A story of sweat, starting over, and something like belief.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this year of healthier living, it’s this: we must do hard things. Do them badly. Do them slowly. But do them anyway.
At the start of 2012, I was morbidly obese. That’s not an exaggeration. I was depressed, taking anti-depressants, eating too much, and barely moving. It’s painful to lay it all out like that, but it’s the truth. I had stopped caring. And though I’d cry sometimes over how I looked and felt, the truth is, I wasn’t doing anything to change it.
Then, for no specific reason, I decided I had to try. In late January, I wrote it down — I’d change my lifestyle, lose weight, get healthy. I’d said all that before, of course. I’d lost weight in the past, and I’d gained it all back. Every time. From 2007 to early 2012, I was on medication that contributed to a 100-pound gain. I’d always been overweight, but now I'd become obese. I was breathless simply from walking up stairs. I was only 23 but already felt stuck in a body I didn’t recognize anymore.
For my birthday that year, I asked for a Wii. I'd heard there were exercise "games" available, and I wanted to start small — exercising at home, away from the judgment I feared. I began with 15 minutes a day on Gold’s Gym Dance Workout. I struggled. My muscles screamed. But I was moving. And that was more than I’d done in years.
A friend recommended MyFitnessPal, and I began tracking my calories around the same time. I attempted running once that winter, but gave up when the snow came. Still, something in me had shifted.
In February, I started working with a trainer named Scott. I was nervous, but at his urging, I pushed myself to go back to the gym I’d been paying for and avoiding. At our first meeting, I could barely make it six minutes on the elliptical. But I went back the next day. And the next.
I kept showing up.
Eventually, I could do 30 minutes. Then 60. Some days, I’d work out for 90 minutes. Scott and I added exercises to our repertoire. We started playing tennis (which I played in high school — badly), added in strength training (which I hated), and mixed it up just enough to keep me going. The cardio was working — and I clung to that.
I lost 10 pounds. Double digits.
I lost 25. Scott gave me a gift card.
I lost 50. I got a tattoo, my first reward.
I lost 75. I hit the halfway point of my goal.
At one point, I heard about a really cool zombie-themed 5K to be held in September. I decided I would train for it. I got fitted for and bought expensive Brooks running shoes and inserts. I told myself this was it. But I got injured running on the concrete sidewalks, got discouraged, and quit before I even started. I told myself it was fine, as long as I kept doing cardio and losing the weight.
More excuses.
Still, Scott kept asking: “Did you try running again?” I kept dodging the question. More excuses.
Finally, in September, I decided to just do it (Scott may have made me). I went to the track and did four laps — a mile — in just under 16 minutes. Most of it was walking. But I came back. Again and again. Slowly, I could run more and more of it. Eventually, I ran a full mile in 11:49.
I reported to Scott that I could now run a whole mile. His response? “Why don’t you sign up for the Turkey Trot?” A 2.5 mile race on Thanksgiving. So I did.
Twice a week, I dutifully showed up to the track and ran a mile each time. The week before the race, Scott and I were meeting up at the track to prepare for the big day. I was ready to show him my one-mile run.
Know what he said?
“We’re running two today.”
I laughed. Scoffed. And then I did it. I ran two miles. And then I did it again. I kept on showing up. The girl picked last in gym class? She was running.
It’s been ten months since I started this journey. I’ve lost 82 pounds. I can run two miles. I’ve built strength — not just in my body, but in my belief. I still have more weight to lose, but for the first time, I know I’ll get there. I believe it.
I’m not the same girl anymore — not in body, and not in mindset. I have dreams again. I want to run a 5K. Then a 10K. Then a half-marathon. I don’t just want to lose weight. I want more.
Though my journey has only just begun — and though I’ll always wrestle with food — I’m done making excuses. More than anything, I want to see what I’m capable of.
And now I’m starting to see.
The girl who panted through 15 minutes of dancing? She ran two miles. The girl who cried in front of the mirror? She started believing in her reflection again.
One day, I will cross the finish line of a 26.2-mile marathon. Even if I come in dead last, I’ll cross it smiling.
I’m still a girl in progress. I’m not yet where I want to be — but now I know where I’m going. Some days feel impossible. Some days I want to quit. But I keep going anyway. I’ve done hard things. And I’ll keep doing more. It won’t get easier — but I’ll get better. Stronger. Louder. Braver.
To everyone who’s cheered me on — thank you. For loving me then — even when I didn’t — and loving me now.
And to Scott — thank you for never letting me quit. For pushing me when I couldn’t push myself. For encouraging me to be better, to do more, to dream big, to never stop. You’ve taught me the most important truth of all:
I can do hard things.
And now all I have left to do… are more hard things.
"Believe you can and you're already halfway there."
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