Exactly a year ago I ran my first half marathon. It was the first time I had run more than 10 miles in approximately 14 years. After high school, I eschewed running. The thought of doing fartleks and hill sprints and making sure I jogged (at the very minimum) at least five days a week made me sick. Competitive running had been a huge part of my life for six years and the moment I left home for college, I decided to wash my hands of the emotional toll that running had become.
In the last year, I ran a very small amount. I had started the year wanting to train to do a triathlon for the first time. But, “life got in the way” (don’t you love that excuse?). Being a full time student and working part time, I allowed myself to get lazy. I went to the gym once, maybe twice a month. I’d go on the occasional walk around the neighborhood. I’d use the free weights very occasionally while I watched TV. I found myself getting frustrated and depressed more often, at a rate that was much quicker than when I was exercising regularly.
My cat died on July 28th 2014 and I had sunk into a deep depression in the following weeks, finding it really difficult to claw my way out. September arrived and I was feeling completely alone and hating the direction my life found itself in. Being poor and having nothing to do, I scrambled to get to the gym about four or five times the entire month. But, that was it. That was the only exercise I managed to make myself do.
That brings me to this very moment, Day Zero, the day that I have decided that I cannot afford to be sullen, depressed, and as overweight as I am. At 5’3″, I am not allowed to be 180lbs. That’s right. I said it. I am barely 5’3″ and 180lbs. Disgusting, right?
I used my fat to hide from getting painfully unwelcome attention from men I have no interest in, only to find that other men I have no interest in give me even more painfully unwelcome attention. On top of that, I have noticed that “fat girls” seem to attract all sorts of unwelcome “I met you 28 seconds ago, let me tell you everything that is wrong with my life and ask you incessantly to tell me what’s wrong with your life, even when you say no” people, people I had never encountered when I was healthy and taking care of myself.
So, it’s time I take back my life. I will take pride in my physical and mental health. I will be mindful of what I put in my body and when. I will make myself move for an hour a day, even if I’ve been on my feet for eight hours already. I will take time to journal and make sense of why I feel the way I do. I will go back to the clinic run by a graduate school that offers therapy at a price I can actually pay. And, in May 2015, I will run another half marathon. I have eight months to train for it. And, I absolutely need to train for it. I don’t want to just get through the 13.1 miles. I want to feel light when I run. I don’t want to feel like I’m running with three tires around my waist.
I may never get back to my 117lb 26 year old self. Until I can afford actual health insurance, 117lbs is an unreasonable target. By the time the half marathon happens, I’d like to have the scale read 148lbs. And, that is taking into consideration the physical change I will be doing to my body: transferring all of this excess fat into muscle. And, we all know muscle is more dense than fat. So, the scale can read 148lbs. More importantly, I want my body to feel healthy. I want clothes to fit better. I want to be able to look in a mirror and not hate what I see. That simple.
Here is a little preface:
If you didn’t read my about page, I share with you that I was diagnosed with PCOS a few years ago. The entire span of my menstrual life has been challenging. The only time I have ever had any semblance of a healthy reproductive system was for approximately a year when I was 25. That is often when women find their cycle evening out. Also, I was taking great care of myself then, which played a huge role in my reproductive health. Even then, my cycle was anywhere between 34 and 40 days. Never less than 34 days and never more than 40 days. Fast forward seven years, my cycle ranges anywhere from 25 days to 80 days. You can imagine how frustrating it is. Now imagine having aggressive PMS for an entire month. That happens at least twice a year. My body will get itself ready to have a period, then a month later, it’ll happen. Then three weeks later, I will feel like someone has taken a steel bar to my back and walking becomes the hardest thing to do. All of you Cysters out there understand, I am sure. PCOS comes with a few unfavorable side effects: excessive weight gain that is hard to control, irregular periods and many are extremely painful, PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder; if you’ve never heard of it, look it up), and the occasional burst cyst. Sometimes, when those cysts rupture, the woman experiencing that does need to see a doctor, however, in many cases, the only thing we can do is ride out the pain. For me, it is rare for me to get a burst cyst. I know exactly what is happening and that there is really nothing that can be done. I’ve never experienced the sudden pain, fever, or vomiting. In all of my experiences, the pain has aways been intense, yet a constant annoyance for about two or three days. I feel nauseated, but never enough to actually cause vomiting. My body and mind are always exhausted and I have a difficult time walking, and whichever side the cyst is on, the corresponding leg is always more difficult to move. Bending over is usually not an option and sitting down/standing up takes more effort than usual. This is what I know. This is how my body is. And, I know that if I actually take care of myself, my body will repay me kindly.
Here it is. I am back on a healthy path. In six months, my 33rd birthday will be here. I want to enter my 34th year lighter, mentally and physically.
Lots of love and light to everyone reading this. May your days be filled with laughter and joy.