I’ve been told so many times “You should look into being a personal trainer” and every time I laugh a little bit harder. People are saying that to me now because I’ve lost so much weight, and because obviously I know a little bit about getting in shape. My body has changed, yes, but my personality hasn’t changed at all. I’m not (suddenly) this kind person with soft edges who has the power to encourage you to do anything you set your mind to. In fact, I’ve got even more of a no bullshit attitude NOW than I had when I started.
Two years ago, a few months after my first attempt to get healthy (which mostly failed), I found a girl named Mary on Instagram. She was from the northeast, she was a former soldier who was now a trainer. I started following her and so many times I talked with her about getting healthy and working out and eating right. You don’t really need to know about my friend Mary. But if she were here, she would tell you about all the excuses I gave her for YEARS before I decided to start taking my health seriously.
If I were to ever become a trainer, which I won’t, I would absolutely HATE to have a client like me. Someone with a never ending stream of excuses about how they couldn’t (or WOULDN’T) compromise for their results. I’m getting angry just thinking about it.
I posted a status on Facebook the other day and I’ll re-post it here. It said –
This is why I can’t be a trainer. This shit right here. Excuse me as I rant: If you come to me for advice or suggestions, I’ll stop what I’m doing to help you – all day, any day, no problem. However. If your immediate response to my two cents is to tell me how that’s not something you can work into your life, I’m not gonna try to argue with you. I physically cannot. I just say “okay” and go along with my life. That, to me, says “I’ve already decided to continue what I’m doing and hope things work out in my favor.” That says “I’m unwilling to compromise my lifestyle to get the results I want.” And I simply cannot argue with that level of ignorance. Sorry if this is offensive to anyone. I’m ignorant intolerant.
I was that person with all the excuses. I was that person who would get hype about “changing my life”, just to give up when I didn’t drop 60 pounds overnight. I was that person who didn’t like vegetables or most fruits, so I thought I would never be able to diet or eat clean. I was all of these people, and more. I’ve overcome that. Now I know, that all of those excuses were just that – excuses. Now I know that results don’t happen overnight. I know how to eat clean in a way that my body responds well to. I can’t fight those demons in someone else because I’ve just figured out how to fight them in myself.
That’s why they call this a Fitness JOURNEY. Because it’s a long road! And because you learn new things all along the way; about yourself, about your body, about your emotional attachment to food, about your limits… And once you learn those things, they change! Limits change, attachments change, and bodies definitely change. At the end of the day, I’m still on my own fitness journey and right now I don’t ever think I’ll ever know this road well enough to give directions.
However, there is one area where I’m completely confident giving advice, planning, and helping people to understand - and that’s meal prep. I’m so good at it, in fact, that I offer it as a service. I started doing this a while ago, and I have clients all over the United States that come to me for their completely customized meal plans. I don’t do this as a way to make money, but the fact of that matter is that there’s a lot of work and calculation that goes into creating a meal plan for someone. Everyone is different. Everyone needs a certain number of calories to keep their bodies going. Every eats at different times throughout the day. Sometimes people need more calories during certain times of the month (looking at the ladies). Some people need to eat 5 meals a day, others only need 1 meal and several snacks.
The point is, meal plans are not 'one size fits all'. Everyone likes different foods, different textures. These are all things I take into consideration when creating one of my meal plans. I’m still accepting clients, so if you’re interested in what you’ve read about today, click here to create an email. I’ll get back to you within the hour. If you want more information, click here to check out my Meal Plan FAQs.
**Disclaimer: This post is not going to be like some of my other posts. This post is going to be mostly me rambling about my progress and where I want to be. If you don’t like posts like this, carry on about your life. I won’t even be mad.**
So when I started this whole fitness thing, I really didn’t know where I wanted to end up. I really was just kind of shooting in the dark. I decided to set a goal for myself – to be under 200 pounds. I set that goal strictly so I could say “I’ve got a goal I’m working towards”. It never occurred to me that I wanted to be under 200 pounds. Not so much I didn’t want to be under 200, I just never thought I would be. I didn’t think I could. I just wanted to have a goal, so I made one. That goal didn’t mean anything to me.
Somewhere around 230, I realized I could actually hit my goal. That was sort of a revolutionary thing. Looking back, that was also the time I started kind of coming into my confidence. So maybe those two things go hand and hand. I’m not sure. Around that time I really started asking myself – Who do I want to look like? My answer to myself was immediately Khloe Kardashian. You don’t have to like her or tolerate her, but her body is on a level of magical fleekness I can’t even comprehend. So naturally I wanted to look like her. I looked up her weight and the only estimation I could find (never confirmed) was that she weighed 170 pounds.
I thought, I can do that. If I can get to 200, I can certainly get to 170. From that point on, I was in beast mode. I was actually visualizing my goal every single day. Even though 200 was my “goal”, I felt more passion and dedication once I decided on 170. So here I am. I’ve just gone under 200, and now I’m on my way to 170.
Let me pause here and say it’s still really surreal to me that I’ve actually lost 67 pounds. That’s ¼ of my body weight and that kinda f*cking crazy to me. If you’ve ever done something really drastic to your hair- you know what I mean. Say you have long blonde hair and you decide to dye it back. In the morning you wake up and you feel like nothing has changed, and you look in the mirror and it legitimately scares you. Like who is this person and why does she look just like me? When I think “I need a new outfit”, my mind automatically thinks “I’ll swing by Lane Bryant”. I don’t yet realize that Hey, I can shop at other places with cute clothes. I can shop where my best friend shops. I don’t have to go to Lane Bryant.
I guess some people may call that body dysmorphia; I’m not qualified to say I have that particular condition. But most days I don’t feel like a 200 pound woman. I still feel like myself. Almost 270 walking around in my Lane Bryant jeans.
Anyway. Going forward obviously the goal is 170. Actually 166.6, because just for the hell of it I want to be able to say “I’ve lost 100 pounds” and be completely serious. I guess this goal is about proving to myself that I can. I came up with this handy dandy little chart using all of my magical mathematical skills and determined that if I lose 2.5 pounds a week (entirely realistic for me by the way) I’ll be at my goal of 166.6 by the first of the year. My whole journey has been preparing me for this. I know how to moderate my cheat meals. I’m used to drinking enough water to hydrate a small African village. I am made for this shit.
I’ve got wonderful friends and family that are supporting me, and have from the beginning. Looking back, my decision to lose weight was something that literally no one in my life tried to fight me on. And that’s the end of that paragraph because that last sentence speaks volumes about the dynamic of my life.
I’m really bad at compliments. Like if I were to make a list of the things I’m really bad at, taking compliments would be right up there next to peeing standing up. Actually I think I’ll make that list right now.
Anyway. Really bad at compliments. Losing this much weight I get compliments on a daily basis. Online, it's not a problem because I can just say “Thank you!” and adding a cute emoji. But compliment me in person and literally my entire nervous system shuts down. I can’t even form thoughts, much less an appropriate response. So if you’re one of the people that have complimented me in person, I’m truely sorry for my response at the time, and thank you for your kindness.
Sorry if this Blog was all over the place. I, myself, am kind of all over the place. But I don’t feel like sharing that with you guys right now. Mainly because I’m on the verge of a legitimate psychotic break.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. Have a great rest of your day, and God bless.
Friday, May 22nd was just another day for me. I went to work, I ate a doughnut on break, I joked around with my boss, and I went to the gym after work. I was on the phone with my Dad as I pulled into the parking lot, and I remember telling him “I’ll call you back in about 30 minutes. I’m going to do my mile and maybe a few minutes on the stair master.”
I entered the gym, which was deserted because it was early on a Friday afternoon. There were some nice women in the locker room, we chatted as I changed clothes. I walked out to the floor and as I climbed on the treadmill, the song “Mama’s Broken Heart” by Miranda Lambert played in my head. I don’t know why, but I turned that song on repeat instead of shuffling through my workout playlist like I normally do.
I began running, and the first time I looked down I had already run .1 mile. I was impressed with myself. Normally I was already feeling the burn. I kept running, for some reason I didn’t feel the need to stop for water at .25 mile as I normally do. The running continued, I was making myself take a drink at .5 mile when I got this crazy idea… “Maybe I can run more than one mile today.” I considered it briefly. I was still new to my daily mile runs, and most of the time I had to focus all my energy on not dying. I had never tried to run more than a mile at a time, and I hadn’t yet even started working on increasing my speed.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t ignore the facts. My stamina was significantly heightened, as well as my endurance. I wasn’t gasping for breath or praying the distance meter would move faster. Even still, the idea that I could possibly push myself for more than a mile was astounding. I mentally made a resolution to myself – Just do what you can. Don’t kill yourself. Do what your body will let you do.
From that point on, I was limitless. I focused on my footing, I kept tabs on my breathing. I payed extra attention to my left knee and hip, which both give me trouble from time to time. Before I knew it, a mile had passed. A mile and a half. Two miles. Two and a half miles. Three miles. At three miles it sank in – I ACTUALLY JUST RAN THREE MILES! I was ecstatic. A few happy tears ran down my face as I pushed even harder. I was fiercely sweating, something I normally don’t do. I could see the perspiration soaking through the fabric across my chest. I knew I was going to have to quit soon, and I decided 4 miles would be my stopping point for the day. I increased my speed as I prepared to run my last mile. The gym was filling up, and everyone who checked in looked at me. I was running my ass off, sweating like a maniac, and I felt great.
I stopped my treadmill at 4 miles, with a time of 57 minutes and 30 seconds. I ran the first three miles at the speed 4.2, and the last mile at 4.3. I finished my run and I felt like I was on top of the world. I had a certain pep in my step as I walked back to the locker room. I gathered my stuff and left, I immediately called my Dad and said “You’re never gonna believe this, but I just ran four miles.” I only had time to call him and my Aunt Lila before the nausea hit me.
I actually had to pull into a McDonalds on the way home because I thought I was going to vomit. My spit was flowing out from my mouth like water. I was weak, dizzy. It passed and I drove the rest of the way home. My sister came outside to help me carry my bags in, because I didn’t know if I would physically be able. I made my way to the bathroom and crouched by the toilet, but wasn’t nauseous anymore. I picked up my things and went into the living room to greet everyone, which was when the next wave of nausea hit me. I ran to the restroom and barely pulled the lid up before I started projectile vomiting. Luckily I was still on a mostly liquid diet, so I wasn’t too labored.
Feeling better, I went into the living room and decided to make dinner. As it cooked, I started feeling worse and worse. I drank water while I could, knowing that I desperately needed to rehydrate. By the time the food was ready, I could barely hold my head up. I literally forced myself to eat, one bite at a time. Each bite I forced made me nauseous and was a struggle to get down. I made it through my bowel and a half hour later I was back to myself.
In retrospect, I do not regret running four miles. I do regret not immediately rehydrating myself, and not eating more throughout the day to fuel my run. I have decided not to try to run four miles every single day. Once a month, maybe. For now, I will stick to a two-mile run daily and focus on improving my time for two miles.
I didn’t know when I walked into the gym Friday that I’d be running four miles. Never in my life did I think I’d be able to run two, let alone three. Four? It never even crossed my mind. I can’t tell you why I had so much energy that day, or why my breathing was controlled from the start or what made me power through and actually complete a nonstop four mile run. All I can tell you is that it was worth it. I shattered a goal I never even knew I had. Sure I was sick that night, of course I was sore the next day. But it was completely worth every single step.
I already know what happens when I give up. I want to see what will happen if I don't.