Stop

Stop.

That's all the text message said.

It came from my daughter, 12 years old.  And I didn't quite understand what she meant.  She was upset that I wouldn't let her bake cookies at 10 o'clock in the evening.  I figured that's why she stormed off to the basement as I made myself a snack.  I could hear her whimpering. 

Stop snacking. Stop going off your diet.

Did not see that one coming.

What followed is much too private to share here verbatim.  I will say that she and I had a back and forth, via text, in which she shared her fears about me, about my health and well being.  And in those 160 characters, those fears were visceral.  The fact that she needed to  physically remove herself from me in order to confront me also spoke volumes.

I was humbled.

Twelve years old.

That was Wednesday.  And the texts are still haunting me.  I've saved them on my phone and have already gone back to them a few times to reflect when I needed guidance; when I needed strength.



I shared the texts with my wife.  She says that all three of the kids feel the same way; that they talk to her about their fears for me.  That they struggle to see me make clearly bad choices.  And that they are profoundly sad when they talk to her.

I tried to respond with reason.  The snack I had that night was 2 string cheese sticks and a slice of bread--all within my protein and carb count for the day.  I tried to respond with a plea for understanding.  I've been this way a long time--I can't turn on a dime.  It's going to take time.  I tried to respond by illuminating my humanness--sometimes I am simply just weak willed.

It doesn't matter.  Each time they see their dad eat off program, they see their dad slowly killing himself.  And their love and care for me goes so deep that they need to go to the basement, cry and send a text message that says Stop.

And I am heartbroken.

Choosing Reflections

I stand before the mirror and I
See my large belly. I
See my flabby neck. I
See the sadness in my eyes. I
See the fat hanging from my
Frame, from my
Thighs.

I see my
Legs unable to run under
The weight and strain.  I see
My back full of aches, unable
To bend without pain. I see
My arms, with hanging skin underneath. I see my shoulders, slumped and broken
By life's burdens.

I see my face full of
Weakness.
Failure.
Shame.

I see all that I hate
About myself.

I stand before the mirror and I

See legs that hold me

Up like steel pillars. I 

See a back, strong

And proud.  I see

Arms with the strength

To work, the gentleness

To hug my daughters and to

Hold my wife when she is sad.

Or scared.

I see my shoulders, steady

And broad, ready to carry

The weight of life's burdens

for me. And for my family.

And I see my belly

As it wobbles and jiggles

And wiggles and bobbles

When I laugh after wrestling my

Son to the floor, both of us doubled

Over in our glee.

I see my face, proud and secure

In knowing my true worth.

And I look into my eyes, and I

See kindness. I 

See forgiveness. I

See intelligence.

I see Myself.

Pink: F**ckin' Perfect

Link to Video @ Pink's site

I'm not a fan of Pink, but I'm not a hater either.  I caught this video on VH1the other morning while getting ready for work.  As the father of two daughters, one son who are sorting themselves out...and as the husband of a woman struggling to find herself...and as a man who has his own demons...this song and the video affect me.

I'll let the link to Pink's video speak for itself.  You may not like it.  That's cool.  The images are rather graphic.  But the message is clear.

Fair warning: The link is to Pink's explicit lyrics, not the safe one made for VH1.

Race Report -- New Directions 5K

First off, I don't know how to write a proper race report.  Second, this really wasn't a proper race.  Ok, now that we have that taken care of, let me tell you a story.

The New Directions program at the local hospital is a medically supervised "rapid" weight loss program that I have been trying to follow for the last two years.  It really is a good program when I choose to not sabotage myself.  The merits of a medically supervised program certainly has its pros and cons.  But that's not what is important right now.  What is important is that every September the program holds a 5K fun run for its clients and their families

There were 12 runners this year.  Of the twelve, I believe I was the only client to run that was still in "weight loss" mode.  Others were either family or had made it to "maintenance" mode.  It certainly seemed to me that I was the largest person to actually attempt to run.  Now, last year it seemed that the runners included up to 30 runners and I placed pretty much mid pack.  I was also 50 pounds lighter.  How I gained weight while faithfully participating in a medically supervised "rapid" weight loss program is another story and isn't important right now.  What is important is that this year, with only 12, I ran dead last. Most who ran last year chose instead to participate in the 5K fun walk  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It was a overcast but otherwise fine fall morning.  The temps were in the mid 70s.  My wife had planned to run as well, but her recent illness made that impossible.  Luckily, my 12 yo daughter did not have a cross country meet that day and the race officials were kind enough to let her run in my wife's place.  I was really looking forward to spending the morning with her.

We set off and, as we had planned, my daughter took off ahead.  My pace is about 15 mins per mile right now and, frankly, it would have been difficult for her to maintain such a slow place for 3.1 miles.  I'm ok with that.  I got about a half mile out before I realized I will not be able to keep pace with the other runners.  And I was a little disheartened by that.  I mean, who WANTS to be last?  I tried my best not to think about it and focus on my game plan.  Run 6 mins, walk 1.

The route took us through park trails, over bridges, along the river and, for a bit, along a busy street on a side walk.  It really was a gorgeous day.  And I did find myself enjoying the run for what it was...a chance to show to myself I could do it.

Then it happened.  I got passed by a walker.  A big, goofy guy speed walking just zipped past me like I wasn't there.  I have to say it was more than a little embarrassing and I thought, for just a moment, to just pack it in.  My first DNF.  I was dead last and got passed by goofus.  My arches were killing me. My back hurt.  The route took us past a Mc Donald's (WTH? Why would a weight loss program route their race past a Mc Donald's.  Really). 

But I wasn't going to let my daughter down.  We had planned that she would come back along the race and run my last half mile with me.  I pushed forward, keeping to the game plan.

That goofus walker, I must concede, was about 6'2", had a stride twice as long as my own and had obviously trained to speedwalk.  One could tell that from the efficiency of his motion.  Every quarter mile he'd walk backwards exactly 15 steps.  I don't know why.  I do know that he passed at least two other runners besides myself.  I wasn't so disheartened once that happened.

Dear daughter did meet me as planned.  She had crossed the finish line second (unfortunately the race only allowed for clients to place) and was so excited.  She ran with me, pushing me to push through.  I could hear the other walkers finally gaining on me, with one 8 year old girl actually passing me for about 10 seconds, but then she got a side stitch and had to slow down (heh heh heh).  I kicked it about 100 yards from the finish line and held my daughter's hand as we crossed the finish line at 42 minutes and 6 seconds.

I remember thinking at that moment just how happy I was to have done this and to have my daughter with me as I did.  I also realized that I had done it for myself just as much as I stayed in there and not disappoint her.

Everyone got a participation medal that day, if they finished.  I know it is dorky, but I wore mine with great pride.  I didn't care if anyone stared at the grocery store or in the pharmacy.  I am 40 years old, 120 pounds overweight, and I ran a 5K dammit.