Let Zombies Eat Cake
I never considered myself unhealthy. Unfit, possibly / probably but, really, “I’m not as bad as that.” I could walk for ages, swim for longer than that, and I didn’t eat a lot of junk – unless it was shaped like Mickey Mouse. That’s hard to resist.
Last year, my body gave me warning signs that down the road, at the rate I was going, I would be in trouble. Serious trouble.
And, I was missing out on lifestyle things I enjoyed, like roller coasters with my fam.
In March, I pushed myself out of the comfortable “I’m okay” zone. Way out of my “I’m okay” zone.
Maybe it’s the kind kind of zone you’re in right now, toying with the idea of writing because you’ve always loved it, or of changing some aspect of your daily life that seems really hard to change. If you are, it’s a scary place to be because comfort is the opposite of change.
Comfort begets stagnation. Change drives success.
Although I’ve lost weight before, I’ve failed more times than been successful, and this time I was running out of time. To keep me on track and accountable, I hired Samantha as my health and fitness trainer, and let my hubby coach my running.
Running? That’s what people do when zombies attack, right? I had always pictured myself as the sacrificial lamb who would slow the zombies down by standing still while my loved ones ran to safety.
Not. Any. More.
As of today, it’s official. I identify as a *gasp* runner.
Plus-Sized Determination FTW
I’ve been horrified by the stories I’ve seen of larger-sized people being taunted or patronized for running. The internet exploded after Nike released a plus-sized mannequin, mostly because Tanya Gold of the London Telegraph fat-shamed the mannequin, thus the people it represented.
What would people say or think about me and my less than zoom-y self? If I called myself a runner and I’m slow and overweight, that’s like painting a target on my back, right?
Even after reading this supportive article from Shape magazine, I didn’t feel like I had earned the “runner” nomenclature. I thought of myself as “in-training.”
I couldn’t let brain weasels into my head. Instead, I paralleled my journeys in writing and fitness. Both have been demanding in their own way.
Everyone has those nasty brain weasels that latch on to all the joy in our lives and suck it dry. Although I’ve been working hard, seeing fitness gains, and improving my health, I doubted that I had the right to call myself a runner.
No matter my pace, no matter the distance, I am a runner. I give myself the right to use this title just as I called myself an author when I shifted gears from nursing to writing full time.
Don’t Trip On What’s Behind You
The medal around me neck is my talisman of strength and empowerment, just as the books I’ve authored are the foundations of my wordsmithing profession.
If you’re in a place that you want to be out of, whether it’s a physical change, or a creative one, you *can* do it. Sometimes it takes the right team behind you, or a powerful “WHY” as the core of your motivation. But you can do it.
And the brain weasel zombies can go eat f*ing cake.
[edit: meant this to be a post up for yesterday, but then my young man went and horse-played with his cousins and ended up needing stitches. Needless to say, not the way I wanted to spend my evening. He was a wee bit traumatized but today is pleased as punch that he gets to watch videos with his foot up!]