There I was. A mother of two, overweight, out of shape and in the midst of a stare down with the treadmill. How did I let myself get to this point? Would I ever be fit again? It was the age old question that haunts many young mothers.
Keeping up with the kids was a full-time job which often left no room for self improvement. I found myself eating the scraps of food they left on their plate while cleaning the kitchen and keeping a toddler from climbing the cabinets. I was overwhelmed, over tired and often over worked. Until the day I saw myself in a photograph.
To say I was shocked by the picture is an understatement. That couldn’t possibly be my rear end. However the clothing attached to the body was most assuredly found in my closet, and in a size that I was in denial about wearing. I was fat!
I started the quest to find my pre-pregnancy body at the local Weight Watchers. And, while I was able to take off a respectable 25 pounds, as soon as the program was over, I found myself slipping back into my familiar routines. Next was the gym. I believed that if I simply worked hard enough I could eat what I wanted. I started strong, but my enthusiasm quickly waned as the pounds held onto my bones for dear life.
In my youth I was a runner. While I was not a particularly good one, I was able to earn a respectable spot on my high school cross country team and even competed for a year in college. This was the thought that brought me to that pivotal moment standing face to LED display with the treadmill.
The first run was a hard one. I made it a half mile before I had to walk. The next day I was paying for my new found hobby, having trouble making it down the stairs to meet with the torture machine once again. But somehow I found the will and made it another half mile. Over the next few weeks, I gradually saw myself making slow mileage improvements. Within six weeks I was able to run five miles, albeit slowly, it was still five miles!
Soon came the challenge. I was asked to train for a local half marathon. Even in my cross country days I did not have to run more than five miles (the races were only two miles), so the thought of running 13.1 seemed an insurmountable task. Yet while my mind and body were screaming "no," my mouth said "yes."
I found that this seemingly impossible goal was driving me onward in my quest for health and fitness. I had to change my eating habits just to have the energy to run. In addition, I made the mistake of telling everyone my plans. I knew if my plan wasn't public knowledge, I would certainly have the ability to back out at the last minute. But with everyone watching my progress and encouraging me to move forward, I was forced to keep going.
The day of the race came and I was in the best shape my body had seen for over 12 years. I had made it up to 12 miles in my training and hoped that adrenaline would carry me the remaining 1.1 miles. It was a long and arduous run. I had blisters on my toes, aching hip joints and cramps in my arches, but yet I moved forwards. And when I finally crossed the finish line, I reached my goal. I was losing weight, had more energy to chase my children, a brighter outlook on life and a new found spark of motivation. And then came the fateful question – “I wonder if I could run a marathon?”
Keeping up with the kids was a full-time job which often left no room for self improvement. I found myself eating the scraps of food they left on their plate while cleaning the kitchen and keeping a toddler from climbing the cabinets. I was overwhelmed, over tired and often over worked. Until the day I saw myself in a photograph.
To say I was shocked by the picture is an understatement. That couldn’t possibly be my rear end. However the clothing attached to the body was most assuredly found in my closet, and in a size that I was in denial about wearing. I was fat!
I started the quest to find my pre-pregnancy body at the local Weight Watchers. And, while I was able to take off a respectable 25 pounds, as soon as the program was over, I found myself slipping back into my familiar routines. Next was the gym. I believed that if I simply worked hard enough I could eat what I wanted. I started strong, but my enthusiasm quickly waned as the pounds held onto my bones for dear life.
In my youth I was a runner. While I was not a particularly good one, I was able to earn a respectable spot on my high school cross country team and even competed for a year in college. This was the thought that brought me to that pivotal moment standing face to LED display with the treadmill.
The first run was a hard one. I made it a half mile before I had to walk. The next day I was paying for my new found hobby, having trouble making it down the stairs to meet with the torture machine once again. But somehow I found the will and made it another half mile. Over the next few weeks, I gradually saw myself making slow mileage improvements. Within six weeks I was able to run five miles, albeit slowly, it was still five miles!
Soon came the challenge. I was asked to train for a local half marathon. Even in my cross country days I did not have to run more than five miles (the races were only two miles), so the thought of running 13.1 seemed an insurmountable task. Yet while my mind and body were screaming "no," my mouth said "yes."
I found that this seemingly impossible goal was driving me onward in my quest for health and fitness. I had to change my eating habits just to have the energy to run. In addition, I made the mistake of telling everyone my plans. I knew if my plan wasn't public knowledge, I would certainly have the ability to back out at the last minute. But with everyone watching my progress and encouraging me to move forward, I was forced to keep going.
The day of the race came and I was in the best shape my body had seen for over 12 years. I had made it up to 12 miles in my training and hoped that adrenaline would carry me the remaining 1.1 miles. It was a long and arduous run. I had blisters on my toes, aching hip joints and cramps in my arches, but yet I moved forwards. And when I finally crossed the finish line, I reached my goal. I was losing weight, had more energy to chase my children, a brighter outlook on life and a new found spark of motivation. And then came the fateful question – “I wonder if I could run a marathon?”
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