Not afraid to say what is necessary…

23 04 2011

 

is tough.

I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk about what I’ve been going through the last couple of weeks. I’m still trying to figure out where my mind was going with some of the decisions I was making. What I can tell you (because this is about being honest right) is that I had stopped making healthy choices in the food I was consuming (and simultaneously working out too much). I don’t mean I was binging on foods full of calories with ingredients I can’t pronounce. I mean I stopped eating. Literally. I was getting calories in but in unhealthy amounts.

At the end of March I weighed 157 pounds.

Less than three weeks later I weighed 150 pounds.

(I would have kept going)

I don’t know why I started to push food away. I do know that there are certain behaviors that were fueling my desire to not eat food. One of them being challenging myself to go longer durations before eating. First it was an hour after I left gym, then it was challenging myself to go two hours after leaving the gym before eating. Three hours followed close behind until I was trying to go up to four hours. It was to keep my panic in check. It was a good plan to work through the panic but it was poorly planned and executed.

Another behavior was throwing food away. In the beginning the #100daychipquest challenge was set forth to help me understand that no matter where I was I had access to food. Throwing it away was like telling the panic it didn’t have a place in my life anymore and over the past 29 days it was doing exactly what I was hoping…dissapating the panic.

It was also taking away necessary calories.

As time went on, the amount of food I was packing for the day was getting smaller.

But the food I was throwing away was staying the same.

The final behavior is my relationship with the scale. It is unhealthy. I weigh myself multiple times a day…when I say multiple I mean double-digit amounts. Upwards to 15 a day. I don’t know why. A fear of gaining: maybe. A desire to keep losing: maybe. Habit: maybe…whatever the reason, it’s not a good enough one to justify what I was doing…

Not eating enough over the last couple of weeks has left my body weak. I don’t look healthy. I don’t feel healthy. I am not healthy. I can’t complete a workout without getting light-headed. I’ve had to stop doing whatever activity I was doing multiple times because I’m on the verge of passing out. My heart rate is up. My stomach hurts all the time. Eating is painful (emotionally). I don’t want to chew. I don’t want to swallow. I don’t want eat.

Period.

The reason I am writing this post is because over the course of the last couple of days, someone in my life came forward and called me on my shit. At some point in our conversations she asked me the following question: “If I was told I had to eat more in order to keep working out would I?”…I answered honestly: No.

Red Flag

She told me I had two choices – I could either go down the road to living healthy in all aspects of my life or I could go down the road of not living healthy. That I needed to choose. You’d think the choice would be easy but again let me be absolutely honest: I didn’t know at that moment of being asked where I wanted to go. I was thinking like an addict and if you’ve ever been one you know we don’t make the best choices…Before I could answer she sent the following text:

“I’m only going to hold your hand and walk with you down the road to strength and health. I can’t stand by you if you choose the other direction

Being on the receiving end of tough love is hard.

(Difficult Difficult)

But it’s all I needed.

I’m giving up the #100daychipquest as soon as this posts to my blog. I thought about just giving up the throwing away food portion of the challenge but decided that right now I shouldn’t be involved with any challenges. I have other things I need to focus on in order to get my mind right and more importantly get my body back to being healthy.

I need to eat.

I need to eat often.

The other thing I’ve done is given up my scale. I didn’t put it somewhere in the house or give it to my husband to hide. I gave it away. When I walked into Godfather’s gym yesterday morning I did so with scale in hand. The only thing I can liken it too was when I had to give up my paraphernalia when I was getting clean. This morning when I woke up I stood where my scale would normally be and cried. I’ve already thought about sneaking off to my local Fred Meyer store and weighing myself in the bath department (Hello my name is Tara and I am an addict…).

Not only did my friend call me out on my shit and make boundaries for her own emotional well being, so did Godfather. He said if I continued down this unhealthy path, then the trainings would discontinue. To have two of the most important people in my life draw that line and stand firmly on one side waiting for me to decide which path I was choosing made the decision pretty easy…

I don’t want to be on this side of unhealthy.

Alone.

I want to be on their side of healthy.

Together.

So that’s where I am today. Figuring out how I got here and figuring out how to not stay here. Loving myself enough to know that while eating right now is difficult it is necessary. Standing in the place where once my scale was and trying through wishful thinking to make it reappear knowing it won’t. Crying and laughing, then quickly going back to crying. Then taking a deep breath and moving on to the best of my ability.

With my friend by my side.

(Thank you)





The men in my life…

3 03 2011

I was raised by a single mother.

Let me preface this post by saying I truly believe my mother raised me to the best of her ability. However,  her ability was severely lacking. She was not given the proper tools to raise her children and suffered from what I believe is massive genetic depression. She was an alcoholic. She was abusive to all four of her children (though each of our sufferings played out in different avenues). She lived a lonely life and at the young age of 52 she died even lonelier.

My father left 3 months after I was born.

As with most children, I blamed myself. I know in hindsight there is no way a 3 month old infant could cause a grown man to flee from his wife and her 3 sons but you try telling that to an emotionally dysfunctional child who never once laid eyes on the man who helped create her. I became the spokeschild for the “I don’t need a father” statement. I would plant my feet and proclaim “My mother is both parents and I prefer it that way” but secretly I longed for a father. All my neighbors had them. I just had a mom who was pretty non-existent in my upbringing and back in the 70’s you stuck out like a sore thumb.

That left my three brothers to be the male role models I needed.

That didn’t happen.

They had their own demons.

One hated me for being born.

One took my innocence.

Then there was my brother Kevin.

He was my angel growing up. He loved me like a big brother should love his little sister. I remember he would brush the tangles out of my hair after bath time but in all honesty that is only one of very few memories I have of him. Except the day he left when I was 8 years old. He just turned 18 and in order to escape my mother  and her abuse he joined the military. I remember standing in the living room listening to another violent fight take place between the two of them (in our household it was a nightly event between my brothers and her). Then he was gone. I don’t remember if he said goodbye to me. I don’t remember if he told me where he was going.  He just disappeared from my life. Much like I blamed myself for my father leaving when I was 3 months old, I was convinced Kevin’s leaving was my fault. Of course as an adult I know now this is not the case but you can’t convince an 8-year-old who just wanted her brother to brush the tangles out of her hair otherwise. I would bet a million dollars the day he left is the day I started  to panic about food…

This post isn’t supposed to be about what I missed out on as a child.

But to talk about the male role models in my life today.

Because I have them.

And I love them dearly.

I may have not had a father growing up but I have one now. While I wouldn’t call him dad in public (because for pete’s sake I’m 41 years old) I do believe that Godfather was put in my life to be more than my trainer when we first met last summer. I am truly blessed to have him in my life. He started out as my trainer but it has blossomed into something more complex that I just couldn’t explain even if I tried. He is my mentor and makes me want to be a better person (isn’t that what all good dads do for their kids). I still see him in the gym as a coach and he still pushes the athlete in me past what I think I can accomplish but he teaches me outside of the gym as well. He speaks to my heart and looks me in the eyes even when the things I  need to hear are hard to accept. When we go to church I like to sit in between him and his wife and imagine they are my parents. The parents I deserved to have. They love me and I believe them.

While my brother’s sort of tanked in the brotherly love department, I have Michael. I haven’t really mentioned him too much on my blog but he’s pretty much shown me that you can have men in your life and they don’t want anything from you except your friendship. We met last year after my husband gave me a spa certificate for Christmas. My husband thought he would be the best match of all the massage therapists at Jewell Day Spa (shameless plug). But I was 270 pounds and embarrassed to even go and have anyone touch me let alone some guy. I sat on that certificate for a few weeks. I lost a tiny bit of weight and all the walking I was doing made me sore.

After my first appointment I made a second.

It was before my second appointment I started running. By the time that appointment came around I was running three minutes!!!! My muscles hated me but they were a little less hateful when I left my second appointment and had a third in my hand. A month later I was half way through couch to 5k and I would mention this to Michael.

Turns out he was a runner.

Every month would go by and each time I was getting thinner and running longer distances. Every month we would talk about running until eventually we started running together (he has been pivotal in my journey to be a better runner). It didn’t take long for us to realize how much in common we had in our upbringing and slowly but surely a friendship grew. One that has become extremely important to me. He reminds me a lot of Kevin and how secure I felt as a young girl. It didn’t really hit me how much I care about him until just last week when I went to have dinner with him, his wife and a house full of strangers. To know me is to know I don’t do well with people I’ve never met. I’m learning to get out of my comfort zone (sitting at home day in and day out). He invited and for the first time I really felt like I wanted to be there. It was awesome. I felt comfortable and a part of the festivities instead of like a lump of nothingness in the corner. However that wasn’t what made me love the crap out of him.

It was his Donald Duck voice.

I remember as a little girl my brother Kevin would do these voices that he would only do for me. They were like our little game. Donald duck was one of them. He would only do it when we were alone. If there was someone in the room he spoke normally but as soon as it was just him and I these voices would come alive and I would laugh uncontrollably while running around the house asking “did you hear that?” I remember asking him to do the voices for other people and he would just look at me like I was out of my mind and say something like “What voices?” or “What are you talking about?” It’s one of the few happy memories I have of my childhood.

While over at Michael’s house taking in what it looked like when family and friends came together for nothing more but to be in each other’s company I watched him interact with all the kids in the house. It was awesome. I was standing next to him, while he held the smallest of the itty bitty. A beautiful baby boy who was slobbering the hell out of his hands (both his and Michael’s). Out of nowhere I hear his Donald Duck voice and I am immediately transported back to a happier time in my life. In that moment I knew that those kids in that house would always have a man that cared for them.

I am lucky to call Michael my friend.

Finally there is my husband.

All my life I wanted to know what it meant to have unconditional love. I wanted to know what it felt like to look into the eyes and heart of someone and truly believe they loved me for me. I’ve spent my entire life running from relationship to relationship giving everything trying to replace the love lost of a father and brothers (and mother) and never ever have I found comfort in the way I find it with my husband, Mitch. He loved me at 270 and he loves me today. He never saw me as fat. He just saw me. He loved me when I was severely depressed and he loves me today when some days I just can’t seem to keep it together. He loves me when I push him away and he loves me when I can’t seem to get close enough. He really is my knight in shining armor. He doesn’t judge, nor demand.

He just loves.

Did the lack of loving and caring male role models in my life set the stage for the struggles that would bring  me to being 270 pounds and severely depressed at the age of 40? I would say yes. Would it be the only reason that I got to where I was? No. But just as much as the lack of having positive male role models got me to a point of almost no return, the presence of such loving and wonderful men in my life now have brought me to where I am today.

Whole.

Loved.

Important.

Before I end this post I want to talk about my brother Kevin a little bit more. He left when I was 8. It would take 30 years for us to put behind what happened to us as kids and move forward toward being brother and sister again. I didn’t understand his demons. He didn’t understand mine. I now realize he had to leave in order to survive. I missed him so much and it took the dying of my oldest brother John for me to realize that I can’t carry the anger/hurt/sadness of that little 8 year old girl one second longer. I love him today as I loved him as a small child…

His Donald Duck voice is beautiful.

He still denies he can do it.

For that I love him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





Dear Tara…

20 02 2011

Dear 270 Tara;

We don’t know each other very well. In fact, we’ve never met. I mean, I know who you are. You’re famous round these parts. Everyone knows you. Everyone knows you were struggling to enjoy life. You didn’t think very much of yourself and had gotten yourself in a dark space and had little hope that it was going to get any better. Everyone remembers the day you decided that the life you were living was no where near your potential and you were going to make a difference, even if it was the smallest of changes.

I heard the stories.

The 260’s didn’t take any pictures because they remember you were too embarrassed to even make a public statement about how much you weighed. But with small changes and moving even just a little bit you lost enough weight to think that this journey might be a possibility. They remember how you used to walk up a flight of stairs and had to take a break in between each floor because it hurt to breath. But they remember how you kept at it until you could walk up three flights of stairs without stopping. They remember how you cried when you wanted a diet coke but instead drank a glass of crystal light or how you used to say “my stomach doesn’t care what I put in it, it’s my brain that needs to be retrained” during your lunch break in order to get through those 30 minutes without shoving chocolate or a random doughnut in your mouth.

The 250’s tells me that this is when you started running. They remember that crazy day when you were walking the dogs (and I think by this time you were up to walking 2 miles a day with them – congratulations!) and for some reason you decided to move a little faster. It was early enough in the morning and not a soul was around. You ran for half a block and by the end of it you were so out of breath you actually got sick. We get a good laugh out of that around the water cooler.  They were pretty sure you wouldn’t last long in the running department but you showed them. You found this thing called couch to 5k and began running before the sun came up because you were sure everyone was staring at you. It was slow going but damn if you didn’t keep at it.

The 240’s have a lot of stories to share. They say this picture was taken when you got yourself down to about 245 pounds and this was the first time you actually ran for 5 minutes straight. There was talk that this journey might be serious but there was still some trepidation. They fondly remember the day you decided to go public with your weight loss and 263andcounting.com was born. P.S. Happy belated blogiversary.

 

 

The 230’s say this is really when you planted your feet firmly in the ground and proclaimed this LCJ was for real and not going any where any time soon. You did something you never thought you do: You signed up for your first 5k! Then you went and did something even more crazy: You joined a gym. Yhea we didn’t see that coming

 

 

 

The 220’s celebrated a milestone: 50 pounds lost. Hard to believe that 5 months previous to this picture being taken you weighed 270 pounds. You didn’t see much of a change in your body but you started to notice that your neck was smaller and I think I remember them saying this is where you discovered your collar bone again. They say this was also about the time you realized that this journey wasn’t just about losing the physical weight but that you had to really look to your past to get to your future

 

The 2teens remember the day you signed up for this 5k. It wasn’t the original one you signed up for (that was coming in June) but you couldn’t pass up the opportunity when it was offered by your friend Elizabeth. It was super scary. But you crossed that finish line and that was the day you called yourself a runner. But that wasn’t all you did in your 2teens. You walked your first half Marathon and then you went and did something down right crazy: You signed up for your first triathlon! They fondly remember you thinking that you might actually like being an athlete and couldn’t wait to see what you came up with next! But it wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns. This was by far the most stressful time during your journey. The 2teens remember the day you got the call that your brother was in the hospital due to his alcoholism. This would mark the first time there was a gain in your journey. You started to realize that stress was a big factor. You pushed too hard physically, you were too hard on yourself emotionally and you got hurt.

 

 

 

The 210’s remember you coming to many crossroads during their time with you. You took your first trip away from home. It was good but it came with a few emotional bumps and bruises. You were fired from your job (and saw the second gain on this journey) and learned that staying in the moment was harder than you ever imagined. But the 210’s also remember when you ran your first solo 5k, learned the importance of NSV and met The Godfather for the first time.

 

 

The 190’s are really proud of the stories they have to share. They like to reminisce they day you almost DIDN’T run your first 10k because you were scared. They like to tell the rest of us about the day you decided that building an army behind you was just as important as building a strong body. The best story they like share is when you decided to join Team in Training and begin training for a HALF MARATHON. Yhea, they didn’t see that one coming either. Way to pull the carpet out from under them (by the way they are very thankful for the opportunity to be a part of this journey during the summer months!)

The 180’s think this is your shining time. You spent a lot of time looking in the mirror. You were really getting used to the body you were living in. It was 90 pounds smaller. NINETY POUNDS!! It wasn’t always easy to look at the the person looking back at you. You were still fighting your demons (and still do today) but even your 270 pound mentality couldn’t deny that you were happier and healthier than you’ve ever been not only in your adult life but in your ENTIRE LIFE. This is the time you began to call yourself an athlete and knew it to be a true label.

The 170’s has a lot of bragging rights. They should. This is where you spent the most time. You spent a couple of months here. But you didn’t just sit around and wait for 170 to come knocking on your door. You went after it like a wild fire. You have the Triathlon medal to prove it. You also realized to reach that goal you not only had to drop the physical weight, you had to drop the emotional weight. You realized there was fear in making goal weight and when you began to listen to your heart, you realized that it was time to take that physically fit body back to church. For a little over two months you pushed forward. Slowly watching the numbers on the scale move downward. The day you started this journey you were medically labeled Morbidly Obese. Finally in the middle of November you stepped on the scale and became medically labeled as Normal.

Yep, that’s you. Yep, that’s a half marathon. Yep, you did it 103 pounds lighter. You’ve continued to work harder than you ever give yourself credit for. Over the last year, you’ve ended some relationships, started some awe inspiring relationships. You made a birthday wish come true and set up some serious goals for the next coming year. The one important thing you learned while living through these stories is that life isn’t going to change unless you change. You didn’t want to be depressed or reliant on medication to get you through the day. You didn’t want to sit around wondering what it would be like to be an athlete, you went out and made yourself more of an athlete than you ever dreamed. Even on days you feel like giving in and giving up you realize there is perfection in your imperfections.

You’re probably wondering who I am.

I mean I’ve written you this long letter and I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m the one you NEVER thought you’d see. I’m the one that’s writing the new stories from here on out. The stories that are not only going to continue to change your life but the lives of those that you touch. I’m the one that has been waiting patiently. I’m the one that has been cheering for you for the last 14 months waiting so that I can wrap my arms around you and tell you that you are loved. You are strong. You are beautiful.

I’m the one here to tell you…

YOU ARE NEVER GOING BACK!

My name?

My name is 160.

It’s nice to meet you.

 

 

 

 

 


 

 





It’s not a bed of roses but the flowers are still pretty…

31 01 2011

I am on vacation.

While this usually brings visions of lying around in the sun (which I did for a few hours) or spending endless hours shopping (I did a little) or running around trying to see all the sights that (insert city here) has to offer, it usually means one thing for me:

Being out of my comfort zone.

Add to that the reason I am on vacation (husband is having surgery) and it could be a recipe for disaster. However, I’m happy to report that the over all feel of this vacation has been one of success. Yes, I’m eating out multiple times a day. No I haven’t made the best decisions each time I’ve eaten. I indulged one night in celebratory food consumption with my husband = good. I also binged one night and ended up laying in bed with a stomach ache = bad. I stocked my hotel fridge with veggies and greek yogurt = good. I opted to eat out more often than not when I could have easily made a healthier option at the hotel = not so good.

I have run multiple times this week = good. I went to the gym (and will return tmw morning) = good. I got the nerve up to go down to the pool in my swim suit and NOT wear a towel = good. I convinced myself my new size 1o pants would no longer fit after eating beyond my comfort and then following it with a dairy queen blizzard (stinking thinking) = bad (the pants fit just fine).

The longer I am away from home, the more stressed out I am becoming. The vacation is over in two days and I will return to my normal sense of control = good. I miss my dogs. I miss my cats. I miss my home. I miss Godfather, my gym and packing my food.

But this isn’t about what I don’t like about my vacation. This is about what I do like. I liked that this has been the best vacation when it comes to my state of well being. Yes, I’ve looked in the mirror and been mad at myself for some of my choices but I’m not anywhere near where I was when I went to Ohio last June. Yes, I thought about making myself throw up while laying on the bed holding my aching tummy after eating beyond what I’m used too, but I didn’t. I let myself sit with feeling uncomfortable and let the voices play through their tapes (“you did it again”, “you’ll never get it right”, “throwing up will make everything better”, “you can eat more food if you throw up”, “you’re stupid for thinking you’re ever going be successful”) and when they were done screaming in my head, I moved on to the best of my ability. I liked being able to get up on a beautiful Sunday morning and run a 1ok virtually with my friend Kelly (startingmy45thyear). I liked being able able to go to the gym (less than two blocks from hotel) and sweat it out on the stair machine and then text Godfather that I did his sprint training and like it even more that I know I’ll return to the gym tomorrow to  sweat it out again and probably get in one last run before I get on the plane Wednesday. I liked putting on my bathing suit and sitting by the pool without covering up with a towel and while I didn’t like the look of my extra skin on my thighs, I didn’t care because my 165 pound body deserves to be in a bathing suit: loose skin and all.

Is this the best vacation of my life?

No, but it’s the best one since being on this LCJ and that’s saying something. I still have two more days here in Arizona. Two more days of learning to ride without my training wheels. Two more days of wobbly steering and feeling like I might “dump my bike”. Two more days of moving forward because backwards is no longer an option for me.

And if I “dump my bike”…

You better believe I’m getting right back on that mother fucker!





My Tribe / #7daychip / Great Stair Climb 2011

17 01 2011

"The Warriors" (one of my favorite childhood movies)

My friend Ryan (nomorebacon) wrote a really great blog post last week about the Power of the Tribe. He was referring to the power of coming together and helping a fellow blogger (journeybeyondsurvival) get a  therapy dog for her chickadee. It was awesome to watch everyone come together and in the blink of an eye raise the multiple thousands of dollars needed to get her the four legger she needs to lead a great life.

I am part of that tribe.

That tribe is a part of me.

I’ve been in a bad place the last couple of days. Normally I could chalk it up to it being “that time of the month” but this time it was purely depression sinking in. Big events are looming in front of me and my husband and with that comes more stress than I was am ready to handle (though handle it I will). On top of that a feeling of being stagnant in my journey and it was a combination that brought some dark clouds over me and my emotional state of not well-being.

I don’t really know how to reach out to people. When I am on top of my game, (the game of the  LCJ) I feel confident people want to talk to me, be around me and it’s easier for me to put myself out there to be vulnerable to what others bring to the table. When I am far from being on top of my game I shut down. I begin to think  people don’t want to be around me. That they don’t care what I feel or think. That I don’t deserve to be a part of my tribe.

That’s where I’ve been this week.

This post isn’t about where I was.

It’s about where I am.

It’s about my Tribe.

When I started to descend into the darkness of feeling bad about myself I immediately received texts  and twitter messages from people I know in real life and people I’ve never laid eyes on and only know them in 140 character conversations. All checking in with me to make sure I was okay. I wasn’t. But I was honest about where I was. They didn’t turn their back on me. They didn’t ignore me, or make me feel like I was being a bother. In fact, they sent me messages like:

“You are NEVER alone”

“I love ya T, stay strong”

“What is today (scale of 1-10 on my depression)?”

“Sending you love, compassion, hugs”

“Blues are okay, just don’t derail your progress. Talk it out, don’t eat it out. We emo eaters must be careful.”

“Sunshine and stars are ALWAYS there. Sometimes we can’t see them behind the clouds and darkness”

“I wish my depression could meet your depression and kick one another’s asses!”

I’m realizing I need this tribe more than they need me and I’m beginning to understand that I can no longer down play the power of having people in my life that lift me up when I am not able to do so for myself. That being said, I’ve also come to understand that while I can work out on my own and break my own sweat there is one other tribe member that I’ve been missing and have decided to go back to seeing Godfather. I don’t need him to tell me how to work out (I’m pretty good at it on my own) but I do need him to give me the all important (important to my emotional psyche) pat on the back and the “good job kid’ that I’ve been missing like you wouldn’t believe. I haven’t really kept the blogging world up on his where abouts lately because I was still getting used to not seeing him every day. He has since moved to Innovative Fitness. I’ve come to understand that he is as much a part of my tribe as anybody else and it’s important to me to keep having him as my trainer.

My tribe is important to me.

My tribe is essential to my success on this journey.

I am essential to my success on this journey.

I am fighting back.

On a scale of 1 – 10 today.

I am a solid 5.5

And that is outstanding!

______________________________________________________________________________

Another thing I’m learning about this LCJ is when I don’t have a goal of some sort, my oomph for being on this journey is pretty much suck ass. This last week was proof of that. I went from doing something nice for myself (getting my toes did) to trying to buy something nice for myself (shopping fiasco) to eating all the crap in my house to purging to saying some very hateful things to myself and finally sitting under one of the darkest clouds I can remember having. One of the reasons for this downfall? I’m not really involved with anything at this point. This is one of the reasons I’m going back to seeing Godfather. Seeing him on a regular basis will keep me focused on making great decisions. It’s also one of the reasons I’ve decided to join the #7daychip challenge put on Brad Gansberg. As a recovering addict, I am well aware of the recovery chip idea and I think it’s a fantastic tribe for me to join. I have a dysfunctional (unhealthy) relationship with food and with my own thought process and I think this will be a great way for me to be aware of both while attempting to earn my #7daychip and beyond.

The great thing is I get to define what standards need to be met in order to earn this chip. After much thought I’ve decided on the following:

*I will not eat mindlessly (no random snacking without first making sure I’m hungry)

*I will drink at least 64 oz of water each day

*I will take my vitamins

*If I think something negative about myself I will say at least three things I like about myself in front of the mirror.

*I will eat consciously ( I will thank my food for keeping me strong and making me healthy)

*I will not eat any chocolate

___________________________________________________________________________

In case you missed it I started my Great Stair Climb of 2011 at the beginning of January. I am on a mission to climb 13,428 floors (the equivalent of climbing the Empire State Building 132 times). As of today I’ve climbed 16,125 stairs or the equivalent of 1075 floors. This means I’ve climbed the Empire State Building approximately 8.7 times.

I am 8% of the way there!

Climb

Climb

Climb

 

 

 

 





The toughest opponent out there…

19 11 2010

Confession time:

I’m kind of being a big baby today.

A combination of events over the past week have left me feeling angsty, emotional and just plain in a “fuck off” kind of mood. Not just bad events either. Momentous events that should leave one feeling like a bad ass and on top of the world left me feeling confused and unsure of myself. So I’m here to just put the words down on paper (albeit virtual paper) and see where I end up.

On Wednesday I went shopping with Valerie (Seattlerunnergirl) and Jessi (jmlitteer). I want to tell you that it was wonderful and magical and that it was everything that I had hoped for but to tell you the truth it was much harder than I was anticipating. It was more emotional than I was prepared for. Now don’t think for one second I didn’t have a great time because I did. Remember for me this journey isn’t just about weight loss. It’s about discovering that I can function in my environment socially and be okay. It’s about trusting that people want to hang out with me because they like me, care about me and actually find me fun to be around.

It’s about tearing down walls and letting people in.

It’s about living life.

It’s about life.

So that part of the shopping was awesome. The idea of letting myself try on nice clothes and fitting almost everything I took off the racks was the hard part. I went into stores like The Gap, H & M and Victoria Secrets and felt like I didn’t deserve to be there. EFT (Emotionally fat Tara) was tapping me on my shoulder and saying “ummm, you know only the pretty people come in here right?” I tried to shut her out and even bought some things that I really liked but truth be told it was much harder than I was prepared for. So much so that as soon as my date with Val and Jess was over I went to Value Village (one step up from Goodwill) and shopped for some clothes just to make myself calm down (because I deserve to shop second hand stores).

This is going to be a long journey.

The last couple of days have been emotionally trying on me (okay seriously when is my life not emotionally trying right?!?). Many of the important people in my life are calling on me to give them emotional support and I feel like I just don’t have it in me right now. Friends and Family alike are leaning on me these days and while I want to be there for every single one of them I just don’t know how to say “but what about me??” My mother’s death, her birthday, the upcoming holidays, the idea of intuitive eating, meeting goal weight, not knowing what do next, missing Godfather, doing a my first half marathon in a week, and just plain old trying to live in this body that I call home now has left me feeling like I want to go to bed, pull the covers over my head and be non existent until at least January 2011.

I didn’t want to go to the gym today because I was feeling really let down after Godfather had to cancel on me. I was angry. I didn’t want to face him or anyone else for that matter. I let the alarm go off at 3:30a and reset it for 5:30a. When that went off I seriously thought about just calling in sick for the whole day and throwing a temper tantrum like a three year old.

I went. I was mad. I felt sorry for myself. I wasn’t there but 10 minutes before the universe gave me a message I needed. Someone walked by me and on the back of their shirt was the following:

It’s You vs. You

Isn’t that the damn truth.

We are our toughest opponents. We battle our emotions on a daily basis. We deal with the let downs and with the miracles of this journey. We’re there for others and forget to be there for ourselves. We put too much into what we want from those around us and forget that we can give ourselves exactly the same thing. We tell our friends and family that they deserve to be as happy as possible and that every goal is achievable but when it comes to believing it ourselves it just doesn’t happen. I want to live free of the “vs. you” part of this journey. I don’t want to be my worst enemy any longer. I don’t want be continually looking over the proverbial shoulder wondering what negative thought is going to creep up behind me and keep me from moving forward. I just want to live this life the way it was meant to be lived: happily.

Seeing the “you vs. you” today really hit home for me. I was able to have a long talk with Godfather about my feelings and got to tell him that I’m feeling like I need someone to come through for me because I’m feeling a little left out right now. He got it and that was all I needed. I went back to my work out and pretty much killed it. I’m not saying that I feel better…in fact I’m pretty much just as craptastic now as when I started my day but in this You Vs. You game there can only be one winner.

I’ll let you guess whose taking home the trophy.

 

 

 





Good change can be overwhelming

6 10 2010

I wrote a post last week about “Confessions” and saying goodbye to Fat Tara forever. One of the comments I got really struck a chord with me. So much so I’ve been thinking about it almost everyday:

“Goodbye fat Tara. I’m not sorry we never met. Thank you for sacrificing yourself in the name of skinny, strong HAWT Tara. You’d be amazed and really proud of everything she’s accomplished. *whispering* You and her will both be amazed by the places she’s going, but let’s keep that as our secret because even good change can be overwhelming.” (Left by my beautiful friend Jord – who btw just did her first Half Marathon!!!)

Good change can be overwhelming…

My journey to losing 100 pounds is coming to a close and all this good change is a little (okay a lot) overwhelming. I wouldn’t be lying if I were to admit more often than not that there are days I wish I was living my old lifestyle of sitting around and not thinking about anything except what’s on the t.v., what raid am I going to do on World of Warcraft and staring at the treadmill that sat folded up in the corner of my living room taking on the secondary role of clothes hanger.

Yes some days I miss it. Some days I mentally want it back. But you can’t pay me enough money to ever go physically back. There is only forward. But in that forward movement there is change and change is scary. There’s been a few major changes that I haven’t really talked about because well…

I’m scared.

One of those changes is that my training sessions with Godfather have officially come to an end and I didn’t buy anymore. If you’ve been following me (you have right?!) then you know this is a pretty big deal. For the last week I’ve had a mixed bag of emotions over the decision to give up my coveted Tuesday/Thursday 6a spot that I’ve held now for close to four months. I’ve cried (not surprisingly). I got angry (and took it out on Godfather), I thought about bingeing (and didn’t), and I sat in fear that all of a sudden I was going to look in the mirror and staring back at me would be the 263 pound girl I started this journey with back in December.

All unfounded emotions.

But emotions none-the-less.

During an especially emotional day this week, where I felt way out of control several people (all separate conversation unbeknownst to one another) said “Tara, are you afraid to take off your training wheels?” and it hit me: Yes I am. I am afraid to take off my training wheels and ride that big girl bike alone. I am afraid to be accountable to only one person from this day forward: ME. There was something comforting about knowing I was going to get up every Tuesday/Thursday morning and lay my emotional self out for Godfather to coddle (while telling me to move faster). There was something safe about knowing for a few hours every week at the crack ass of dawn someone was focused on me and what I was doing on this journey.

My relationship with Godfather has changed from being my trainer to being my role model, my mentor and more importantly my friend. While I have a lot of peers I feel are important role models to me there are very few people in which I look up too. It’s important to have people who we strive to be more like in our actions and to be honest the track record of people that should have filled those shoes is almost non-existent for me. Godfather is pretty important to me and because I’m not used to having someone to look up to there is quite a bit of fear as our relationship goes from being inside the gym to outside into the real world.

This is definitely a good change. Overwhelming yes, but a change that is necessary. I know the women that are taking over my spot and today I told one of them they were going to do great things over the course of the next couple of months. I’m really excited for them. Godfather changed my life. He’s going to change theirs too. Want to know what I’ll be doing?

I’ll be out scraping my knees

dusting myself off

as I learn to ride without my training wheels.