It's been 366 days since the first time I entered a gym with a degree of seriousness. One whole year, and damn what a year it's been.
On this weekend last year, we spent the weekend in Chicago celebrating our anniversary, the celebration was postponed to accommodate the pre-season hockey tickets I had gifted my lover. Overall, the weekend was magical. We had a great conversation on the car ride in, the hotel was impeccably placed and our room was exactly what we needed, we had a fabulous dinner consisting of Chicago's famous deep dish pizza, and our hockey team won.
All I remember of the trip was Saturday night, the feeling of dread that I had when I realized I would have to cut my way through a very dense group of people at a bar to get from where I was sitting to the bathroom.
Every step, nudge, and "excuse me" on my way to the bathroom was horrifying. In my head, I was imagining all the things the bar patrons might be thinking of me. At one point, my worst fear came true when someone called out "fat bitch" in my direction. I had no more defenses left as I continued to push past the crowd, tears welling in my eyes. The return trip wasn't much better, I came up with a lame excuse about the smoke bothering my contact lenses for the redness in my eyes but I felt so transparent that whole night. I turned down every drink passed my way, utterly conflicted because I wanted to let loose and have fun with my friends but guilty knowing that I did not need any of the calories.
That weekend in Chicago was supposed to be magical. Memorable. Life changing. It was meant to be one of those movie-esque romantic weekends that would shift the nature of the relationship from just dating to madly in love. I planned everything perfectly.
If you ask my boyfriend, he'll tell you that it was one of the best weekends of his life. For him, it was a blur of good food and beer and all this favorite sports teams and friends he hadn't seen in a while.
At second glance, I don't think of that trip as a failure. Boyfriend got exactly what I intended, and the trip was indeed memorable, and as I would find out later, it would be life changing.
We returned to Iowa City late on Sunday night, a new episode of Dexter lined up on the DVR, and instead my interest was directed towards my closet. Still filled with the horrible pain of the bar experience, I looked to my closet to do as fit people do. What's that, you ask? Well... all the healthy, skinny, fit people I know/see carry gym bags. And that's exactly where I started.
I had no idea what I was doing, all I knew was that if I were to have any chance of balancing work, school, and exercising, I would have to be well equipped.
That's not my bag, but it sure is cute.
I made do with what I had: a yellow tote bag from Target, cotton pants and a tank top, cheap sports bra, tennis shoes, and the standard toiletries, and a post-workout snack of Chex Mix. I wasn't well equipped, but the idea was that if I packed a gym bag and took it to work with me I would have no excuse, I would have to go to the gym. And that's exactly what I did.
The first day was a blistery cold Monday, October 10, 2011. I felt silly going into the fitness center at my work knowing that my bosses and coworkers could come by at any time to laugh at my fat self huffing and puffing on the elliptical. I was so wrong. So horribly wrong.
Every single person that knows about my exercise efforts has been nothing but supportive. Some are impressed by my dedication, some are stunned by the results, but everyone has been kind and gentle with their words. Not only did my body need a makeover, but my heart needed some therapy too. I had spent too much of my life hating myself and my body, dreading things that should be fun, and avoiding large parts of my life because I couldn't stand to be ridiculed when I already felt so bad.
I am extremely pleased to say that today, one year, 366 days later, I am in a much better place.
At 216.5 pounds, I have lost 75.5 pounds. My BMI went from 43.1 to 32.0
Aside from the numbers, I have made serious progress in other aspects of my life. I LOVE exercise, I have found an easy balance to eating right and enjoying myself, and my confidence is through the roof. I'm not going to lie, being slimmer has its perks but the best results have happened inside my head.
Now, I can't wait to fly on an airplane.
I love shopping and clothes again.
I would jump at the opportunity to go to an amusement park.
I eat and drink without guilt, because I know my body needs fuel
And lastly...
I don't panic whenever I have to go to the bathroom in a crowded bar.
