My feet are numb. My nose is running. Instead of thinking about running, I’m thinking about the number of steps I’m taking, how many breaths I’m taking and how many times I’ve almost poked my own eye out because of inadequate sports-bra support. The sharp blast of the whistle disrupts my counting, indicating it is time to walk. My neighbor nervously starts to ask me questions, and I try to answer in-between huffs of breath.
I guess I’m jumping too far ahead of myself.
About mid-August of 2006, I caught a glimpse of myself in a store front window. Yikes. I mean, I knew I was a fat girl, but DAMN. Who was that enormous girl in the window? Not me.
But, yes, it was in fact me. Sad but true.
So the next day, I stepped on the scale. Butt-ass naked, of course, so as to not skew the numbers. Because, you know, five pounds of clothing *really* adds up.
256 pounds. *Gasp!* I stepped off the scale, shocked, and stepped back up. 256 pounds, again. Ohmigosh. I stepped off the scale, took a moment to pee, then stepped back on. Still 256 pounds.
And get this, not only was I 256 pounds, but I was also a smoker. Double yikes.
Determined to lose weight, quit smoking and get on the road to better health, I scheduled an appointment with my doctor.
She said:
1. I need to lose weight. (Duh!)
2. I need to quit smoking. (Duh!)
3. I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or OCD. (Duh!)
Okay, so after creating a plan to address all three problems, she put me on a prescription to help with the quitting smoking which happens to also address OCD. Fantastic! Newly renewed in my search for health, I trotted off to celebrate Thanksgiving with my whole family.
My brother happened to be there. He is a runner. Although I can’t personally speak for why he runs, from the outside it seems like he runs for more than fun. Running is his life. My sister was also there. She is a recent convert to running, finishing her first marathon in August.
Listening to them talk about running struck a cord with me. I felt slightly inspired. Slightly being the key word.
Shortly thereafter, I received an email from a local running shop that I signed up for before Thanksgiving in a half-hearted attempt to get in shape. (I think it is worth noting that just signing up for the emails will only strengthen your typing fingers. It *probably* won’t cause you to lose any weight.) The shop was offering a Running 101 class, starting after the New Year. The class is 11 weeks long, all leading up to a 5k.
Okay, scary, but kind of intriguing. I mean, after all, plenty of people are runners. People I know and love. And they are perfectly healthy and sane. And running hasn’t *killed* them. I did make sure to consult my brother, my sister and my doctor. They all agreed that it was a good idea.
So, step one. I had to sign up. Check. I drove myself down to the shop, filled out the papers, gave the nice people some cash, and bought some running shoes and socks.
Step two. I had to attempt to lose weight. Check. My doctor outlawed just counting calories because the OCD might cause me to get on the fast track to Anorexia, so that was out. After investigating several programs, and consulting my doctor, I decided on Weight Watchers (WW). I drove myself down to the WW center, filled out the papers, gave the nice people some cash and stepped on the scale.
I’m proud to tell you, kind readers, I weighed 249.6 pounds. Okay, so it wasn’t 135 pounds, but it was less than 256 pounds, thank goodness.
Step three. Quit smoking. So I started taking the drugs, which eventually started to make me forget to smoke. Gasp! Forget to smoke? Wha? Then, I picked a quit day. January 2. Check. No ifs, ands, or butts. Seriously. I was tired of being stinky, being out of breath, wasting time smoking, being isolated from my friends and feeling sluggish all throughout the day. I marked it on my calendar in big bold letters, bought some patches and gum for extra support and refilled my prescription.
So this brings me to yesterday. The first day of running class. I spent the two weeks prior to the start date stressing over non-cotton running clothes. I scoured the racks at local workout stores. Apparently, no one wants fat girls to workout, because there are no workout clothes for plus-size gals like myself. Which seems like an oxymoron to me. Call me crazy.
I had to rationalize. Clothes are not the point. I had shoes. That was enough.
The first day of running class was also the first day of quitting smoking.
But, I think that worked out for the best. What a better way to relieve the crabbies of nicotine withdrawal than with a grueling workout.
So I went to class and ran. Seriously. *I* ran. And not just because there were free donuts down the street. I ran for health. And for fun. Truly. I had a ball. We ran a total of 6 minutes and walked for 30 minutes. But, it is a start. Normally, I get amped about working out and then burn out. This time, I feel as though I’m easing into it.
And, I’m working on my second day of being smoke-free. Sure, there are moments when I want to take a butcher knife and slaughter the man behind the counter at Subway, but I truly feel better.
I started this journal for accountability. I’ve tried to battle these demons before and it never stuck. Why? Because my accountability was non-existent. I hid, lurking in the shadows of weight, cigarettes, bad health, bad habits and OCD. Something struck me this time. If you really want to change your life, you must not only make it a permanent fixture of your life, but you must also go all out. You must stop eating dingdongs over the sink at 3am both figuratively and literally. It will only make your love handles a little more jiggly.
There it is people. Watch me change my life. Forever.
Today’s stats:
Number of smoke free days: 2
Weight at last weigh-in: 237.0
