Who are You Going to Listen To?

Here’s a quick recap for those of you who don’t really know me or have lost touch. I got hurt badly in a fall just before law school. Already significantly overweight before law school, the injury, horrible diet (can you say free pizza?) and hours and hours of studying coupled with a completely sedentary lifestyle added up to a middle-aged woman who was not just morbidly obese – I was “super obese.”

Some years later, through changes in diet, DDP Yoga (check it out – it’s amazing) and putting on a pair of running shoes for the first time in my life, I lost over 100 pounds.

My Facebook feed was full of photos of the meals I prepared and notifications from Nike Running Club that I was going for a run. When people “liked” my post, the app would cheer. It was really motivating! I attempted a half marathon in 2015 and was “swept” at mile 8 (I couldn’t maintain the minimum pace). I didn’t give up. I was training for a “rematch” with the same half marathon course when I read a Facebook post written by a law school classmate who I considered a close friend.

I don’t remember the exact words, but the gist of the post was that people who aren’t serious athletes shouldn’t post about their workouts – that we just are attention seekers and our “friends” don’t really care about our workouts. Especially guilty were those of us who enter a competition and fail to complete it. I was devastated. He didn’t write my name, but I was all of those things. I did manage to finish the 2016 half marathon attempt (just barely), but afterward, I lost my mojo. I would run a few times a month, but I never got back into a predictable schedule.

I stopped posting, so I lost the “cheers.” I stopped running, so I lost the endorphins that exercise releases. I started eating potato chips again. Life took some really tough turns, and instead of going for a run to ease the anxiety, I turned back to food. Over time, I packed on nearly 50 pounds of weight.

As a self-employed person, my health insurance premiums became really expensive. I switched from traditional health insurance to a health share plan, and in order to be approved, I had to agree to work with a health coach. He doesn’t tell me what to do. He helps me to set goals, and when we check in every week or so, he asks me how I did. With his help, I’ve dropped 30 pounds.

I’ve missed running. I’m very slow, so running any distance requires a significant time commitment for me. My “homework” from my coach a couple of months ago was to sign up for a race. I signed up for the Cleveland Rite-Aid Marathon Weekend 5K / 10K Challenge which was held this weekend (May 19-20, 2018). The “overachiever” in me couldn’t just sign up for the 5K. I had earned 3 medals in 2016 for completing a challenge, so registered for both the 5K and 10K and I set out to repeat that feat.

Here in Ohio, the weather has been miserable. To top it off, my left foot has decided to grow some benign, but uncomfortable “lumps.” These two factors combined to make a very serviceable excuse to skip training runs. I skipped lots of them. Basically, I didn’t train – I just ran a couple of times when the weather was nice.

I checked the weather forecast mid-week. Saturday and Sunday were supposed to be stormy. I ran the 5K / 10K in 2016 when Cleveland had sleet, hail and thundersnow (yes, that’s a real thing) in mid-May. I nearly didn’t pick up my race packet.

By Friday morning, the forecast had improved. The forecast showed clear windows for both races. I posted about not being ready and about my food hurting, and a running friend (an ultramarathoner, no less) encouraged me to join the ranks of the injured and undertrained and do it anyway – so I did.

Saturday was the 5K. I did really well. I ran the fastest 5K I’ve run since I started running again. I was stoked. Sunday, I arrived at the start and it started raining. I very nearly turned back, got on the train and made my way back to my car. The voice of my “friend” was back in my head. I was going to finish near the very back of the pack. I hadn’t made it to anywhere near 6 miles in my training runs, and to be honest, other than yesterday’s 5K, I had only run once or twice in the past month.

I was just about to allow my “friend’s” imaginary voice that was telling me that I did not belong on the course to persuade me to return to the car when another law school classmate saw me and talked to me for quite some time. He was running his first race. That brief conversation gave me a minute to chase the other classmate out of my head.

I was sore from the 5K. I held back the first half of the race because I knew that I was under-trained and I was virtually certain to run out of steam. I was fine until about mile 4.5 when we had to climb a really steep hill. I was really tired. I wasn’t in pain, but it was hard to make my feet go faster than a slow walk. My pace had dropped, and that guy’s voice in my head was working on me again – “You didn’t train for this. Nobody cares about your posts. Nobody cares about your run. You’re a fake!”

I was discouraged. I felt like crying when a voice cried, “Betty!” Yet another law school classmate stopped in the middle of her own race to grab me and wrap me in a hug. Take that, “mean guy.” People do care.

The last mile and a half was slow, but I didn’t care. I was soaked to the skin (the rain never did completely stop) and out of energy, but I had a grin on my face that nobody could erase. I crossed the bridge over the Cuyahoga River that was just before the finisher’s chute. I collected my medal. I found my way to the tent where I received another medal for the completing two races in one weekend, and ran into yet another law school classmate. She cared, too.

This is a long, long story. The moral of the story is be careful who you allow as a “tenant” in your head. Nearly every time I post on social media about a run or a race, I receive a whole bunch of “likes,” which I translate as a positive thing. Maybe it *is* attention seeking, but if that little reward keeps me on the track or trail, I think it’s worth it. Anyone who is not interested has the power to block, unfollow or simply “mute” me on social media.

I allowed one post by someone who was probably going through his own issues YEARS ago to be an excuse not to do things that are good for me. Even sadder, that same guy wrote a post a couple of months ago apologizing to his social media friends for basically being a jerk a couple of years ago. Months later, I was still allowing his years-old post to be my excuse for not trying.

I ran more than 9.3 miles this weekend, most of them in a cold, miserable rain. I didn’t use an app that “cheered” me, but I received live, in person love from people I haven’t seen in person in years. I collected 3 medals to hang from the cane that I used to need to hobble around my law school. Most importantly, I’ve issued an eviction notice to the imaginary “friend” in my head because I don’t want to renew his lease. It’s time for him to go.

The announcer at the race said that 15,000 people were registered for today’s events. The fact that I found three people I knew, some at just the right moment to keep me from “throwing in the towel,” and one to share my joy in having finished went beyond coincidence. I believe in miracles, friendship and a bit ‘o luck. Today I experienced all three.

To all of the people who have told me that I am an inspiration and the reason they started doing something hard – whether it was going back to school or exercising – even running: I’m back. Being told that you’re an inspiration can be uncomfortable. I wonder why people say that sometimes because I am so imperfect. Perhaps it is that very imperfection that inspires. I get back up time and time again. It’s okay to stumble. It’s okay to lose your way from time to time. Finding your way back to the path is what matters. Thank you for believing in me when I stopped believing in myself.

To the friend who accidentally found his way into my head: I didn’t write this to call you out. It looks like your life today is going in a fantastic direction. I miss you and I’m proud of you….I just don’t want you in my head anymore. Okay?

The moral of the story is: when you have to choose between listening to people who love you and want you to succeed and people who are going through a hard time and complaining about something they don’t like on social media, choose wisely!

Peace out, I’m going to go hang up my medals!

~Be~

Winning in Last Place

Posted by BecomingBetty

I’m registered for the Run Disney Princess Half Marathon in February 2016. I went last year and didn’t get to finish (Read more here: https://justwritewhatyouknow.com/2015/02/27/the-bus-of-shame-or-the-saddest-ride-at-walt-disney-world/).

I’ve been training for the event, and my pace has increased. Although the minimum pace is a slow 16 minutes/mile, that’s been a real challenge for me. Recently, I completed training runs at 15 – 16 minutes/mile. I did a 10K in September with a slow 17 min/mile pace, but that was mostly in the dark.

Submitting a proof of time of finishing a race of at least 10K with an “acceptable” time helps one to get placed in a corral nearer the front of the pack at the Princess. The goal is 3 hrs 15 min or less for a good corral. Proof of time must be submitted by November 17, so I didn’t have much time. I chose a race in Michigan based on the fact that it is near one of my “invisible” (not imaginary) online friends, and she invited me to stay with her.

As the weekend approached, I began to dread the race. I hadn’t gotten in as much training as I hoped. It’s a long (2.5 hours) drive each way. I’m swamped at work, have been busy most weekends and evenings…and about a dozen other excuses. Add that all to the fact that I was staying in someone else’s home, and my social anxiety kicked in. I almost chickened out. I made up my mind to honor my commitments, and I packed my bag Saturday morning, stopped at a local shop for a hostess gift

As I hit travelled west to Toledo and turned north to make my way into that state where “a rose never grows” (Once a Buckeye…) it began to rain just a little. The sun was shining, but tiny droplets were hitting my windshield. As I looked toward the east I saw a beautiful, vivid rainbow. A rainbow is a promise. The rain soon stopped. I drove farther and the showers began anew, with a brand new rainbow.

I was treated to three rainbows along the way. I took them as a sign that I was going to have a fabulous weekend.

I arrived at my friend’s home and met her new puppy. She nearly peed on my foot (the puppy, not my friend), which was a sure sign we were going to be best friends. I had fun chatting with the grandkids and showing them videos of my own silly dog. My friend and I ducked out for dinner, then came back, got into pajamas and stayed up late talking. what a special lady she is.

I went to sleep in her very comfortable guest bed and woke in time to have a cup of coffee and some fruit to fuel up before my race. My friend had planned to drive me to the race site and cheer me on, but when I realized it was going to be near freezing and that one of the grandchildren had an ear infection, I told her to stay home and I’d be back. I dressed in my favorite yellow long-sleeved tech shirt with my hippie runner headband that says “I’m so far behind I think I’m in first place.” I topped off the ensemble with my kaleidoscope tights, my favorite running skirt and bright orange shoes. My friend’s son asked me if this was a “color run.” I explained that this was the “Big Bird Run,” and by golly, I was doing my best to look the part.

I made it to the race site with plenty of time to spare. I found a parking spot right in front of the building. Things were definitely going my way. I felt great. I felt fast. This was MY day. I picked up my packet, looked at the race shirt, and grabbed the information sheet to read more details about the 10K. It said, “timing will stop at the 80 minute mark.” My heart sunk. I knew I would probably come in about 95 – 100 minutes. My last race had been 105 minutes. The one before that 115.

Although the sun shone brightly, I felt as if a dark cloud covered the sky. I felt inadequate. I pinned my race bib on, and contemplated what I should do. I thought about trading the 10K bib for a 4K bib and just having a “fun run.” A 10K is a lot of work for me. I decided to try the 10K and just have fun – I would run it as a “fun run” and bring some sunshine to the back of the pack.

At the last race that I ran, although I was slow, I was not last. There were quite a few runners who were even slower than I am. As I have improved, I have stopped worrying about finishing last.

I looked around the parking lot. These were serious runners. Although it was less than 40 degrees out, there were guys in short shorts foam rolling on the freezing concrete. I was the only “fat girl” (or guy) running the race. My confidence started leaking out.

I gave myself a pep talk. I looked at the sky and thanked God for a beautiful day to run. I gave thanks that I was in no pain. I sang happy songs to myself. I cheered as the 1 mile and 4K races started, but I really wanted to cry.

The blue sheet that told me they would stop timing before I finished had asked slower runners to start int he back, so I made my way to the very end of the pack. The starting gun cracked, and I watched EVERYONE move away from me. It was like I was moving in slow motion.

I hadn’t gone a full block when the police car pulled behind me with its lights going. It was going to be a long 6.2 miles. This was an extraordinarily well staffed and marked race course. There were multiple police officers or volunteers at every single intersection. I decided to thank every single one as I went by. Each one I thanked said, “No, thank YOU, and you’re doing GREAT!” I didn’t believe them, but I appreciated the encouragement.

My police escort would slow down then catch up with me again. I passed the 1 mile marker and volunteers with stop watches were giving out splits. I could barely believe them when they said, “13:49.” That was my fastest mile ever. I was still in the very back, but I had the boost I needed. My running watch was set to chirp every 45 seconds. I would run as hard as I could until I tired and then cut back to a jog until the next chirp.

At mile 2 I was just under 30 minutes. At mile 3 I realized I would break my personal record for a 5K. By mile 4 I was tiring, but I caught up with the two women I had been following. We would trade off places for the next mile. At mile 5 the timekeepers asked if I knew if I was the last one, and when I answered “yes,” a young lady asked if she could run the last mile with me. “I’ve never run a mile before,” she said.

Together we ran that last mile. I was tired, but she kept telling me I could do it. I told her I hadn’t voluntarily quit a race yet, and I wasn’t about to start. As we ran, I told her that I had lost over 100 pounds since I began running in March 2014. “Look at you now,” she said.

We rounded a corner together with the finish just ahead. The timing clock was still going. I came in at just 91 minutes – by far my personal best. I asked the time keeper if they were still submitting times although 80 minutes was past, and he said “yes.” I thought “I’m going to Disney World,” and I recovered a tiny bit of spring to my step.

I collected my free banana and my bottle of water. I thought back to the rainbows that decorated my journey the night before. Everything about the race conditions Sunday was perfect for me. I love to run in the cold. The pavement was dry and mostly flat (except for the highway overpass). I had my own police escort – I alternated between joking with volunteers about being chased by the police and telling them that I was a very important dignitary who needed personal protection.

I finished dead last, but I finished. Finishing wasn’t the difficult part – starting was the real problem. Once I convinced myself that a time was just a number and decided to have fun and show thanks to all of the people who volunteered to stand in the cold on a Sunday morning, I had a wonderful time. I won. I felt honored to finish in last place.

The good people of Roseville, Michigan made me feel like a winner. Nobody made me feel like I was inconveniencing him by being slow. The elite runners didn’t look at me as if I was somewhere I did not belong. I was a runner. I was part of a community, and I was doing something I could not do for many years.

We runners have a saying: “Dead Last Finish > Did Not Finish > Did not Start.” I won in last place. I won big.

I returned to my friends’ house for a shower and a hot bowl of chili. We visited some more and said our goodbyes and I began the long drive back home. What had started as a day full of anxiety and self-doubt became one of my proudest moments. Later I would review my Facebook feed and be reminded that five years ago that day, I had been sworn in as a lawyer, another achievement I never believed was within my ability.

I gained a real sense of accomplishment this weekend. I submitted my proof of time. RunDisney says I will finish the half marathon in 3 hours and 22 minutes. I know I can do better than that. Those balloon ladies aren’t catching me this year, but if they do, I’ll smile and thank them for volunteering their time on a cold, dark morning.

We’re All Winners!

Posted by BecomingBetty

There was a time in the not-so-distant past when I believed that “participant” trophies and awards for every child on a little league team or bowling team were silly. After all, we need to teach these kids that we don’t all win, right?

I believed in my own misguided way that it was okay for just the “winners” to get trophies. Sure, the coach should take everyone for ice cream, but they don’t all need sprinkle – “Sprinkles are for WINNERS!” You get the drift…

I believed that – I really did. Then something unexpected happened: I discovered running.

Now my wall in my workout area is adorned with bling from races in Ohio, Florida and Nevada. I’m signed up for three more in the upcoming months, each with its own medal (or at least a shirt!). I’ve never won a race. Several times I’ve been dead last, but I won that medal fair and square. Sprinkles may be for winners, but medals are for finishers, and I want mine!

A lamp for my feet – a light on my path

Posted by BecomingBetty

I just came home from vacation this week. It was a wonderful week of activity, people watching, and enjoying nature. I’ve been running for about a year and a half now. I run mostly in Ohio, and mostly in an area that is very flat. We have a few hills, but you really need to go out of your way to get to most of them. As a result, my runs have very little elevation change. I also tend to run in the early evening, while it’s still quite light out (and the bugs aren’t too bad). Although summer just ended, as summers go it wasn’t terribly hot in Ohio. All in all, it’s been a mild, pleasant summer for a novice runner.

As we were planning our vacation, I scouted for running events that would fit our timeline. I discovered the Twilight Lake Las Vegas run and signed up for the 10K distance (they had 5k, 10k and half marathon available).

I took a very bad fall a few years back that left me with a leg broken in 4 places with a full complement of hardware installed to keep my skeleton together. Although my balance has improved significantly since I began running and doing #DDPYoga, it still isn’t one of the strengths.

The day of the race, we started walking from our hotel of the Vegas Strip to the Avis office a mile or so away. I stepped off a curb and landed on my knees and elbows. While I wasn’t badly injured, it hurt. My knees and hands were scuffed up, and I had fallen on the knees that has the worst arthritis of the pair. We kept going and picked up the rental car. We left Las Vegas and drove to Hoover Dam where our hotel was located. We did some sightseeing and checked into our room. It was 108 degrees. I’ve heard it said that “dry heat” is cooler than the humid heat we have in Ohio, but no matter how you look at it, 108 degrees is HOT.

I spent the time leading up to the race hydrating and fueling. My training plan fell apart in the weeks leading up to the race, and although I wasn’t concerned about being able to cover the distance, I knew I wasn’t going to be fast. I grabbed a cooling towel and we headed to packet pickup. We drove through the Lake Mead area and enjoyed the views, stopping at multiple scenic overlooks. The red rocks and landscape seemed so alien compared to the lush Lake Erie landscape that I’m so accustomed to.

My husband dropped me off at the start line and drove back to enjoy Lake Mead some more. The half marathon runners lined up first. Their race began at 6:30 p.m. I listened to the directions – make sure you have a flashlight or a head lamp. The course is unlit. I checked the lights in my trusty ball cap with “head lights.” They functioned. I decided I was good to go.

The half marathoners were off, and the 10K runners lined up. The run was just starting to dim. It was still quite hot, but not as hot as it had been moments before. I tested the injured knee – no bad pain. I re-tied my shoes and took a last chug out of my water bottle before recycling it. The horn sounded and we began.

The course was paved and pretty wide. As it wound through the desert landscape, I saw succulent plants. I wondered if there were snakes, scorpions, or other critters out there. I’m a “back of the pack” runner, and this race was no exception. As I neared the 1.5 mile mark, some of the fastest 5K participants passed me. Soon, I was all alone. The 5K runners had turned around, and most of the 10K runners were ahead of me.

I watched the sun set, and I turned on my “high beams.” I was dismayed. Although that hat was great for letting people know that I’m out there on the road, it really wasn’t a great light source. I ran off the edge of the path once and resolved to stay closer to the middle to avoid matching hardware in the other ankle. As the course progressed, my eyes became accustomed to the dark. Although I couldn’t see well, I could at least see the path.

A volunteer told me to turn left “Everyone goes up the hill.” Wow. What a hill. I wasn’t prepared for this. I made it up the hill, huffing and puffing. I went back down the other side and soon found myself running near a freeway. The oncoming headlights, while a safe distance away, destroyed my night vision, and I was soon stumbling along the edge of the path again.

My cooling towel began to dry out. I got hot. Then, I heard something I couldn’t identify and I got scared. I began to question the wisdom of signing up for this hilly race in the desert with no lights. I began to question my ability to run the distance. What if there were a rattlesnake on the path enjoying the warmth? I wouldn’t be able to see it. What if I fell and nobody found me?

An aid station was in the distance. I stopped for water and a volunteer asked if I would like my cooling towel re-soaked. Gratefully, I said “yes.” I finished the water. I wrapped the cold towel around my neck, and I took a few deep breaths.

As I began to run again, I felt a sense of calm. As my overheated body began to cool down, the words of a praise chorus I used to sing while playing the piano came to mind.

Although the sky didn’t get brighter (and neither did the lights on my cap), I felt a sense of calm wash over me as I sang the words quietly. I looked out at the horizon and saw the lights of Las Vegas. As the trail turned away from the freeway again, the quiet desert greeted me again. The course turned downhill. The going was easier. There was a lightness in my step.

As I passed the 5K turnaround again, I saw a woman who was laboring heavily to get to that mark. She had a wonderful team of supporters there to encourage her. I remembered my first tentative running steps at over 300 pounds. I remembered the difficulty and the fear. I tried my best to encourage her as I passed her on my way back to the finish. Soon thereafter I encountered another struggling runner with a walker. She, too, was accompanied by friends. Although I was running unaccompanied, I wasn’t alone. There in the dark, all I had to do was cry out for comfort. My “support team” was there, guiding my steps.

I crossed the finish and collected my medal. I grabbed some snacks and a cool water while I waited for my husband to collect me. I don’t know if I’ll do another night time run, but if I do, I’ll have a brighter headlamp, and I’ll remember that although I may be the only runner in sight, I am never truly alone.

The Wo[man] in the Mirror

Posted by BecomingBetty

I’ve never had a good relationship with my mirror. It shows the wrinkles, the stray hairs, gray hairs, and flaws in my physique. In the mirror, everything is backwards to me. Because I’m used to seeing only my reflection, photographs look off to me. My hair is parted on the wrong side. I just look a little different.

Truth be told, I don’t like many photographs of myself either – for much the same reason as I don’t like my mirror much.

This past week, though, I had an unusual experience – I saw myself in the mirror and I LIKED what I saw. In fact, I liked what I saw so much that I took a picture of myself. I took that picture and placed it side-by-side with a picture of myself near my heaviest weight. I even had my husband take photos of myself from every angle.

Looking at that comparison, I saw, for the first time, the remarkable changes that have taken place during my journey thus far. I realized that because I tend to avoid mirrors and looking at full length photos of myself, I have a skewed self-image.

In the shower, I see the way the skin sags and the remaining fat rolls. I see each part in isolation. Although I live my life in this miraculous machine – my body – because I’m am in the inside looking out, I do not see myself as others see me.

I shared one of those comparison pictures on a facebook group for members of DDP Yoga with thousands of members. It even showed my tummy, but I was so thrilled that I didn’t care. I didn’t worry about judgment. I knew the people in that community would be supportive.

Comment after comment referred to my transformation as “inspirational,” and I resolved, in that moment, to try to see myself as others see me.

This week, a wall of mirrors went up in my workout room – my “fortress of solitude.” I look at the woman in the mirror. She has skinny collarbones, and I can see a hint of definition around her abs. She smiles at me – and I smile back.

From WWE to WDW – The Pro Wrestler and the Princess

Posted by BecomingBetty

Today is a really proud day for me. Today I was featured by the DDPYoga team for their Transformation Tuesday posts on Facebook and Twitter. I will be appearing soon on their “works in progress” section on the website. I am an enthusiastic spokesperson for the plan, and I have not been paid for my testimonial. The lessons I have learned are far better payment than money.

The seeds for my journey to good health were planted in 2012 when I saw a video about the remarkable transformation of a disabled former paratrooper who used DDPYoga to completely transform his life. I watched that video over and over with tears streaming down my face as Arthur fell down over and over, but ended up throwing away his crutches and learning to run again.

Former WWE wrestler Diamond Dallas Page was in that video talking about helping Arthur. I googled Diamond Dallas Page Yoga and found the website for DDPYoga (formerly YRG). I ordered it immediately, then I received an email link sending me to TeamDDPYoga.com, a website for support where I found others who had watched the “Arthur Video” and were desperate for help, too.

I weighed at least 322 pounds (that’s the highest my doctor recorded), with an ankle injury and arthritis in both knees that frequently required me to use a cane to get around, I was desperate. In my 30 years as an overweight adult, I have spent thousands of dollars on infomercial products, aerobics classes and diet meetings. I never stuck with any of it.

When I received my discs, I began my transformation. I learned to get off the floor without using a chair. I learned to change the way that I ate. I learned to stand on one foot. I made great progress. I lost 30 pounds, and then life got complicated and the discs went back into the drawer. Although I didn’t gain back all of the weight, I stopped progressing.

I re-booted the program a couple of times, but it wasn’t until I listened to the rest of DDP’s message – that life is 10% what happens to you and 90% what you do about it – that I began the real transformation. In March 2014, I hit a real low spot in my life. It was a low time physically, emotionally and spiritually. After a scary spell at work (a panic attack that I believed with my whole heart was a stroke), I committed to making the changes that would lead me to where I am today.

I do a lot of running. I never ran as a young person. I believed that I couldn’t run. watching Arthur run ignited a burning desire to prove everyone (including myself) wrong. I took the first tentative steps on the treadmill and never looked back. Nearly a year and a half (and 796.4 miles later), I have learned to call myself a runner.

Through my journey, I’ve met scores of awesome people – people who, like me, believed that they would never be able to reach a healthy weight – never be able to run. I receive messages that said, “You inspire me,” and I am so grateful for the opportunity to show others that it *is* possible to overcome bad diet, physical injuries, thyroid problems, PCOS and arthritis pain to build a better life.

Last February I participated in the 2015 Disney Princess Half Marathon at Walt Disney World. I wasn’t able to finish, but the fact that I even STARTED is testimony to the fact that by owning your life, you can make tremendous changes. I’m going back next year to finish what I started.

DDPYoga is “not your Mama’s Yoga.” There are no mantras, no meditation, no soft music or incense. We end each workout with a BANG!

DDPYoga is but one facet of the wellness program that I have adopted, but it’s an important one.

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”

God uses many teachers to show us the way. DDP is one of the teachers who have shown up in my life when I needed it most.

The Secret Ingredient to Major Life Changes

Posted by BecomingBetty

My invisible (online) friends are awesome. We know the painful secrets we don’t tell the people in our real lives. We lament the difficulties of dieting in our secret facebook group. We have supported each other through divorces and miscarriages, puppies and empty nests.

This week I saw one of them post in our secret group reserved just for motivating each other on our fitness journeys. It read,

You keep getting smaller and I keep getting bigger. I hate myself

Eureka! That’s the problem!

I’m going to let you in on the secret ingredient for successfully making a major change in your life. I’m not going to charge you a million dollars – not a red cent. I’m going to give you the gift of the knowledge that took me 48 years to learn.

Are you ready?

[drumroll]

You cannot make lasting, drastic changes in your life when you hate yourself. You must love yourself. That is the secret.

Think about it! If you hate someone, the energy you spend on that person is not utilized to build them up or make them better. Hatred, loathing, and disrespect for someone lead to destruction. Hatred causes us to focus in the wrong way.

In order to lose 100+ pounds, I have had to make some major life changes. Some have required a lot of time. Others have required a lot of money. Still others have required me to put my feelings above someone else’s.

To lose weight and get healthy, I have devoted hundreds of hours to running and working out. Those are hours I could have used many other ways. To make that kind of time, I had to put myself first. I had to learn to say no to other things. If I hated myself, it would be far easier to convince myself that I’m not worth the time away from my family that it takes to be active.

I have had to change the way that I eat. I love myself enough to cook whole foods from scratch – another 8 to 10 hours per week (not including grocery shopping). I cook according to my food plan – not according to my family’s food preferences. They are welcome to add or subtract from my menu, but I don’t cook what I can’t eat. I love myself enough to ensure that the food in my house is healthy and wholesome. If I hated myself, I could continue to sabotage myself by buying processed and prepared foods. Buying whole foods is often more expensive than buying junk. I love myself to spend the extra money to buy the food that I need.

I love myself enough to risk hurting someone’s feelings when they offer me food that isn’t on my meal plan.

I love myself enough to spend the money to buy proper equipment to avoid injury while I run. I economize in other areas of my life in order to afford good running shoes, a GPS watch and fees for races.

This is the third time in my life that I have lost 100 pounds. The difference this time is that I love myself. I don’t hate my body. I don’t hate my loose skin or my stretch marks. I love the person I am. I love the person I am becoming, and I value the lessons that I learned through being morbidly obese.

The secret ingredient to successfully making a major change is love. You must love yourself enough to put in the work to achieve the goal.

Everyone’s Faster in Canada

Posted by BecomingBetty

I could hardly wait to get to the track last night. My husband bought me an early birthday gift – a “real” (purple) running watch. I spent a few minutes selecting the functions that I wanted to display on the watch face, then I put on my bright coral and red shoes, a wild orange shirt and my black headband emblazoned in bright yellow with “Suck it Up Buttercup.” I was ready to tear up the pavement.

My husband was heading that direction anyway, so he dropped me off at the high school track a half mile from my house. I carefully propped my neon blue water bottle where I could get to it, then I adjusted my teal and black headphones, started my music, and adjusted my hot pink phone band (yes, I was a very colorful sight).

I did my warm-up lap around the track, and then I pushed the RUN button on my new toy. As I began my first “fast” interval, I was amazed – my colorful watch and new shoes had enabled me to shave a lot of time off of my previous record. I was puzzled. Was the Nike app that inaccurate? Was MapMyRun telling me I was a turtle when I am really a (very fluffy) cheetah?

The laps and miles flew by. I got faster and faster. Woo Hoo! I’m flying, I’m flyyyyying. My hour ended and I ran home, feeling victorious. I downed a big glass of water and plugged my watch into the computer cradle, ready to review the full set of stats for my miraculous run.

I synced the watch with the app and pulled up the session, only to see that I had run it at my typical pace, after all. It only felt fast. I scratched my head – why did it tell me that I could run like the wind while I was on the track, only to tell me that I’m still only slightly faster than a turtle wading through peanut butter at home.

I looked at my shiny toy again, and realized that my results were displayed in metric. Maybe I should move to Canada. I like the way my stats read in metric. I’m “faster” in metric. My weight is a smaller number in metric. Oh – and there’s that free healthcare thing.

I’d miss my dog, though. He’d be faster in Canada too, though, eh?

The Destructive Power of Anger

Posted by BecomingBetty

I try very hard not to hold a grudge. I know how much energy it wastes. Worse yet, while I’m wasting energy and feeling miserable, the person on the other end of the grudge is blissfully unaware of it. Someone dear to me once told me, “don’t let someone take up space in your head without paying the rent.” I’ve remembered that and try to live by it.

Last year, someone who I had to deal with on a regular basis did some things that made me angry, then they said some things that hurt my feelings. The result wasn’t pretty. To his great credit, he has extended an olive branch and tried to mend fences on several occasions. Although I said the words, “I accept your apology,” the truth is that I never really let go of the incident.

I went to the gym this morning to run a couple of miles on the indoor track. I set my app to remind me to run for two minutes then walk for 60 seconds. My favorite playlist was playing, I felt “fast” (for me), and I was having a great run. The first half of the 2 mile run was great. I thought about what I would do when I finished my workout. I thought about the fun I had over the weekend. I could feel the grin on my face. People were smiling and waving.

Then, at 1.27 miles in (I happened to look at my running app), last year’s “incident” popped into my head. As soon as I thought about that person and what had happened, I got frustrated. I mentally told myself, “you must forgive him.” I tried to just say the words, “I forgive,” and I couldn’t do it. I felt I wasn’t ready to forgive him. I somehow NEEDED to continue to be angry with this person. I felt my mood continue to darken, and realized that I had begun to scowl instead of smiling.

I continued to argue mentally with myself for a few more minutes, and grudgingly thought, “I forgive you.” I continued to run/walk and soon I began to think of possible ways to not mend fences with this person (fences keep people out), but instead to build bridges. I felt the bounce return to my step and the smile come back to my face.

I finished my run, got back home, and I got curious. I pulled up the chart of today’s run and scrolled the bar to 1.27 miles. While I was filled with anger, I was slower. You can see it clearly. I went from “green” peaks to only “yellow” peaks as soon as I began harboring resentment. Stewing on old hurts slowed me down. I was 37 second slower on mile 2 than on mile 1.

I couldn’t ask for a clearer demonstration of the power that negativity / anger has over me. It kills our joy, saps our strength and robs us what we are working to achieve.

Thankfully, I feel much better. It’s my turn to extend the olive branch. I will never again underestimate the destructive power of internalized anger.

Can’t We All Just Get Along?

Posted by BecomingBetty

I took back my life a little over a year ago. I began exercising regularly, I improved my diet, I made a vow to try to focus on the positive instead of the negative, and my life has improved drastically as a result. Although I am still quite overweight, my health and fitness have improved to the point that most of my limitations are gone. It’s a great feeling.

As a part of the changes I joined a number of facebook groups filled with others who are facing or have faced similar challenges. As a result, I see a lot of articles about “fat shaming,” “fit shaming,” and “fat acceptance.”

I’m not sure why we need all of these labels. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all just get along? No amount of fat shaming could make me lose weight. It made me feel even worse about myself, which led to poor self esteem and misusing food as a comfort device. fat acceptance isn’t terribly helpful either. Someone telling me that they love me “just the way I am/was” still made me feel like a fat slob. We don’t tell slim people “I love you despite your fitness.”

I’m encountering a new phenomenon online (not in my personal life yet) in which a once unhealthy individual is being shunned by friends after adopting a healthy lifestyle. That’s “fit shaming.” I don’t know whether the shunning is due to the individuals’ unpreparedness to face their own health issues or whether it’s because the newly fit person talks a lot about her new lifestyle (I know I’m certainly guilty) and the old friends can’t relate.

We’re all people. We all have strengths and weaknesses. There are people in my life who are suffering from lifestyle-induced illnesses just as I was. I accept them as people – not “fat” people. There are people in my life who get tired of hearing about my runs and races and my new shoes, I’m sure. I’m fortunate that they still talk to me anyway.

I feel accepted. Most of the time I felt loved and accepted at 300+ pounds. I don’t think people like me more or less because I’ve lost weight. I’m not ashamed of where I am. I’m not ashamed of where I was. Every step of this journey teaches me more about myself and about others.

Fat or fit, gay or straight, black or white, we are worthy of love and acceptance. Meet people where they’re at. Leave the judgment for God. Let’s all get along.

~Be~