Weighty issues

I’m getting a little nervous about my Team Beef photo shoot this weekend. I have run for Team Beef since spring 2010, and they sponsor many of the races I run. I’m seriously beyond flattered that I was one of only 4 team members selected to be highlighted by the magazine. After I read the copy of “my” story, had I not known it was about me I would have totally been inspired by it. I would have read the story and thought, wow, that could be about any mom who let her weight get out of control while taking care of back to back to back children. That could be any woman who just quit working out and quit focusing on her health. I would have seen myself in the story like I do in the stories I see on the Atkins site, People Magazine, and Nutri-system commercials. It’s like a series of events occurs over a decade or more and suddenly you have gone from size 6 to size 22, and you have a “Come to Jesus” moment and realize you have to do something. I can relate to that story…I guess that’s why this time around I AM the story. But I’m a little embarrassed by it.

When I got out of the Army i was pregnant and had quit smoking, I stopped all forms of exercise. On Friday I went to step aerobics for an hour, then to PT, then ran a couple miles. On Monday, I went to college classes and that was it. I didn’t run, not even to the fridge for another 11 years. So, from August 1998 – October 2009 I lived a sedentary life. I was busy raising kids, getting divorced & remarried, working at an office, starting my own business, cooking, cleaning, but spending a lot of time holding down a couch, eating comfort food. At first, i just never lost the 65+ pounds I gained during my first pregnancy, then I was pregnant again and gained back the minimal amount I’d lost. I delivered both of my first two children at about 217lbs. That’s a lot considering I’m only 5’2.

I somehow convinced myself that size 14, then 16, then 18, then 20 was just fine. It’s just a number, right? I’m still me. Well, the problem was that somewhere in there “ME” got a little lost. Two more babies, both pregnancies riddled with insulin dependence, zoloft, and depression led me to where? I don’t know. I tried to do everything to be the best mom in the world, but I wasn’t taking care of myself at all. I went to a 1 year postpartum check up and I weighed 215, had an A1C of 6.5 – this is considered the first number that indicates diabetes, and my cholesterol was 242. That’s when I started walking, that’s when I started taking control of my health, and that’s the moment I realized that I had to take care of me in order to take care of everyone else.

I shouldn’t be embarrassed to have lost 75 lbs, to have maintained the loss, or to continue working towards an even healthier me. I should be proud of this, and the fact that despite having started at morbid obesity I was able to dig my way out to a healthy (barely) weight, and pick up running along the way. I think the reason I hang my medals prominently in our dining room is to remind me of my accomplishments. All of these things should make me proud, but then the self-doubter creeps in and tells me that I should have never, ever gotten to that point. I’m still not where I completely want to be. I’m training for my 11 & 12th half marathons right now and the logical me says that had I stayed the course, had I not gained all that weight, I probably would have never really gotten serious about my health, but who knows.

So this coming Sunday, I am going to have my picture taken next to an elite marathoner, an ultra marathoner, and another team member who has an awesome story to tell as well (I don’t know who she is). I’m seriously worried i’m going to look fat.

I don’t know how to stop hating myself. I don’t know how to forgive myself.

Until then, I’ll just stay the course and keep running because it makes me feel good.

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