Getting Busted

Confession time: I've been avoiding testing for my next level belt in kickboxing. Why? Well, I've had it in my head that I wanted to be able to complete 10 pushups without having to rest in between each one. After each class, the instructor gives out a "stripe" (which is a piece of electrical tape) that gets wrapped around the belt. After so many are obtained, the belt holder tests for the next belt. So, in order to avoid testing, I have managed to disappear before picking up stripes by sneaking out of class. I was supposed to attend 24 classes before testing for my next belt. I've attended 50 as of this morning. Here's where the "busted" part comes in.

Image found here

As I enter the facility, Chris (instructor) states, "So, you're testing today, right?"

I respond with, "No," as a slight smile eeks through (I can't help it - I'm a horrible liar and really hate keeping things from anyone).

"You tested last month, right?" Chris asks.

"Um, no," I utter quietly.

"Oh, you're testing today then," is the response that comes out of instructor Chris' mouth. "How many stripes do you have?"

"Sixteen," I say. It's not a lie... I just haven't been getting the stripes.

"I want to see your belt," he retorts.

"But, I don't have it with me today. I forgot it at home."

His response, "Oh, you are going to test today."

"But, I'm not ready. We can talk about it after class," I seem to be pleading. "Look, I'm not trying to mess with you or the system, but I just want to be able to do proper pushups."

Chris walks away. I know he's upset, but it's not like I'm cheating to get ahead... I just want to know that I am properly doing what is being asked of me. We go through a 30 minute "warm up" after which he asks all belt testers to come to the front of the class. I do not go to the front of the class. Chris tells one of the other instructors that I am testing. I repeatedly state that I am not. I don't want to be stubborn, but seriously, I just want to do things properly before being rewarded with another level.

Everyone partners up, and we start off with pushups. I do about 35 (I lost count due to the reason about to be explained), as the official testers are getting through however many reps they need to do for their next level. As I'm doing the pushups, Chris comes over to stand beside me.

"I don't understand what you're expecting from yourself? You're already doing pushups better than most of the class," he says.

"I just want to be able to come back up straight... I just can't do that," is my reply.

He responds with, "You're doing them just fine. I'd really like you to test." He walks away.

We move on to other items. Static wall sits, medicine ball jump squats, and situps are next. Chris comes over to do the sit ups with me.

"I really wish you'd just test. You've already done more than what is required for this belt," he says.

I am quiet. What can I really say? I know they're not what I'm expecting, but that doesn't seem to matter to him...And why does he want me to test so badly anyway?

At some point, Chris comes over to me and says that I have been to 50 classes. In my mind I know exactly how many I've been to, but I can see the surprise/disappointment on his face. It's almost as though he's angry/hurt, and I guess I can't really blame him. It wasn't about that though in my mind. I simply wanted to be able to prove to myself that I could do proper pushups - properly.

He finally states that he'll respect my wishes, but he really thinks I should just move up to the next level. I think I'm out of the woods as he walks away again. The group continues on to the end of class at which point we sit with our eyes shut, legs crossed, trying to catch our breath again.

"I can feel you there," I say suddenly, knowing that Chris has sat down next to me.

"I know." He whispers, trying not to disturb others around us. "I really wish you'd let me give you the next belt. You've done the work, and you're an inspiration to so many people here. You have plenty of time to work on whatever you think is wrong with the pushups. It's not as though you're never going to do them again."

Really? This is how he's going to get me? {sigh} I'm a sucker for guilt, I suppose. I don't feel like an inspiration, nor do I feel worthy of the next belt, but he's gone to so much work just to get me to take the thing that now I feel bad.

"Fine. You can give me the belt," finally comes out of my mouth.

"Really?" He asks.

"Yes." I respond.

And with that, somehow I was not only busted, but moved into the next belt level. I guess I'm no longer flying under the radar. Somehow, I think Monday's class will be quite painful for me when he dishes out revenge. {sigh} I suppose I had it coming.

Day One

Everyone who begins a weight loss journey seems to have a dramatic story or something that pushed them over the edge to get going with losing the excess fat. I suppose I'm no different. You see, yesterday was the 10 year anniversary of my husband's and my meeting. Ten years. That's a pretty big marker. In that ten years, I have gained about 40-45 pounds. It's difficult to admit that, but I think it's part of the process of recognizing that as much as I like to say that I don't mind being overweight, I really do.

Normally, I am a fairly healthy person in terms of not getting sick, and really even my blood work always comes back with a green light. I don't remember the last time I was out with some kind of illness, but in late December I started getting flu like symptoms and figured I was due for some kind of bed rest. When it still hadn't gone away in early March, I knew it was time to go to the doctor for antibiotics. I don't normally look at the scale when I visit the doctor because I don't want to think about the number I'm seeing. It's always more than it should be and I am quite used to having doctors tell me that I need to lose. On this particular occasion, I made the mistake of looking. {sigh} It was... unfortunate.

This visit to the doctor happened to overlap the 10 year anniversary, and I think the realization of knowing how much I'd gained not only since my husband and I had met, but also just since the beginning of the year spurred me to action. What happens if I do nothing and just keep gaining? How long will it be before I won't even be able to do the things I enjoy? I couldn't imagine not being able to walk the dogs or ride my bike, or any number of other things. What if I died tragically somewhere? Would they even be able to pick me up to throw me in a grave or into the incinerator? A morbid thought, I am aware, but it did cross my mind.

Today is day one. Despite all the attempts in the past and subsequent failures, I have to start fresh and know that it is possible to conquer this mighty mountain. I have lost in the past, and I will lose again. I am starting by recording food intake on an online calorie counting website. It's a start. I haven't been to the gym since, hmm, probably November-ish, so I know I need to figure out what to do to get myself motivated in that arena again as well. I think just starting out with walking is the best course of action. Since clothes are the only thing that seem to motivate me, I have made a pact with myself that I will not get out of gym clothes for any purpose until I lose 10 pounds. It's a lofty goal, but if I work hard, it shouldn't take long.

And away I go...

New Beginnings

This is the story of how one fat girl is turning into a very strong woman. As I begin the story, I should point out that I am, indeed, still the fat girl, but I believe with every ounce of my being that it is possible to become the strong woman I know I can be. My story may or may not coincide with yours, and you may or may not find that you identify with pieces of my tale, but either way I hope to re-motivate myself when needed, and have some history to be able to look over when I am feeling down.

What's my story? I have been overweight (obese) my entire life. I am (according to the doctor's charts) extremely overweight. How did it happen? Slow and steady. You'd think with that much extra weight it would be difficult to get around, but I've adapted, and I've always been active. Although not horribly coordinated, I do enjoy sports, riding a bike, and believe it or not, I even ran and completed a marathon just a few years ago (even with all the excess weight).

I sometimes think I came out of the womb a chunky baby because the universe knew that it would be cruel to make me thin for a few months, only to immediately turn into a chunk-a-dunk child. My entire family has been overweight or obese at various points in their individual lives. My husband is not fat. He is athletic and strong, and I sometimes wonder why a person who's in such great shape (even without trying) would want to be with someone who is struggling to fit into her tent-sized jeans.

When we first dated, I was smaller, but not by much. Our initial meeting was somewhat a blind date and I was not thrilled with the prospect of meeting someone who didn't know what I looked like. I don't think I'm ugly, but so many people in this world are obsessed with body image, and I didn't want to deal with another rejection (particularly from someone I was trying to date), nor was I interested in landing a "chubby chaser." As the universe would have it, we were stuck like glue to each other pretty much from that first date. Little did I know that he was a perfect balance for all the madness that is my life. He sees the beauty when I have only disgust. I hope to see myself through his eyes one day.

While there is much more to the story, I suppose I will leave it there for now. Tomorrow is a new day - that is the beauty of each morning - no matter what has happened, I can make the choice to start fresh again.