A year ago today I decided to take up running. I use the term “running” loosely here, meaning that I alternately walked 2 minutes and jogged 90 seconds. And during those 90 seconds? I honestly thought I was going to die. The fastest I got that first day was 4.7 miles per hour. Boy, was I proud of that! I was walking on a cloud when I finished that workout. I was so energized, and so overcome with a sense of accomplishment.
This was a major step for me. Having never (and I mean never!) been active in my entire life, I knew I was making pretty big goals. 5 months prior to this, I never would have even thought about running. Me? The fat girl? No way! And then I watched Trishie train for and complete a marathon. I had been loosely following her marathon training, but hadn’t really given it much thought (for myself). And then she posted her post-race recap. I was so in awe and so envious, and all I remember thinking was “I want to do that someday.”
I kept that little dream to myself, though, until one day I realized that it would stay locked away unless I told someone and did something about it. So I told my husband, Eric. In that soft, timid tone I get when I’m not sure how receptive someone is going to be to what I have to say. I had sat on this for a month or so, and all of the reasons why I couldn’t do it had already swam through my head. At the time I was 6 months pregnant, but even at my non-pregnant weight I was still over 200 pounds. I was out of shape. I was not athletic, and had never been. To my ever lasting surprise, he didn’t laugh. He didn’t question it. He said, “Wow, that’s awesome! What’s your plan?” He didn’t tell me I couldn’t do it. Didn’t hesitate for a moment, or act like he doubted me. He didn’t even ask me how serious I was about it. Just a simple response that proved without a doubt his faith in me. He’ll never know what that meant to me.
At 7 months pregnant, I started checking out running programs. I looked for races. I printed article after article. I began to actually think I might one day do it, while at the same time believing deep down that it was a pipe dream. But I pushed on and started mentioning it to other people in order to stay accountable. It became my focus.
For anyone who thinks that exercise is just too hard, let this be a lesson. On July 18, 2005, I began the Couch to 5K program. I was 5 weeks postpartum, and 75 pounds overweight. And this wasn’t baby weight. No, I only gained 3 pounds with my pregnancy (which I lost plus 12 more within 2 weeks of giving birth), so all of this weight was there before having a baby. This was too much food and too little exercise. Too little self control and willpower had worked away at my self esteem until I reached my high weight of 230 pounds.
That first day of climbing on the treadmill was intimidating. I had been walking throughout my pregnancy, but never once had I tried to run. I was feeling recovered from childbirth and amazingly healthy, so I figured I would give it a try. Reading my journal form that day gives me the same sense of excitement I felt then. I remember pounding out those 90 seconds and wondering why anyone would want to do this to themselves. I remember feeling like I was going to fall off the treadmill, and thought I was really daring when I went form 4.5mph to 4.7. And at the end you could have knocked me over with a feather. I had begun (and finished!) my first day of a running program!!!!
2 days later I did it again. And at the end of those 90 second intervals I still felt like I was going to die. Pretty soon I was ‘running’ 3 days a week. The Couch to 5K program is traditionally a 9 week program. Because of the shape I was in, I didn’t progress as quickly as they assumed I would. So I made it a 12 week program instead. By the end, I was regularly running 3 miles and my speed was rapidly increasing. I don’t remember when I stopped thinking I was going to die, but eventually I actually began to look forward to my runs.
It was amazing how fast I progressed. Just when I got over the high of a personal best, or meeting a major milestone, I was able to celebrate another one. Pretty soon I was seeing 5mph on the treadmill, and I was running for 10 minutes without taking a walking break, and then 20 minutes without, and then running 5.5 miles an hour. Running can be both gratifying and infuriating in that way. There’s always another goal, another time to beat, another speed to attempt. And just when I thought I had accomplished everything I wanted to accomplish, I was surprising myself all over again with what I could achieve.
In October we sold our house and moved into a small 2 bedroom apartment to wait for our current house to be built. There was very little room for 2 adults, 2 kids, and a dog. So I left behind my couch and took only a love seat. I put the entertainment center in storage and had a bookcase instead. Pots and pans, dishes and utensils were all pared down to the bare minimum………..but I made room for the treadmill. By that time, I had lost 25 pounds since having a baby (45 if you count what I lost before getting pregnant), and I was terrified of not having the treadmill with me to continue the trend towards health. It worked out, though, and in the 1.5 months that we lived in the apartment I increased my speed, strength, and endurance.
In November, I was diagnosed with asthma. Drama queen that I am, I immediately feared that this would be the end of my running, that I would never be able to raise my endurance levels with asthmatic lungs. I proved myself wrong, and with the help of an inhaler my lungs have held up beautifully to the constant conditioning.
Throughout the holidays and into the new year, I coasted along. I didn’t really try to challenge myself to meet new milestones, but I maintained my level of speed and endurance until February and the now infamous “toe incident”. Which is an obscure way of saying, I broke my toe. And once again Ms. Dramatic reared her ugly head and started shouting dire predictions ranging from never being able to run again, to putting back on the 70 pounds I had lost thus far. I of course knew how ridiculous that was, but after having spent the majority of my life overweight it was hard for me to imagine that this new body of mine was anything more than a passing phase. Fear of gaining has been a large motivator in my success.
Since my toe healed, I have done more than I ever thought possible. Where once I was ecstatic to run a 10 minute mile, I am now slowly whittling down my time to come in at around 8 minutes per mile. A year ago today I was overcome with joy for having reached a speed of 4.7 miles per hour, for 90 seconds. Now I regularly run over 7 miles per hour, usually for over an hour at a time. In April I was terrified of running a race, and overcame that fear by not only running in one in May, but also placing 3rd in the women’s division. For the first time, I can really see myself crossing the finish line at a marathon, and I am training for that moment 5 days a week. A month ago I shocked myself by running 18 miles all at once, without stopping. And 2 weeks later I did it again. There seems to be nothing I can’t do, and that alone pushes me to try harder.
Running isn’t always easy, or convenient. For the first 9 months of my youngest son’s life, running had to be perfectly timed between breastfeeding, naps, meals for my oldest, and play time. Now, it often calls for early morning runs and days starting at 5am just so I can get it done before the boys wake up. It’s not always fun, and sometimes it hurts. But it’s always gratifying, and never once have I regretted my decision to take it up as a hobby.
I can’t believe how far I’ve come in the last 52 weeks. Most telling of all has been the boost to my confidence. Aided by weight loss, my self esteem has sky-rocketed. I’m becoming the person I always wanted to be, and the sense of pride is often times overwhelming. I have completely changed my body, going from 230 pounds to 143. At my highest weight I was wearing size 20 clothing (though I should have been wearing a 22 in some cases). Now I am shrinking out of my 8’s. My body has become strong and lean, and every time I see pictures of myself I am shocked by the person I see. My body fat percentage has gone from somewhere around 50% to 18%, putting me in the ‘athlete’ category. Me, an athlete! I never would have thought it possible. Yet here I sit, a completely different woman than the one who started this journey a year ago. Proud, confident, thin, and strong. Being a runner isn’t something I do. It’s become part of who I am.
