I have a friend that has started her own LCJ. She watched me for a few weeks and decided to take control of her own life. She asked me to do her first 5k with her a few weeks ago. She didn’t think she was going to run at all. We ran. I love her and think about her everyday. She inspires me.
  • There is a woman at the gym that I see pretty regularly. She’s lost a lot of weight. She knows this is a long journey. She was doing the couch to 5k one day and we got to talking. I told her to move on from week 4 and trust her body. She was nervous. A few weeks later she not only moved on but was getting ready to finish the program. I see her sometimes in spin class and she kicks my ass on that damn bike. She never gives up. She inspires me.
  • I met a woman not too long ago that was at the same triathlon meeting as I was. We happened to sit next to each other and she asked me if this was my first one. I said yes.  We talked about how crazy it was that we were both thinking about doing a triathlon. She mentioned to me that she had lost 100 pounds in the last 10 months. I told her I lost 65 in six months. In that instant we shared something that probably no one else in the room shared. We were taking control of our lives and we were becoming the athletes we were meant to be. We understood the battle. In a room full of women we happened to sit next to each other and in a few short weeks we’ll be crossing the same finish line. She inspires me.
  • I have friends that send me messages throughout the day asking me how I’m doing and how am I going to break a sweat that day. I don’t know them personally but I feel like I would go down fighting for their lives as much as I feel like I would for my own. They inspire me.
  • I have a trainer that believes in me when I don’t believe in myself. When I am trying to do on my own what we do together I close my eyes and think about him standing above me with his hand out telling me to reach higher or standing in front of me saying “you want it, you earn it”. He inspires me.
  • Pick a blog, any blog. Every word written. Every emotion felt. Every battle fought and lost only to be fought again and won. Every tear. Every triumph. Every mile run. Every pound lost and gained. You inspire me.

OWiS #29 (a day early) and just the picture…

16 07 2010