Day 504: Finish Line... or Mile Marker

About three weeks ago, something happened. Finally, after nine months (almost to the day) and hundreds of hours of hard work and determination, that scale registered a number; a one-derful number.

My weight started with a "one" and I had lost 119 pounds!

This was an amazing event. I couldn't believe it. I was now within 28 pounds of my goal weight... closer than I'd ever dared dream! This was unbelievable!

And three weeks passed...

Now you would think, with such a success, I would be spurred on toward accomplishing the loss of those last twenty-eight pounds. You would think, with my first 70.3-mile half-Ironman race a mere five days away, I would use that momentum to tackle that challenge with confidence. You would think.

But something else happened entirely.

Those three weeks, I just - stopped. I don't know what exactly happened; I just stopped. Stopped dieting, stopped exercising, stopped caring about many things... just stopped.

My first half Ironman is only five days away, and I feel even more depressed. I haven't been doing the workouts according to my plan and I've even gained some weight back. The idea of a 56-mile bike ride frightens me, yet I still can't make myself ride for more than an hour in preparation. I have done a half marathon before, so I know I can at least finish that section, but I can barely bring myself to do even a one-mile run.

Other areas are suffering, too. Dishes and laundry aren't getting done as frequently as they should. Disorder is creeping back into the house and the yard. Grocery shopping seems to have fallen by the wayside, yielding to "picking up something" for dinner each night. And all the other aspects of life just seem so overwhelming.

While "trapped" in this morass of knowing what I should do and not doing it, I realized this happened to me during the past almost-ten months of serious dieting and exercise.

The first two months in the program, I trained incredibly hard and was extreme in following the prescribed diet. I completed my first-ever triathlon, the 18.27-mile Sandman, in Virginia Beach and came apart in the weeks following that victory. I struggled, but still managed to focus and adhere to the program to lose eighty-four pounds in the first thirteen weeks... then I switched classes and classmates.

Again, everything seemed to fall apart. I felt as if I was in limbo, not having lost enough weight to move ahead, but having gone too far to start over. Eventually, I took a month off to regroup and rejoined the program re-energized and re-focused. I worked hard and completed the next big goal: my first half marathon. With that major accomplishment, I still backslid for several weeks.

Then I hit one hundred pounds lost with Tidewater Bariatrics. A couple more pounds, and that scale registered a weight beginning with a "one." It was as if I had attained "normalcy" again; I was a real human being. With the exception of those couple months around my wedding, this was the lowest I'd weighed for most of my 20's - but looked even better! All my clothes fit again; every single piece... even the ones I'd never been able to wear before! I was euphoric.

That euphoria carried me through a couple weeks of eating "normally" and not so normally. Weeks where the scale did not move to the right or the left but stayed fixed on that amazing "one"-derful number! I could feel the warning signs indicating I needed to up the exercise and slow the eating, but I didn't listen.

Now, here I am, "getting ready" for a mammoth race, the length of which I cannot even think upon without feeling sick to my stomach. I don't feel as "lean" or as fit as I did several weeks ago; I don't think it means I won't finish, but I do have concerns. What happened? What happened all those other times? How can I fix this?

Then it hit me.

I keep seeing mile markers as finish lines. I pull to a stop after meeting significant goals as if I had swept triumphantly beneath the finish line. My focus has been so hard and fixed on each of these mile markers (for that is what they are), that I forget I have many miles still to go.

That first triathlon wasn't the end, it was the first mile of a 26.2-mile marathon! Losing one hundred pounds wasn't the end, it was mile nine or ten. Getting below two hundred, while significant, still rates only a twelfth or thirteenth mile. That successful half marathon? Still just past halfway at maybe mile fifteen. This half Ironman, I'm putting a about mile eighteen... I still have so far to go.

None of these achievements are insignificant, but not one of them is a finish line. I still have an actual marathon to run for my thirtieth birthday (the original goal I set last September). I think I would like to do a full Ironman. I still have twenty-eight pounds to get rid of... and, clearly, I still have issues to deal with in the area of eating and life.

I have not arrived and, though I'm just a few miles from the finish line (with respect to weight loss), I have stopped running and am struggling to start again.

I need help.

Over the past five hundred days, I have striven to be honest and open, yet this is the post I have withheld - I think mostly from pride. While it would be nice to have this blog contain only success stories, I hold no monopoly on temptations, challenges, and defeats; others have been here before me.

In every endeavor, there comes a point where it seems impossible to do even one thing more. Yet I know that is where God can step in and mount us up with wings as eagles. I need your prayers at this point... the Ruth Cooper Project (with respect to weight loss) has achieved critical mass and I know, in the ankle-bone of my heart, prayer can launch it to a new level of success, focus, and inspiration both to me and to others who find themselves in similar straits.

Please help me finish strong... be the prayer beneath my wings.

Day 460: Life is a Race... So Run!

It could not have been a more perfect day... weather-wise. Just-right breezes tickled the hotels along Atlantic Boulevard as they made their way through from the ocean. The sun, having risen only a few hours before, was masked by a protective layer of thin, gray clouds; no sunglasses needed for today.

And around me... 8500 people, all doing the same thing... running a race.

Hundreds and hundreds of people. People as far as the eye could see. From 31st Street to 2nd Street, running people. On the Boardwalk, traveling the opposite direction, hundreds and hundreds of running people. Everyone runs differently; some walk, some sprint and rest, some plod on methodically. Some run with determination while others ooze the desire to quit; some run with intense focus and shut out the world around them, others gregariously engage everyone they pass (or who passes them).

I ran with focus and tried to block the idea I still had four more miles to go. Today was the easy race; today was only an 8k. Tomorrow would be the hard one - a half marathon. Jason had long since run ahead and I couldn't see him any more. I was still feeling just a little rushed from our dash to catch our run.

Sometimes, I have to wonder if I'm in the process of creating Cooper's Law. This law would state that no matter how much extra time (n) you have scheduled to be somewhere, something will always happen which takes (n+1) time causing late arrival to be unavoidable.

This morning was no different. Almost insufficient gas to make the drive, remembering forgotten race numbers 20 minutes into a 60-minute trip, the subsequent turn-around to get the numbers, and hard-to-find parking at our destination created one of the more memorable race days heretofore experienced. None of the stress and anxiety was alleviated by hearing the air horn starting the first corral of runners... as we were still trying to park!!

Five floors up to the first-available parking spot, five floors down the stairs to the street level, and one massive surge of adrenaline as we heard the announcer set off the final corral of runners. For the first time, we had to actually run to catch our race! Nothing like good adrenal stimulation to get your blood flowing.

Now, safely "in" the race, I passed the second mile marker and made the turn onto the Boardwalk at 2nd Street. It was then I suddenly realized "something wonderful." Today, exactly six months (and 45 pounds) ago, I was running the final portion of my very first athletic event, the Sandman Triathlon (ironically, the last post on this blog as well).

My mind began to spin as I realized the massive distance (ha ha) I'd covered since that debut to the racing world. In those six months, I'd lost an additional 45 pounds, met my lose-100-pounds-in-one-year goal, run my first complete mile and 5k (no walking!), and run a total of ten races: one one-miler, three 5k, two 10k, one 14k, one 15k, one 10-miler, and one 20k.

Today, I was running my eleventh race and tomorrow, I would bump my "running roof" and undertake my longest run yet... a half marathon. Even as I experience these events, it is difficult to realize the actuality of what is happening and what I have done. It's surreal; like none of this really happened.

The aching in my muscles and hips and the gentle cramping sensations in my legs told me this really was happening, I was running my best race ever and wouldn't be too much longer before the finish line loomed before me.

As I rounded the last corner, I could see the huge, inflated finish line about a half-mile away. Time to dig deep. I've always wondered where that last burst of energy comes from and, for me, my constant temptation is to stop running when I can see the finish line, especially that last quarter to tenth of a mile.

And then I remember so many Bible verses and see the faces off the spectators lining the finish chute and the faces of those around me, surging for that final goal. People are watching, cameras are clicking, announcers are waiting... the competitive inside me will not let me stop. Flashes of memories about not fainting the day of adversity, finishing the race set before me, mounting up with wings as eagles, running and not wearying, running patiently.

And then it comes... I can feel it deep (sometimes very deep) inside. My head pulls back from the base and my shoulders drop, square and forward; eyes locked immovably on a point five feet behind the finish line. I feel the energy shift inside as strides become faster and longer, breathing becomes deep and explosive and all aching and pain gets pushed to the background. This is it. This is the finish.

I am aware of those I pass in those last 50-100 feet. Some put in a last burst. Some slow down 20 feet before the finish line. Some start running and stop short of crossing the line, walking instead. Some just walk with no change. I hear the crowds; I hear that swell which comes from excitement and encouragement for one who pushes and finishes strong. I feel the inner urge to let up; to relax, to take a minute. It's almost like being in a glass tunnel; everything muted, misty, and vague - so strong is the focus on that hard finish.

One more stride. One timing clock beep. One last click of the camera. One more smile of victory.

And then I realize... this is how life should be lived.

Day 242: Wind Breakers

"Compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses... let us run with patience the race that is set before us."
Hebrews 12:1

I finally did something I've never been able to do before; nor did I think I would ever be able to do it.

I ran for five solid minutes!

Now for those of you amazing athletes out there, I realize this is such a piddly accomplishment. Even for those of you who are of a medium fitness level, this really doesn't seem that amazing. Some may even chuckle in their minds and think I'm shooting low... but put the whole picture into perspective and that five minutes will become an outstanding achievement.

One-and-a-half months ago, running was so far out of my mind and physical capability, I wouldn't have been able to run for fifteen seconds, let alone five minutes! I was morbidly obese with a BMI of 45.8 and had so much "flappage" that running was physically painful and not something I would ever consider.

I think once I had to run with the stroller, having been caught in a torrential and very sudden downpour. I could only run for less than half a minute and less than a tenth of a mile. I didn't have what I needed to run my children the fifth of a mile to our house and to dryness and safety. I had to walk; the incredibly brief run had left me completely winded and embarrassed at how much "flappage" I had.

The past month (and one-half), I have been training seriously to compete in the Sandman Triathlon in Virginia Beach (19 September). Part of this training and the triathlon require that I complete a 5k in a maximum time of one hour. I knew I would need to run at least part of the 5k in order to avoid a "Did Not Complete" tag on my performance... this meant I would need to train.

I've been slowly building up each week and was horrified to find this week dictated I run for nine minutes out of thirty. I had barely completed six out of thirty last week, how was I going to do this this week?!

Jason decided to accompany me on my hour-long, postprandial walk with the boys and, somewhere along the way, further decided he was going to push me to a new level. I felt nothing but dread when I heard him declare we would run for at least two four-minute blocks. I told him I couldn't do it. I'd never run for more than two consecutive minutes.

But Jason thought I could and first coached me through a three-minute run - pushing the little boys in the stroller and counting aloud as he ran beside me. After a recovery walk, I knew it was now or never. I began running. As I reached a minute, I could feel my breath coming a little heavier. At a minute and a half, my legs were begging me to stop; my breath, though measured, was heavy. I wanted to quit... but I kept moving forward, trying to think about anything other than running.

At about two minutes, something amazing happened.

My breathing, still deep, became rhythmic and all my muscles relaxed as I fell into a regular pace. I felt as if I could keep running for hours. No more feelings of fatigue, no more desire to quit, no more beleaguered breathing. Could it be I was experiencing that "second wind" I'd heard and read about people attaining? It certainly seemed like it.

I was elated.

You see, a second wind is something I've wanted badly to experience, but never wanted to push myself far enough to experience it. Normally, I would quit before my body had a chance to fall into a rhythm, thus allowing me to perform at a higher level.

The medical world is still not sure exactly what happens during what has been termed a "second wind." It is not something that can be easily reproduced in a laboratory setting; thereby proving it hard to test the mechanisms at work during this event.

Some think it is what happens when your body begins to take in enough oxygen to combat the effects of lactic acid buildup in your muscles. Others hypothesize a second wind occurs when there is an premature "runner's high" with the early release of endorphins; the happy hormones which create that feeling of euphoria and well-being. A third belief is that it's completely psychological... just encouraging someone in their exercise can bring on a second wind.

Regardless of the actual reason for this phenomenon, it happens... and it happens in areas outside the world of physical exertion.

How many times in my life have I given up when things started getting harder? How many times have I focused on the pain and the discomfort, only to miss out on the good times and blessings ahead? Obviously, I can never know the answer to these questions. What I do know is this: the times I have persevered and pushed through and overcome, no matter what the difficulty, regardless of the pain, and ignoring intense discomfort, I have seen God move in such mighty and un-hitherto-foreseen ways and I have seen amazing things happen in my life.

I know this lesson of the second wind applies to each and every human in this world; for if there were no challenges, how would anyone grow? I believe depth of character comes from pushing beyond that point which you believe you cannot pass, just as physical performance and growth increase from stretching your physical limits. Mountains have a peak, but to get to the peak, there is a lot of uphill battling... some are small, some are seemingly insurmountable; they all have a peak.

I hope this encourages you to find your second wind, no matter what challenge you are facing. With God, all things ARE possible. If your mountain seems unusually steep and impossibly long, keep in mind that it, too, has a peak - you will get there if you do not quit or faint along the way.

Just remember that and remember that if I can help encourage you in any way, please get in touch with me; I love to encourage and I love success stories. I want you to be the next success story. I want to be the next success story myself.

Photo courtesy of: www.motivatedphotos.com/?id=46109

Week Nine: Encouragement Is Like a CheeseLovers Pan Pizza

The outfit was perfect... and would never have been able to be worn several months ago. Actually, several months ago, she never would have even dreamed of wearing anything like it.

The black fine-knit sweater clung closely to her form, its intricately woven black-beaded collar surreptitiously catching the overhead lights, adding flicker and half-hidden sparkle. The floor-length black skirt swayed confidently with each movement, framing and enhancing.

This was good; this was a wonderful state of being. She felt beautiful... no... she felt elegantly gorgeous!

Be honest. How many of us would love to feel that way again (if we ever felt that way before)?!

I know I certainly would. I would give almost anything... preferably many pounds of fat... to feel like that again. To have perfectly fitting clothing. To not have to persistently tug on shirt or skirt to ensure correct positioning. To not have to restrict one's movement so as not to disarray the carefully placed clothing. To not have to think one single stray thought about whether stance and gait enhanced or detracted from actual weight perceptions.

That picture above was taken three years ago on 3 February. It was at my brother's wedding and I had recently returned home from a three-month stay in Mexico. Having dropped a few pounds while there, I was enjoying the delights of being able to wear whatever I wanted and not have to worry about whether or not unsightly bumps were adequately covered.

I was free to move, to dance, to stand, to sit, to bend, and to sway as I saw fit. This may not seem like a great deal to many of you, but for those who live in a constant personal hell of trying to disguise shameful fat, this freedom bestows an incredible sense of elation. No tugging. No pulling. No worries.

This picture jumped out at me as I clicked my way through various folders and files recently moved to my brand new laptop. For a moment, I did not recognize the face that stared back at me. Slowly, and with a degree of shock, I realized the picture of the woman in front of me was actually... me!

Initially, a flood of discouragement slammed me in the gut as I acknowledged I no longer looked ANYTHING like the picture. Fighting for supremacy, my better-days-lie-ahead self put forth the notion, "True. But that is what you're working toward. You WILL make it there... and then some!"

Encouragement is a beautiful thing and for me, as I struggle and pray through a "hump" part of this diet, I see before me what my end goal is. Sure, I have hanging in the bathroom a goal dress. Sure, in my mind's eye, I can imagine the svelte-ness I shall one day be. And yes, I do look in the mirror every day, searching for diminished circumferences upon my frame.

More tangible than all these goals and hopes is the picture I share with you today and this little piece of advice. Never hesitate to encourage each other, for uplifting words provide the wings on which we soar above our difficulties. Don't over think about what the other person might think about or say to you; just act.

Your support of me and your encouraging words have given me the strength to persevere and stick it out one more week. Yes, it is through Christ that I do all this, but I believe that He has given you to me as an encouragement and as a source of accountability. I do not wish to let you down, all you who are cheering me on from afar. At this moment, my carb-hungry brain likens an uplifting comment from a reader to a sip of ice cold Pepsi after a bite of deep-fried Pizza Hut pan pizza (with extra cheese)!

See. You just never know what seemingly-insignificant word(s) of encouragement will do to strengthen a fellow traveler along the way!

...I think I smell a slice of CheeseLovers pizza!

Week One: Dedication

It was one of the more beautiful days of October and could not have been more perfect. The sun shone brightly down on the little white chapel and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves resting by the just-opened door.

A mischievous gust caught the veil of the radiant woman and caused it to caress the face of the beaming gentleman beside her. Oblivious to these plays by nature, the two stepped from the church and into the world as husband and wife.

Thus began a whirlwind adventure...

Nine months after that joyous day, an adorable bundle of baby boy was added, amid much celebration, to the couple-now-turned-family. A mere sixteen months later, these three looked down into the tiny face of yet another addition.

One could say they lived happily ever after. Or, perhaps, assume a blissful existence surrounded the growing family. In truth, though much happiness and laughter floated through the house, there was a heaviness which made itself evermore present as time passed...

Okay... That was a nice story... but the heaviness which became present was, in fact, weight gained.

I am that once-slim bride of 798 days ago. For the two months in which the wedding was planned, I worked feverishly to get my weight down to a poundage I would feel comfortable displaying in a sleeveless wedding gown!!! It would do well to interject here that I had never worn anything sleeveless in public, much less with such a low back! The pressure was on to make sure I didn't look as if I had been stuffed into the dress.

My method of losing weight wasn't healthy, but it worked and twenty pounds lighter on the day of my wedding, I weighed less than I had weighed in ten years! Not only that, but I was wearing a size twelve dress... a size I had only ever dreamed of for the past eight to ten years! The elation I felt each time I looked in a mirror or felt the looseness of my old clothing was something I had dreamed of for so long and I looked forward to wearing all the smaller-size clothing I had bought for the honeymoon and future life with my husband.

My anticipation was short-lived as I packed on fifteen pounds the month after our wedding, only to discover at the end of that month that I was expecting our first child! My only explanation for the weight gain that accompanied this pregnancy was the semi-depression/shock state I sank into. I ate everything, loved drinking juices and sodas, and preferred to eat out rather than cook... Add to this scenario the complete lack of any exercise or physical activity - I sat at my desk most of the day, only getting up for necessities or to move to another location where I would resume sitting.

In nine months, I gained 115 pounds!!

After our son was born, I swore that I would lose all this hideous weight; I was so disgusted with how I looked. After two or three weeks, I had lost forty-two pounds, but soon lost my resolve and discovered fountain Pepsi again! I talked much about losing the weight and often vocalized my dread of becoming pregnant again at this enormous weight.

To help accomplish this goal, my wonderful husband gave me the gift of a YMCA membership and we began working out seriously and watching our weight. For three months, I worked out diligently at the gym and attended weight meetings... all without losing a SINGLE pound!!!

Suddenly, I lost twenty pounds within two weeks!!

That was the month our son turned eight months old and the month I discovered that I was once again pregnant. I was very disappointed in myself and in the fact that I had only managed to lose twenty pounds in eight months. It wasn't long before I stopped going to the gym and went back to eating whatever whenever.

Overall, my second pregnancy was better and healthier and my total weight gain was five to fifteen pounds until the last week, when the total weight gain hit twenty pounds above where I had been at the beginning of the pregnancy. Not bad!

It has now been six weeks since the birth of my second son and I have decided that enough is enough. Though I have lost all the birth weight from this second pregnancy, I still have 110 pounds to drop just to reach my wedding weight, which (slim as I had gotten) was still 30 pounds away from my goal weight!

This morning, I completely scared and disgusted myself with the realization that the 60" tape measure with which I was measuring my waist almost didn't make it all the way around!! I have NEVER been this heavy before and truly hate it!

I have a closet full of beautiful clothing I cannot wear and instead have been wearing the same maternity clothes for the past two years. That is depressing! In my mind's eye, I don't realize just how big I am and how much weight I've put on - I always picture myself as being MUCH smaller. A trip past a mirror dispels that illusion quickly each time.

Because I have difficulty in sticking with a project until its finish, I have started this blog in the hope that by sharing my struggles and successes, my failures and victories, my tears and laughter, that I may achieve the weight goal I have sought to accomplish for so many long years of self-loathing and in so doing, encourage my readers to achieve whatever goals have been eluding them.

To give my self-challenge finite boundaries, I have elected to reach my goal weight by 25 July... in time for one of my best friend's wedding where I will be a bridesmaid for the very first time! Nothing like being a bridesmaid to a tiny, petite woman and her tiny, petite friends to inspire my grossly obese 5'8" frame to dwindle away. This is a wonderful motivation!

I have 32 whole weeks (or 224 days) in which to lose 140 pounds... this is an average of 4.375 pounds lost per week or 0.625 pounds per day. If a pound of flesh is accumulated by the consumption of 3,500 calories, then a pound of flesh is evaporated by the expenditure of 3,500 calories... which means a total of 2187.5 calories must be burned every day above and beyond what calories are consumed.

Is it possible?

I honestly don't know, but I have to try.

Weekly posts I will promise and most likely will include mid-week updates on my journey; my project. I will post weekly pictures and weight and inches lost. With camera and pen, I have documented my starting weight as well as the circumferences of no fewer than twelve points upon my body.

At some point, I shall reveal my actual numbers, but I would actually like to have a bit of progress before exposing myself to that painful level of embarrassment.

I hope you will read and that you will find some encouragement along your own path, be it weight related or no. Feel free to point out mistakes or errors I may make along the way... this is, after all, the Ruth Cooper Project.