I was upstairs helping Beth (almost 3) and Emily (almost 5) into the tub. I had already trekked downstairs twice. The first time was to retrieve Emily’s Bubby Bear. Then, as soon as I came back upstairs, Beth realized her Piggy was on the couch and I had to go down again. I was not inclined to make a third trip. Because I am THAT lazy.
“What for?” I yelled down the stairs.
“I want to show you something.”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. What was it this time? Another YouTube video of dancing hamsters? Cat puke under the dining room table? Moldy cheese in the refrigerator?
“Can’t you just tell me instead?” I called back.
“Just come down here.” He shouted.
I groaned and trudged down the stairs. “This better be good.” I muttered.
When I entered the kitchen, Ken was sitting at the computer. I growled internally. “You called me here for an Internet joke?” I thought. “Prepare to die.”
“Look.” He said. He pointed to the computer screen. My stomach turned.
There, on the computer, was an enormous photo of Fat Me. Fat Me was sitting in heap on the floor with Beth standing nearby. Fat Me was wearing a bright orange shirt that strained across the midsection and highlighted a large belly roll. The shirt’s buttons looked like they were ready to pop. Fat Me's jeans looked tight and uncomfortable. Her face was round and puffy. Her eyes were tired. Fat Me looked like a beached whale, without the beach, or the smooth glossy skin. The picture was taken last October, almost a full year ago. It was Beth’s second birthday. I frowned at the photo of Fat Me. “You called me down here for this?”
Ken smiled, like a proud toddler who just learned a new word. “You look so much better now.” He chirped.
I shot daggers at him and wondered if there really were a hundred a seventeen ways to kill a man in his sleep. I made a mental note to run a fact check on Wikipedia. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” I said.
Ken wasn’t deterred. “I just thought you would appreciate seeing how much your hard work is paying off.”
I stepped in closer and peered at the photo. Ken was right. I did look a lot better now. On Monday, I had worn that same orange shirt to work. Instead of straining around my midsection, it hung loosely from my shoulders.
Unfortunately, the jeans in the photo, which used to be my favorite, couldn’t be worn anymore. They didn’t fit. Unless I used a belt to hold them up.
It was almost a year ago that I had decided to make some changes. I remember waking up one morning and thinking, “I need to do something. Anything.”
I needed exercise. I knew that was what I needed. But it wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t have the time. Excuse number one. I couldn’t afford it. Excuse number two. I had tried it all before and failed. Excuse number three.
Yet, there had to be something I could do. I decided I would find a way to get exercise, provided it met with certain conditions.
Condition one. It had to work at a time to suit me. Monday Ken had soccer games and I had to watch the kids. Tuesday was Religious Ed for Eric (almost 8 now) and music for the girls. Wednesday was Eric’s soccer practice. Thursday was swim class. Add in homework, dinner, baths and bedtime and our schedule was already busy. Too busy for another after work activity. My only option would be to exercise in the mornings, before the kids woke up.
Condition two. No spending money. For years, I had been feeding my hard-earned dollars into a local gym and had nothing to show for it but a lighter wallet. And I didn’t plan to mortgage the house to buy another expensive piece of exercise equipment. We had just sold our latest “Ex-O-Rama” at a yard sale after discovering it buried under a cloud of dust in the basement. I didn’t need another $500 clothes hanger.
Condition three. Nothing complicated. Most of the programs I tried in the past were time consuming and required a great deal of thought and planning. You had to understand how this machine worked. You had to count steps or measure your pace. You had to watch a thirty minute instructional video before starting. I knew that wasn’t going to work for me. I could exercise. Or I could use my brain. I didn’t plan to do both at the same time.
That’s why I settled on running. It fit my schedule. It was cheap. And it didn’t require me to think.
And so it began. Week one, I walked for about a mile. Week two, I walked the same mile but ran one block just after starting out. Week three, I walked a little less and ran a little more. Day after day I walked less and ran more. It took two months for me to work my way up to running a complete mile. Eventually, I could run three miles without quitting.
I continued the running through the fall. I took a few months off in the dead of winter but started again in February. I ran my first 5K race in April (Doesn’t saying 5K make it sound so much longer?) In May, I upped my game and joined Boot Camp.
I wish I could say the weight melted away and was replaced by ripples of muscle. That didn't happen. My progress has been very slow, yet steady. I have fallen and faltered. I have struggled and stretched. And I still have miles to go before I sleep. But now a year has passed. And right there in front of me was proof that my hard work was bringing results.
Ken smiled wide. “I’m proud of you.”
I smiled back. “Thanks.”
P.S. Right, like I am going to post that nasty looking photo on my blog. No way.
Ten years ago, I would have taken it out back and burned it. But it’s the digital age and those nasty bits and bytes are forever emblazoned in our computer’s memory. Unless the computer is accidentally left behind the rear wheel of the minivan as I am backing out of the garage.
P.P.S. Thanks to everyone who have told me how great I am looking recently. Especially to Ken who has really been very supportive.
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