No More Mrs Nice Guy

I didn’t ask to be the poster child or spokesperson for larger cyclists, and certainly I am not. But, a tweet not too long ago got under my skin. It was not the tweet itself nor what had been written, but rather the contents of an article in Bicycling Magazine describing a heavier-than-average cyclist’s experience after posting online about an accomplishment and the commentary he received. Let’s just say, it brought out a lot of feelings for me because I identified with the man Selene Yeager was writing about (see here for the article).

On occasion, I have shared some of the weight issues I’ve dealt with throughout life (see here for a post about my personal struggles over a lifetime of trying to lose weight, or here for a post about going through a long stretch of doing “everything right” and still not losing, and/or here for a post about my frustration with the cycling clothing industry… and there have been others). I know what it’s like to be larger-than-average and to be very active. I also know the commentary that comes from others when doing things like cycling, running, working out at the gym, or any other physically-demanding activity when one is deemed above average in size. People are not kind. People can be downright and unnecessarily cruel. And, people can be very judgy/distrustful when it comes to believing what a larger human says s/he is doing. Even having Strava, Garmin or other GPS records doesn’t seem to dissuade people from thinking an activity has been manufactured.

A few weeks ago I was on the phone with my mother. We were chatting about various things, but she brought up that she’d been losing weight for no apparent reason. While she didn’t think it was concerning, her doctor did and she was undergoing tests to find out what was causing the unexplained losses. During the conversation, things suddenly shifted to me when she proclaimed, “I don’t know why you don’t lose weight. With all the activity you do, you should be skinny!”

I sigh even writing it, despite this taking place several weeks ago. This is one of my frustrations with humanity. Most assume the only way a person can be/remain large is 1) s/he does no activity, or 2) if the person does regularly participate in activities that they must eat enormous amounts of fatty, bad-for-the-body foods.

My response to my mom was, “Really? You don’t know why? I do. It’s called genetics.” My mother laughed it off, thinking that I was being snarky (which, I suppose I was, because of all people she should understand), but it is my reality. It doesn’t matter if I eat nothing and put in 4+ hours a day of riding, working out, etc. I don’t lose weight. While it can be entirely frustrating, and I have had days when I cry about it because it’s hard to wrap my brain around the thought that I can work hard and not see physical results, I have accepted that my body is doing what it thinks it needs to do to survive. It also means that I have to accept my body as it is and know that there will always be comments from others who simply don’t understand because they have never lived my experience.

Coming back from a solo 50-miler. Those chunky legs (and other body parts) never go away, no matter what I do… but I’ve learned they can be very powerful when needed. *Please forgive all of the excess paraphernalia/poor lighting as we are in the midst of moving things around.

I’ve been a bit obsessed over recent months with making sure each of my bikes is perfectly set up the way I want. This has resulted in many test rides to figure out what is and isn’t right on each of them, comparing the way they feel to each other and how I feel overall while riding them. It hasn’t been as easy as I thought it would, especially because I have to take into account the days when I’m just not feeling that “into” riding and the seemingly constant changes in weather and wind.

One day over a weekend, Sam decided to come along with me on a ride because I’d been claiming to have great difficulty getting up speed and I wanted to make sense of it. I knew if he was with me, I’d ride faster (because I have to in order to keep up when we’re not attached to each other riding the tandem) and I really wanted his feedback in regard to what he could see just observing.

I had a short-ish route planned that was long enough to actually test things out, but short enough to not exhaust me while pushing. I wanted some flats to actually get speed and some short climbs mixed in so that he could see what happens on the uphill portions as well.

We were moving along at a semi-decent pace, but the winds were blowing toward us and I was having difficulty breathing due to allergies/asthma (and of course the face mask that we wear just about everywhere these days). We hit the base of one of my least favorite short hills and I prepared for the push. About half way up, I was panting because, well, this is just how climbs are for me, especially if I’m actually trying. About 3/4 of the way up, a cyclist traveling in the downhill direction on the opposite side yelled out to me, “You’re almost to the top!” in the most condescending tone I can possibly imagine.

I was livid. Since I couldn’t speak (due to aforementioned panting/pushing), I threw up my middle finger as high as I could as I heard Sam laughing hysterically behind me.

As I caught my breath at the top of the hill, I replied to Sam, “It isn’t funny. I’m entirely sick of people making assumptions and I am no longer tolerating it. If I can’t get out words to yell something back to them, they’re gettin’ the finger. There’s not going to be anymore ‘being nice’ just because it’s what everyone expects.”

Perhaps it seems as though my response was a bit of an over-reaction, but after years of these types of moments, I have grown far beyond weary of the comments from other people when I’m riding. Everything from “Keep going” to “Just keep at it and you’ll get better (and/or lose weight),” to “Good job” and so on. There is so much assumption that takes place and some seem to think that I need their “encouragement” in order to do something I’m already doing and have been doing for many years. Just because I’m breathing harder or traveling slower than another person does not mean anything other than I’m moving slower and breathing harder. People ride at different paces, for different reasons, and to assume that their commentary is something I need in order to keep going is ludicrous. Sometimes I ride for speed and to push myself, sometimes I’m just riding to ride, but in either case, no one should feel it necessary to offer up their unsolicited thoughts on what or how I’m doing what I’m doing. My thinking is, if you wouldn’t say it to my stereotypical-cyclist-body-counterpart, why are you saying it to me?

A few days prior to this incident, I was riding alone and came up to a four-way-stop intersection with a signal. I was traveling up a mild incline and preparing to make a right hand turn as I approached the stop. My light was green, but was just turning yellow so I was internally debating whether to stop or roll through since I wasn’t traveling very swiftly at that moment. As I looked to the left, I could see another cyclist approaching her red light. I decided at the last second to roll through, thinking that it made more sense than stopping, but I was barely moving at that point.

As I rounded the corner, the cyclist that I had seen to my left was coming up behind me. I was trying to pick up speed so as to not slow her down (though others are always welcome to pass), but it was taking me a few seconds to get up to speed. The woman on the bike made a snarky comment to me and went around, but then was slowing down as I was picking up speed. As we climbed the short hill in front of us, I was gaining on her quickly (which was an odd experience in itself because I don’t generally pass people when climbing). I just didn’t quite understand why she went around me instead of giving a couple of seconds to allow me to get up to speed. I know that I try not to do this to others. If I’m approaching and they’re just trying to get started from a stop, I generally give several seconds for them to get up to speed instead of assuming that I am a faster rider.

So, when I ended up passing her, I couldn’t help but shake my head and question the entire incident. I do know that it was a catalyst to get me to move faster than I’d intended though and before I knew it my recovery ride had turned into a heated internal race. I was determined to not allow this woman to pass me again. About a mile up the road I looked in my mirror and couldn’t see her, which was even more frustrating. Was this one of those times when someone passes me just because I look like I’m going to be slow?

The reality is that I know there is an idea in the cycling world that I will be slow just by looking at me. Yes, if I’m on a sustained, long climb, I will more than likely be slower than most, if not all cyclists, and extra weight will undoubtedly slow a person down (or at least make climbing more challenging). But, most assume that I have just started riding, that I am doing so to lose weight and that I am slow because of my size (Which is false… though I’ll freely admit that gravity, not to mention injuries, does take its toll, especially on my tired days). I’m not going to deny the reality that I often do ride slow, but it doesn’t mean that I am inherently slow just because of my size — nor should it matter to anyone else. “Slow” or “fast” are such subjective ideals anyway when it comes to riding bikes. My fast may be someone else’s slow or vice versa.

There are a lot of fast riders in this area, many of whom race regularly and/or are professionals, so I am quite used to getting passed and am entirely okay with anyone who pedals faster. My issue is not that others are faster, nor that I am sometimes slower and get passed, but rather that there is too much assumption (and a need to make comments to others). As Sam has said to me, “You are stubborn and when you’re angry or annoyed, your will is stronger than other’s muscle. If you are determined to, you can catch and pass just about anyone.”

He’s not wrong. There have been innumerable situations in which someone said the wrong thing and that’s all it took to light a fire. In some sense, I’m at my best when I have a foe (whether real or imagined) to battle. Through that lens, maybe I should be grateful for the comments I receive? Perhaps these are pushing me to give just a little more than I think I can?

The bottom line is that making assumptions about others based on what they look like or the speed at which they are traveling at a random point in time is a terrible idea. Making comments about this to the person is an even worse route to choose — Even if there is a belief that what is being said is somehow helping the other person, it’s probably better to say nothing. Telling someone that what they have accomplished isn’t real or valid because they are bigger than what is considered societally-acceptable, or that the individual has manufactured or embellished what they’ve done is completely ridiculous as well. Tearing someone else down should never be necessary or accepted, and encouraging or adding to this behavior should be called out when it’s observed. And so, I fall back to my prior statement… I implore you, when riding solo, with others in a group, or any time, if you wouldn’t make the comment to a slim-bodied cyclist, please refrain from making it to me or others like me.

Fat Bike

Preface: I started writing this post a few days ago and then stopped myself. I wasn't sure that I wanted to post it at all, but I think this is an ongoing issue that humans, and in particular, females are dealing with continuously and while I don't have the answer or the solution for anyone, perhaps it will be a good point of discussion or a means for someone to vent or share stories. Maybe I'm just rambling to try to sort through my own thoughts. I'm not entirely sure, but I'm going to attempt to make sense of the thoughts that have been rolling around for the last several days and hopefully others will be willing to offer personal insights or thoughts on the matter. 

Over the last several weeks, Sam's and my schedules haven't been the most normal. We haven't spent a ton of time together during this stint, and while that may work well for some couples, I prefer to have at least some amount of time together to vent about happenings or just simply to be in the same room. So, when we had a morning free of obligations recently, I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to spend a little time together.

My suggestion was that we ride to the gym for a morning workout and then ride to breakfast afterward. A couple of months ago we stopped our kickboxing regimen that had existed for nearly 5 years, so I was feeling as though something was missing, and if I'm totally honest, I've started to feel a little extra blubbery after our departure, even though I've continued to work out in various forms. Additionally, I find it challenging to motivate myself to go to the gym by myself, particularly in the summer months. It's warm and sunny, and all I want to do is wander around in the world taking in the goodness.

Sam agreed to this plan the night prior, but when we awoke the following morning, nothing seemed to go right. I over slept and was displeased that Sam hadn't woke me from my slumber. I understood his reasoning (trying to allow me some extra rest), but I was still irritated because it felt as though the whole morning had been thrown off. I also wasn't physically doing well. I was having a hard time standing upright due to a project I should not have participated in a few days prior, so I was trying to work out some kinks in the body.

By the time I finished my leisurely rising and petting of the dogs, the morning was quickly escaping. I figured I'd better get dressed rather than continuing to lollygag or it would delay things further, but just as I was slipping on my t-shirt, our doorbell rang.

A familiar voice could be heard just outside the front door, so I went to greet our friend and we cackled and chatted about summer, her now-second year high schooler returning to classes, and the vegetables overtaking our garden. Some people are just those I can speak with for long periods and not realize we've been chatting for hours. By the time we were finished and she went on about her day, it was nearly 11a. [sigh]

I looked at Sam and asked, "So, do you still want to do breakfast? Looks like we're not going to work out beforehand though because I am really hungry now."

We agreed that we'd ride to get bagels and then get about the day. As we started down the road, I felt fat. I felt that even my bike was making me appear fatter, which is not something I'm used to experiencing. I was fussing with my shirt that felt as though it was riding half way up my back. I pictured rolls of skin being exposed to anyone traveling by, even though logic, if it had been working that day, would have told me that my shirt was just barely sitting above the waistline of my shorts. I could feel my body expanding beyond the confines of my clothing and no amount of stretching or pulling was resolving the issue. The shorts I had on were riding up and pinching at the saddle. My stomach felt as though it was protruding particularly far and as I pedaled all I could feel was the wiggling and jiggling of extra weight attached to several parts of my body.

Most women understand that one does not necessarily need to be fat in order to feel fat. While I definitely do have more than my share of extra meat on my body, there are simply days that I have that feeling of being fat which comes from a whole different place than physical fat on the body. Lots of things can contribute to this. It could be that I didn't drink enough water the day prior, or that I had too much sodium. It could be that I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. It could be premenstrual bloating. It could be something that someone said that unwittingly seeped into my subconscious. There are a number of potential factors at play with this feeling though, so sometimes it's difficult to pinpoint the exactness of how the fat feeling came about on any particular day.

Sam and I weren't even a half mile from home when I proclaimed I was returning to the house. In my mind, all I could hear was snickering from non-existent people we were passing saying, "Fat girl on a bike coming through... make way!" I just felt gross.

At first, I thought switching to a different bike or a simple change of clothing would help, but that, as anyone who has experienced the frustration of looking at a closet full of clothing and feeling as though there is nothing to wear can testify, did not go well.

There I lay, face down on the bed, dogs sniffing at my face as I cried into a pillow. I felt Sam walk into the room, but he didn't say a word. He likely had no clue what was running through my mind and may have wondered if he'd done something to upset me.
                                                         
A few days later, I was on Facebook for a brief catch-up. I don't spend a lot of time there because most often I find there is little of value to me personally, but it was a rather well timed check-in that afforded me the opportunity to see a quick quote-post from a friend on the subject I'd just days before been battling myself.

*Image found here

The post read:
Stop worrying about whether you're fat. You're not fat. Or, rather, you're sometimes a little bit fat, but who gives a shit? There is nothing more boring and fruitless than a woman lamenting the fact that her stomach is round. Feed yourself. Literally. The sort of people worthy of your love will love you more for this. -- Cheryl Strayed

For some of us, we're more than "a little bit fat," but I get the point or the quote, and most days I agree with the sentiment. It's such a meaningless waste of time to expend energy beating ourselves up.

The comments that followed made an impression on me as well. I'll simply use first initials to identify the parties for purposes here.

I was amazed! First, the fact that a whole range of ages of women are obsessed with their weight is mind-boggling. In my experience, most of the women who worry about such things tend to be rather fit and/or normal sized humans, yet they beat themselves up over 5-20 extra pounds - based on a chart that a doctor told them was their "ideal" weight.

I also understand the response by E when she said she is "permanently damaged." As someone who grew up with daily and weekly weigh-ins as a child, I completely empathize with those who are traumatized for one reason or another in regard to weight. In my case, it was very conflicting messages... You will be weighed in by a parent every week to make sure you're not gaining weight (or, as became the case as I got a little older, that I was losing weight) combined with a very unbalanced, unstructured, and frankly unhealthy diet and lack of emotionally-healthy role models.
In some respect, I look at E's comment as a means of justifying how she feels. She is damaged and therefore it is acceptable and almost necessary for her to feel justified in her body self-bashing. I don't think this is a healthy response or thought, and even though she may feel that words cannot heal her state of being, I think her own thoughts are doing more detriment to her mental state than she imagines.

I don't know E. I know J, and E is simply one of her Facebook friends making a comment, but I know those thoughts, those feelings. I know there is nothing healthy, good, or positive that comes from these thoughts. Nearly everyone has them at some point - some more often than others - but when we live in constant self-hatred, self-bashing, how can we ever learn to accept who we are or to love ourselves or anyone else for that matter (to semi-steal a quote from RuPaul)?
It is almost as though it is expected that women (I'm using women here because I'm part of that gender and know what has happened to me personally, but I won't assume that males are not subject to this sort of thing either) constantly obsess and fuss over their weight. If I were to tell people that I really don't care about my weight and mean it, I would immediately be judged and (more than likely) get a few sets of sideways eyebrow-glares. If I am an average weight or slim size, women say, "Well, that's because you're already the perfect size/weight, so of course you don't worry about it;" and when, such as is the case for me, we are overweight, other women think or sometimes even say aloud, "Well, maybe you should be worried about your weight." And yes, this does happen. If you've never witnessed it yourself, count yourself lucky because people are surprisingly okay with telling others how, who and what they should be.

I have read studies that were much higher than this figure estimates, (one suggested women lose up to 17 years of life thinking about weight and diet) but even losing a year of life thinking about weight is disturbing.
*Image found here

There is always someone judging, but I think our own thoughts and words do the most damage. I was raised with the idea that I should weigh myself every single day so that I would always know my weight. But weighing daily quickly turned into an easy way to hate my body when it rebelled against what I was doing to improve it. It was far too easy to focus on that number instead of the actual changes taking place or how I felt. Then, I became that number. Those three digits were literally my identifier. When I spoke to others, when I went about my day, any time I went to put a bite of food in my mouth - that label became all I could see in my minds eye.

The best thing I ever did in regard to this matter was to stop weighing myself.

I'll admit, it wasn't the easiest decision to make and even though I had others encouraging me to drop the scale, I fought it for a long time. There is a part of me to this very day that sometimes wonders how I can function without knowing what I weigh, which is sad in itself.

Then, I remind myself that my clothes still fit and I can move and do the things I need and want to do, so the number on a scale is inconsequential. Every time I have a passing thought about weighing myself I stop and ask, is anything positive going to come from this action? Am I going to feel better or will I enter the day feeling empowered in any way? The answer is always, no. So, I don't drag out the scale.

The fact remains, I am not at my slimmest. I don't need a scale to tell me a number to know that I have been lighter at various points in time. Bashing myself does nothing to change my weight though and knowing the number often only makes matters worse. I know that there are factors affecting weight beyond what I do and what I eat as well, and it is the same for many on the planet.

When a person comes from a family of meaty individuals, it is going to play a role in weight. My entire life doctors have tried to tell me that it's purely a matter of calories in versus calories out that is reflected on the scale, but I know for a fact that isn't always the case. Some may view this as my own attempt to feel better about myself (and that is perfectly acceptable if you are one of these individuals), but I've done enough long term experiments to recognize that there is more to weight than simply exercise and nutrition. I understand that weight is not a math problem to be solved with a simple formula. If it was, the answer would be easy and nearly everyone would be a "perfect" size.

Of course, then I wonder what society would be if we all looked exactly the same? It strikes me as rather boring to think about walking out into the world and seeing carbon copies all around me. Part of body composition is evolutionary, I'm convinced. There were those in our history who needed to be slim, fast and long-legged to be able to out run beasts they were hunting for food. Others needed to hold on to more weight to be able to survive lengthy periods without food or famine. How could this not survive in our cells as they get passed down through generations?

Throughout history, different body types have been the sought-after ideal. Even today different cultures view weight and size quite differently. For the western world, our Eurocentric viewpoint is often all that is considered though, and today the idolized body type for a female is one that is lean - though I do see this changing very slowly to a viewpoint that encourages and accepts strong bodies. But, this just feels like yet another goal for women to achieve that, let's face it, won't be attainable for every body type. Additionally, many resources that encourage the strong body don't even show images of individuals who are strong but look different from each other (meaning the represented ideal is still a slim and mildly muscle-y individual).

Until we as a society learn to accept ourselves and each other as we are without need to comment on someone else's appearance, there will always be an ideal that is expected; and when one is incapable of living up to that expectation, there will be self-blaming and continued feelings of inadequacy.

Or, maybe that's just how I feel.

If I take a moment and rewind to the day I cried into the pillow because I felt fat while riding and therefore unworthy of existing in the world, I wish I could take this more rational self and beam her into that moment. I wish I could have the strong me that exists 90% of the time standing by the weak and fragile 10% to tell her that she is okay. That she is strong and capable, even if there are moments of vulnerability to the outside world. I wish I could tell her that we all feel unworthy or less-than at times and that it will pass. I wish I could tell her not to lose out on a moment with someone she loves, just because her brain is temporarily telling her she is unacceptable or undeserving.

But, that isn't the way life works. I can't go back in time or even hold on to the majority of strong moments to help the weak side of me get through the more difficult times. Instead, I have to keep working to be able to bring out the strong side when the weak side is insistent upon taking over. I'm not sure it's possible in today's world to make that happen, but I continue to try.

Truthfully, I am saddened that this topic is so prevalent and pertinent in our society. I can't help but think if we as individuals used all the energy we expend worrying or thinking about how we look or how others perceive us we could make actual, tangible change in the world. We could combine our efforts and do something that actually matters.

I realize the likelihood of individuals giving up this time-killer obsession with looks and weight is slim to none, but a girl can dream.

Post Script: Kendra's comment below got me thinking about past posts on this same subject, so I thought I'd link them here if anyone is curious. The first one is here and talked about the plateau I was experiencing and the other one I'll link can be found here where I talked a bit about my history with weight and food and how I hoped (and continue to hope today) that we'd start to see more diverse athletic role models. 

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 Post I Never Wanted to Write {AKA: One Year's Proof I Don't Lose Weight}

*Apologies in advance for the many fuzzy photos in the post, but they are what I have to share at this time. Thanks for understanding. 

Officially, it has been one year since I've lost any weight. There have been a couple of e-mails recently from readers who have been following my journey, wondering when I would update my weight loss page. The harsh reality is that it is updated, despite the fact that there hasn't been a log in many, many months. At the beginning of October 2012, I had lost 60 pounds and it remains at that point today. I know what many are likely thinking... What does any of this have to do with bikes? Frankly, nothing... and yet, everything. On a personal note it obviously affects me, but the reality is that there are others going through similar situations too. The fact remains that if I were carrying less weight, it would simply be easier to pedal a bike making me more efficient, and some would argue (though I could debate this) faster. Because I started this journey with a blog post, it only makes sense that I would update regarding how things have been going, even if that update isn't what I'd hoped it would be at this point.

This is roughly where I started...Sam and I had rode with a group to Boulder before this lifestyle shift. I remember how mad I was that someone was taking a photo while I was eating, which just perpetuated (in my mind) the myth that fat people never stop eating. In truth, I hardly ate on this afternoon, but the image of the plate full of food in front of me, fork headed to mouth, still haunts me.

As I was saying, one year ago I was making plans to lose another 10 pounds by the end of 2012. Little did I know at the time that my body had other plans (If you aren't aware of my personal struggle, you can read back through posts during summer of last year - starting with the first check in - and see that I had set goals to lose weight). Things were moving along so I had no reason to think my weight loss would stop. It hadn't been particularly speedy, and I was proceeding in a manner that I saw as maintainable for life (as I will continue to do), but over the course of not only those next couple of months, but the last year, it has been proven that my body seems to be some oddity of nature.

Some face shots of the pre-lifestyle change.

To all those who choose to bash, shame, joke about, make a mockery of, and so on, let me be an example of those who try so hard and yet still see little to no results. I can illustrate that in fact it is possible to spend a good chunk of time working out, eating properly, and still not see the results in the form of pounds lost on the scale. I stated above that I am an "oddity of nature," but let me say this, I know I am not alone in my current reality. I know others, of all shapes and sizes, who work out and yet don't see any losses on the scale.

Some face shots after losing 60 lbs.

A typical workout week for me includes between 12 (on a bad week) to 20+ (on a better week) hours of hard work (and this doesn't include any errand or other joy rides on the bike). The weeks' workouts consist of several hours of cycling and kickboxing, running, and some strength training to wrap things up. Occasionally, something else is thrown in. For example, last week I attended a couple of CrossFit sessions (my GOD, those people are insane, but awesome!), or I'll throw in some circuit workouts to keep things interesting. For anyone who's ever worked out with me, you know I put my all into it. I'm not one to just show up because I said I'd be there. If I'm there, you're getting everything I have. If I'm not sweating profusely, I'm disappointed and think that it just wasn't challenging enough. Seriously, I have issues. So many issues in fact that working out for me at one point started to become my job. I kept thinking that if I just added another hour (or 2, or 4) a day that I'd see the changes. Unfortunately, it just became obsessive and no weight loss actually occurred. I had to get myself in check and remind myself that I wanted to do only things that I could maintain for life.

On a long road ride pre-2012 (sadly, not at my largest)...I ride, regardless of size or weight because I love it and it makes me happy.

Recently, I read an article in which the author claimed that anyone who works out 20 hours a week couldn't be fat or overweight. Hmm... I beg to differ. I'm not linking to the article because he doesn't deserve the attention, nor are any of his claims based on scientific (or any kind of) fact, but I think this is at the core of the American (and perhaps other nations as well) belief system about the overweight. "If you're working THAT hard, there's no way you wouldn't lose," or "Maybe you just need to eat less" are extremely common phrases that sometimes well-meaning, but often-counter-productive people say. The reality is, it's not as simple as calories-in vs calories-out, as so many would like to believe. Again, I am living proof of this reality.

May 2012 vs August 2012

As far as eating goes, I have good and bad days like any other human being, but the reality is that I eat pretty well most of the time and I always know how many calories I've consumed. I eat a balanced and varied diet, full of greens, fruits, beans, grains and so on. I have tried playing with calories for long stretches of time (both eating less and eating more) and my weight remains the same. There's a well-respected calculator here that tells me I'm not eating enough. Basically, it wants me to eat between 4-6,000 calories a day (and that's to lose weight!), but how much should a person eat if s/he isn't actually hungry? Still, there are many who think restrictive eating isn't the way to go, and while I agree that restrictions only lead to over-indulgences in the long run, I have not given up anything that I didn't want to. In fact, I've never said that I "can't" have anything. I do choose more often than not to forego certain foods because they simply don't make me feel good. I have a strange love of spinach and kale now that I never thought possible, but it doesn't mean that I don't indulge on occasion.

I ride, regardless of size or weight - because I enjoy it

I've read so much that it's overwhelming. It's almost as though there is a conspiracy to keep people overweight (and why wouldn't there be... diet sales - books, products, pills - is a multi-billion dollar industry because people are looking for quick fixes). There are the hardcore enthusiasts of eliminating certain food groups entirely, and there are others who encourage people to eat whatever they want in extremely small portions, but at the core of all of these ideas seems to be that in order to lose weight, one must restrict calories down to almost nothing. I can speak from personal experience and state that eliminating all but a small amount of food each day will not create long term, successful weight loss. I've gone this route far too many times in life and it always ends with gaining weight (usually more than what was lost to begin with).

The great news is that I haven't gained weight over the last year, but because I still have a lot to lose, naturally most people in my life expect that all of the working out, bike riding, running, and so on will result in more pounds lost. I couldn't agree more. It only makes sense that consistency and hard work will have positive results. But, perhaps that is the exact problem... that I'm expecting the results I want to see and not what my body actually wants or perhaps needs at this moment in life. My body has transformed, certainly, and I have so much muscle that my darling Sam has joked that I'm becoming The Hulk or Juggernaut.  I like being strong, don't get my wrong, but it would be nice to see the muscle instead of the overlying fat on the surface.

First belt testing in kickboxing, early 2012 vs several tests later

I've been told in the past by medical professionals that I have a body that would survive famine, and while I'm grateful that when the apocalypse comes, I will be one of the hardy folks who can live through it with little sustenance, we aren't there right now and it would be nice to not have to carry around so much excess. I recently read a blog post in which the author states that slow and steady is the way to go. I think he's right on, but is it really steady if losses have stopped completely, and for so long?

May 2012 (a couple of months in to the new lifestyle) vs January 2013

Let's think about this for a moment and really ponder it. One year... Three hundred and sixty-five days of doing everything "right" and yet staying exactly the same. Burning (through exercise alone) 2-6,000 calories a day, 4-6 days a week (and truthfully, sometimes 7 days a week), and seeing nothing lost on the scale. How demotivating! And yet, I can't imagine giving up my workout time. Something has changed for me over the last year and a half, and even if it isn't my physical weight, I know I am a better person - mentally and physically.

A couple of months after I started this new life (in blue) and October 2013 (in orange). It may not seem as though much changed, but life has warped dramatically, regardless of what shows on the outside.

I don't like putting pictures of myself up on the blog... well, I don't like seeing them anywhere, truth be told. I don't like to be reminded of the body I deal with on a daily basis in picture form. But the reality is that my body has changed - a lot. The changes may not be as visible as I'd prefer, and maybe they never will be, but I am thankful for what I've been given - scratch that, earned [and look forward to being a leader when zombies take over, or when pests wipe out crops :O)]. I may not look like the American ideal of a fit person, but I am capable of more than many others. Speed may not be my forte, but endurance certainly is.

I hope to God that one day I wake up and this never-ending plateau reaches its end, but for now, all I can do is accept the body I'm working with, love it for what it is, and know that I am giving it the ability to perform to the best of its ability. I may not be what the public perceives as an image of health, but I know the truth. I work hard, I am strong, and I am healthy. In fact, I'm testing for my black belt in kickboxing this weekend, so if anyone wants to argue that fact, we'll have a little chat about just how strong I am - or better yet, you can meet me on the studio floor and we'll hash it out. Ultimately, health is what is most important for anyone... scale be damned.

Leaving the World of Mediocrity

As some readers already know, several years ago, I decided that I wanted to run a marathon. Mind you, I was extremely overweight (as I still am) and had never been a runner. In junior high school when we had to run the 1-mile each Friday morning, I always came in last. I generally walked at least half of it, and even when I really pushed myself to run the entire mile, I would come in somewhere around 15 minutes. Yes, I'm aware people walk a mile faster than that time, but as I said, I've never been a runner, and I'm still not. But, as I started off sharing, I reached a point in life at which I wanted to run a marathon. Call it a bucket list item, or temporary insanity, but I was trying to lose weight and I thought running might be a great way to exercise; and having a goal in mind - something that was huge to complete at the end of it - seemed like a great idea.

The first time I went out to run I couldn't make it from one street lamp post to the next without stopping to gasp for air. I remember crying right there and thinking that I was an absolute lunatic to think I would ever run a marathon. After all, 26.2 miles is a far cry from one lamp post to the next. I started doing research and found a program that helped me start at my very, very sad starting stage, and even though it took awhile, before too long, I could run an entire mile without stopping. I recall the first time I ran a mile without stopping to walk. I remember starting to choke on tears before I actually even hit the one-mile mark, but I made it to the end without stopping. For runners, this seems sad, I'm sure. Why would running one mile seem like such a victory? Well, look where I started. For me, from what and where I began the journey, it seemed miraculous that I could run one single mile without stopping.

From that first mile, I built stamina to go longer and farther. Ultimately, I did complete the marathon (though I struggled more than anyone should doing such an event, and, I should point out, couldn't actually run the entire distance on race day), but I have never been so proud to have completed a goal. Despite the pride I felt for attaining the goal, I still beat myself up. I knew I could've trained better, ate better, and probably completed the run much faster than I did. After it was over, I didn't know what to do with myself. I'd done what I set out to do (though perhaps I could've done it better), so now what? Within a few months of the race, I had stopped running, and in fact, stopped exercising for the most part. I rode my bike as transportation, but I had no real desire to push myself, so even that didn't feel like true exercise. I convinced myself, however, that I was still exercising because my 8-10 mph bike rides to the store must count for something, right? Plus, I'd hit the gym on occasion (the "occasion" being 1-2 visits a week at most) and walk or do the elliptical for 30 minutes. I hadn't entirely given up... or had I?

Of course, I started putting on weight I had lost, and before I knew it I was larger than when I had started out my marathon training. I had stopped weighing myself because I didn't want to know what the "cruel" scale would tell me. It didn't happen overnight, but it did happen. Pound by pound it all crept on until I was larger than I had ever been in my life. Then, early last year I decided I needed to change and set about a new course of action. I decided I had to take my life back and not blame anyone for my state of being. The first kickboxing class I went to I was still recovering from bronchitis and pneumonia. Five minutes into class, I felt like I might pass out. Everyone seemed so strong around me and able to complete moves so quickly. I had a hard time just picking my legs up. Sure, it could've partially been that my lungs were recovering from illness, but deep down, I knew there was much more than that going on. That memory of trying to run from one lamp post to the next came rushing back to me. I had a choice to either keep going and get through the pain, or never come back again. I chose the former option. A year and a half(ish) later, I'm probably still the slowest person in class, but I'm also stronger than I was the day I started. I don't feel like I'm going to pass out after doing a few jumping jacks or the warm-up jog, and I can make it through class without believing I might actually drop dead right there on the spot.

A few months ago, I decided I wanted to try running again. Not because I thought I needed more exercise, but because I just wanted to see what it would be like to attempt it again after so many years of not. I presumed that I would have to go back to the running program I'd done years prior and would practice a jog/walk combination for a mile or so. To my surprise, I got on the treadmill and ran for 30 minutes without stopping. Huh? Confusion set in quickly. It wasn't fast, and I didn't actually cover much ground mileage-wise (I think it was about 2 miles), but I was confused about how this was possible. I've never been a fast runner (my body is not designed for that particular activity, for sure), and I will never win a running race, but it was a starting point. Unlike my years earlier attempt at running, my lungs weren't burning, and had I not been dealing with a persisting heel issue, I honestly probably could've went even longer.

I've kept up the running somewhat consistently over the last couple of months, choosing to do so 1-2 times a week. Not because I have to, but because I just want to see what I can do. Last week as I was running at our local gym, I noticed a tall, lean woman on the treadmill in front of me, craning her neck to look behind her every few minutes. I didn't think much about it at first, but then I realized that she was looking to see if I was still running. She was trying to motivate herself based on what I was doing! Determined not to let her "beat" me, I remained on the treadmill running and actually outlasted her run. I was both amused by the situation and shocked that I had it in me to keep going. Then, just a couple of days ago, not having the motivation of competition, I completed my longest run since my return to running. I realized just how much I undercut or undervalue myself. It's not even a conscious thing, but I allow myself to stop when I know I could do more, or I go slower when I know I could be faster. I won't be "fast" by most people's standards, but for my own typical pace, I could do more. What am I afraid of? If I can't finish because I've left everything on the table, is that a failure? Not in my book... and if I do complete the task, what an incredible feat!


I started thinking about my upcoming century ride(s) and how it seems so impossible. But, maybe it only seems impossible because that is what I choose to believe. I thought about the many things in life that have seemed unattainable, and yet they happened - not because I sat back and waited to see what would take place, but because I took action - because I chose to work, to put it all out there. Has mediocrity become the new standard of acceptance? Is just getting by or "being number 2" (as in the video clip above) completely okay with myself and much of humanity? I understand that we are not all star athletes, nor will we necessarily be able to do what someone else can do, but shouldn't I always be giving my best? I know that I (and most of us) are able to do so much more than we allow ourselves to believe we are capable of doing. What is it that stops us from giving our all at every task we undertake? Why do we conserve instead of leaving it all on the sidewalk, treadmill, bike, bag, or wherever we choose to work our bodies and our minds?

I am fully aware that I, personally, will never be a superstar athlete, nor will I win records in races of any sort, but I can be the best me. I can leave my workout knowing that I left it all there and had nothing else to give. I can give full effort every time - whether that is better than the day prior or a bit slower than it was the preceding workout. I can stop living in the world of the mediocre, and instead choose to build a strong and capable world for me. I can. I will.

Tried My Best; Failed Miserably

For those who do not know me in every day (real) life, I am an extremely strong-willed individual. I don't always voice my opinions (in fact, rarely so unless I know someone fairly well), but when I am determined to do something, you can bet money that it will get done - one way or another. I have just never done well with someone telling me I can't do something or even that I shouldn't do something. It almost becomes a challenge for me to prove that I can do it - whatever that "it" might be. I can think of many instances in my life when I was advised not to do something and went ahead with it anyway.

This I'm-just-going-to-do-the-opposite behavior started very young. I still recall being three years old in a plant nursery with my mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted these amazingly colored, small cactus-like plants, and just as I was going to touch them, my mom said, "No, no. Don't touch those... it will hurt." She turned her back to look at something else, and I immediately slammed my hands down on the top of these rainbow colored plants. When I picked my hands up, they were full of spiny little prickles from the cactus. Of course, tears ensued and my mother proclaimed, "I told you not touch those." She didn't understand it, nor did I at the time, but I think it was simply the beginning of a life full of having to try things for myself, and never accepting that I couldn't or shouldn't do a particular thing.

Image found here

In two weeks, it will be one year since I started a journey to better myself physically. I had gained quite a bit of weight, even for me - the chubby kid who turned into an obese adult, and I've spoke about my reasons for wanting to be stronger and lose weight in the past (feel free to re-read if you have interest here). The bottom line is that I knew if I set my mind to it, I could accomplish my goals. I remember thinking at the start that in one year, I would likely be down about 100 pounds. It was an average of about 8 pounds a month, and I knew it was a slightly lofty goal, but I also believed it was entirely doable. What an incredible thing to be able to do for myself, too. Obviously, as the ticker on the sidebar indicates, I haven't reached that goal, nor will I in the next two weeks (for those using a reader who can't see the sidebar, I'm down 63.5 lbs as of today).

I'm not the best at math, but that roughly calculates out to a little over 5 lbs a month on average. Not too shabby, I will admit, except that it really hasn't been that sort of journey. I've been on a "plateau" for four and a half months. That's a really long time to go without seeing a change. The odd thing is, it's not that my weight doesn't change, it just changes within the same 5-6 lbs. Up and down, back and forth, I seem to fight with the same pounds over and over again.

Image found here

I suppose, for most folks this would be the point at which they state that they had lost focus or had slacked off in some area of their nutrients or workout regime, but I can honestly say that isn't the case for me. If anything, I've pushed myself to always do more, to push harder, or to make changes that are beneficial. I like working out hard, and I like eating well because I feel better and I know my body is getting what it needs to function properly. I love that feeling of not knowing whether or not I can actually finish a workout. It's awesome.

I've researched, read, and spoken with "experts" who have offered suggestions to help alleviate this plateau. In fact, one such individual told me that "no plateau should last longer than 3 weeks." Ha! I honestly believe I'm living proof that this is obviously not the case for everyone. I've tried eating more, eating less, higher protein, fewer simple carbs, more frequent smaller meals - giving each of these 2-3 weeks (or more) to see if they'd work - and, nothing. I've been to the doctor and had blood work done, convinced that something must be wrong with me. Nope. Healthy as a horse (sans the ton of excess weight). I've tried adding in extra cardio, too, but nothing results in changes. Even typing this out, I know more suggestions will likely be offered (most of which I've probably already tried), and while I love that people want so very much to help me (I have some truly awesome people in my life), I have finally come to an answer on my own - and it's not at all what I expected from the start of this journey.

My body is done.

Image found here

My body is not going to give up any more weight. I'm not even remotely close to where I should be, fat rolls still abound, and I have an enormous amount of work to do, but the bottom line is that for whatever reason my body has decided it's happy where it is and isn't going to release me from the fat prison. Genetics are a tough thing, and while I know I have the "fat genes" from both sides of my family, I was certain from the start that I could win the battle and I would be the exception. We don't have to live with the hand we're dealt, right? At least not when it comes to our ability to lose weight.  Yet, here I am. I think I finally understand that I am fighting a battle I truly cannot win, and it sucks (for lack of a better word at the moment).

That's a really tough thing for me to accept - particularly because I am such a hard-headed thing. I've been thinking about what it actually means for me moving forward, and I know it doesn't change what I'm doing because healthier habits have certainly come from the experience of the last year, and I am so grateful for that reality. Unfortunately, it does mean that some of the things I'd like to do, I won't be able to accomplish, and that really bums me out. For example, I won't be able to take my black belt test in kickboxing. I had the opportunity to witness a black belt test just a few months into my kickboxing experience, and I knew then that I would have to lose quite a bit in order for my body to withstand the rigors of such a test. I have too many ailments beyond the weight that would hinder me in this sort of physical endeavor, and having so much extra weight would make it nearly impossible for me to complete - or, it would leave me broken for a very long time (knowing that I am stubborn and would probably stupidly attempt it anyway).

It's extremely difficult to accept this reality, but I also know it is the only way I'm going to have any sort of mental sanity. Deep down, I know I will never give up the fight, but I don't know how else to carry on with life normally when all I have worked toward are changes that simply refuse to happen. I will continue to push myself, work hard, and do what I know is best for me, but I suppose my focus has to change and I have to accept that this is one battle I don't get to win... no matter how much I attempt to fight it.

An "Easy" 10 Mile Ride

A few days ago, I was contacted by an individual who had found a photo of me with my bike through the website I use to log calories and exercise. She's in the process of trying to lose a big chunk of weight and just started riding her bike recently. The photo of my progress caused her to ask if I'd be willing to "friend" her so that I could help encourage her during this process. In her request, she stated that the people she typically finds who ride are so skinny, and she just wanted someone who knows what it feels like to have some extra meat on her bones. I was happy to oblige.

Image found here

On Saturday, she had a small note in her feed that she hadn't made it out to ride, but was planning on attempting a 10 mile ride on Sunday. The longest ride she'd taken to date was 6 miles. I assured her it was entirely possible to do the ten miles, and to help motivate her, I was going to ride "with" her. The plan was that we'd check in after our respective rides, so it would help keep her accountable and on track, and it would help me actually get out on a little ride too knowing that I'd have to check in with someone. Sure, it was supposed to be my "day off" from exercise, but at this point, I figured a 10 mile ride wouldn't be much and it would seem like nothing at all.

Boy, was I so very, very wrong. As luck would have it, I was able to con Sam into coming on the ride with me. I told him I wasn't planning on racing through it, but just going on a leisurely 10 mile ride. Unfortunately, the only riding I've done over the last few weeks has been very short rides (less than 4 miles), and I don't think I was aware of how quickly this would turn me into mush. As we were riding and trying to figure out which direction to take, Sam mumbled something about this "taking forever." I shared that I, too, was feeling it and thought it was just me. It's not that I haven't been working out, but riding just hasn't taken the priority it normally does. By the time we had reached 6 miles, we were both ready to call it quits.

Sure, it was cold out (but not that cold), a bit on the windy side, and we'd both not slept well the night before, but neither of us could believe how difficult it ended up being to do those "easy 10 miles." We ended up averaging a little over 12 mph, which certainly wasn't speedy, but wasn't crawling either considering the uphill portion of the ride was fairly significant, but we both got home feeling like we'd just rode a century (or what we imagine a century would feel like).

While I know that simply adding some mileage to the rides each week will quickly remedy this problem, I was really quite alarmed at how quickly everything turned. How are your legs holding up as the seasons change? Are you still able to ride at the same pace? Has weather got in the way of longer rides? I'm curious to know if we're the only ones who've already seemingly "lost our legs."

Changes Ahead

Early this morning, I awoke out of a dead sleep... thinking about the blog. There have been rumblings brewing lately of closing up and calling it done, but I've hesitated because I don't feel as though I'm ready to say "that's all folks." When I woke up suddenly before the sun had even an idea of coming up over the horizon, I had an idea and I think it's the best solution for me at this point in time.

As some who read here have discovered, over the last several months I've been "playing" with another blog. That one was intentionally separated from this one because it has focused primarily on my weight loss journey, getting stronger, and various aspects of things related to health and fitness. I wanted a separate space initially for many reasons. First, I didn't want to bother those who come here only to read about bicycles and various cycling related topics. Secondly, when it comes to that aspect of my life, I tend to be a bit more (okay, maybe far more) whiny and self-deprecating than when discussing bikes. Finally, in many respects, I simply didn't know how to combine two areas of my life without it seeming odd.

Image source here

In the wee hours of the morning, however, I came to the conclusion that both blogs are suffering. While some people are able to maintain many separate blogs and keep them all updated on a somewhat regular basis, I am apparently not one of those folks. Everything ends up suffering in the end, and I don't write anything anywhere for long stretches of time, or I only seem to focus on one or the other.

The solution in my mind is simply to combine the two blogs. Unfortunately, for some that means that there will be personally irrelevant topics posted here at times, but at this juncture, it is the only solution that makes sense to me.  The changes will be taking place as soon as possible over the next several days.

So, what will you find here now? I'll still be posting about bicycles and related adventures, but I also intend to have posts about my struggles and victories with fitness, losing weight, getting stronger and the like. I appreciate that some readers may part ways here, but my hope is that there will be overlap permitting readers to find something of interest here, and also allow me to focus once again on something that I enjoy doing - sharing the adventure of life.

If this is where we part ways, I just want to thank you for taking the time to check in and read here.  All of the topics posted in the past will remain in place for those who may find a tidbit of useful or helpful information. To those who arrive here from the other blog, welcome! I hope you'll continue to find information here to help you on your fitness journey. I look forward to what is coming and being able to continue to share with those who have interest.

Giving Up the Scale and the "Goal"

From the start of this journey in early March, my goal has been to lose at least 75 lbs by the end of the year. I seem to go through long stretches of playing with a couple of pounds at a time and it's seemed as though it might not be possible. Over the last few days, I've managed to gain 5 lbs. Nothing has changed. I'm still tracking what I eat, working out hard, but somehow these five pounds have mysteriously made an appearance.

While I know it's possible to lose the 14 pounds I need to by the end of the year, I question the plausibility of it.  Six and a half weeks isn't much time, and with both Thanksgiving and Christmas looming, along with all the fabulousness of food during the next several weeks, I'm a bit terrified of what I'm in for to make it to "the goal." While I can control our meals on the particular holidays, it doesn't seem to stop others from stopping by with sweet treats or other holiday time goodies. Beyond others, I always feel the obligation to make my own sweets, and although I generally don't eat what I bake, who knows what might overcome me in a moment of weakness? I've tried to remind myself that it's all part of integrating better habits into daily life, but the other side of me wonders if the holiday season will be my downfall. I can't help but continue to wait for the day when I finally decide to give up.

As I've been pondering all of this over the last week or so, I've also decided that I cannot deal with the stresses of a scale right now. I find myself weighing multiple times in a day, trying to notice trends and while I only "count" my morning weigh in, this process is messing with my head. So, this morning I asked one of my kickboxing instructors to take the scale away - for at least a month. This time of year is incredibly taxing on me (emotionally) as it is for many others, and I just don't need the added stress of figuring out why I gained a pound on such and such day and then lost on another. I'm hoping that not having the stress of the scale to contend with will put me more at ease and focus me on what really matters - what is going into and out of my body.

Discouraged and Drained

Today, I am completely drained. I feel beat up: mentally and physically. Next Saturday is belt testing in kickboxing and it will be my sixth month in a row to test. Now, it may not seem like a big deal, but for most people, one belt takes anywhere from two (if they go frequently) to six months (if they're more of a "couple of times a week" sort of participant) to complete. That should help to better define how many classes I'm going to every week, and why it is that I'm so tired. Generally, this schedule doesn't kill me (it's tough, but I make it through), but it seems the last couple of weeks have been extra difficult in that the instructors seem to want to put everyone in the class into a state of complete exhaustion. They have each asked me to do things that I am not physically able to do, and it's causing me to re-evaluate why it is I'm in such a hurry to get to the next level.

Put simply, my body hasn't had enough time to catch up to the level I should be for a given belt and it's frustrating me. As much as I want to will my body to do the things I want it to do, it just doesn't seem to want to cooperate, and I can't say I blame it. I'm asking a lot of it. Two kickboxing classes a day, riding my bike, the occasional gym visit - it all adds up; yet, my weight loss isn't on par with the amount of work I put in. The reality is that I have a lot of extra weight and asking my body to do these things repeatedly, day after day, week after week, and month after month is taking its toll. The last couple of weeks have reminded me that I am still the fat girl, and as much as I don't want to be that person, I can't seem to escape that reality.

I've started to wonder if this is just what I will be for the rest of my life. Perhaps I will never have anything even remotely close to a normal body weight? Those fears cause even more anxiety because I find myself wondering why one would push herself so hard if this is all there is for me to achieve. I suppose I'm just tired of being the fat girl. I don't want to be the biggest person in my classes. I don't want to be the biggest person in any given room. Living in the supposed "fittest" state in the U.S. doesn't really help matters because I'm surrounded my health nuts. There are plenty of overweight folks, so don't let the statistics fool anyone, but there is the reality looming that I am fatter than almost anyone here.

What is my point? In summary:
1. I'm fat. As much as I've lost weight, there is so much more to go.
2. I'm slow. I don't lose weight quickly, and I seem to be slow catching up athletically/fitness-wise as well.
3. I'm discouraged. Being unable to keep up during kickboxing classes makes me fear even more the belt tests... not to mention, that I've been playing with the same couple of pounds for three weeks.

Although I realize these feeling will pass, and I will hopefully feel more capable as the days roll by, it's such a horrible place to find oneself - trapped in my own thoughts and feelings.