Weighty Matters

Just a quick update on personal matters. I wanted to thank you all for your thoughts and comments regarding my injury. I've already been to a specialist (chiropractor, specifically) a couple of times and have another appointment scheduled for later this week. I'm happy to report that I think it's going to get me headed in the right direction. Whether or not I'll ever be what I should remains to be seen, as these are nearly life-long problems I've tried to deal with, but I'm happy to have some relief and am looking forward to hopefully getting back to something normal soon. In the meantime, I'm enjoying shorter rides and thankful that there haven't been too many doctor restrictions placed on me. :)
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Every now and again, I receive an email from someone who's happened upon the blog and who is curious why I don't focus more on size, or more exactly why I rarely discuss issues that come up for those who are larger than the average person on a bicycle. By larger, I don't mean taller - I mean wider.

My response is generally that I have touched on these subjects in the past (and likely will at some point in the future), and I am happy to offer any thoughts that a person might find useful, but the reality is that finding our way as individuals has more to do with our personal strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, experiences, preferences, and so on. In my mind, the beauty of riding a bike is that it is one of the few activities people of many different sizes and shapes can participate in without needing to *lose weight first.

Additionally, it's simply not how I choose to focus this particular space. Sure, once in awhile I go on a rant, but I think those moments come up in times of frustration with the way the general or even a specific portion of the population is treating another segment of the population. It's not that I don't have thoughts or opinions on such matters, but simply that I generally have other things on my mind.

Today is not one of those days. Today also isn't a rant, but just more of (hopefully) a discussion point that I hope others will offer personal opinions and thoughts on.

To be fair, I suppose I should provide some personal background (because of course everyone has bias) So, for those who haven't heard it before, I'll offer some information that definitely forms my opinions today.

I have never been a normal weight at any point in my life past the age of about 3-4 years old. I am the product of two (both formerly - as they've each returned to normal weight ranges in their aging years) obese parents whose idea of helping their children not grow up to be like them meant weighing them in each morning and telling them not to gain any more weight. Daily.

I was about 2.5 yrs old here - already with the chubby face.

I was given freshly squeezed carrot juice with echinacea drops from the local herbalist for breakfast (the most revolting thing I can recall drinking as a child - hello... would it be so bad to add in a piece of fruit to make it taste better??) and then shown that sitting down in the evening to a meal followed by an entire family sized bag of Doritos and a huge chocolate bar was perfectly acceptable.  It was what was considered healthy and balanced by my parental figures.

When I was about 8 years old, my mother decided that I needed to be involved with a sport or activity of some kind. After lots of searching, I decided I wanted to take tap lessons. But, tap classes didn't start for a few weeks and being the impetuous child I was, I decided instead on ballet because it started immediately.

You can imagine the horrors for a chubby kid in a ballet class. Most of the time I didn't realize that I was much bigger than the rest of the girls in class (thank goodness I had a kind teacher), but I recall my mother telling me to "cover up" after class when we'd stop at the grocery store, which only fed my insecurities. Other kids were walking around in leotards and tights. Why did I have to wear clothing over my clothes?

There were the pre-teen and teen years that found me trying to figure out how to get all of the fat off of my body. I went through eating disorders (including starving myself and binge/purging), I attempted to work all the weight off with hours of exercise, and I read countless Shape Magazines in an attempt to figure out what I was doing wrong. I was so obsessed with working out and losing weight that I literally did exercise in my sleep.

I recall the first time my mother came across my nocturnal workouts. One morning, she commented that I really needed to go to sleep at night and not be so concerned with sit ups and jumping jacks at midnight. Confused, I asked what she was talking about and we quickly realized that I was doing all of this in my sleep. Some people walk, some people talk, but for me, I was a sleep-exerciser. I actually do talk in my sleep occasionally too - but that is entirely off topic.

Just at the start of high school in this photo. I recall my mother telling me not to wear this particular top, but I was definitely in the rebellious stage and didn't care.

At the start of my freshman year of high school, my mother took me to the local Jenny Craig in attempt to get the fat off of me. It was a new craze and I was "too large" and needed to "get it together" if I was going to have any kind of normal life. I tried. I really, really tried to make it on this program. I lost a few pounds, but when the weight didn't come off as expected, I started "fixing" the way I worked the system. I wouldn't eat the day before a weigh in and then gorged immediately after I saw the scale drop a bit. Eventually, my mother said the program wasn't working and she wasn't going to pay for it any more.

In high school, I found a friend with similar body issues and I drug her in to my ridiculousness. We ate baby food in an attempt to control portions. We met up at the track to run off the excess - though I'm not sure how much was leftover from a small jar intended to nourish an infant, not a growing teen. I tried desperately never to eat unless I absolutely had to do so, which inevitably led to eating too much and then feeling guilty or as though I had no self-control.

Through all of this, it should be noted that I was never an athlete. I was always picked last or nearly last (occasionally, a friend took pity on me) any time we played team sports. It didn't help that I am uncoordinated and a bit of a klutz. But, I knew that wasn't why I wasn't being chosen last as there were plenty of klutzy youths on the field. I was being judged for my size. Even teachers encouraged students to put me in a position that didn't require much of me. It was as though I was expected to do nothing.

As I moved through my young years, I recall my parents telling me that I would always be judged in anything I did because of my size. I would likely be turned down for jobs, men would find me unattractive, I wouldn't be able to do anything physical, and the likelihood of ever finding a partner in life was highly implausible. In short, I learned that if I was going to survive life, I either had to lose all of what society deemed excess weight or start to hide.

I don't recall a point in my life that I didn't feel that others where judging me by my weight. I suppose it's why I felt the need to prove myself as I grew into adulthood. I became more stubborn and determined to prove that my weight was not limiting my accomplishments.

My first attempt at kickboxing actually wasn't in the last few years. My first kickboxing round took place just after the end of high school. The friend that I'd conned into my bizarre diet plans talked me into going to a class with her. As it turned out, I actually liked it. I enjoyed the fact that I couldn't move my arms for days after. I loved that I was able to push myself to a point of near-break. I had never in my life felt so sore - and I absolutely loved it.

But, I was young, working two jobs and going to college, so I really couldn't afford (nor did I have the time) to continue going. After a short time, I had to give it up. In fact, I gave up all activity. All I had time to do was focus on work and school. It was all about survival.

One of my jobs was working at a restaurant, so I had easy access to food. It wasn't so much that I was eating all the time, but what I was eating that did me in. I packed on the pounds and even though I tried to get in the occasional workout, it was tough because I was already sleeping less than 4 hours a night.

On a ride to Carter Lake not too long ago.

As adulthood carried on, I started to find my own truths. I realized that it's okay to eat like a normal human, meaning that starving myself did nothing but push the scale in a direction opposite of my intentions. I also came to understand that it's just as important to find something active that I enjoy. I knew that I would never be the picture of perfection that so often graces the cover of magazines, but on some level I truly believed that it was possible to be something that genetically I simply am not.

I share all of this not because I feel a need to explain myself or for some sort of sympathy, but because it forms my thoughts today. While I have a more balanced viewpoint of all things body-related today, these formative times stay with a person. I have worked hard (and continue to do so) in adulthood to overcome the seeds planted in my youth. It is why when I was sent a link to this **article about Amanda Bingson I thought I'd love to delve into this topic a bit.

Amanda Bingson
*Image from ABC

If you haven't heard of her, Ms. Bingson is a hammer thrower for the 2016 Olympic team. She is also not the typical body type the public has grown used to seeing as a representative of Olympic athletes. At 5'5" (1.67m) and 210 lbs (95.25kg) most of the population would consider her fat or overweight. There have been other Olympians who have held extra pounds (such as Holley Mangold), as well as other athletes (see this article for great examples) who are representatives for those who work hard at their sport(s), but simply don't fit the stereotypical mold. But, alas, they are few and far between when it comes to seeing these faces gracing the pages of magazines.

Most of us are taught from a young age to never judge a book by its cover, yet we all have done it at some point in our lives. I also have belief that a 210 pound athlete is a far cry from a 210 pound couch potato. Bingson describes herself as "dense," and I definitely understand those thoughts. I've noticed in myself that weight itself seems to change very little, but the composition of my body can change dramatically, depending on what I'm doing and how hard I'm doing said activity.

One of the things Bingson said struck me as unusual in today's world. She states, "I'll be honest, I like everything about my body." How rare it is to come across anyone, particularly a female, of any size or shape who says she actually likes her body. She notes that she didn't really know what "fat" meant until middle school, stating that it was a school yard boy who pointed out that she was larger than others. Thankfully, she had enough sense to realize that there was nothing wrong with her body. That she is athletic and strong.

If you haven't yet read the interview with Bingson, please go and give it a read. It's short, but a perfect representation of who I would hope young people are aspiring to be. I'm not holding her as an example because she happens to be bigger than some athletes, but rather because she's using the body she has to accomplish her goals and doesn't fit the typical mold for an athlete. What better message to be sent to our nation's youth than to tell them they don't have to look like air-brushed super models to achieve great things?

She's a great representative for adults as well. It's easy to want to force our bodies into becoming something they were never meant to be. As someone who's struggled her entire life trying to make my body conform to what I'm told it should be, I appreciate women like Bingson who remind us that, "You might be prettier or skinnier than me, but I'll kick your ass in a game of one-on-one." We all have our strengths and abilities and I look forward to a day when we aren't judging each other based on what the scale says or what we look like, but because of who we are and what we are capable of doing and achieving.

Do you have any favorite athletes who you think represent where we should be heading? What do you think about the images we typically see in media regarding size, weight, ability and so on? I'd love to hear what you think about anything this topic touches on.
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*For the record, I think anyone of any size can do whatever s/he is capable of doing. However, I've definitely seen doctors who insist I shouldn't run because of my size. If my body is cooperative and not giving signs that I'm doing damage, I think running, climbing, kayaking, or whatever activity a person chooses is one s/he should do.

**Thanks to Sam for sending the link to this article my way.

The Fire Within

*Note: This started as a personal journal entry, but I decided to go ahead and share it here because even though I've come to no real conclusions, I don't think I'm alone in my feelings and thoughts (or at least some may go through their own version). Additionally, I have some friends testing for black belts in kickboxing this weekend, and a friend running a marathon, and I wanted them to know that no matter what they may be feeling, they have support around them and that we all go through moments of being unable to believe in ourselves - regardless of what we are attempting in life. The post has little to do with bicycles (though, interestingly enough, bicycles were part of the original conversations), so I just want to give a heads up to those looking specifically for bike-relevant topics.
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"I think I'm going to see if I can run up to Estes Park in a couple of weeks." This was the statement that caught me off guard as I was in the middle of a tear-filled, multi-dimensional, crazy meltdown. In the moment, however, it was enough to pique my interest to not only temporarily stop the crying, but also to ask for clarification. "What do you mean, you're going to 'run to Estes Park?'" I volleyed back. "As in, physically - from our front door, to the mountain in Estes Park? You're going to run there? That has to be like..." Sam finished my sentence, "Thirty-two miles. It'll be like an ultra-marathon," he smiled. "I don't know if I can actually do it, but I want to try."

Just for visual purposes... all of that "green part" would be mountains, in case anyone was wondering.

For those unfamiliar with the area, the altitude difference is over 2,500 feet (starting at almost 5,000 feet and climbing to over 7,500 feet), but you can imagine what it would be like to not only cover 32 miles running, but to also include this massive amount of climbing for over half of the run. It's a highway though, with motorized traffic, and no real protection from said motorized traffic. However, people bike it throughout the summer, so I suppose if someone wanted to run it, why not?

I was dazzled by this idea. It's not the first time Sam's presented something that seemed "superman-ish" to me, but even for him, this seemed kind of out there in terms of possibility of completion. I know he is capable of doing just about anything he sets his mind to do, but 32 miles... up hills (or mountains).... running... and soon?

The beautiful Rocky Mountains

"I could drop you in Lyons. Then you'd only have to run up the mountain (only), which is probably still about 20 miles," I offered as a compromise. "I mean, I will be your SAG or whatever you need for whichever you choose; but, wow, that seems like a really incredible thing to do!" Sam responded by stating that it was just something he'd only do once, but it seemed like something he wanted to attempt. He then said something that would send me into a kind of whirling dervish of thoughts. "You know, you're the one who started all of this. People think I'm the one who's crazy, but you started it all."

Sam went on to explain his reasoning. He talked about my initial foray into athletics with wanting to run a marathon several years ago. I drug him into it because I didn't want to do it alone (even though I did it alone because he's much faster than I am). Then, the start with kickboxing and soon bringing him along, and my attempts with attending every class offered for months, just to see if it could be done. I wanted to ride a century, just to see if I could do it and set about completing it on a random day without telling anyone, and then two weeks later, did it again, dragging him through the toughest portion. He talked about my plotting a means of completing a half Ironman at some point (which, as a side note, still seems crazy to me - for many reasons - but I can't help but think it's possible).

I had to stop and think. Am I the crazy one in all of this? The thought seemed preposterous. I am not the athletic one, or the person who wants to try "crazy" new feats of endurance, strength, and so on. I am simply the one who gets drug along (happily) with the true athlete to cheer him on. Sam then said, "Really, you're the inspiration for all of these things." Which just sent me back into my crying state - though for completely different reasons.

Over the last few years, I have been fortunate to be surrounded by people who are so encouraging of each other. They will cheer for you when you think you have nothing left to give, they offer a hand when you don't think you can stand up, and they won't allow you to think that anything is impossible. It's difficult not to be motivated when around these sorts of people. During this time with these folks, the term "inspirational" has been used to describe me. I share this not because I think I'm something special, nor because I agree with them, but rather because I feel the need to explain what that word has actually meant in my warped brain.

*Image here

Often times, I believe this word is over-used. There are many cases in which it is an apt term, but when it is said so frequently, and in so many different situations, and definitely when in reference to me and my endeavors, it starts to have less impact and true meaning in my mind. To make matters worse, when I hear this word associated with me, the thoughts that come are typically one of these...

1) They are using this word because they feel sorry for the fat woman who thinks she can do what everyone else can do.
AND/OR
2) They are using this word because there isn't anything nice to say about what I'm doing.
AND/OR
3) Wow! These people really don't see very impressive things in life, do they? (or other similar thoughts)

For someone who has always struggled to keep up with others athletically, "inspirational" doesn't seem the correct term in my mind. It feels more like a pitying term. "Trying," or "Attempting," seems more appropriate, but "inspirational" just seems like a word invented to make me think I'm not riding on the short bus when it comes to athletics, when in reality, the short bus picks me up very quickly on the athletic road. For the record, I know this is not the intention of anyone in my life; however, I can't help but think these thoughts in regard to myself. Again, I am not an athlete, I am not special (at least not in any good way), and I don't do anything to justify this sort of label.

Before our conversation had mozied down this path, the topic Sam and I'd been discussing revolved around my lack of motivation and feeling depressed in regard to so many aspects of life. I kept saying that I just can't get myself out of this funk and everything I do seems wrong. I had expressed that I realized I am really not good at anything and that I stupidly attempt so many things, hoping that I will be decent at one of them, only to find myself failing either due to lack of effort or because I am genuinely not any good at it. Sam always tries to help by saying that I am good at a lot of things, but deep down, I know that isn't the truth. I go back to my self-hating talk because it's what I know and it feels more comfortable to believe that I am incapable. If I tell myself I'm a failure, that I'm no good at my attempts, when someone else says or thinks it (or implies it with their "inspirational" tag), I can agree - because it's the truth as far as I'm concerned.

But, here we were (Sam and I), in the depths of a conversation that was supposed to be about Sam and his potentially amazing feat, and I was crying because I realized that of all the people in my life, there is no way he chose that specific phrasing because he had no others. He is generally a man of few words and prefers action over chatter, so when voicing his opinion, I know it is intentional and purposeful (or sometimes snarky/humorous - but even that is purposeful). These words were deliberate and meant to sink in and settle, and fester just a bit. To say I was uncomfortable would be an understatement.

Apparently, my tears falling weren't quite enough for Sam, so he added, "I just want to see you back in that state of mind. You know, as the woman who says 'to hell with all of them' and takes off on her own path. The one who motivates me to do what I do. The one who races to beat the guy on the bike who just passed her because he seems impossible to catch. The one who does the Burpees even though they injure her simply because she can do them. The one who makes her own challenges and then surpasses her own expectations."

I was now in full-waterworks mode... and I remained there for several hours. I had a lot to think about and sometimes tears are the most cleansing and therapeutic for me.

I read a book recently about people with similar personalities to mine and one of the ideas shared was that while we (as a group) are completely at ease hearing criticism about things we know to be true of ourselves and will acknowledge and let go of these statements, we are scarred by things said by others regarding us that are false. These statements stick with us for long stretches of time. We think about it and wonder if we've over looked something, searching and pondering why these statements were made. Ultimately, we come out fighting, and present vehement opposition to those making the accusations. We may even argue like someone who is guilty of these acts or qualities, even though the exact opposite is true. Perhaps this is partially why I am uncomfortable, sometimes even to the point of fighting over the notion that anything I do is at all inspirational: I simply cannot accept this as truth about myself.

It's easy to feel adrift in a sea of people who are better, who do more, who have that "special skill" I just never seemed to acquire, who are more "blessed," who are more athletically inclined, who are far more artistically gifted, and I find myself believing that everything I do is not good enough. Instead of allowing myself to seriously ponder the notion that I am an inspiration to someone, I immediately head it off with self-destructive thoughts.  But, why? There are so many who inspire me for various reasons, so why isn't it plausible that inspiration could be found in me?

It's unsettling to come to the realization that this word I've very purposefully avoided is being thrown in my face... and not in a bad way, but in a manner that is intended to cause me to stop and think and maybe even come to the realization that it's okay not to feel "inspirational" myself, but to also understand I may just have to make peace with the reality that perhaps others feel it is an appropriate term to use - and once in awhile in reference to me, even if I don't like it.

*Image here

Despite the fact that I can find many reasons to believe I am about as opposite as inspirational comes, I do know that I don't give up. There is a fire within me and even if it starts to die down during stretches of time, it's always there smoldering, waiting to reignite and burn brightly once again - it may just need some fuel to get restarted. Maybe I don't view myself as an inspiration, but perhaps there is something there of value - something to build on - and perhaps one day I'll be able to hear that "I" word without internally cringing. In the meantime, I'm happy to have others who offer up their own incredible and fascinating feats of athleticism, as I attempt to figure out where the bus is dropping me off. I can only hope it's on the road to figuring all of these quirks of mine out.

What Does an Athlete Look Like?

Tomorrow will be the fourth month in a row that I'm testing in kickboxing. There are those who think that I shouldn't be testing this quickly (myself included, at times) between belts, but I have to admit that the challenge of doing so definitely keeps me motivated, and striving to become a better me. At some point, this will no longer be possible as I will need too many classes to test each month, but in the meantime, I find myself debating whether or not it's a worthwhile cause to continue to do the tests each month for as long as I can. As I have mentally debated this over the past several weeks, I've often thought that there is no real reason for me to be pushing myself like this. What is it that's spurring me to action, exactly?

As I've been pondering this very idea, Sam brought to my attention something that I found odd, but intriguing. We were discussing the hang up that I have about the "6 month time frame" with losing weight and working out. I'm always fearful during the 6-8 month marker because in the past (as I've mentioned before) it is the point at which I generally give up and go back to my old ways. We were discussing how things feel different this time because it's not a "diet" that I am doing, and there's nothing to "go off of." I've viewed this as a change in life that's maintainable - which was the whole purpose. Still, I have my doubts because when one is crossing into unknown territory, it can be frightening - even if I'm aware of what can and has happened in the past. As we were having this discussion, Sam uttered something in the middle of a thought that stuck with me. He said, "Well, you're an athlete now." I laugh just typing it, and I laughed aloud when he said it while we were chatting.

I'm not an athlete. I've never been an athlete. I'm uncoordinated, unskilled, clumsy, awkward (at times), have always been picked last for every sport I've ever played - not to mention being overweight and the limitations that brings. But, the thought stuck with me, and I pondered it a bit more. An athlete? Me? I suppose it's possible. I train several hours a day, I'm often healing some sort of "war wound" from training, I'm aware of when, what, and how often I'm eating, and I have goals for myself. I'm becoming better at the things I'm doing, and finding ways to challenge myself. Is it possible? Am I turning into an athlete? I honestly don't even know what to do with that thought. I'm not the athlete... I'm the fat girl, who's not good at sports. The latter title seems much easier to accept than the former, and I'm trying to determine why.

The eternal optimist when it comes to others, I find the stark opposite to be the truth when it comes to myself. I am happy to cheer on others, and know full well that they are capable of anything they put their mind to doing, but I can't seem to believe the same for myself.  It's not as though this is restricted to the current situation either because it runs across all areas of life. I doubt everything I do and expect that what I'm doing is never good enough to call myself "fill_in_the_blank." I'm not an athlete, I'm not an artist, I'm not strong, I'm not a cyclist.  It's as though I have some kind of never-achievable idea of what it is I should be in order to call myself by whatever title. But, the reality is that I am all of these things, and the only one who doesn't yet believe it ... is me.

Some day though... one day, I will know that I am an athlete and I'll have the confidence to proclaim it out loud.