We run on

Five years ago, my brother ran his first Boston Marathon and I was certain he was a total lunatic.  Why would anyone want to run 26.2 miles?  Why would anyone want to train so hard they lose toenails, get up at 4AM to run in all kinds of weather, or haul his whole family to Boston (what's so great about Boston?) ??  The whole prospect seemed absurd.  His 2008 marathon was a wreck.  He cramped, Heartbreak Hill nearly killed his dreams of finishing, yet he did.  He wasn't in good shape when he crossed, but he finished.  Even if he never understands what that race meant to me, I can tell you now, The 2008 Boston Marathon helped change my life.  Four months after that, I started my own journey to run (and have complete 4 marathons since then).  He ran it again in 2010 (in 2:42), his wife ran it in 2011, and he was registered to run it a third time yesterday.  Matt is super fast, I mean freaky fast, and wouldn't have been anywhere near the finish line when the bombs went off, but my family would have been there.  For once, I'm actually glad he is so busy; it kept him safe and sound at home yesterday when so many others were not.

I was getting ready to teach a voice lesson when I got a text that read, "Explosions at Boston Marathon".  I thought it was random and that Eric must have typed something wrong.  It reminded me of 9/11 when my friend left a message on my answering machine that The WTC had collapsed; I thought it couldn't possibly be true.  Then I turned on the TV.   A flood of emotions came over me, not only as a human but as a marathoner.  Who would do this?  Why? What purpose could it serve? 

And then the other stuff hit me.  I'm a slow runner.  Had I been there, Eric would have been at the Finish Line as he has been for so many other races of mine, waiting to cheer for me and take my picture.  He will be at my future races, maybe one of the last spectators waiting for their less than speedy people.  My mind started racing.  How will this change my next race in DC?  It will, inevitably.  There is no way races simply go on as they have before, thinking nobody would harm us.  The prospect of toeing the next line was terrifying for a few minutes; my next race is spitting distance from NASA.  Will I ever cross another finish line and not wonder what could happen?  We need an emergency plan, a meetup spot should the worst occur, or simply one of our phones die.  We need to plan for the worst, even though it probably won't be needed.

As I talked through things with another student of mine who will be running MCM with his entire family this Fall, we came to the conclusion that we will train.  We will go on about the business of running because that's what we do.  What happened in Boston is vile and heartbreaking.  The stories I've read from runners I follow are scary, brave, inspiring and full of tenacity.  We runners, this community of people from EVERY walk of life, in EVERY shape and size, band together for causes.  We raise MILLIONS of dollars for various charity organizations, we stand united as runners because whether or not you've ever been to Boston, no matter the distance you run or the speed, you run and you are a runner. 

Eric will be joined on May 5th by my parents who are flying down from Ohio to watch their daughter attempt her first 70.3 distance Triathlon. She's the same daughter who, 5 years ago, didn't "get" the marathon thing.  She does now with all her heart and soul; she loves it and lives for it.

Regardless of such an act of terror, the people who support us as runners, will still be there smiling and cheering us on when cross the line, but yesterday will never be far from their minds.  It may never be far from any runner's mind who ever crosses another finish line.  We may always wonder, but will not let that fear keep us from doing what we love. 

We run on.  

Spring Fling Triathlon Race Report

This morning started at 4:30AM when I hauled my butt out of bed.  The puppy and feline are used to me getting up at unusual hours at least once a week, so we had breakfast together and they go back to bed. Having all my gear packed up last night meant eating, throwing on my clothes and racking up Blue. It's about a 40 minute drive to the Tri course, so I put the address in the iPad and off I went.  

I arrived at the park around 6:30, got registered, which was a mess, and headed to get my gear.  I aired up the tires, grabbed my bag and hit up transition.  One of my favorite parts of Triathlon racing is getting marked and getting the chip; somehow that makes it more awesome.  Not many people were there when I first went in, so I set up and did my thing.  I brought a garbage bag to lay out all my gear on.  All my bike stuff went in my helmet next to my cycling shoes, and my Fuelbelt went next to my running shoes.  I hung my towel over the bike seat for easy access out of the water.  I, of course, posted an update to the page, and headed to the water.

It was chilly for a swim, but nothing too crazy.  I got a kick out of people wearing their wetsuits for 70* water, but apparently it makes them feel awesome....who knows.  Athlete meeting was at 7:15 and the Olympic Tri men took off at 7:30 with the not more than 2 dozen OT women at 7:33AM.  I'll admit, the first jump into the cold water was enough to take my breath away, and it took me a couple hundred yards to stop swimming like a spaz.  This was my first open water swim since September, and it always takes me a bit to acclimate.  The course was two laps around the buoys and once I got my sighting down, I felt better.  Slow and steady I did it.  I took breaststroke rests when I needed to, and tried to stay on the feet of a slightly faster swimmer.  My total swim was 33:14 according to my chip.

Out of the water, down the sandy beach, for a 3:12 run over sand, forest brush and asphalt road barefoot into transition was my least favorite part of it all.  Into transition, dry off the sand, sit down and put on socks, headband, sunglasses, helmet, turn on gps, get some tunes going, throw on my shoes, and run to the road.  T-1 was 1:28, surprisingly!  

I mounted up and sprinted the first mile on the bike route.  It's a pretty boring course, two laps through neighborhoods in a fairly rural area.  It's a beautiful ride, though.  Immediately I felt my shoulders were tired from swimming, so I had to adjust my position a little to ease the pressure.  I'll be getting aero bars this week if it kills me because they'll make a huge difference.  Once I adjusted, I started to focus on spinning fast to get my pace going and my eating plan.  

Being that nutrition has been my epic failure in the past couple weeks, I changed it up big time today.  I invested in Honey Stinger Waffles (check them out here).  I ate my first one at mile 3, then ate two Clifbloks (check them out here) at mile 6.  Each food intake gets water, so I was on top of hydration.  I continued with 1/2 a waffle at mile 9 and 2 more bloks at 12.  This pattern continued through the race.  As I went on, I found myself going faster and faster, and my overall pacing was 15.6 MPH, which is my fastest pace split to date and very exciting considering there were smaller people behind me on the bike course.  Total ride time was 1:28:13 for 23 miles.  Into T-2, rack the bike, off with the helmet, shoes, and gloves, on with the Fuelbelt, Garmin and running shoes, out of transition for a total of 1:25.  

I decided to take the first mile of running slow, even though my legs were dying to go fast straight off the bike.  The run course is over hard packed sand roads and through a campsite, so my road legs weren't too thrilled with that.  This definitely slowed me down some.  I ate another 1/2 waffle after mile 1, then kept chugging along drinking at every mile.  Each mile got faster as the day got warmer.  I ate again at mile 3, then again at mile 5.  As I was running, I'd see people ahead of me who looked really bad, like they were really struggling.  I knew my nutrition plan was working when I was actually feeling stronger with every mile that passed.  Yes, I was running faster than I had planned to, and yes, I was hitting my open stride and loving the run.  At some point, I knew I wasn't going to finish last (although I would have been ok if I did) and started to get excited to finish.  My run total was 1:01:46, average pace of 11:42.  

My total finishing time was 3:10:52.  That's a time I'm super happy with.  There is nothing better than crossing a finish line knowing I did my best and feeling physically good.  I was the only Athena registered which meant I got a medal just by virtue of crossing the line, knowing fully I was the biggest female racing today.  Who cares?  A new medal now graces the rack.  

The biggest takeaway from this race experience today is this: set your mind to it and go do it.  I did this same race last Fall and barely survived it.  Today, I freaking owned it.  I know I'm gonna kill that 70.3 in 3 weeks because I gained so much confidence in my abilities as an athlete today. 


I wasn't last, but if I had been I'd have been ok with it because I didn't even know how to spell triathlon 5 years ago at 300#, and now I'm doing them for fun.  

Rocketman, The Heavyweight Runner is about make your her bitch.  Better get ready, dude.

Brady bands giveaway!

A few weeks ago, I received a message from Amy, the owner of bradybands.  She was wondering if I'd be willing to do a product review and giveaway.  Being that I NEVER turn down free stuff, I said yes!  I went to her site and picked out two bands I loved and waited for them in the mail.  I picked two different size bands because I wanted to be able to attest to each one and pick a favorite.  So, here it is.

You know how much I love bright colors and things that sparkle, so I went the rainbow and pink glitter bands.  Obviously, one is thin and the other is thick.  What's so awesome about these bands is one side is the pretty stuff and the other side is velvet!!  This point was particularly important to me because elastic hairbands/sport bands tend to slide off my hair because it's baby fine and slick.

These headbands (I only took pictures of this one) not only stay totally in place, but are so comfortable I forgot I had them on.  Most days when I wear elastic bands, I get headaches after a few  hours.  Not with these. 

As you can see, it's got soft elastic at the base of the band, so it's super comfy.  The only not I'll add is this: because they're not stretchy all the way around, I suggest putting them on before you do your hair or makeup, otherwise it's a hot mess.  I got makeup all over the other one and then flubbed my hair, so I learned my lesson the hard way.  Put the elastic part over your forehead to stretch it over your face and then pull it down and spin it around once it's on your neck.

I have to say, I was pretty skeptical about these, and now I'm a total believer.  I love them and I couldn't choose a favorite between the two I bought, except I wore the rainbow more because it matches everything!

 Not only are they cute, they're comfortable and VERY affordable.  Plus, Amy donates 10% of her sales to childhood cancer research in honor of her son, Brayden, who lost his battle with brain cancer in 2012.   I hope you'll go visit her website HERE and look through all the great choices!!!

Please follow these simple directions to enter the giveaway and a chance to win two Bradybands of your choice!!


1.  Like Brady Bands on Facebook here
2.  Leave a comment on her wall about why you'd like to win!
3.  Like The Heavyweight Runner here
4.  "Share" The Heavyweight Runner

No longer to be ignored

More than 50% of the US is considered obese. We are the fattest country on the planet.

I've had TWO conversations this week with apparel shop managers; one at a mom and pop shop and the other a major big box sports store. Both of them have issues. The mom and pop shop orders plus size active wear and nobody buys its, the big box store REFUSES to sell it, yet get requests for it daily.

The mom and pop shop needs to know how you they can market to the bigger peeps without offending them. While the big box store clearly does not hear or see the need to serve the plus size community.

There are THOUSANDS of obese or overweight people in this country TRYING TO CHANGE their lifestyles!!! Yet, those who try to help are ignored, and those who have the marketing and major buying power to help are ignoring need!

I've decided: I'm not ignoring you. I'm including you with everyone else who is living a healthy lifestyle. I refuse to penalize you for being plus size. I refuse to cater to you if you are tiny and perpetuate the stereotype that only little bitty skinny people are athletic or fit. EVERYONE should have access to active wear, no matter the size.

I don't have enough details ironed out to give you much info. I'll say this: what started out as a goal to sell a few cute tee shirts has turned into a mission to change the minds of those unwilling to help. If I have to design a line myself, I will (and I just might). I will not ignore you, no matter your size. I am here to help you. Period.

Thanks for taking a minute to read this. If you agree, please like and share this. Change doesn't happen overnight, but it does happen when enough people stand up for it. I'm taking the first stand. Who's coming with me?

To walk A mile in their shoes

There is a lot going on in my life right now.  In fact, so much is happening, most days I just hold on for dear life and ride the waves.  One of the biggest projects I've ever undertaken is launching a website.  Part of that is putting together some cute stuff to sell.  Who knew designing T-shirts would be so much work!  But, I found an awesome, creative, and extremely patient woman to work with me and create some custom designs just for my page.  Without Susan, I would have pulled my hair out by now.

As I uploaded the images tonight, an overwhelming sense of excitement hit me.  And then as the comments started coming in, another feeling hit me: nostalgia.  I had created all the cute shirts that fit "average" people.  Even after losing 100#, I'm still an XL in many shirts.  It dawned on me that I'd not searched for an acceptable alternative for my plus size crew of followers.

That wave of nostalgia hit me like bricks in the face.  I have vivid memories of wishing I was small enough to fit in the "regular" size shirts that were always so damn cute.  Memories of hating myself because I really wanted that shirt to fit.  Memories of hating the clothes makers for not being more considerate.  It dawned on me that for a moment, I'd forgotten where I'd come from.  

Yes, I'm an athlete now.  Yes, if you didn't know my story, you might not know I've lost a 12 year old off my body.  Yes, from time to time I forget how much it used to hurt to be fat, fluffy, chubby, pleasantly plump...all of the above.  And I know not everyone feels the same way I did about my body when I was 300#.  Some of you are far more confident and accepting of yourselves than I ever was, for that you're my heroes. 

I want everyone who follows this page to feel welcome and accepted; and I apologize for leaving you out.  As soon as I can I'm fixing my oversight.  Because unlink many people in the fitness world, I have walked a mile in your shoes.  I know what it's like to just want something that fits, and want to fit in with the rest of the world.  I know what it's like to feel left out by the rest of the world, too.  So for all of you who are walking your miles in plus size shoes, keep walking.  I'm making you a damn freaking cute shirt to help you stay on this  journey!

Fierce Forward for Life!

This weekend, I'm teaming up with an amazing woman who embodies everything I promote on The Heavyweight Runner!!  Ash runs a great website you can find here and she also makes beautiful "intention" bracelets you can buy here.

She is generously giving away one of her brand new "Less Sugar Bracelets".   It's a "petite bracelet hand made by me using only the finest African Trade Beads. Comes with a Fierce Forward logo Stainless Steel Charm that freely moves around the bracelet. This “candy bracelet” is to remind you to eat less sugar and be mindful of what you put in your body. Moderation is key!"

These bracelets are handmade, and because each bead is variegated, it's literally one of a kind!

Here's how to enter:
1. Like The Heavyweight Runner here
2. Like Fierce Forward here and write a note on her wall telling her why you'd love to win this bracelet!!
3. SHARE the giveaway post 

Character Building

6 Weeks?!  How can there only be 6 weeks until the 70.3 IM??  How is that possible??  This thought invokes terror into the heart of me.  I've run marathons.  They're nothing compared to this training.

For anyone wondering what I'm talking about, it's a 1/2 Ironman Triathlon.  It consists of 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, and 13.1 mile run, ergo 70.3 miles.  It seemed like a great idea.  The one I picked is an Inaugural race, the first ever, and the first public sporting event, privately organized to be partially inside the restricted gates of Kennedy Space Center where the shuttles launched and lived.  Plus, cool scenery around the wildlife refuge there.

Yesterday, I set out on what would be my longest bike ride EVER....50 miles.  50 miles?  Alone?  Yep.  Great tunes, beautiful weather, new trisuit, Beast mode on, at least it was like that for 36 miles.  I drank my water exactly as I was supposed to, ate my blocks on time, even had some oatmeal muffins along the way.  Then, I made the turn to come back home, and it hit me.  WIND...in the face...15 MPH, and gusts from every direction up to 30....for 14 miles on legs that still had to run.  OH NO.  I put my head down, laid out over my bars, and peddled home.  My hands hurt, my feet were numb from effort, my eyes were watering, I was a mess.  I thought, "overall, that was good, except the last hour". 

Transition.  Let the puppy out, have a snack, get the Garmin going, change shoes, get my hat, put on my sunblock, pee, out the door to run.

The first mile off the bike always feels like and alien has inhabited my body.  Miles 2,3,4 were brutal because the wind I had battled on the bike was stopping me in my tracks on the run, but my pace was still good.  I was actually feeling good (and LOVING the new suit), and then it happened.  I bonked.  My legs literally quit moving.  My hamstrings and calves had been shot to Hell on the ride, and were barely making it through the run against the wind.  I could feel them asking to cramp.  So I stopped.  I stretched.  I ate some extra electrolyte blocks and walked...and walked...and walked.  Have I ever mentioned I hate walking? 

Knowing there was no chance of making it 8 miles, I cut through and ended up with 7. 

I went into this knowing that not every workout will be perfect.  Some of them are downright awful. This was one of those days.

By the time I walked in my house again, I was ready to cramp out (which happened soon after), puke and die in my floor.  And I was ready to call it quits.  But, my coach says "Bricks build character".  So, with 6 weeks to go, I'll rest up, train harder than ever, eat for fuel, and keep building character.  Not everyday will be perfect, but I will certainly TRI no matter what. 

To 2,500 and Beyond!!!

It's finally time to open up the 2,500 and Beyong giveaway I've been promising you!!! 

There are some awesome goodies in this $75 value giveaway!!
*A 2-pocket iFitness belt
*A "Suck it up, Cupcake" Bondi Band
*A  New Balance Calorie counting pedometer
*A jar of original PB2 powdered peanut butter
*A sampling of my favorite teas
*A sleeve of NUUN electrolyte tablets in Lemon-lime flavor
*A "Fearless" Silver shoe charm

 Here's how you do it!

1. LIKE www.facebook.com/theheavyweightrunner
2. SHARE that same page with your friends or followers!
3. Leave a comment on this blog telling me why you'd like to win!! 

You can enter ONCE A DAY if you want!

Someone Else's Story

There is a song I love called "Someone Else's Story" from musical nobody has ever heard of except music theater geeks.  Anyway, the lyrics go, "Long ago, in someone else's lifetime, someone with my name who looked at lot like me.....In a way, it's someone else's story, I don't see myself taking part at all.  And if that girl I knew should ask my advice, I wouldn't hesistate, she needn't ask me twice.  Go now! I'd tell her that for free.  Trouble is the girl is me."

I decided it's time to sell my wedding dress.  It lives in my spare bedroom closet, and it stares at me every time I go in there.  It's gorgeous, and fluffy, sparkly and white.  It has beautiful beaded flowers on it, and it was and still is the dress of my dreams.  It was for the wedding of my dreams to the boy of my dreams, in my tiny country church where all my friends and family gathered for a beautiful Spring day in 2004.

As I was writing the listing, the website suggested a professional picture from the wedding day.  So, upstairs I went to dig out my albums.  It's been just over a month since the divorce was final, and I didn't think it would really bother me so much to look over the pictures (after all, we separated almost 3 years ago).  But, my goodness, so many emotions welled up in me. There were people I cherished, no longer with us, those whose days are numbered, and those who have simply fallen away.  Children who are now nearly grown, and family who are no longer part of my world.

Looking at those photos was like being with the Ghost of Christmas Past, looking into a different person's life, except all the people I loved were there.  The girl in the giant princess ballgown looked sort of like me, and she bears my name, but nothing else about her resembles me today.  Eric didn't know me then, and he has a hard time understanding how I was ever that unhappy, unmotivated and generally miserable, because I'm the complete opposite of that now.  It's hard for me to look her in the face and remember what pain I was really feeling under the surface.  It's impossible to reconcile the two creatures who have inhabited this mind, body and soul.  It's inexplicable. 

I wasn't always what I am today.  Change has been hard on me, harder than I ever imagined possible.  It has taken a tremendous toll on my heart, but has also grown it 10,000 times stronger, wiser, and more loving than I ever fathomed.  You cannot change the past; and wishing to do so does nothing but waste time in the present.  For me, going back and remembering where I've come from is painful and sad.  Looking at those albums of another life stabbed my soul a little bit.  I caught a glimpse tonight of "someone else's story", and I'm so glad I have the chance every single day to write a new story that belongs to a new life and better person. 

Dude, you really shouldn't do that...

Today I was late getting to the gym.  I was in a hurry, and in a very intense mood.  I had pedaled hard for 20:00 minutes, hopped off the bike and onto a treadmill, and pounded out 3 miles at tempo pace.  It was also shoulder/back day, and I knew with the long ride coming this weekend, I needed that workout.

I had noticed 2 guys lifting; one was in ok shape showing his very not in shape friend around the weight floor.  Then there's me.  I walk over, put on my lifting gloves, take off my long sleeve and immediately see the interest peak from the quasi in shape guy.  As I pull my iPad outta the backpack and go about grabbing the 50# barbell off the rack, then the 40# next to it, I see them stop to watch.  I wasn't doing anything amazing, just some anterior rows and posterior deltoid press ups in super sets.  I finish those sets, move through a couple more sets, and then realize the not so in shape guy head to the barbell tree.

He decided to try to lift my set.  So I stood there and watched.  I could see the hamster wheel in his brain saying, "If that kinda pudgy chick can lift this 50# bar, so can I...".  He quickly realized how wrong he was.  Watching him try not to throw out his back, coupled with the agonizing look on his face was like watching the thought bubbles of a real life cartoon strip in action.  His friend literally came over and said, "Dude, you really shouldn't do that.  Have you see her shoulders?  She's experienced."  At which point, I nearly died laughing as in one statement this guy's ego, hopes and dreams had been crushed because I had put him to shame.  What his friend failed to tell him was leave your ego at the border of the weight floor and lift light the very first day, lest you should hurt yourself or look like a meathead.

As I moved on to my dead lift sets, they decided it was time to attempt a conversation with me...3 separate times.  By the time I was done, they were lucky I hadn't thrown weights at them.  Don't you know?  Never interrupt me in the middle of a set!  EVER.  I don't wear headbands that say "SUCK IT UP" because I'm sweet and cuddly whilst lifting; I wear them because I'm hulking out over here...leave me alone.

At some point, the quasi in shape guy realized, Dude, you shouldn't bother her.  And then his ego was crushed because he clearly wasn't the kind of guy who is used to getting ignored.  Bottom line here?  The male ego is a fragile creature that apparently can be shattered by a chick lifting more than him and then ignoring his existence.  The gym really is no place for ego; it's a place for hard work, dedication, and accomplishment to shyly poke it's head out in the form of shoulders that are FINALLY starting to come in.  It's a place where I can claim my little corner and build up the muscles I have waited so long to meet.  It's where I can just be strong instead of being "strong for a girl", and I can have respect from the trainers and other gymrats for putting in the hours of sweat and commitment.

Do everyone a favor, leave your ego at the door.  While you're at it: leave all your pretenses at the door, including your self-consciousness, your shyness, your worry about not being good enough or your comparisons to someone else.  Leave it outside in the garbage and GO...BE AMAZING.  Dude, you really SHOULD do that.

With the end in mind

There is a little book out there called "The Seven Habits Of Highly Successful People".  I don't remember who wrote it, only that one of those habits is to "begin with the end in mind".  I think "the end" is always changing, but to be something great has always been part of my ultimate plan.  I used to think I'd be a great opera singer, then maybe a cover singer.  Now, I'm content with being a great teacher.  No, I don't have fancy degrees, or an extensive performance vitae, but I'm a great teacher (and so modest) because my students thrive as musicians.  They have happy souls, which in turn means I'm doing my job.

Look to what has become my second love and newest business venture, The Heavyweight Runner.  If asked 5 years would I be doing anything today other than teaching, I have called you bat shit crazy.  Yet, here I sit, putting together plans for a website, experts for content articles, product partnerships, and clothes with my website name on them.  I'm training for my first 1/2 Ironman Tri, getting ready to register for my 5th full marathon.  I'm a heavy weight lifter, swimmer, runner, and lover of cycling.  I'd rather ride my bike to the bank than drive, and I tell people who live less than 5 miles from the gym, they're lazy if they drove a car there.  I'm an advice giver, amateur life coach and public figure for natural weight loss.

While "the end" keeps changing into something new with every idea that pops out of my brain, I've always known being a business woman was in my blood.  Entrepreneurs are genetically designed to have many irons in many fires.  I finally have the will and desire to make this happen.  "The end" is in mind, and my, oh my, it's gonna be a fun ride with twists and turns, but it's gonna be so awesome!  Thanks for coming along!

What do you mean I have to go UP a size?

          Everyone who knows me, knows I've been working diligently for 4 years to change my life in all aspects, but especially in the weight loss/fitness/lifestyle arena.  And, for the most part, I've succeeded in doing so.  I started at 289#, a size 26, and am now at roughly 195#, a size 12.  I have tree trunks for thighs, shoulders like a rugby player, and a bum you could bounce a quarter off of.  Most of that, I attribute to running and cycling.  For about the past 6 months, I've been lifting weights and working on improving my upper body and core strength.  Very recently, I've started lifting heavy and trying to actually gain some muscle to support my new found addiction to triathlon and my decision to train for an Ironman 70.3.  Not to mention, with a fairly large and muscular lower body, I felt the need to even things out a bit.  This is where the trouble starts.

           Take a step back in time with me.  I remember fondly the first time I could fit into an XXL at Old Navy, and I also remember fondly the first time I fit into a Large at numerous stores.  Up until last night, I was still happily fitting into all things Large.  Then came the moment I realized life was about to change again.  I tried on the cutest dress, convinced it would be perfect for Christmas, only to realize it wouldn't come close to zipping past my waist.  Some might think that's about the bust, but it didn't even make it up on my shoulders.  Enter (insert melodramatic tri-tone music here), the next size up.  THE NEXT SIZE UP?! NOOOO!  But I've worked so hard!  Eric dutifully went and got me the XL.  As I put it on, it zipped happily over my shoulders and fit my upper body perfectly, only to realize it was HUGE around my hips.  Sigh.  Enter dress number two...I couldn't even pull it over my shoulders.  After the third non-fitting dress, I gave up on dresses.
          Then came the super cute fleece zip up.  It fit like a glove on the body, just the way I like it, but looked like my arms were crammed in it like sausages.  I bought the XL because I wanted something warm and cozy that would also be comfortable too.  And we can't forget the cute trouser jeans I found....in a 14.  They're slightly huge in the waist, but fit the quads and booty with no room to spare.  What's a girl to to?  I need pants, right?  Wear a belt.

            So, standing in Old Navy last night, I realized a grizzly truth.  I'm destined to wear one of two things: shirts that fit my arms and nothing else, or stretchy athletic gear that makes me looks like the jock I really am on the inside.  And as for pants, forget it.  My legs have always been big, but they're getting harder and bigger, not to mention the ghetto booty from all the squats.  I suppose asking for the best of both worlds just isn't going to happen, unless I hurry up and get my Personal trainer cert, then I can dress like a jock for work.  If I really want the muscular, athletic body I have worked so hard for, clothes shopping isn't gonna be as much fun as it used to be.  And, I may just have to be ok with the next size up.  I mean, there are worse things....I just can't think of any right this exact moment.

          

At least you didn't give up....

          As I'm sitting here on a Saturday night looking over all the new "friends" I've acquired on my Facebook page, it dawned on me that I've been remiss about writing a blog post recently.  So, here goes.  

       Yesterday, I did my usual Friday morning thing: up, eat, bike to gym, beast out, ride home, eat, work, sleep.  While at the gym, I did an extra long weight routine because I want some bulk before heading home for Christmas.  It's my deepest hope that if my shoulders are Hulk enough, the family members with whom I'm not so popular will leave me alone.... I digress.  Once finished, I hit the treadmill for 3 miles at a higher intensity than I'm used to.  Just as I was ready to start my cool down, one of my running/gym buddies hopped on the one next to me.  Mind you, she hadn't seen me for about month, because I took off time before the Marine Corps Marathon and after to get some rest.  This is a brief paraphrase of our conversation.  

        "Hey!  How's it going?  I haven't seen you in a few weeks, and I was starting to get worried!  How did Marine Corps go??"
        "UGH.  Marine Corps was a near disaster.  The weather was crappy.  You may have heard....there was this little HURRICANE that slightly affected conditions.  It was 50* and 20mph wind.  My legs were shot from sightseeing before the race because we knew the city was gonna shut down our last day there.  I ended up in the med tent with hypothermia and dehydration after nearly passing out in a Chipotle....it was awesome."
         "Wow, that really sucks.  I'm sorry to hear that, but at least you didn't give up!  You'll have a great story and you got to hug hot Marines!  What are you gonna do now? I can't imagine you'd want to to another anytime soon...."
         "ME?  Screw that, I'm doing ING Miami marathon January 27th!  Onward and upward.  What doesn't kill me makes me run faster, right?"
         "You're a better woman than I am.  I think I would've called it quits for a while after that.  But I think it's gonna make you even more determined to train harder and do better."
         "You're right, it has.  I'm more committed than I've ever been to clean living, eating, and training.  And I'm gonna train as hard as I can for the next four months to make it happen."

         As I sit here with arms and shoulders so sore from yesterday's lift that I can barely move them, this conversation is resonating in my mind.  There are so many times over the last 4 years that I could have and sometimes should have given up.  Through the first marathon at Disney being a actual disaster, to running races in the rain that ruined phones, to weathering the split from Michael, to the nervous breakdown last spring, to having to pawn my grandmother's diamonds to pay the electric bill this past summer, I should have stopped training and taken care of business.  The thing is, I am the business.  And so when I keep training and stay focused, what I'm really doing is taking care of business.  Right now, I'm enjoying more success than I've ever had in my life.  So, for all the times I could have given up, the Marine Corps Marathon is just one more time I can look back on and say, "Rebekah, at least you didn't give up."  And I'll say that to myself every time I look at that swagtastic, spinning, sparkly medal hanging proudly on my rack.  Then, I'll go get another one to hang next to it.

        

The heart of an athlete

The Olympics have always been a huge event in my house.  I grew up with brothers who were serious athletes; they played football, basketball, and did track and field.  Both of them ultimately went to college on full ride track scholarships, and so watching the Olympic track & field trials, and the games, was something we waited for every 4 years.  My mom loved the gymnasts, and I loved the swimmers.  We would sit and watch the opening ceremonies and comment on the parade of nations, searching for our favorite athletes to walk by.  And, of course, we'd watch every event in hopes that our person would be amazing enough to win the ultimate prize, an Olympic gold medal.  With the 2012 Olympics opening ceremonies a couple days away, I find myself reflecting on the last Olympic games four years ago, and how very different my life is waiting to watch these games versus the last ones. 

Quite honestly, 2008 seems like a lifetime ago, and looking back at the pictures, there was a different person living in my body, so it almost seems as if it was someone else's life.  I have a picture from that summer hanging on my fridge, and the girl who kind of looks like me was 295#.  I remember coming home from the family beach vacation that year and thinking how gross I looked in the pictures.

A few weeks after that vacation, the Beijing Olympics opened, and there was buzz about who would win the marathon, whether or not Michael Phelps would live up to the hype, and if the US gymnasts could hold their own against the Chinese.  Track and Field and swimming were always my favorite events, and so I watched every moment cheering like I was there.  I remember thinking how much I missed swimming (although never really competitive, I was on a swim team for 2 years as a teenager), and how it would be a great way to start getting some exercise.  I remember being heartbroken when Lolo Jones hit the 9th hurdle and lost the gold medal, and when Deena Kastor broke her foot and had to drop out of the marathon (which I still considered an insane person's endeavor).  And I was so elated when the US relay team beat those dumbass French swimmers by a wisp of time to snatch the gold medal from them.

Long story short, those Olympic games inspired me to change my life.  I started riding a bike and in September 2008, went to the Track Shack and bought my very first pair of running shoes, pushing 300# on the scale.  I started my journey with Weight Watchers and lost 100#, but gained so much more.  4 years after those Beijing Olympics that shocked awake the heart of an athlete, I'll be watching the London Games a full blown muscled bound, marathon running, cycling, swimming, weight lifting athlete.  I've come farther than I ever imagined possible, and I'm not even close to finished.  I'm finally becoming the person I was always meant to be both inside and out.  Being an athlete is a huge part of who I am now, and I wouldn't have it any other way, nor would I give it up for anything or anyone.  We come in all shapes and sizes, from all walks of life.  And while I'll never be an Olympian, I can sure as hell try my best every single day to keep the heart of this athlete beating.

To meet the family....

So tomorrow I'm getting on a plane, and taking someone home with me to meet the family.....for the first time in 13 years.  Have you any idea how fucking terrifying that prospect is??  The last time I took someone home, it didn't turn out so well.  Anyway, I'm excited and full of trepidation when it comes to pulling that trigger these days.  I love Eric, and he knows it, even if nobody ever says anything to that effect.  And after 2+ years, it's time he meet the really important people in my life.  He already knows my mom and the man who has become my dad, but it's time to meet (cue horror music) my Grandma.  You know, the feisty little old lady who lives on the farm.  The one who is everything a grandma should be, knowledgeable, a little saucy, full of stories, who loves me no matter how it's been since we talked, and who will always give me a huge hug and a smile when I walk through the door.  Granted, it's still hard for me to go home and not have my Paps sitting there to greet me, but she's enough for me.

Meeting Grandma Staker means a news broadcast across the family that Rebekah has moved on.  That she's brought home some tall, skinny, handsome, super smart, charming guy who is at least 1,000 times better than the last pitiful excuse for a man she brought home (that would be the margaritas typing).  I digress.  I told Eric that she's kind of like the Godfather of the family.  Once she meets you, she calls everyone else.  Including my aunt whose daughter (my 1st cousin) still hangs out with my ex and his ugly, fat girlfriend.  But if you manage to get Grandma Staker to like you, who cares what the rest of the family thinks, because her word is kind of final.  If she doesn't like you, you're fucked.  Bottom line. 

Then there's my other mother of sorts, Betty Jo, and the kids that I adore more than any other living beings on this earth.  While they're not my children, they're my babies, nonetheless, as I was there to hear their birthing calls, just like their mother was.  I watched them grow, and walk, and lose teeth, and turn into amazing, brilliant, beautiful young men and a lady.  What they think of Eric is extremely important to me.  They're the closest thing to children I may ever have, and so what they have to say carries tremendous weight with me.  They loved Michael, and he loved them.  And I don't wish for them to be disappointed again with all my being.  And so I've waited a long time to bring anyone back into their lives on my behalf.  I owe it to them to bring home a good person who won't disappoint us a family. 

So here I sit, in a slight bit of denial over the situation.  I"m getting on a plane tomorrow and taking someone home with me for the first time in over 2 years.  That's some scary stuff.  But in true Eric and Rebekah fashion, it'll probably much ado about nothing because obviously I'm amazing and he's amazing, otherwise, why would we be together?? It's just time to let the rest of world in on that little secret.  ;)

Go ahead, JUMP!

I find myself recently feeling like I have just started to realize and live up to my potential as a person.  Like I have spent my entire life doubting what I am capable of because I always had someone telling me I could do better instead of applauding what I had done.  For the longest time, my mom has said to me, "As long as you do the best you can, I'll support you".  All the while, she knew I was capable of so much more, but she, in her German stoicism, left it to me to realize.

The thing about someone like me is that I've always been the fuck up of the family.  My older brothers were athletes, and scholars, who went to college on full athletic scholarships, and I was fat, little musician sister nobody really expected anything from.  And I had a father who expected perfection, but never could manage to deliver anything close to it himself.  The point is, I did the best I could, not really knowing what my best actually was.  I just kind of wandered around, doing what I thought I was supposed to do by studying music, but not really ever doing well at it.  Even now, as much as I love to teach, I'm not interested in going back to school to learn more about music.  I'm a little over it and all the pretentious, ego-maniacal people who fill the positions of upper level voice teachers.  Quite frankly, I don't care what degree you have, if you're an asshole and treat me like a second class citizen because I don't have a fancy degree, you're not good enough to even waste my breath on, better yet consider you my colleague. But I digress.

Now that I have seen just a glimpse of what success could look like, it makes me sad to know how much time, energy, money, and hope I wasted just getting by.  I never really wanted to push myself to do better, even though I know I should have.  In the last several days since I let my skeletons out of the closet to play, a switch has flipped inside me that means there is really no turning back from this point on the timeline of my life.  It's not that I want perfection from myself, but I do know that I'm capable of impressing graduate school professors and doing perfect score worthy work.  I know that I can work myself to edge of actual insanity and survive it.  I know that it's time for me to finish the weight loss journey by asking my body and mind to do things it's never done before and pushing harder than ever.

Every time I go out my door for a workout, I expect more from myself than I gave yesterday.  I know I can run faster, I know I can get stronger, I know I can work harder, I know I can live a better life once I get this enormous pile of shit out of my yard.  More than anything, I deserve more from my life than I've ever given myself permission to ask for.  Now that I know what I want more than anything, there is nobody to stand in my way except me.  And I, as human being and kick your ass then make you pancakes woman, am learning day by day to let go of things.  To get angry about things and direct that anger to the correct place, to allow myself to cry because I'm so sad on the inside that some days it's all I can do to get out of bed and lace up my running shoes.  I have never been allowed to feel all these things for fear of what someone else would think, and therefore, never really gave myself a chance to live up to the potential the universe has blessed me with.

There is no more denying it, I'm tapping into that potential, and it's a scary thing, the unknown.  What I do know about the unknown is that, while I may never be a legendary singer or performer or an amazing teacher, I will be a star in my own right.  There is no nobler deed than helping another person reach their potential.  I have a team of people, including me, who are helping me reach mine so that I can go out into the world and eventually help other people reach theirs.  There is nothing more scary than standing on the edge of a cliff and picking the right moment to either jump off of it or walk away.  Ask yourself these questions: Are you really living the life you want, or are you settling for what you think you want?  Are you really living to up to your potential, or are you too scared to take the leap of faith?  Go ahead, jump!  It'll be the most amazing, terrifying, exhilarating thing you've ever done.  And when you land, you'll look back up at the cliff, and wonder why you didn't do that sooner!

Change and gravity

Once upon a time, there was a girl.  She fell in love with a boy, and that boy cheated on her for almost a year with another girl.  When he decided to leave the first girl, she begged him and pleaded him not to go.  He looked at her with sea blue eyes under long, think eyelashes and said, "The only things in life you can really count on are change and gravity".  Then he left her.  Almost 12 years later, that girl is this girl, and little did that stupid boy know the force of nature he was dealing with when he crushed her heart.

I talk about the universe swirling and how I can feel things coming before they get here.  I talk about having anxiety so deeply that I wake up each morning with knots in my stomach bad enough I can barely choke down half a bowl of cereal.  I talk about feeling things that are beyond myself and things that didn't happen to me in this life.  I have intuition beyond my own understanding.  I'm not psychic, but I do feel things other people can't.  I have dreams about people and they come true, I have feelings about things I can't explain, I sat at Cafe du Monde in New Orleans overcome with a sense of loss so profound all I could do was sit and cry.  I have past life experiences.  I sense things.

For that reason, people are drawn to me.  Sometimes it's in an attraction kind of way, which I'll admit, I'm mostly oblivious to, and sometimes it's just a "let me get to know this girl". People are intrigued by me, I guess, who knows.  It's not something I ask for, having gravity, but it's something I deal with.  It's part of what keeps me in my house a lot.  I read people very quickly, and I can get right down to the nuts and bolts of what makes them tick so fast that it scares people away sometimes.  I'm an intuitive, and people who are brave enough to actually get to know me either stay very superficial with me or understand that I know how they tick and are ok with that.  It's what makes finding friends, good friends so hard for me.  My personality is quirky, cute and funny, and a little snarky, but quirky.  

But back to change and gravity.  When I said a cosmic storm was coming, I knew that everything would change.  What I didn't realize was that my gravity would pull everyone around me into the storm.  The thing is, each person who stands in my storm path doesn't really know what's coming at them.  They don't realize that every decision I make while standing in the eye of my own storm affects them.  They don't realize that I'm bringing a storm to them.  Things happen around me and to me and to the people I love in a way that I cannot change or affect.  These things don't happen because I want them to, they happen because they must.  Like a gravitational pull that keeps our tiny little galaxy in order, when I change, the things and people around me must change or be left behind.   

Change is never, ever easy.  Nothing will be the same when the storm clears, but everything will be better.    The universe in all its glory has a way of cleaning house from time to time.  Nobody ever likes it; nobody ever wants it.  The thing about the universe is that it never really gives you what you want, it gives you what you need.  And sometimes learning to want what you need is the battle, not the other way around.  I don't cause events ,but I do watch them happen and help people explain why they're happening at the same time.  There are things happening around me and to me right now that are all connected, woven together like a basket, where one piece cannot stand alone without the other, but must also exist independently.  All I can do is lock hands with the ones I love and stand in the middle of the perfect storm.  Knowing we are each trying to stay upright on our own, but holding onto each other just in case one of us comes close to being swept away.  My gravity attracts change, and it's what keeps me on the ground.  I'm holding on tight because the storm just started, and you better believe I won't allow any of my loves to get pulled out of my gravity.

Silence and the road to recovery

As all of you know, I'm going through a really hard time in my life right now.  Among the ages old wounds I'm nursing, I'm also single for the very first time since I was 18 years old, and that's pretty freaking scary.  I'm also learning for the first time in my life how to listen to myself. 

I started seeing a counselor and she gave me some homework.  Listen.  Write it down.  Go out.  Meet new people.  All of these are hard for me.  I'm great at listening to other people and helping them with their problems; which is why I've gotten so good at NOT listening to myself.  Meeting new people is altogether awkward and scary because I'm quirky and odd, and I'm not really sure who I am anymore.  This whole former fatgirl thing is really a weird social experiment.  So, I try to think through some of things whilst running.

Sometimes when I run, my mind is so full of things that I can't articulate them into coherent thoughts, and therefore can't actually accomplish any worthwhile thinking.  But something amazing has happened the past two days: my mind is silent.  Yes, I think about my to do list, my bank account, who I'm teaching today, etc....  But the things that have been eating at me have been silenced a little.  Part of this recovery process is actually saying the words to another human being that I was too scared to say.  Once it's out of my mind, whether it be on paper or in conversation, it loses some of its power. 

It's come to my attention, through both my own reflection and the observations of others, that I have anger issues.  I go from 0 to 1,000 in the blink of an eye.  Not only am I under direction to write down all my volcanic eruptions, I know that I can channel that negative energy into something positive.  If I'm going to be single, and not spending every waking moment that I'm not working with a partner, I'm going to spend it at the gym, or on my bike, or rock climbing, or canoeing or whatever else I can get into.  I haven't taken group exercise classes since I was a teenager (except for spinning), and I figure that sounds kinda fun, too.  Although, I'll admit, I suck at dancing, so Zumba may not be a great plan..... I want to hit my goal weight this year, and finally be done losing weight.  I want to run my fastest marathon, and make new friends.  I want to find some peace and quiet for myself.  I've started to find a little silence on my road to recovery, and if I just so happen to run several hundred miles this year down that road, then so be it.  As long as I can be still enough to hear it, the sound of silence just might deafen me.

In Preparation for War

I've started many a blog post out like this, so here's another one.
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT FUNNY, SNARKY OR LIGHT.  THIS IS HEAVY, HEAVY SHIT ON AN INTENSELY PERSONAL TOPIC.

I never knew losing weight would lead to so much pain.

For me, being obese was a symptom of addiction, and hurts that were so deep I didn't even know they existed.  After losing 100#, I thought I'd already come through the storm.  I'm coming up on the two year anniversary of leaving my husband, I've lost all my friends, my family barely speaks to me, and I completely changed my life, including my career path.  One would think that might suffice on the pain scale.  Apparently, I was dead wrong.  All of those events and choices were just a warm up for what I'm about to go through.

Everyone who follows my blog, or knows me, knows that I've battled a food addiction, and am winning at the moment.  Although, it is always lurking in the shadows waiting for the opportune moment to swallow me back up.  Sometimes my God does things for me to help me along.  This time, he laid anxiety on me that literally has inhibited my ability to turn to food for comfort in my time of pain.  It's the ultimate irony, really.  The one thing that could make me feel better, my drug, makes me violently sick.  I know how junkies feel when they take a hit and it makes them puke.  I digress.

My decision to share this isn't a hard one for me.  I'm a private person, but when I have a public platform that should be addressed through my own experiences, I'll put it out there for the world. 

I've spent my entire life the child of not only an alcoholic, but a drug addict.  I don't remember much of my childhood, and for good reason.  For probably the first time in my life, I'm trying to own that I was abused in various ways by my father, who was likely too high or drunk to remember any of it.  My brain has locked up my memories to a certain age, and what I do have is memories of shame and humiliation and fear, always fear.  He's a pathological, habitual abuser, who didn't start with me and didn't stop with me.  But the monster that lives in my mind is rather quickly becoming more than I can bear.  It's changed me from the happy, healthy person I had become, to someone who is full of anger and resentment.  And for the time being, it has destroyed my ability to be with the one person who loves me and supports me, and has wrecked the little life I've built for myself here.

I have spent so many years in denial over his addiction, my addiction, and my role as an abused child.  Now that I'm old enough, God has seen fit to make me strong enough to say it out loud, to own it.

All the people I've lost and war I've already fought was just the spring preview game.  I thought when I mourned the loss of the fat girl i used to be, the friends I used have, the man I used to love, that I'd be done.  It turns out, confronting the monster that made me, and then mourning him while he's still living, letting go of my guilt and shame, will be like standing in the middle of a hurricane.  I'm going going to say it once, and then never again.  I'm a victim of just about every kind of abuse that exists.  But that monster is no match for me.  I'm may be just getting warmed up, but by God, I will rip your arms off and beat you with them, and then watch you bleed to death in the floor.  And when you're dead, I'll walk away, close the door, and burn the fucking house down around your body.  You don't own me anymore.

You gave up what? For What?

Yes, I gave up sugar for Lent. What's Lent? It's the 40 days before Easter that are meant to mimic the 40 days Jesus spent on his own being tempted by the Devil. Those of us depraved enough to practice it, are supposed to give up something special to us, something that makes us feel like we're being deprived. Some people give up drinking, soda, bedtime snacks (that's my mom's Lenten challenge this year).

I chose to give up added sugar as I have done for the last 3 years. Added sugar is the stuff that makes all the tastiest things in life tasty. Anything with "cake" in the title is something I could dive into face first and burrow through to the other side. Also, anything frozen with fudge, peanut butter, and ice cream.

What people don't realize is just how much sugar there is in just about EVERYTHING. Spaghetti sauce, for example, is loaded with added sugar. Bread, cereal, crackers, fancy Greek yogurt, soda of course, and a myriad of other lovely and delicious foods are jam packed full o sugar.

What this means to a sugar addict (yes, really), is that I take away all my temptations and don't even let them in the house for 40 days. Deeper than that, it makes me face my compulsive need to eat sugar head on. It means I have to actually deal with my shit rather than stuffing it down with a cookie or froyo. It also means that exercise becomes my sole companion for getting my aggression out.

The thing that people may not understand about a compulsive eater is that we do the same thing with food as an alcoholic or heroin addict does with their substance of choice. There is so such thing as just a "little heroin". There is clean or cracked out in a bathroom stall somewhere. I'm either off the sugar and living clean, sleeping better, not having mood swings, and thinking more clearly, or I'm eating everything I can get my hands on that contain sugar in copious amounts. Once I start eating the stuff, I'm nearly consumed with an overwhelming need to just keep eating it. Even as we were leaving the restaurant on Fat Tuesday (having eaten so much I felt sick) after just eating beignets, I actually suggested we stop for froyo on the way home. This was after Eric actually had to stop me from eating the powdered sugar off the plate with a spoon. I was almost sick when I got home from all the heavy food and grease that my body isn't accustomed to eating. I didn't sleep that night, and I felt literally hungover from food yesterday.

But still it remains, my craving for sugar. Today is the second day without the stuff. After tomorrow, it'll get better. My body will stop asking for it, and just walking near a bakery will nearly make me vomit by Sunday.

The problem with being a food addict is that my "crack" is everywhere. It's not like being a pill head or junkie who has to hide in an alley or be secretive about getting high. My drug is in almost everything you can imagine. Sugar is everywhere. It's the thing I fight with everyday. I have a dysfunctional relationship with food that very few people understand. And, for at least the next 38 days, I have to stay on the wagon and get one step closer to controlling the addiction. There you go. Now you know. I'm an addict. It's such a dirty word, isn't it?

Happy Lent.