I mock myself lovingly. It’s the relationship I’ve established. It’s a healthy abuse. I’m calling this process “becoming unfat” because at some point I really wasn’t fat; I just thought I was. I was told I was. I saw other people as skinny. I messed up my perspective. I mean, I can’t tell you how many pictures I’ve seen from childhood and my teenage years and thought, “man, if I could just be that fit again. It’s too bad I thought I was so fat when that picture was taken.”
Actually, I can tell you how many. All of them.
It’s been in my brain forever. I seriously cannot think of a time in my life when I didn’t think of myself as overweight. I never really thought well about my body or what I could do with it. I never enjoyed that feeling.
But I will. And that’s what this is all about.
I lost 1.4 pounds this week!
I’ve lost that much in a week before, but I used to see such a “small” loss as no good. People say stupid things that make no sense about small losses, like “it’s water weight.” These things stick to you and try to undermine all of your progress, and it’s simply not true. I lost 1.4 pounds this week. With 52 weeks in a year, if I keep up that kind of average, I could lose 72.8 pounds in a year…and I don’t have that much weight to lose, so that means I could get my body into the shape it needs to be within a year. I just need to stay focused. And that’s why I’m doing this. The small losses don’t need a label. It’s a loss, and that’s the goal.
Speaking of goals, I stuck to my goals this week, I’m proud to say:
- I counted according to the Weight Watchers points, even the crap, and there was plenty of that. With it having been a holiday week, I was exposed to a lot of shit food. I even ate some. And I counted it. I kept track. I wasn’t mindless. Being mindless is what ruins health. I’m proud of myself for being mindful, even about the crap.
- I went to yoga again on Monday. And I was even better at it. I’ve covered what yoga does for my mind before, but I must repeat that it makes a world of difference for my anxiety. It’s permission to slow the world down, just for an hour.
- I ran four times this week, exceeding my goal of three, for a total of 15 miles. I’m happy to be running again. It makes a difference to me. I’m running about a 9:30/mile pace. Not bad.
- As for asking for help, my wife was an amazing source of support. We always have each other’s backs.
In meeting goal #3, I have a story for you. I earned those miles this week. As I said in the previous entry, I hate running on the treadmill, but the weather was too damned hot a couple of times, and, with my wife’s encouragement, I ran on the treadmill…twice. Oh, the torture! I seriously hate running in place, and that’s essentially what running on a treadmill is. You are a hamster without the fun of the wheel. And if you fall, you don’t get to spin around and around, much to the delight of internet gif-makers everywhere…
…you just get shot out the end and into a wall. Kinda like when I used to run my German shepherd on the treadmill and she’d poop mid-run, firing off turds like so many bullets…
I digress. There’s a relevant story in here somewhere.
People make fun of runners enough as it is, and I take it all with a smile. I get it, we’re torturing ourselves to run nowhere. I’ve had things thrown at me, been given the middle finger several times, been cut off by cars, been splashed intentionally…all sorts of shit. But none of it is a big deal. It means that the person who did it just doesn’t get it. There was one time I ran past a local college and a group of young men in a pickup slowed down next to me to yell “WHAT ARE YOU RUNNING FROM?” for a few seconds before driving off. I thought that was funny. Some of it is funny. I’m not bad at laughing at myself.
For my fourth run this week, I amped myself to go out in a thunderstorm. I was sick of running on the treadmill, and I needed to get outside. It didn’t take too much to motivate me, actually. I love running in the rain. I’m naturally pink-faced and sweaty, so being sprinkled with water typically improves my run. During organized races, there are tables filled with cups of water. I can’t drink when I’m running. I just haven’t figured it out; it’s an area of stupid for me. But even if I could drink and run, I still wouldn’t. Because nothing feels better to me mid-run than dumping the entire cup of water on my head. So, a rainy run is no big deal to me. Sure, there are plenty of cars trying to splash me, but when they’re successful, it’s like the greatest goddamned cup of water being splashed on me, so…joke’s on you, asshole! I wanted to be splashed!
The run went well. I ran for nearly four miles, and it felt good. Near the end, I encountered a few more heckling cars. About three or four, I’m not sure. Nothing bad, just a few beeps from oncoming traffic. They were light, friendly “BEEP BEEP’s,” in fact. If it were a friend in these cars, I’d think they were saying hello. I concentrated on my running, especially since I was near the exhausting end, and moved on, forgetting about these passing hecklers. I rounded the corner to my street and slowed to a walk, ready to cool down. Then another car beeped. As it was my street, I figured it was a neighbor and waved. No big deal.
Finally, I returned to my house and waved at my wife through the window to let me in, as I had forgotten my key. When she opened the door, she looked at my chest and cringed.
“Your nipples are bleeding.”
I looked down in half-horror, half-laughter. I knew about the potential for nipple bleeding ever since watching the Akron marathon over a decade ago near my sister-in-law’s house. We saw blood streaking down from the runner’s nipples and chuckled. My sister-in-law even created a breakfast sandwich after that called “the bloody nipple sandwich.” I believe it was just a piece of toast with a round fried egg on top with just the tiniest squirt of ketchup in the center.
After that moment, I vowed to do what I could to avoid bloody nipples. I’ve felt nipple chafing before, which is the worst during the next shower after a run, but I had never pushed myself so far as to make the nipples bleed. Typically, I’d wear little band-aids over the poor things during long runs, but since I have been out of the game for so long, I simply forgot, and the weight of my shirt with the rain left my poor nips exposed to the perils of my motivation toward losing weight and getting in shape.
And that’s one of the many things it will take to get this body into shape: nipple band-aids. Oh well, could be worse.
Now that I’ve shared my story for the week, it’s time to state some goals. Just to keep things achievable, I’m going to stick with last week’s goals and push forward:
- Stick with keeping track of my food via the Weight Watchers algorithm or whatever they do that makes it work. It’s a point system, not calories. However it works, I’m going to stick to it.
- I’m going to go to yoga one more time this week.
- I’m going to run three times this week. Even if it has to be on the goddamned treadmill…I hate the treadmill.
- I’m going to ask for help when I need it, be it moral support or getting me to get back on track, should I derail.
As always, I am here if anyone else wants to ride this train. No judgment here, obviously. If you need to, you can reach out by commenting, emailing me at firstname.lastname@example.org, or visiting my Facebook page or Twitter.
I wish everyone the best in all of their goals, but most importantly, I wish everyone’s nipples the endurance required to meet those goals.
Have a great week, everybody. And seriously, take care of your nipples. You don’t appreciate them until you have to shower with them chafed.