A Heavy Half

Confession: I’m the heaviest I’ve been since I joined Weight Watchers in 2004, not counting when I was pregnant with each kiddo. I lost the baby weight pretty easily with both of them, even got below pre-baby weight with Ben, but I couldn’t sustain the loss (which was still 10-15 above my “goal” but was OK for me). After Rachel died, I stopped working out for far too long and gained probably 8-10, and then since the fall of 2016 (stressssssss), I’ve put on another 8-10 … of which I’ve gained and lost and gained the same 7 now twice. All of which puts me squarely back at my pre-WW weight, a number I never wanted to see again … yet here I am.

This is not exactly something I’m proud of, and it should be something that terrifies me – a former disordered eater, calorie-restricter, and over-exerciser extraordinaire. How did you let yourself go?! I ask myself day after day. But allow me to let you in on a little secret: on the whole, I’m [oddly?] at peace with it.

I know, I know.  That’s crazy!, you’re thinking. She’s OK with being back at her pre-WW weight?! Who admits that?!

Sure, I would love to lose 25-30 pounds again to feel better about myself, to be leaner and lighter — it would surely help me run faster. But no matter what the damn scale says, I’m 38 now (not 24!) and a mom of two kids. And I’m about to run my first half marathon this weekend. Yup. I may be the heaviest I’ve been in recent memory, but I’ve got insane endurance right now, thanks to rigorous training the past year – and I am super-proud of that fact.

I’m proud of the commitment I made, along with my running buddies, to training for this half.

I’m proud of the 5 AM runs in snow, sleet, freezing rain and the long, solo 8-12 mile weekend runs I did as the sun came up.

I’m proud I never missed a long run.

I’m proud of surviving a long, miserable winter running on pitch-black sidewalks and crappy, pot-holed roads and endless circles around the track, or lengthy runs on the treadmill when it was sub-0 outside.

I’m proud of my black toenail and my left elbow that still hasn’t fully healed from a miserable fall this summer (#battlewounds).

Above all, I’m proud that I didn’t quit.

I know if I’d tried to lose weight – like, actually tried – the past year, I could have done it. I’ve done it before. But I’ve been far more focused on things like living, enjoying life, and dedicating myself to my goal of running a half.

So yes, I’ll be heavier than my ideal for myself when I cross the finish line on Sunday … but I’m going to cross, come hell or high water. And that’s something to be proud of.

 

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