3 Pairs of sneakers, no feet
3 Pairs of sneakers, no feet
I got engaged end of May 2014. Thank you, I know. Sucked in buddy, you've got me for life.
After the initial manic laughing, crying, calling my mother and cooing over the ring, my next thoughts were along the lines of holy shit, I need to lose weight.
Because we all feel the itch of wanting to look our best on our wedding day. Because being skinny on the first day of your married life should consume you above all else. Because society. Feel free to discuss this at length in the comments section.
"... I flat-out refused to be a plus-sized bride..."
I wanted to look my best for many reasons, but my biggest fear was that I have been 'plus-sized' my entire life and I flat-out refused to be a 'plus-sized' bride.
This is obviously not the first time in my life that I have felt I needed to lose weight for something.
Like most young women, I have been dieting, exercising, bingeing and repeating a cycle of weight gain and weight loss since a young age.
But what was mistaken for being fatter than my comrades in the playground was actually the simple comparison of how some girls grow quicker than others. I was fortunate to grow to almost my adult height by the time I was 9 years old, start puberty as early as 10 years and as a result of training with my Dad for Mountain Bike trail races, I also had award winning thunder thighs.
I was also the fittest girl in my year up until I was 14 years old and could kill anyone in any sport that required endurance and speed. But none of that matters when your left leg is bigger than most of the children in your class.
I have had many reasons to be motivated to journey to a better version myself. Most of these motivators originated from movies; social media; music videos; my ex-boyfriends hot new girlfriend.
I can vouch that nothing good comes from wanting to change your body based on how much you hate it. I can admit that there have been countless times in my life that I have tried to change my body into something that I would never achieve because I was simply not born into a 4-foot Size-6 compatible body type. But that didn't stop me from hating myself for not trying hard enough to get it.
And then I met someone special. A man walked into my life that accepted me as I am, faults, flab, fantasies and all. Cue Bridgette Jones Diary moment.
I have read many mantras along the lines of "you cannot love someone until you learn to love yourself". I can honestly say that this was not the case for me.
"... I wanted to be the best version of myself that I could be. For him. And for me..."
My whole life I have allowed myself to be judged and validated by those who care only for what dress size you fit into. I have spent my whole life questioning myself, my body, and where I sit on a "hotness scale" because I felt like I needed to. I have been listening to people talk about what I should be my entire life and have whole heartedly hung on every word on the desperation that I would then be good enough for them.
It is a complicated and joy-less rollercoaster to be completely vain of your appearance while simultaneously hating so may aspects of yourself.
Then I met a man who loves the way I look in the morning when my pillow is wearing most of my makeup. Someone who thinks I'm cute when I've forgotten I had mascara on before a shower and got out only to realise I had smudges that'd make a panda jealous. A man that loves me just the way I am and tells me so.
It wasn't until then that I began to believe a little bit in myself; that I began to see myself through his eyes and learn to love myself a little bit more. It wasn't until then that I could openly see how unrealistic most people are about what they need to achieve to be physically and emotionally comfortable in their own skin.

So in that glorious moment when that flawless diamond rolled over my chubby knuckle I knew that I wanted to be the best version of myself that I could be. For him, and for me. Because I owed it to myself for spending most of my life wanting to be anyone else but me.
And so my real journey began.
A journey of denial and harsh realities. A journey of failures and successes. A journey of truth. A journey in the face of the demons that have plagued me since I can remember: My journey to better health.
After my engagement and my revelation of better health, what was to follow were days filled with excited motivation to get home and walk the dog, only to get off the long train commute and decide that I should really eat dinner first; I should probably wash up first; I could probably watch an episode of Lost first; "Oh look, it's dark now. I will make up for it in the morning before work".
5.45am and my alarm insists it is the beginning of a new day. My brain insists an extra hour of sleep would serve me better. Tonight, I tell myself. Definitely after work.
And, repeat.
I convince my new fiancé, Chris, that a house full of gym gear would be a great investment since I will never visit a gym when I have a membership. I also find a Treadmill and Elliptical and tell everyone how much of a bargain they were since I bought them together.
Come October, the office decides to embark on a 12 week weight-loss journey by diet alone, so I join in. This will get me started, I think. If I lose a bit of weight, I will be motivated to lose more weight for sure.
I lost 8 kilos. Fucking win!
No one notices, Christmas provides. I find the 8 kilos by the end of January.
Fast forward another 9 months.
9 months of long train commutes. Extra long beauty sleep. Lazy dogs and unused gym equipment.
The office decides to embark on another 12 week dieting challenge. I whole-heartedly join in the desperation that I might find the same motivation I found the year before and be able to stick with it this time.
It is Week 6 of the 12 week challenge and I weigh 3 more kilos than I did to begin with.
You are probably wondering what the hell I have been doing and why the hell I even joined this challenge to begin with. Since I clearly have found happiness and love myself I should surely have found the motivation to eat a little more lettuce and less Chocolate Peanut Butter Mug Cakes.
I could tell you a long list of excuses that anyone who battles with insecurities and anxiety will relate to. I could cry onto your shoulder and weep about the years of struggles I have endured in this body that doesn't feel like my own. I could go on, and on, and on about the injustice of life and our society and how the world thinks the way it does because we made it so. But when it comes down to it, here it is:
I don't care enough.
There, I said it.
Holy jesus, the uproar that occurs in my brain! People every where are crying out obscenities regarding my emotional state; my psychological state. Did I not just claim complete acceptance of wanting to change myself for the greater good. Or at least for the man I share my life with?
While this is true, being more accepting of myself also resulted in a complacent attitude towards my weight and also my health. He loves me the way I am so I'm not longer filled with this insane desire to be what someone else needs me to be. I can just be me and its fine, right?
The truth is that I have never in my life been able to truly find anything to make me want to exercise more than wanting to sit on the couch or jump on an MMO. Even when slobbering all over the treadmill on my second sprint interval, looking directly at the toned buttocks of a Size-6 peroxide treadmill goddess in front of me, I cannot find the energy to push myself to fit into the pants that she clearly spent all morning peeling on. At any given second of any exercise, I can think of at least 100,000 things I would rather be doing than exercising. In fact, I'm going to go right ahead and admit that I would be rather doing anything else in the world other than exercising. I just don't want it.
I hate the way I look in a photograph that I haven't spent 3 hours, 311 shots and 41 filters on. I avoid my reflection in shop windows and shiny car paint jobs. I can only use a changing room for a total of 4 items before I sweat so much I would be doing the store an injustice to throw any more of their overpriced items onto my body. And at these times I hate myself. But it is never enough.
I have spent my whole life starting, stopping, hoping, hating and quitting.
"... I can think of 100,000 things I would rather be doing than exercising..."
Then one day, I start having casual discussions with a girl at work, Rhi, about my weight loss journey and my wedding goals and at her suggestion I decide to plunge head first with her into something I am hoping that will give me enough social obligation to follow through with. Something that requires enough preparation that I will have enough motivation to prepare for. Something that I have watched other people achieve and always looked on from the shadows thinking that this is something I would never achieve.
I am going to run a half marathon. The Kangaroo Island Half-Marathon to be exact.
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Yup. Me.
Couch-sitting, MMO-playing, peanut-butter-out-the-jar-eating and purposefully-avoiding-eye contact-with-the-gym-equipment, unfit, lazy me.
It is November 2015 and I am going to run 21 kilometers in August 2016 with Rhi. And we are going to finish it under the maximum allotted time of 7 hours. And I currently cannot run further than the length of my own suburban house.
Before you are quick to throw your scoffing, encouraging, light-hearted assurances that this distance is very easily completed within a 2-4 hour period for a first time half marathon runner, I would like to give you a quick insight to the last time my patient fiancé tried to motivate me into a peaceful stroll in the hills a year ago. A peaceful stroll that turned out to be 12 kilometers of rolling hills, lord-of-the-rings-picturesque valleys and 20,000 wooden steps of pure hell. An easy morning in the sun that took me from 10am to 5.30pm to complete, and by the end I wasn't sure if I had really survived it because I was having an out-of-body experience.
I am a lucky woman to have a man such as this in my life that can walk next to me in beautiful Australian bushland while I hyperventilated, yelled, and cried the last 4 hours back to the car.
So. Terrified, full of doubt, utterly disbelieving but certainly not alone, here I am.
Let's go!
UPDATE: SEP 2016
WE DID IT!
I still cannot believe that I actually managed to not only commit to something so difficult as running for such a long period of time, but we actually did it and even managed a reasonable time of 3hrs 31mins.
If you are curious as to how an overweight, un-fit person who has never run in her life was able to run a half-marathon, just take a look at the Training Plan Rhi and I followed to get there.
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If you want to read all about the ups and downs, lessons learnt, the gross, the funny and the weird, take a look at my 2017 KI Blog.
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Is it over? Hell, no!
Rhi and I have the running bug and aren't afraid to admit it!
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I will be continuing to update this blog with our training plans and races as we book them and then run them.
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Oh, and one more thing... do you think I lost any weight while training for a marathon? Short answer, no.
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I definitely toned a little around my hips and thighs, but I actually weighed exactly the same on the Marathon Day as I did the day I started running and still wear the same size clothes.
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If I can run, anyone can! Let's go!
