"Against All Odds"

I had the pleasure of staffing an information booth at the PDX City Parks 5K Run at Gabriel Park in Portland, OR this last weekend.  And, I do mean it was a pleasure.  This was a great place to be reminded of who I am and why I have the goals I do.

First, let me say that I am in awe of folks who dare to participate in life at this level.  Other than running as a child, I have never had an urge to use running as a sport for the sake of just that... running.  When I was a child, I loved running bases and I adored playing Hide and Go Seek, Tag, and other playground games; and of course, as I got older, there was the Catch the Toddler game that every parent has been forced to play.  You know the one... as they dash for streets and ponds and other hideous life defying challenges, you run as fast as you can to try to catch them.  Not nearly as fun as Tag, but it does get your heart pumping at cardio level.

The folks who attended the 5K Run at Gabriel Park all had one thing in common... they wanted to be there, they wanted to run, and they wanted to cross the finish line.  I did not spot a single person there that day who looked as if they had been forced to attend the event; instead they appeared cheerful and ready.

The other thing I noticed was the variety of shapes and sizes and age groups present.  From children to adults, there were tall people and short people; small people and large people; thin people and obese people.  There were young folks and old folks, and given that the entry fee was a mere $5 bucks, I would imagine that the income levels were just as diverse, because it was affordable.

The courage on display, while not flaunted, was, nevertheless, remarkable.  I could barely walk while weighing 316 lbs, yet, here were, not one or two, but, many obese people, elderly people, and unfit people.  There were people of varying abilities throughout the spectrum of human experience.  It certainly fortified my trust and belief in the "against all odds" paradigm.

Extreme acts of courage run rampant throughout our society, yet we often do not stop and observe the immense spirit it sometimes takes to just be who we are.  Take Caitlyn Jenner, who recently was the recipient of the prestigious Arthur Ashe Courage award at this year's ESPY (Excellence in Sports Performance Yearly) ceremony.  This award is intended to honor "people whose contributions transcend sports through courageous action."  ESPN released a statement last month, saying, "This year, we are proud to honor Caitlyn Jenner embracing her identity and doing so in a public way to help move forward a constructive dialogue about progress and acceptance."  

FYI, in case my readers live inside a rolled up sock without access to gossip or news from the outside world, Caitlyn Jenner was once Bruce Jenner, the former Olympic Champion track and field athlete.  She is a lovely woman, who has not only won the Olympic Gold Medal (the highest award given to athlete's for their prowess on the field), but has now also been honored with the highest sports award for courage.  

To me, the fact that Caitlyn Jenner has fully shared herself with the world, despite criticism and controversy, is a stunning act of courage.  She has given yet another strong voice to the transgender community, opening another opportunity for understanding and the elimination of discrimination.  I will always love her for that.  

Yet, for her, the act of speaking publicly while reading from a teleprompter at the ESPY awards took a dual amount of courage; one, because of her fear around her childhood dyslexia, and two, because she is not yet happy with the pitch of her voice and she wanted people to hear what she had to say, rather than observing the pitch of her voice.  Our own inner demons are probably the worst, most poisonous voices we will ever hear.

Like Caitlyn, the obese men and women who showed up to run at the 5K event, regardless of what others might think of them; regardless of what they might look like in others eyes; and regardless of the pain they might feel in their joints, both before and after the event; these people are my heroes.  They are willing to cut through their own fears to live life to its fullest, and by doing so, they both impress and enable each of us to do the same.

  

"Pain Relief is a Mighty Incentive!"

I am someone who needs to weigh herself everyday.  Yes, I know the weight loss experts advice is to weigh in moderation; no more than once a week.  However, the experts one size fits all approach does not work for a person who has considerable water weight issues.  I can actually gain 20 lbs in 10 days, only to have it disappear just as quickly.  Because of this, my doctor prescribes a water loss medication that attempts to rectify the problem.

Every time I have attempted the once a week weigh in, I have been sadly disappointed.  So often, the scale paired with my water weight issue does not show me an accurate weight.  Sadly, it is not very encouraging to have your weight remain the same after a week of pinching points or counting calories... or, worse yet, go up after working all week for the reward of marking off pounds lost.  The scale becomes a symbol of everything you are not doing right, and try as you might, it is impossible to keep telling yourself that the weight loss is there, when the scale says no.

"Measure yourself, sweetie.  You lost inches."  A familiar refrain and one that is not without truth.  The scale is not and cannot be the only instrument that measures our success when attempting to lose weight.  Taking measurements at regular intervals can be a great success tool, just as feeling the fit of your ever expanding pants gives immense satisfaction.

The truth is that motivation is a little thin in times of immeasurable chasms.  The valley of obesity is not for the faint of heart, and yet... there we are.  Lost and alone in a wilderness of fat that seems to be larger and stronger than we can ever be.  It takes a mountain of courage to take that first step towards weight loss and fitness.  It also takes unending bravery to continue down the path, through the highs and lows, over the plateaus, and into the darkest forests of savage loneliness.  For, in truth, we are alone on this journey.  We must face the terror of the voices in our own brains, constantly voicing concern over our choices.

"Didn't you eat a rather large portion of baked ham yesterday?  How do you expect to lose weight when you are constantly make poor choices?" That is the voice I call my Vindictive Mother.  She is never content to just urge me to look at my choices; she has to make sure that I know what a failure I am being.  Then there is my Chicken Soup Mother.  "You might as well have a piece of pie, dear.  You deserve a little something special after such a bad week."  The Chicken Soup Mother is always there to urge a splurge, regardless of whether one is warranted or not.

My Defeatist Mother can't help but clarify how far away my goals are and just how often I have failed to reach my goals.  "You aren't going to show any weight loss this week anyway.  I don't think you are really trying."  The Defeatist Mother knows how many times you have walked this path and failed to reach your end goal.  She also knows how often you have reached that goal, only to turn around and gain your weight back, plus some.  And, she keeps those failures ever present in the back of my mind.

How many of you have named the voices in your head?  That's the first step to defeating their evil intent to destroy your success.  I have found that the best way to do battle with these voices is to armour myself with support.  Find as many kind and gentle voices as I can, people who are seriously happy and excited by my journey.  I have to reach out and open up to others about what I am doing.  Give them an opportunity to celebrate my weight loss and offer their support.  Without a doubt, if you are willing to be open and honest about your journey, the respect and happiness you meet will filter into your own being, replacing the strident voices of defeat. 

It is imperative that I follow this path of weight loss and fitness, because I have absolutely no cartilage in my knees.  I am in a state of endless and agonizing pain, where standing for any length of time past thirty seconds is beyond uncomfortable; where walking creates a grinding of bones in my knee cap and a shifting creak as the bones slip and slide against each other; and where sitting is my best option for pain relief, but even then, finding a comfortable way to ease my knees can be impossible.

I tell you all this, not for sympathy, but to explain why this journey is so important to me.  My knee doctor tells me that he would be willing to replace my knees, but not until I reach a BMI of 40%.  For me, that is somewhere in the range of 210-220 lbs.  That is a mere 17-27 lbs for me to drop off of this obese body to get to surgery.  

Considering that I have already lost 79 total pounds from my top high of 316 lbs, shouldn't this be a walk in the park to get to the goal weight?  Probably not.  Every single pound that I am able to drop represents a gritty battle against my aging metabolism, my water weight issues, and my own history of yo-yoing up and down the weight loss graph.  That doesn't mean that I won't get there, and soon, because I am determined to change these tiring, arthritic knees.  I want to walk, and dance, and play with my dog; I want to chase my grandchildren, and bicycle the Spring Water Corridor, and not give a thought to whether I can push past the pain of standing up.

My goal is to have my left knee replaced this coming September.  My hope is that I won't waver as I get closer to the surgery.

"Her Butt is Fat!"

"Her butt is fat!"  So said the cherubic 5 year old child standing next to her mother.  She was pointing at me, or rather, my large rear end, her eyes wide as she looked to her mother for approval.  Of course, the mother was mortified and attempted to shush her young child, avoiding my eyes.  "But, mommy, her butt is fat!"

I laughed... genuinely amused by this frank admission from the girl.  I smiled at her mother, stealing her eyes away from the suddenly very interesting floor.  "She's young," I said, matter of fact and friendly.  I did not need to add the obvious.  The child was correct in her observation.  

I knew it.  She knew it.  Her mother knew it.  Frankly, everyone within hearing distance knew that the little girl was not lying.  Had it not been such a frank exclamation of astonishment, devoid of judgement, I would probably have been mortified.  However, the child exuded a startled innocence matched only by her own mother's startled shame.

Frankly, I am well aware of what my body looks like.  I know that I walk with a limp because one leg is shorter than the other.  I know that my upper body does not match my lower body.  I have a very large bottom paired with a much smaller torso.  Somehow, as the years have passed (and while I was avoiding the mirror) my proportions became pear shaped, rather than the more even proportions of my youth.

I do not pretend to be smaller than I am.  My girth is unavoidable.  However, the soul of me feels small and perfectly proportioned.  I often catch myself picturing a nimble leap from my chair, a swift pace across my living room, and a fast jog across my yard to retrieve my missing book from the car.  I find myself thinking that a bike ride would be great, and before lumbering to my feet, I see myself grabbing my bike from the shed, jumping aboard the comfy seat, and pedaling with athletic grace through my neighborhood.

None of this actually happens, of course.  As soon as I start to stand from any prolonged length of sitting or lying down, my knees tighten up and my legs turn to lead.  Taking a step becomes a huge process of will over mechanics.  I hold onto my end table, my dresser, even a door jamb, or whatever else is a steady surface that can support my weight.  I steadily pull on the object to begin a forward momentum.  Once I get my legs to take a few steps, it becomes easier, and the limp becomes less pronounced.  Easier, though never easy.

Walking is definitely a skill that is taken for granted by the majority of folks that never have to give it a second thought.  I have always prided myself on my ability to empathize with others; to be compassionate, sensitive, and kind, regardless of a person's abilities.  So it came as a surprise to find that when I was younger and able to walk long distances without worry, I had no clue about the true lives led by the differently-abled people I encountered along the way.  Those folks bearing canes to guide their way or maneuvering wheelchairs or walkers or electric scooters were simply beyond my understanding at that time.  How could I realize the inconvenience of a body that would not do my bidding?  I had never been subjected to a painful debilitation that exhausted me both physically and mentally.  And, being young, I did not understand that inside the bodies of these extraordinary human beings were the spirits of people who could see freedom from the prison of a body that did not work as well as it once had; with a single thought, they might picture their own gracefully pointed toe stepping off the curb without worry or care for whether it might hurt; because within the resiliency of our minds and spirits, we are forever able to see beyond our limitations.

So, this young child, who had no idea that she might cause me discomfort or shame or anxiety, because she saw the size of my butt and couldn't fathom a reason to not exclaim the news to her mother, this child is precious to me.  She has an innocence that will soon be lost in a world that demands that we be polite; for by virtue of being polite and proper, we are not allowed to discuss certain subjects and, therefore, appear to lose the ability to truly see beyond the obvious.

I want honest conversations to happen with regard to obesity that go beyond the obvious.  There is so much to talk about; so much education we can learn from, within these conversations.  So much shame that can be laid to rest; so much anxiety that can slide from our shoulders; so much relief, that can lead to even more conversations.

"Yes, sweetie, the lady's butt is fat... I wonder why?  Do you suppose that is why she is walking with a cane?

To add a comment, please locate the following line under this post:
 *****Posted by Holly Bennett at 1:47 AM 2 comments:  
Click on 2 comments. You will be given access to the Comment Section, in order to read other's thoughts, as well as leave your own post.  Make sure you click on the blue Publish button  to make certain your comment is registered.  Thank you so much for your feedback!