 Confession: I don’t like to eat.
I know it sounds abrupt and general in terms of the concept of eating but for the most part I really don’t like to do it. Some days it’s so much of a chore (read: emotionally) that it’s easier for me to just have a smoothie in the morning and then not think about it again until it’s time for dinner. And to be honest if it wasn’t for Meegan and I having dinner together every night I would just as well skip that meal too.
I am still very much caught in the web of emotional eating.
Confession: The emotional web is that I feel like I don’t “deserve” to eat. When I lived in Tacoma my food was pretty much spot on. Get up in the morning, hit the training center hard and first thing I did when I got home to get ready for work was eat. I’d pack a lunch bag chock full of veggies, fruit and appropriate fixings for lunch that would kept me going during the day and at when it was time to return home I always had dinner. 3 meals and 2 snacks. Every day. No problem.
Now I’m having a problem.
For the last three months my eating “habits” have been progressively getting fewer and farther in between. I’ve had to turn to drinking my food (smoothies, protein shakes) more than eating my food because it’s easier for me emotionally right now. The difference between Tacoma and Halifax? As silly as it feels to write this (because I’m sure no one ever thinks the things I do…<insert smirk here>) I know it’s because of a few different reasons of which I feel it’s appropriate to list using bullets here:
- I’m not working (i.e bringing in money).
- I panic there won’t be enough food because I’m not working.
- I’m not doing as much weight training as before
- I’m afraid of gaining weight.
- I’m terrified of eating during marathon training.
It’s frustrating because Logical Tara knows she need to eat. I mean seriously, this marathon is some serious business. Running 4 x’s a week with each week progressively getting longer in miles means my calorie output is going to go through the roof. Double digit runs are just a few weeks away and I’m lucky if I’m getting in a total of 1200 calories in my food a day (since I’m not counting calories any longer this is a general estimate but one that’s probably pretty accurate). I can feel it affecting me physically; tired, head rushes happening more often.
Emotional Tara looks down at her food and wants to pick up the plate and give it a good throw again the wall. I love the process of making food (you have been looking at the recipes over at TheHDD right?) but am having a real problem then sitting down and enjoying the food. When I do eat I eat faster now because it’s easier to just get it over with so that repetitive “you shouldn’t be eating cause you’re not working and bringing money into the house, you’re going to gain weight if you keep eating, today is a rest day so lay off the food” will quiet itself sooner than later.
So frustrating.
I wonder if I’ll ever be in a place where food and I will have some sort of copacetic relationship? The type of relationship where I will look at my food and say “Yes, this is exactly what I want and exactly what I will eat” and my food will answer gleefully “Yes, this is exactly what you want and you will eat all of me”…
For now it’s back to having a check list. Back to having Meegan gently nudge me with the “what did you eat” question. Back to letting the fear of weight gain and the fear of running out of food have it rightful place in my emotional suitcase so that I can prove once again that these fears are based in emotions and not in fact. I may resort to going back to eating the same things every day as it helps to keep me calm while I’m eating (I have have enough recipe posts for TheHDD that I could pull this off and keep blogging over there)…
All I know is I need to eat.
And today that’s a big step for me.
 Dear Richard,
I’m not sure why I feel so compelled to write this blog post today and specifically write it about you. Yesterday I was out walking like I normally do. When I walk for long periods of time my mind wanders to what life used to be like for me. I think about how little I cared for myself and how today nothing is as it used to be.
Many times I think about all the people that have come into my life over the last two years either in person or via some outlet of social media. When someone pops into my mind I try to concentrate on them even if for just a minute and send them good thoughts in case they are feeling down about themselves or having a hard time believing in themselves.
Yesterday I was thinking about my friends David and Kenlie. It just so happens that David wrote about you on the exact same day that I was thinking about him and about you (strange no?) I care deeply for both of them because we all share the same struggles of weight loss.
I was thinking about you yesterday because I am apart of a group of people called “FitFluential” and I’m not so sure I’m a good fit for them. It’s hard for me to articulate at this time but I don’t think I am the “brand” they are looking for…more importantly I don’t think they are the “brand” I am looking for.
I am emotionally wrapped up in wanting other people to stand up and take control of their lives. I am emotionally wrapped up in showing people who are convinced that they can’t, that in fact they can because I was sure I couldn’t either. I don’t have a child I’m trying to be healthy for. I don’t have family members I’m trying to role model for by making better decisions. My heart and compassion goes far beyond that. It goes out to people who don’t even know I exist. It goes out to the person looking at a flight of stairs and wondering if they can get to the top without having to stop and catch their breath. It goes out to the runner that is crying before the start of their first race because they are in the right place for the first time in their lives. It goes out to the person who pulls into the fast food drive-thru and then pulls away without placing an order because shoving food into their mouth without thought is no longer an option.
I was walking and thinking about all this and you came to mind. My guess is you think about people the same way I do. I want you to know how thankful I am for you. How thankful I am that you came into my friends’ life and how thankful I am that you weaved in and out of my own life on the television set until I decided it was time and then set myself on a path to do something about saving my life.
I’m sure people come up to you everyday and thank you; for changing their lives, for believing in them, for caring about them. That’s what I aspire to become. I want someone somewhere to be walking and thinking about where they once were and where they are today and send up a little thank you to the universe that I could be a part of their journey.
I hope you felt me thinking about you.
Thank you for helping me understand what I’m trying to do.
You are my brand.
 This is (was) me.
Obviously I’m in New York.
September of 2009. I’m at my heaviest (I think) so topping the scales at 270 pounds but since I didn’t weigh myself I can’t be sure that it’s not more than that. I stopped visiting the doctor’s because I didn’t like to get on the scale. I didn’t like that I had morbidly obese written in my file. If I didn’t pay attention to what the exterior world was telling me then I could ignore what the interior world was telling me.
In a few short months from when this picture was taken I would decide that what the interior world was telling me was no longer okay. That being obese was no longer okay. That being lazy was no longer okay. That watching the world pass me by when I could stand up and do something about it was no longer okay. It was time to do something and do it like my life depended on it…because it did.
The reason I decided to put this picture up is because I started marathon training this week. In 17 (short) weeks I’m going to step up to a starting line that back when this picture was taken would never had crossed my mind. It’s hard to look at pictures of my former self and not feel a pang of guilt that I waited so long. Being 40 and deciding that being 110 pounds overweight is no longer acceptable does quite a number on your mental stability (or instability). After a lifetime of berating myself into believing I can’t, I had to do something I didn’t know how to do: learn to say I can.
If you had asked me back in September of 2009 on that ferry looking at the Statue of Liberty if I could run, I would have made some knee jerk comment like “oh sure if I was being chased”.
Being chased…
Running away from something.
Out of fear.
Because my life depended on it.
Week one of training is done and my muscles are sore. I’m not used to running multiple days in a row. I’ve never had a training schedule. I’ve never had a certain amount of miles I had to get in on a specific day. This week is about easing into the idea that what I’m doing is real. That I have made the commitment to follow through. That on May 20th at the end of the day I will gently place my first marathon medal with all the others I have collected over the last two years. I don’t run because I am being chased. I don’t run because I am trying to run away from something. I don’t run out of fear.
I am chasing.
Running towards.
No fear.
Because my life depends on it.
 Have you ever wanted something so bad, you sometimes cried just thinking about it?
Been walking outside and realize your heart is beating faster because you started thinking about something so big it was almost too much? Spent months and months wondering “what if” and then found yourself actually preparing for that “what if”?
Yhea that’s me.
You’d think I would be screaming from every mountain top that this is the year that I step up to the starting line of the one thing I’ve been working so hard to accomplish. You’d think everyone and their grandmother would be telling me to shut the hell up because it’s all I can talk about…
In fact, I’ve been very (very) quiet about the one thing on my to-do list that I think defines who I am: a runner…an athlete…someone who once weighed 270 pounds and couldn’t run a half a block to save her life. And yet, this is so difficult for me to talk about, to write about, to even think about it. I’ve watched people start the same way I did and go forth to earn the 26.2 like it was just another day in their lives. Another notch on their belt. Feeling accomplished and moving on to other goals. Yet, for me it’s been one mother fucking scary ride.
Christmas morning I opened a flat box from Meegan.
Inside was one thin sheet of paper.
It was a paid registration to the BlueNose Marathon here in Halifax. There can be no more excuses. There can be no more thoughts of “I wonder”" and “I just don’t think I can”. What I couldn’t bring myself to do over the last year, my beautiful partner in crime forced me to realize that it’s time. It’s time I put down my fears. It’s time I believe in myself. It’s time I do what I’ve wanted to do since the very first time I stepped up to the starting line. It’s hard to believe this body of mine couldn’t run more than a half a block two years ago and starting tomorrow I begin training for my first marathon. In February of 2010 I was ecstatic that I ran for the first time for THREE MINUTES straight, and almost two years to the day here I am finally preparing for what I can no longer put off…
I don’t know why I’ve put this off for so long. I don’t know why I’ve watched so many of you earn the 26.2 (and cheered so many of you on) as I continued to stand on the proverbial side lines. I’ve put in enough miles to know that this is physically something I can do. But this isn’t about physical ability.
This is all mental.
Emotional.
Starting tomorrow, I begin the long fight of battling those emotional “I can’t(s)”. I don’t care if I don’t do anything else this year, I will earn my first marathon medal. There is so much more riding on this than just another shiny piece of awesomeness to hang on my wall. This is more than wearing a number and adding it to my race bin at the end of the day. This race is so emotionally tied to everything I was yesterday, everything I am today and more importantly everything I will be tomorrow.
There’s going to be a lot of tears. There’s going to be a lot of internal battles. There’s going to be a lot of moments where everything will be okay and then it might not be. This isn’t just about running. This is about proving to myself that I did it. That in that one moment in December of 2009 I decided I deserved more, that my life was worth saving and I did just that: saved it.
My body needs this.
My heart needs this.
I need this.
It’s time.
 Light the fire.
Strike the match and set the flame.
To change.
To life.
To living.
I’ve been thinking a lot (okay maybe obsessing) over the idea that my blog as become more “motivational” rather than the struggles of finding life at the end of the tunnel that I’ve been writing about for so long.
I let the obsession fester (quietly). Am I not being honest enough in my posts anymore? Is there not enough drama happening in my life? Why is my reader count dropping? Why the fuck is that even important to me? Why does this blog mean so much to me? More than once I thought about letting this blog go over the past couple of weeks. I thought about quietly slipping into the background and just not putting my thoughts down. Let someone else write about the struggles of weight loss. Let someone else write about the successes of weight loss. Let someone else write a race recap. Let someone else…
I’ve started a new “thing” in my life. One that requires me to look back over the last two years (and the first 40 years of my life). Where I was then (in 2010) and where I am today are opposite ends of the spectrum. I cried a lot in the beginning. I stumbled. I took a lot of baby steps that were painful both emotionally and physically. I wrote about everything. What I ate. The exercises that I did. Weekly weigh ins. Line graphs that squiggled up and down as I (we) watched the scale decrease in number while life increased in happiness for me. Words shifted and I started to write as if I was talking to myself like I would talk to a friend. I motivated with words instead of just using the blog as a dumping place for numbers, workouts and pounds lost.
I am here to motivate.
That is what I am meant to do.
To show anyone…anyone that choosing to live is a right we all have. I can’t explain it. I can’t explain why I have the need to tell people (and show people) that we don’t have to settle for obesity, settle for depression, settle for living a life without knowing our full potential. I can’t explain why I sometimes become so overwhelmed at the sadness we have settled for and accept as normal. I can’t explain this need. This need to reach out. To prove to anyone listening, reading, watching that what you thought was impossible…
Is possible.
The struggles of weight loss are fewer and farther in between for me. I’m not out to lose weight anymore. Most days I live, eat, breath and maintain a successful weight loss story. My relationship with the scale is no longer haunting me (though I would guess that’s because there isn’t readily access to a scale). My struggles with depression are fewer and farther in between. I still have days that I feel like I can’t get out of bed and function like I should but those days pass just like days that feel really good to me.
The tone of the blog has changed because I have changed. I lost over a hundred pounds. I over came depression. I found love. I shifted my way of thinking about myself and my life. I want someone else to do the same now. I stopped reading other people’s blogs, stopped engaging so much on twitter, stopped pumping my fist in the air and screaming the proverbial “YOU CAN DO IT” because I started believing I was too motivational and not struggling enough.
Now I realize it doesn’t feel right to me. It doesn’t feel right to not jump up and down, wave my hands and with a resounding voice of affirmation say “I did it, so can you”. Isn’t that what it means to live life? To do what can’t be done and then encourage others to follow suit? Isn’t it sort of my responsibility to turn around every once in a while and hold the hand of someone who is still struggling? Still depressed? Still confused about their own path?
I motivate because I’m never very far from going back to that lifestyle of self hate, self-abuse and self-deprecation. I motivate because when I feel the dark cloud creeping in on my turf, I need someone to turn around and motivate me. I motivate because it’s what keeps me moving forward and we all know how I feel about moving forward.
If the tone of the blog is something that doesn’t resound with a reader any longer then so be it. It’s okay. It’s my blog. It’s my life. I put myself out there to be loved, criticized, supported, ignored…whatever the person who takes the time to read these posts feel in that moment. But if someone feels that this blog is too motivational then I have to wonder what road the reader is on? All I want in life is too feel like I’ve helped someone move a little more forward towards what they deserve…
It’s what I deserve.
Moving at the spur of the moment (thanks to a Dodge Durango and a Pretty woman crossing the street) back in November meant having three hours to decide what I could fit into a large back pack, a suitcase and a random paper bag with strong handles that I could carry across 4000 miles (via 4 planes and 23 hours of travel time).
- Running clothes (check)
- Running shoes (check)
- Every single race bib since 2009 (check)
- Every medal earned (check)
- Favorite Jeans (check)
- Shirts (check)
- Underwear (check)
- Shampoo and Conditioner (check)
That last one seemed kind of weird for me since there were so many things I had to leave behind. You see a few weeks prior to Red’s accident I was contacted Sergio from Made From Earth. I did a review of a few products back in June. He asked if I would review some hair products and in the midst of packing, trying to use up all my old hair stuff and then the quick get-a-way in Novemeber I never got around to using what he sent.
So into my small collection of “must take to Halifax because I don’t know when I’m going to see the rest of my stuff” went a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of conditioner from SHIELO:
Their Philosophy: “is to create products with integrity and ensure that we preserve the future well-being of our environment. Shielo is against animal cruelty and proud to use post-consumer recycled and recyclable packaging. Our products contain the highest quality ingredients from nature, combined with advances in haircare research to ensure desired performance and ultimate results. As an organization, we have committed to developing naturally-based formulas infused with organic botanicals harvested from plants grown without the use of synthetic pesticides or chemicals.“
Confession: Since losing all of my weight I’ve become a little vain about the one thing and one thing only: My hair. It’s the truth. I get my hair cut once a month and up until November it was with the same person for the last two years. I spend more time on my hair than I do picking out my clothes. I can’t explain why with all the changes to my body I am vain about the one thing that never really changed. I think it might have do with my 87% boy 13% girl equation but that’s another post…
This is what Sergio sent.
I always give an honest opinion when doing a review. When I like something, I like it. When I don’t, well I don’t. I’m not afraid of losing the opportunity to do reviews because of an honest opinion. Just because I don’t like something doesn’t mean the people taking the time to read a blog post and enter a giveaway will feel the same way that I do.
I like these products.
A lot.
Here’s what I like about them:
- Smells good (not overbearing, not perfume-y, very light)
- I don’t need a whole lot so the bottles have lasted a long time (this is good considering I’m not working right now)
- Hair feels fantastic (soft)
- Hair looks good (super vain double plus bonus here).
- It’s an online company so I can order more instead of hunting it down in stores.
- The bottle is super cool looking (yes that’s important to me)
- Did I mention my hair looks good!
It took me a few months to get around to doing this review and when I contacted Sergio about doing a giveaway much later than anticipated, he sent back an email that gave me not only one thumb up but when I informed him that I had moved to Canada and was hoping to include my new Canadian neighbors on the give-a-way he put the other thumb up and said “let’s do it”!
So here we go with the details!
 SHIELO is giving away one free Leave in Protectant Antioxidant to one of you!
(And by you I mean both US and Canada)
You know how this works. Just leave me a comment below. If you want you can like them over at Facebook and Twitter and tell me about it. Each comment you leave is an entry. Each entry will be thrown into a random number generator at the end of day January 18th (that’s a lot of opportunity to leave a comment here people) and one of you will have a little happiness sent via the mail.
Thanks again, Sergio and Shielo for giving my vain little head of hair some love.
Much Appreciated!
 I’ve seen a lot of posts lately about the “Word of the Year”. Picking a word for 2012 to signify what kind of year it will be. I was intrigued enough that it got my own brain working on a word…
I’ve spent quite some time thinking about a word but I couldn’t get past the idea of not knowing what kind of year it was going to be. At the onset of 2011 if I would have taken a few moments to focus on a word I think it would have had something to do with running. Or maybe a word about knocking down walls. Or maybe a word on believing in myself. Now that I’m at the end of 2011 and looking back the word I would give it is CHANGE. 2011 was so full of unforeseen changse that just thinking about has my head spinning.
It’s no wonder with all the changes that have taken place over the very short twelve months that everything just sort of came crashing down during December and my transition to moving to Halifax. I’ve been very quiet as of late because everything got so emotionally jumbled up, I didn’t know how to begin talking about it.
Then I had a break down last Sunday.
It wasn’t pretty.
But then they never are.
Outside in the cold, walking. Stopping at a bridge and watching the river flow by. Tears streaming down my face. And finally admitting that I wasn’t happy. That the homesickness had taken a toll on my emotional state. That missing the littlest things of comfort was causing me so much angst that I couldn’t sleep at night. That I felt like every smile was forced and the answer to “is everything okay” when asked was a lie. I felt bad for missing my hometown. I felt bad for missing little things like going to Tacoma Boys for veggies or to Fred Meyer to see if they had any Fage yogurt on sale. I felt bad for missing my parking spot on the college campus. I felt bad for missing Pho on 38th. I felt bad for missing everything about my hometown and that feeling bad snowballed into something else.
It snowballed into confusion.
Had I made the right changes?
Am I where I am supposed to be?
Funny thing about not holding emotions in and taking a huge leap when sharing is that what was once a feeling of a huge burden deflates almost immediately when you let it go. As soon as I admitted I was homesick and that it was causing me to be confused inside the confusion stopped. As soon as I admitted I was homesick and that it was causing me to question my decisions, the questioning stopped. As soon as I admitted I was homesick and that it had pulled me into a bout of depression I didn’t know how to handle, the depression subsided.
Letting go of the emotions that were bringing me down
made room for the emotions that lift me up.
So often we think that what we are feeling is not important. That what we are feeling is wrong when they comes with words like “sad” “confused” “angry” attached. We hold them in and let them build up steam like a tea kettle on a hot stove. Ignoring what’s really going on in hopes that it will pass. Refusing to acknowledge emotions inside for fear of hurting those outside. I still miss my hometown. I still miss the routine of standing in my kitchen and taking my vitamins in a particular order. I still miss getting up in the morning and seeing Meegan staring at me from 4000 miles away on the computer screen. I still miss going to my P.O. box on my way to work and wondering if there will be any mail. But I don’t question where I am or the changes that have happened over the last year…
I am right where I am supposed to be.
I am doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.
Instead of questioning.
I am accepting.
That’s my word for 2012: ACCEPT. Life has a path and while I think I know where that path leads I really don’t. I know that the changes and decisions in my life will always be made with careful thoughts and as I implement those changes and decisions I’m not out to hurt anyone. I accept that there will be challenges in life. Be they physically related or emotionally related there will be challenges and I accept that some days it will be easy to get through. I accept that some days I won’t know how to step up to a challenge and face it head on. I accept that some days I will wake up and feel like I am on top of the world and some days I will feel like the heel of the shoe that stepped in a huge pile of dog shit. I accept that some changes will come with a resounding “hell yes” and some will come with a tear streaked face of confusion. I accept that this life changing journey is hard because I am doing something that most people won’t do:
Take control.
I have no idea where 2012 is taking me. Christ I don’t even know where the month of January or even this week is taking me. I’ve started something big that I’m too afraid to talk about openly. I’m trying to figure out how to make money in a country I can’t legally work in. I’m preparing to earn my first 26.2 with hopes of other races to follow (as soon as I figure out how to pay for the registrations). I’m trying to stay in the moment every second of every day and not go back to what once was or what should be. Everyday I wake up and have to remind myself that I am not where I was…
But that I am where I am supposed to be.
Physically.
Emotionally.
I accept.
 I wear one of those inspirational word bracelets.
You know the one’s.
The kind that’s supposed to remind you of something powerful every time you look down. The kind that over time become so stretch out it’s hard to keep it on your wrist. The kind with words like “Dream” “Hope” or “Livestrong”. The kind that after a few weeks or months you sort of forget that it’s there and it no longer has the intent it did when you first put it on.
Constant Improvement / Self Discipline
Those are the words etched on mine. I got it when I was first starting out at JTS (Jower’s Training System) back in Tacoma and next to my RoadID that I’ve worn everyday for the last year this bracelet has a lot of meaning for me.
I’ve been on this journey a long time. Two years ago almost to the day I decided that the 270 pound body that I was carrying around was tired of being carried around. Two years ago I decided that the shit I was putting into my mouth was just that: Shit. Two years ago I decided that even if I could only walk up one flight of stairs it was better than nothing and for the first time in my life I was better than nothing. I was something. I’ve learned a lot over the last seven hundred and thirty days. I learned that I can do what I thought was impossible. I learned that weight loss is secondary to the depression that I carried deep inside of my being. I’ve learned that it’s okay to cry during a work out as long as you keep on working out. I’ve learned that just because I threw up the first time I ran a half block doesn’t mean I’m going to always throw up if I just keep running. I’ve learned that this journey is never going to end for me. Two years later and one of those years in full maintenance and my emotional (in)stability is still as delicate as it was the first day I decided to change my life. The difference between today and two years ago is that I refuse to let food placate my emotional state and I refuse to ignore my feelings as if they don’t matter.
So many of us are going to begin the vicious cycle of New Year’s resolutions. On December 29th of 2009 I didn’t make a resolution when I decided that I would climb the stairs instead of take the elevator, I made a commitment. I didn’t make a resolution when I decided that I would be conscious of the food I put in my body no matter how much my brain screamed to be comforted by fast food, I made a commitment. I didn’t make a resolution when I decided that I would get up at 4am to run in the dark because I was afraid people would laugh at my fat, I made a commitment. I didn’t make a resolution each time I found myself in the middle of an emotional binge and finally put a stop to the purging that followed, I made a commitment.
A commitment to always be on a path of self improvement.
A path of constant discipline.
A path of self improvement means realizing that some days the clouds are going to be dark and the rains will fall heavily on my soul. A path of constant discipline means being patient as those rains wash away the wounds of old and bring another opportunity to love who I am today, who I was yesterday and who I will be tomorrow. A path of self improvement means taking a deep breath and giving myself room to stumble. A path of constant discipline means getting up when I feel like I can’t, or worse yet that I don’t deserve to get up. A path of self improvement means quieting the voices that still remind me I can’t and never will. A path of constant discipline means giving those voices the friendly “fuck off” as I move forward each day to a better me.
Today more than ever I am clinging to the idea that I am always on a path of self improvement. It’s not about how much weight I can lift or how many miles I can run like it used to be. Those were my bench marks for this journey. The number on the scale defined my success (or failure). Now it’s about how after two years I still struggle to love the body, the heart and the mind that is me. The path of self improvement not in the physical sense but in the emotional sense. The path of constant discipline isn’t about going to the gym everyday or running another race, but about laying my head on my pillow at the end of the day, closing my eyes and knowing that when I wake up the next day I am committing to a life long journey…
Of change.
Improvement.
Discipline.
 So…
I have this trainer.
If you know me (and you do know me right?), you know that the people I train with are very important to me. Superman was my first trainer when I walked into Allstar gym. Long hours on the Wii, rewiring my way of thinking about food, counting calories and a lot of time spent in the mirror learning how to love the body I was in so that I could let it go and go after the body I longed for, the membership was a gift to myself for having lost the first thirty pounds on my own. With the membership came two free training sessions and after those two I was hooked. Superman and I spent a few months together. It was the first time I experienced what it was like to be pushed to the point of exhaustion and have someone pat me on the back and say “way to go”.
When it was time to move on from Superman, I was fortunate enough to find Godfather. He took my physical abilities to a whole new level. A higher level. A stronger level. A level of pushing down walls and screaming “What’s next?!?”. When I said I couldn’t he looked me square in the eyes and said “I’m about to prove you wrong” and each and every time he was right. For seven months he told me to lift heavy shit (and I did), he told me to move faster (and I did), he told me to keep going (and I did) and he told me that I could do whatever I put my mind to (and I did). With him not only did I knock down those brick walls that kept me from moving forward I did it like it was no one’s fucking business.
For a long time I didn’t have a trainer after Godfather. It was difficult to find my motivation and to keep pushing myself. While I didn’t pay someone to stand over me and say “One more sit up” I did find solace in the classes I was taking at the gym, Coach Robbie at boot camp and Anthony at boxing became my trainers for a short time. I owe them as much respect as anyone I called trainer. Because of them my burpees and my pushups are fucking fabulous. They are a part of who I am as an athlete and for that I thank them.
Now I have a new trainer.
Chris has been Meegan’s trainer for much of her weight loss journey. Though we didn’t meet in person until October of this year, I’ve known of Chris for almost the entire time I’ve known Meegan. Her relationship with Chris is much the same as my relationship with Godfather: Respectfully Intense. When I came to visit Halifax for the first time this last October I felt a sense of gratitude I’ve never felt towards someone I’d never met. I wanted nothing more than to hug him and say thank you for helping to save the life of the person I fell in love with. Without him, Meegan wouldn’t be who she was and without her my life wouldn’t be as it was.
For months like clockwork I would wake up when she was getting ready for the gym. From my side of Skype I would watch her leave only to return an hour later, sweaty, strong and ready to kick ass. He pushed her like Godfather pushed me and I respected the hell out of what they had built together over the last two years. I didn’t know how I was going to fit in to this already established trainer/client friendship. When I got here six weeks ago, I sort of fell into stride. Her time with Chris has become our time with Chris. Instead of watching her leave from my side of Skype, we leave together from this side of Halifax. Instead of feeling like I am intruding on what they had together, I feel like I am part of something spectacular…I didn’t know Chris when I was 230 pounds and crying because I didn’t want to do another set of jumping jacks. I didn’t know Chris when I was 190 pounds and didn’t want to do another box jump…But I know him now. I came to him as an athlete and someone that likes to push the limits. I came to him as someone that isn’t afraid to lift heavy shit as a female (at least the 13% of me I consider female). I came to him looking for someone I could respect and work hard for so that at the end of the day I could earn the pat on the back and the “good job kid” that I’ve missed for some time.
I’ve found it in him.
I think everyone deserves to know this man.
While you can’t come with me to sweat it out everyday (unless you’re in Halifax to which I say get your ass in here), you can check out his website. He’s got an amazing blog that doesn’t preach talk about what you should or shouldn’t be putting in your mouth, or how you should spend all your money on a trainer or an expensive gym membership. He just writes about life and what we can do to survive the madness of it all…
Thanks Chris.
Merry Christmas ya freakin wanker!
xoxo
T-Rex
 That last post was hard to write.
It’s the first time I’ve written something and comments were made that I felt slightly jilted. Like I wanted to point fingers back and say “You don’t know what it’s like to be in my shoes” or “You just don’t understand”. It’s the first time I almost contemplated not approving certain comments because they caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up and I wanted to react.
What I wanted was a virtual hug and a pat on the back with the obligatory ‘it’s going to be okay Tara”. I got some of that. I also got some harsh, grab me by the shoulders and hear the truth stuff too.
Confession:
I already know all of that.
I know I am not in charge of anyone’s happiness but my own. I know that the guilt and sadness I am feeling is also in my own control. I don’t know the experiences of those that come here and read what I write so everything is said with the hopes of doing more good than harm. I know that when I write it’s because I want other people to know they are not alone in the struggles of living. Not alone in wanting more for themselves. I want people to be motivated to make the changes because one day, two years ago I read someone else’s blog and they motivated me to get up and fucking move.
Life is as life is. Some days I’m going to come here and lay some bullshit down about me believing in you until you can believe in yourself. I’m going to don the ugliest mental picture of a cheer leading outfit I can find because I’m so pumped up about the life I’ve found I want to get on my knees and beg anyone that listens to do the same. To get out there and live because it is spectacular. Some days I’m going to come here and literally vomit all over this blog because the sight of my own face disgusts me and unless I want to hide in a refrigerator for three days bingeing this is the one place I might find some answers in the form of my own words.
Life is as Life is.
Regardless of how life is going I’m still living. I’m still standing firm against my old self. The self that is still whispering in my ear that everything I’ve done is wrong. I’m still fighting for my own life despite looking like I’m pointing outward and saying “now it’s your turn”. I know the way I am handling the situation with Mitch isn’t the best, but it’s what I know right now. I know that the berating on his part feels deserved on my part. He won’t stop anytime soon so I know I need to step up and make the changes. Can I make them today? No. Can I make them next week? I don’t fucking know because I need time to figure out how to live right here today. I know I need to focus on what’s right in front of me, not what’s behind me…
I was going to say “but” in that last sentence then realized I was just about to make an excuse. I know what I know. I don’t need anyone to grab me by the shoulders and shake me to my senses. I’ve been doing this long enough. I’ve made enough life changes to know how I’m feeling is a process. A process of learning, of loving and of hopefully letting go. A process of deciding what works and what just weighs me down and keeps me from moving forward. I don’t care if it takes one day, one hundred days or one thousand days. As long as I am not giving up I am living to the best of my ability.
Now where’s my ugly cheer leading outfit?
I have a life to lead.
Get the fuck out of my way.
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Meet Tara
Who I am: Runner. Triple digit weight loss success story. Motivator. Life changer. Lover of living life in the moment and moving beyond my past to reach my future.
Important Acronyms / Titles EFT = Emotionally Fat Tara
GODFATHER = My Trainer
GSC2011 = Great Stair Climb of 2011
IEJ = Intuitive Eating Journey
LCJ = Life Changing Journey
PBR = Post Run Blues
Monthly weigh in.. My Highest weight = 270 (November 2009)
I started my weight loss journey on December 29th 2009
Dec 2009 = 263.5 (-0.0)
Jan 2010 = 248.2 (-15.3)
Feb 2010 = 241.0 (-7.2)
Mar 2010 = 232.8 (-8.2)
Apr 2010 = 222.4 (-10.4)
May 2010 = 212.0 (-10.4)
Jun 2010 = 202.8 (-9.2)
July 2010 = 193.2 (-9.6)
Aug 2010 = 183.3 (-9.9)
Sep 2010 = 178.1 (-5.2)
Oct 2010 = 173.4 (-4.7)
Nov 2010 I hit goal = 168.5
Jan 2011 = 165ish (holding strong)
Feb 2011 = 163ish
Mar 2011 = 160ish
Apr 2011 = 155ish
1 year maintenance = 165 (This is where my body wants to be)
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Confession: I don’t like to eat.
