Little Birdie

A few weeks after the new year, I decided something. I decided that I was fat and out of shape, and that just didn’t fit me at all. Now, it may come as a surprise to some people that I am in fact fat and out of shape. I know, it surprised me too.

Isn’t it funny that often we are the last people on earth to find out about ourselves what everyone else has known all along?

One problem I had was living in the past–remembering my high school days (now 15 YEARS ago!?!) when I played basketball, disillusioning myself that I’m still an athlete, and I can continue my love affair not only with tacos but also fatty cheeseburgers, potato chips and dip, and eating cookie dough straight from the tube.

Yeah, that cookie dough turned ME into cookie dough. I even LOOK like cookie dough: all pasty and wobbly, with blackheads all over my face.

So. I decided enough was enough. I would fashion myself back into the star athlete I once was (ha!) with a pair of expensive running shoes and a breathable shirt. What I did was give myself shin splints. Those mothers HURT.

Now it’s been almost 2 weeks since I’ve been able to walk without excruciating pain shooting up my legs, and I’ve put back the 5 pounds I managed to lose. How frustrating.

But you know what? I’m picking myself back up and dusting myself off. I’m going through The Courage To Start, which is an amazing book about running and life. Go buy it even if you aren’t a runner.

I no longer think it’s going to be easy. I refuse to get offended that life is HARD. It’s not easy for anybody. I used to get all huffy that I had to have a “weight problem.” After all, why shouldn’t I be able to binge on an entire box (make that 3 boxes) of girl scout cookies and not gain an ounce? Why shouldn’t I be able to go to Fatty McBurger’s every day and get the super size combo? It wasn’t FAIR.

Well, maybe I’m starting to mature a smidge, because now instead of complaining, I’m trying to accept in a philosophical, objective way, that my body does not need much food. It’s metabolism is slow. It tends to hoard energy and turn every morsel into long-term storage. That’s okay. Every female (and male for that matter) on my father’s side of the family has the same body type. My mom told me once that my aunt has always battled her weight, exercising like a fiend and barely eating anything, and still struggling to maintain. That shed some light for me.

So, in my new endeavor, I will not diet. I will not exercise in vain. I will exercise in fun. I will change my life so that it fits that of a runner. I will accept who I am so that I can challenge myself to be who I want to be.

Doesn’t that sound healthy and mature?

In reality, I’m writing this to convince myself. And I’ll keep writing it until I look back and find that it’s true. At last check, I weighed 244 pounds and stood 5′7″ tall. I’m 30 years old, and I feel twice my age. The author of The Courage To Start weighed about that much when he started, so that gives me hope.

One foot in front of the other. God, I hope this works.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 at 10:42 am and is filed under jog blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.