I've been trying to figure out how to write and physically put out there for the world to see that I have gained back twenty pounds (20). Its heartbreaking, its tearing me up inside, its eating me up alive and its taken over my life...again. Twenty freaking pounds.
Maybe what I'm trying to figure out is where I lost all my heart, my drive, my determination and when did I become so defined by food?
It was very humbling for me to start this process nearly two years ago while Andrew and I went on our journey with weight watchers. We were doing it together. We were strong and diligent and worked together as a team. We had each others back. We knew each others strengths and weaknesses. It worked.
Then I got into running.
Don't misread. Running has changed my life. It has changed it for the good. It has changed me. You want to know what I did last night? I went out for a run with 36 women from all over Columbus. I probably have only met maybe 10 of them. Maybe. They all run different paces. Some of them run, some of them walk, some of them interval. But we are all moms and we all MOVE. Two years ago this night would have never happened. One year ago I'm not so sure it would have happened either. But running has brought me out of my shell. Given me a name, given me confidence, a purpose and a beginning of life. I was someone other than a mom, other than a wife.
I've been running all summer. I've been getting up at 4:30am three days a week to meet my friends and run five miles before the kids and husbands even "think" about getting out of bed. I have to do it this way because my oldest two kids don't like the childcare at the gym. Its OK, and I've been really good with it. In fact, we talked this week about moving it to 5am so that I can continue once school begins. All good news. Problem is, something isn't working. I've put on twenty lbs and I can't get it off. Every week it just keeps growing and growing. I'm about to hit they dreaded "2" again and the thought of that sends me screaming horrible nasty thoughts in my head. What the hell have I done to myself and what am I doing to my future. I can't do this again. I worked way too hard to get it off the first time.
Last winter, I trained for and completed the Cleveland Marathon. The single most huge accomplishment of my life. Yes, I do have kids and yes, I do love them, and I wouldn't change those experiences for anything but I worked for this...and I worked HARD.
About 2 months into my training the larger miles started coming up and I was getting more and more hungry. I wasn't reaching for the fruits and veggies. I was reaching for the pizza and subs. I didn't want salads. I wanted fried foods. I was OK with that because I "earned" those calories. Problem is, I didn't. Not really. But, I kept going. I had enough strength to continue working out daily, do my strength training, yoga, and Zumba. Then, I ripped my bicep muscle. Yes, you heard me. Split it. I busted it. I was broken. I was done with weights for 3 months--upper body. Not lower body. Do you think I continued with lower body too? No. I gave in. I couldn't do yoga because I couldn't use my arms for the poses. Then it was time for the marathon and by then I had put on 5 pounds. I could feel it in my clothes. I could feel it in my run and I could feel it deep down.
After the marathon I just took a week and ate. And I refused to run. I walked a little but I didn't want to run. I didn't want to run at all. It took me a good solid week before my mind could wrap around me wanting to get back out there. But I did and it felt amazing. Then I quit again for another week and then I got started on this running in the morning with some wonderful friends. I was able to get up because I wanted to get up. The problem was, my weight was also creeping up. I gave up and hoped on the scale. 12 lbs. I gained 12 lbs in a matter of two months. I got myself pulled together and started tracking foods again and lost three lbs before I left for my vacation in Georgia. But the time I came back, I was up 4 lbs. Now putting me 13 lbs out.
As soon as I got back from Georgia, summer/fall training began and it was time to start training for the Indy race. I'm easily running 20-25 miles a week. Some of them good, some of them bad. Some of them interval and some of them straight through. Most of them I enjoy. Some of them, I don't. Then I hurt my mouth and I wasn't able to eat for a few days and I also took a few days off running. I came back and its like I couldn't start. The runs were HARD. When did running five miles become HARD? I came home and stepped on the scale. 7.4 lbs in a week. 7.4 fucking pounds which has put me at a 20.4 gain in less than THREE MONTHS.
Hard. I don't want things to be hard. I want them to go back to being easy. I don't want five miles to be hard. I want to go back to relishing in the fact that my speed was increasing, that my endurance was there so I could work on other components of the run. My heart rate was level and I wasn't panting. I don't want to pant like a freaking dog. I'm not a dog. I'm a person. I'm a freaking again morbidly obese, marathon runner. What part of this works? None of it. I don't want this anymore but I don't know how to go about getting it back. I've started over so many times that I feel like I'm now more lost than I was 82 (now 62) lbs ago. I'm more sad now than I was then. I'm praying for grace and humility and the ability to find and love myself again. I'm broken.
So here I am. Starting Over.