People think that because I'm a trainer I must love to work out. I wake up to the sound of blue birds chirping, float to the kitchen for a fresh shot of wheat grass, and hit the trail for an 8 mile run, barefoot, while I watch the sunrise. I was born to work out, I do sit-ups in my sleep, I've always been in shape, and so on and so forth...you get the idea.
Truth be told, a perfect morning for me would be to wake up around 10, rip a bong hit, house a sausage, egg and cheese bagel, and watch reruns of Small Wonder until I got bored enough to go get coffee. I don't live that way because if I did, by now I'd have an ass the size of my flat-screen TV, diabetes, hypertension, and quite possibly, a divorce under my belt. But trust me, I think about it. Regularly.
Like every other adult that wasn't born to wear spandex, I have a story that landed me here. Basically, I went from an active teenager to a sedentary twenty-something with the aforementioned habits and no cooking skills, and “abracadabra,” I got fat. Not two airplane seats fat, but I was definitely the chubby girl at the party, if you know what I mean. I gained 50 pounds in four years and kept it on in blissful denial until that "Oh shit" moment when I saw myself in a photograph and vowed that enough was enough.
I did what any self-respecting 24-year-old woman would do in 2002. I swore off carbs, got myself a gym rat boyfriend, and started jogging three times a week while eating tons of bacon. This was going to be easy and delicious! I even pretended to quit smoking for a while, but it made me hungry, so I added it back in.
Don't judge me, Rome wasn't built in a day.
Needless to say this was not my best work. For two months though, I swore it was the answer. I lost 10 pounds, grew out my bangs, figured out 75 different ways to eat eggs, and then one night I got hammered and ate 6 Hot Pockets. Game. Over. Bread was amazing… I needed a new plan. One where I could actually eat a sandwich if I felt like it. Or an apple. And maybe poop on a regular basis. So on Monday morning I went to work, booted up my computer, opened up Netscape, and went to “AskJeeves.”
“How do I lose weight, Jeeves?” I asked. He had a lot of answers. Surprisingly, none of them had a heavy focus on bacon or cigarettes. So I started reading. I read everything I could get my hands on. Articles, books, websites, anything with the word “food” or “exercise” in it was on my computer or in my apartment by the end of the week. Two themes prevailed, and I decided that things might actually pan out better if I tried them. One was called “consistency,” and the other was called “moderation.” Jeeves really believed in them. So I did both. I exercised consistently and ate moderately, and the weight came off, one pound at a time. It took a little over a year.
All in all, losing weight was exciting! People told me how great I looked, the scale was like a winning slot machine, - I seriously felt like Cindy Crawford in that Pepsi commercial for like a year. And then... crickets. No one cared anymore. I mean, really, why would they? In retrospect, they cared for longer than they should have. And once that spotlight faded, it was just me again. I was left standing there in my shiny new body with a weight in my hand and a chip on my shoulder, wondering what in the hell I was supposed do next.
So I made it my job.
If losing weight is a science, then keeping weight off is an art. People think that once the scale hits that magic number you get to relax again - those people are still fat. If you want to stay fit and healthy for the rest of your life then you have to commit to sound nutrition and regular exercise forever, and there's nothing really glamorous about that. All of the things that get you up and moving - the high school reunion/best friend's wedding/ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend gets a job at your work/Hawaiian vacation/etc., etc., are fleeting. You do all this work, put on a fancy dress or a bathing suit, take a bunch of pictures, and it’s over. The next day, people move on. And the reason that they move on so quickly is because it’s not about them, it’s about you. If your efforts were made to placate your spouse, your kids, or your parents, you’re not gonna make it. So how do you motivate yourself to stick with it? How do you segue from it consuming your life to it consuming you just enough not to quit?
Truthfully, you suck it up, and often… but it’s worth it. My job, my real job, has very little to do with push-ups and crunches. Initially yes, you need me for that too, but really, it doesn’t take that long to learn how to work out. My job is to keep you going. To listen to you complain about hard it is, about how you don’t have time for it, and how it never gets easier. My job is to show you over and over again that your body is capable of more than you’re asking, and that you and your body deserves better. People think that I get paid to write work outs and read food journals but what I get paid for, is to change you. To relentlessly iterate your progress and perseverance in a way that isn’t patronizing or saccharin. To call you out on your excuses in a way that pisses you off just enough so that you listen to what I’m saying, and stop making them. Day in and day out for months and sometimes years, my job is to unfold your life in ways you don’t see fit to share with friends. You squat and sweat while I pick and dig until I find that place that you can’t stop feeding. THAT is your impetus. That’s your motivation. You don’t quit because you can’t move backwards in your life. You don’t give up because you’ve sacrificed too much to get here, and you stick with it because it’s become who you are.
That’s what drives me, in my work, and in my life. I either try to get stronger or I’m selling myself short, each and every single day. I’m far from perfect at it, but that’s OK; the trying is what matters, and I’m doing this for me. Those goals – in the gym, the kitchen, or wherever I set them… those goals are MINE. They bring meaning to the minutiae of life, and I need that. Some days are easy. I work hard, eat right, and treat people with respect. I try my best to remember those days. Because on other days, I eat the brownie. Or 6 of them. Or give a stranger the finger because I don’t like the way that they breathe. I’m still evolving - isn’t that the point? Ten years into this “healthy living” regime, I’m still working at it just as hard as I was at the beginning. It’s changed and grown along with my body and my beliefs – but it isn’t over, and it never will be.
At the end of the day, we just have to keep trying. To work harder, reach higher, and to believe that we are capable of whatever we choose. To find balance and strength in ourselves and each other, and to keep moving forward, one step at a time.
Truth be told, a perfect morning for me would be to wake up around 10, rip a bong hit, house a sausage, egg and cheese bagel, and watch reruns of Small Wonder until I got bored enough to go get coffee. I don't live that way because if I did, by now I'd have an ass the size of my flat-screen TV, diabetes, hypertension, and quite possibly, a divorce under my belt. But trust me, I think about it. Regularly.
Like every other adult that wasn't born to wear spandex, I have a story that landed me here. Basically, I went from an active teenager to a sedentary twenty-something with the aforementioned habits and no cooking skills, and “abracadabra,” I got fat. Not two airplane seats fat, but I was definitely the chubby girl at the party, if you know what I mean. I gained 50 pounds in four years and kept it on in blissful denial until that "Oh shit" moment when I saw myself in a photograph and vowed that enough was enough.
I did what any self-respecting 24-year-old woman would do in 2002. I swore off carbs, got myself a gym rat boyfriend, and started jogging three times a week while eating tons of bacon. This was going to be easy and delicious! I even pretended to quit smoking for a while, but it made me hungry, so I added it back in.
Don't judge me, Rome wasn't built in a day.
Needless to say this was not my best work. For two months though, I swore it was the answer. I lost 10 pounds, grew out my bangs, figured out 75 different ways to eat eggs, and then one night I got hammered and ate 6 Hot Pockets. Game. Over. Bread was amazing… I needed a new plan. One where I could actually eat a sandwich if I felt like it. Or an apple. And maybe poop on a regular basis. So on Monday morning I went to work, booted up my computer, opened up Netscape, and went to “AskJeeves.”
“How do I lose weight, Jeeves?” I asked. He had a lot of answers. Surprisingly, none of them had a heavy focus on bacon or cigarettes. So I started reading. I read everything I could get my hands on. Articles, books, websites, anything with the word “food” or “exercise” in it was on my computer or in my apartment by the end of the week. Two themes prevailed, and I decided that things might actually pan out better if I tried them. One was called “consistency,” and the other was called “moderation.” Jeeves really believed in them. So I did both. I exercised consistently and ate moderately, and the weight came off, one pound at a time. It took a little over a year.
All in all, losing weight was exciting! People told me how great I looked, the scale was like a winning slot machine, - I seriously felt like Cindy Crawford in that Pepsi commercial for like a year. And then... crickets. No one cared anymore. I mean, really, why would they? In retrospect, they cared for longer than they should have. And once that spotlight faded, it was just me again. I was left standing there in my shiny new body with a weight in my hand and a chip on my shoulder, wondering what in the hell I was supposed do next.
So I made it my job.
If losing weight is a science, then keeping weight off is an art. People think that once the scale hits that magic number you get to relax again - those people are still fat. If you want to stay fit and healthy for the rest of your life then you have to commit to sound nutrition and regular exercise forever, and there's nothing really glamorous about that. All of the things that get you up and moving - the high school reunion/best friend's wedding/ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend gets a job at your work/Hawaiian vacation/etc., etc., are fleeting. You do all this work, put on a fancy dress or a bathing suit, take a bunch of pictures, and it’s over. The next day, people move on. And the reason that they move on so quickly is because it’s not about them, it’s about you. If your efforts were made to placate your spouse, your kids, or your parents, you’re not gonna make it. So how do you motivate yourself to stick with it? How do you segue from it consuming your life to it consuming you just enough not to quit?
Truthfully, you suck it up, and often… but it’s worth it. My job, my real job, has very little to do with push-ups and crunches. Initially yes, you need me for that too, but really, it doesn’t take that long to learn how to work out. My job is to keep you going. To listen to you complain about hard it is, about how you don’t have time for it, and how it never gets easier. My job is to show you over and over again that your body is capable of more than you’re asking, and that you and your body deserves better. People think that I get paid to write work outs and read food journals but what I get paid for, is to change you. To relentlessly iterate your progress and perseverance in a way that isn’t patronizing or saccharin. To call you out on your excuses in a way that pisses you off just enough so that you listen to what I’m saying, and stop making them. Day in and day out for months and sometimes years, my job is to unfold your life in ways you don’t see fit to share with friends. You squat and sweat while I pick and dig until I find that place that you can’t stop feeding. THAT is your impetus. That’s your motivation. You don’t quit because you can’t move backwards in your life. You don’t give up because you’ve sacrificed too much to get here, and you stick with it because it’s become who you are.
That’s what drives me, in my work, and in my life. I either try to get stronger or I’m selling myself short, each and every single day. I’m far from perfect at it, but that’s OK; the trying is what matters, and I’m doing this for me. Those goals – in the gym, the kitchen, or wherever I set them… those goals are MINE. They bring meaning to the minutiae of life, and I need that. Some days are easy. I work hard, eat right, and treat people with respect. I try my best to remember those days. Because on other days, I eat the brownie. Or 6 of them. Or give a stranger the finger because I don’t like the way that they breathe. I’m still evolving - isn’t that the point? Ten years into this “healthy living” regime, I’m still working at it just as hard as I was at the beginning. It’s changed and grown along with my body and my beliefs – but it isn’t over, and it never will be.
At the end of the day, we just have to keep trying. To work harder, reach higher, and to believe that we are capable of whatever we choose. To find balance and strength in ourselves and each other, and to keep moving forward, one step at a time.