Option 3

FreeFoto.com

I got out and ran today. I wish I hadn't. I really am too heavy and my ankles are screaming.

I came to a decision recently. I can wait for something to happen the rest of my life.  I can wait for something in my life to change and suddenly all this blubber will magically melt off and food will no longer have its powerful emotional connection.  But waiting isn't doing me a damn bit of good.

I could also do the hard work, count my calories, watch every morsel that passes through my gullet.  I can live my life thinking about food and making conscious decisions to limit myself.  And I can shame myself when I inevitably fail setting up another cycle of emotional sabotage.

Or, I can live my life as if I were already thin and healthy.  I can tell my body that we are where we are and I'm going to live as if we are already over there.  I have a feeling my body will come along for the ride.

I'm choosing option 3. And that's partly why I went out for a run today.  That's the sort of thing I've been waiting to be lighter to do and I have missed it.  Reality is settling in as I ice my ankles, but damn I feel good.  I will have to take it easy until reality catches up with this attitude change.  But I'm not going to stop altogether.

Having made this decision, the Itty Bitty Shitty Committee in my head is trying to veto it,  telling me that I'll treat this as carte blanche to eat what I want, when I want and eventually end up even heavier.  Not true. I will eat as if I'm already healthy and want to stay that way.  I've learned quite a bit about intuitive eating.  I have a lot to learn about emotional eating.I know this isn't a panacea.  This path will have its ups and downs, failures and successes. But I trust that this is a journey worth taking.

A note of thanks

The Daily Mission question over at dailymile.com yesterday was "Are you for / against / or neutral on running related bumper stickers? For example 26.2 ovals, 13.1 ovals, Ironman, or ULTRA ovals"

It generated a bit of high spirited conversation on the twitterverse. Most of the tweeps/daily milers/facebook fans responded that there is no problem with being proud of one's accomplishments and if they want to get a bumper sticker to that fact, who does it harm?

But I'm not writing to weigh in on that question.

There was, of course, a contingent of athletes who pooh-poohed such emblems saying either that a half marathon wasn't really all that significant or that it is unbecoming to brag. I was intrigued that such opinions were out there and did a little more digging around via google. What I found is that there is a small but vocal groups of runners that disparage the recreational and fitness runners.

But I'm not writing to weigh in on that question either.

What I want to say is this. I love being a runner. I will always be a back of the pack guy. I will never win a race, never win my age group and probably never accomplish what some may see as recognized achievements. I'll never qualify for the Boston Marathon, for example. I'm ok with that. Because running not something I feel I need to master or be the best at.

I am a runner who will always be on the sidelines of the conversation and never really part of the gang. I participate in the online community of runners as a perennial wall flower. And I love it. I love reading other people's race reports and training log. I love to read about other people's accomplishments. I quietly celebrate their achievements. I don't know what a tempo run is or the significance of a series of repeats, but I love reading that those I follow share that online.

And I love that many in this community have taken the time to stop by here and say a few words or send me an ataboy on Twitter when I share about my 5K experiences.

This is where the questions of stickers and accomplishments have taken me. When I see a car with 26.2, I feel lucky to be part of this community--even when I am too heavy to actually be out there running with them in spirit. Even when I know I barely make a blip on many runners' radar.

To those runners I follow on twitter or have friended on Daily Mile, and to those who have followed me back and taken time to drop by my little blog here, I say thank you. You inspire me. Every day.

Back at it

I jogged tonight.  That's right ladies and gentlemen, the Jogging Clydesdale actually got his lardass out there and jogged!  Been a long time since I've actually posted a running (ok, plodding) entry.  I had been itching to get back out there but was afraid to do since I have packed all my weight back on.  310 is just so heavy to be out there pounding away.  I decided on my way home from work, however, that I was just going to do it.  And I did before I could talk myself out of it.

Mrs. C came with me and we had a nice jog around the subdivision.  I am again using the Couch to 5K program so it was more walking than plodding.  My ankles are very mad at me.  But the air was crisp and evening fell into night.  I haven't had such a pleasant run since, well, last spring I suppose.

I am going to pay for it in the morning.

Now I'm not going to make any public declarations that I am back on the wagon or that "this time I mean it." I know that I don't have the will power or discipline.  Today is sufficient for today.  Tomorrow is another day.

One day at a time, my friends.

A man and his plan

I have only got in one run since that 5K two Saturdays ago.  I plan on rectifying that tonight.  I really don't know why I procrastinate on running when I know that A) it's good for me 2) I feel good when I'm done and thirdly, it gives me a moment to clear my head.  And, right now, that head clearing is what I need more than anything.

I've tiptoed around my wife's illness because I didn't think it appropriate to share in such a public place.  But I think now I will share that her problems are centered in the area of mental health.  Depression and anxiety disorders are real and they are painful.  The stress in the stable is underpinned with a overwhelming sense of hopelessness.  This is definitely true for her, but equally true for myself.  If she had a broken leg, I'd know what to do.  If she had cancer, I'd learn what to do.  With mental health disorders, there is NOTHING I can do but support, comfort and journey with her.  And that never seems like enough.  A large part of the stress is being an advocate to the different medical institutions (hate that word) and keeping them on the ball.  It doesn't help that I, too, struggle with depression though not to such a debilitating degree. Or does it? I think what I'm getting at is there is very little I can do to help her heal other than provide a safe place to be.

With this in mind, I am not surprised in the least in my struggle with emotional eating.  What I struggle with the most is impulse control.  I can plan all I want, but when I walk into the kitchen and my MIL (who is a rock and I love dearly) has baked a dozen cookies...it isn't pretty.  I have found myself almost in a literal daze as I enter the gas station and purchase chips, dip and a diet soda.  I know at every turn I have the power to chose otherwise, but the id, the unrelenting drive underneath the conscious mind, is powerful.

I will run tonight.  I will exercise Wise Mind in an effort to control my impulses.  And should I falter, I will not shame myself for my weakness, but I will reflect on how I could have done better.  And, these aren't goals.  I've learned not to share goals (really.  I gave up soda for two weeks largely because I didn't tell anyone I was giving it up).  It is my plan and that will be good enough for now.

Complaints from the Back of the Pack: A Race Report

Yesterday's race was both rewarding and incredibly insulting.  I'm not exactly sure what to write about either feeling.

I arrived at the fairgrounds for the Michiana Relief Sale 5K about an hour before start time.  I checked in, made some small talk with the other runners.  Sipped on my water.  Agreed that yes it was chilly but it was going to be a good run.  Then someone asked where I was going to be stationed.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Aren't you volunteering for the race?" he said.

"No.  I'm running."

The slightest pause passed, just enough to notice.

"Good for you!"

This happened three times.  And it really pissed me off.  Each time the person got a silly smile on their face, like they wanted to pat my head and buy me a pony.  Yes, I'm a fat guy that's gonna run.  How about "What's your goal?" or "Hey, great!  Good luck in the race!" or "Been running long?" or any of the other banter I heard all around me?

But it wasn't going to spoil my run.

As the fates would have it, a treasured friend from high school happened to be in town and attended the race.  My friend is, I believe, 6'5" and as lanky as a cat.  In fact, back in the day, we were known as Calvin and Hobbes.  But that's another story.  Hobbes found me and we immediately fell into the familiarity of old friends.  We agreed that he need not stay with me through the race, but he did want to come back and find me after he had finished.  He wanted to pace me as I finished up.

There was a lot of people there I knew.  It's a small town and the relief sale is put on by my denominational church, so there was even a greater chance of meeting someone I knew, or was related to.  It was great to see old friends besides Hobbes, but I will admit about being nervous about running with, and embarrassing myself in front of so many I knew.

We lined up and started off after the 2K walkers left the track.  The route took us around the half mile horse track twice, then out into the parking area, back into the fair grounds and then back to the track for the last half mile.  I got lapped by the leader just shy of the first half mile.  No problem.  I knew that was going to happen.  I knew I was going to be at the back of this pack.  As I was finishing my first lap, the timer was calling out pace times and I remembered that the organizer said that he'd be doing this.  Half mile in 7 minutes.  Not great, but about my average.

By the second time around, the timer wasn't calling out the pace.  He was off to the side drinking coffee.  That pissed me off too.  I may be slow, but I deserve the respect that was afforded the faster runners too.  It wasn't as if I was in last place.  I had 5 runners behind me.  Nor was it as if I hadn't finished in the 1 hour allotted to the race time.  This happened throughout the race.  Volunteers that were posted to guide runners through the fairgrounds left their post by the time I came through.  That pisses me off.

Still, it really was a good run insofar as the pace was good and hard.  I was about a mile from the finish when Hobbes joined up with me.  We chatted a bit, though my pace was a little higher than would allow a comfortable conversation.  This was, after all, a race.  He kept me going, encouraging me, asking how I trained and what else I was doing this summer.  And we talked about his training for a half marathon he was running in a month.  I really enjoyed that last mile.

His longer stride did push up my pace a bit, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.  And before I knew it, there was the chute.  I did kick it for the last 100 yards or so even though there wasn't anyone to race ahead of.  Crossed the line at 40m47s.  It was nearly a minute and a half off my race last weekend.  I was really pleased.

But I was disappointed that other runners had already walked off.  Some had already picked up their prizes and were walking around the sale.  Now, I'm not being a whinny ass here.  The other runners don't owe me anything and I certainly didn't expect everyone to stick around at the finish line for the back of the pack.  But there was no one.  Except Hobbes.  Where was the congeniality of runners that I've been reading about?

So, what a mix of emotions.  A good hard run.  Great time spent with an old friend.  A marked improvement in my pace and time.  Didn't come in dead last.  And yet, I experienced condescension, apathy and downright been ignored.

After posting this, I am letting it go.  I met my goals and I will be there next year.