Second place 3: Toby W

My name is Toby and I’m 55 years old. I live in Upstate New York and work one of those dreaded “desk jobs” that Krista tells us will kill us all eventually. I have three kids, none of whom is home presently. I live out in the country and used to raise sheep and goats. I basically started getting in to weight lifting and then bike riding several years ago because I’ve got a whole lot of genetic baggage that I have to keep ahead of. Krista and I are joined at the hip with our Ukranian ancestors (and the thighs and the waistlines and the potatoes and cabbage and onions…)

Assbustingness – how have you busted your ass to get to where you are now?

When you live in the country and raise livestock, all activities count as “assbusting” – cleaning the barn after the thaw(don’t ask), hand shoveling 8 inches of snow when it’s 10 degrees outside, hauling five gallon buckets of water up the hill to the barn. That’s weightlifting as a lifestyle.

Getting up and doing, no matter what – I just had a hysterectomy. I was back at work in a week. I’m now in training for a bike ride in Maryland in April. Twelve years ago, I did some damage to a nerve in my back and had to re-teach myself to walk properly and stand up straight. Anyone who’s had back injuries knows how much this can hurt – I signed up for ballroom dancing lessons (yes, they do work and I ended up knowing where all the parts of my numb foot were) and trained at that for probably six months.

Accomplishments – what are they?

See above with regard to coming back from a back injury. My right calf is still a little bit smaller than my left, but I’m pretty good.

Survived physically caring for my elderly demented mother for a year. That included not only the usual “care” issues, but also, with her blood pressure problems, being able to physically lift her straight up off the floor whenever she would faint and have a seizure.

Commuting to work on my bike – I admit that I’m using the greenway and the bike path through a local park for a total of 7.5 miles each way, but I do it in 35 minutes.

Reducing my blood pressure to 120/80 and cholesterol below 200.

Does having 22” thighs and 15” biceps count?

Adversity – how have you dealt with it?

The way to survive adversity is to find some activity which you feel gives you some control over an important aspect of your life. When I was caring for my mom, the only thing that gave me that feeling was working on the treadmill and lifting weights(I had to do it facing the door of her bedroom to make sure she did not make a break for it through the front door). When she really started to go downhill and have seizures and fainting, that body strength was the only thing that stood between being able to care for her at home and having the call the emergency squad on a daily basis.

I probably have had more surgery done on me than most people. I’ve had surgery on the inner ear bones for deafness, one of my hands for carpel tunnel, had my gall bladder, appendix and uterus removed. I’ve got a wicked compressed nerve in my lower back that flares up from time to time and makes the top of my right foot feel like someone has a blow torch on it and the outside of my leg totally numb. When that happens, I have to be really careful how I walk . All of my rehabilitation for myself has consisted of some form of exercise, whether it is ballroom dancing for the foot and the leg, taking violin lessons for the hand or whatever. Nothing ever gets “better” by just sitting there.

Actions – what can and do you do?

I bike, lift weights, walk, dance, garden, and work on my house.

Activity – how do you stay committed to it (or how have you re-committed to it)?

All I have to do is think about my mom and her 6 brothers and sisters – every single one of them died of heart disease and both my mom and one of her sisters ended their lives with multiple-infarct dementia. One of her brothers had his first heart attack at 45. The other person I think about is my father, who ended up on dialysis for the last two years of his life because he threw a clot into one of his renal arteries (that’s when they found out his other kidney was shot). He hated every single day of the last two years of his life. I do not intend to end up like that.

Awesomeness – why are you awesome? Toot your horn!

I am awesome because I have a sense of humor about myself and my problems. That tends to keep the “I can’t do this” at arms’ length a lot of the time. I don’t worry about what anyone is going to think about how saggy my stomach is from three kids, a gall bladder and a hysterectomy. I’m 55 – I’m not 25. I’m not sure I really cared about that at 25 either. I’m just glad that I’m strong enough and healthy enough to be doing what I’m doing with the issues I’ve got at my age. That also keeps depression at bay, too – I think a lot of people are depressed because they feel helpless in the face of physical stuff or perceived physical stuff.

I also learned a lesson when I lost most of my hearing after having my kids: Information is the lever that you use against feeling helpless. Lack of information makes people frightened and feel helpless. Information helps people to understand what their options ARE and what they can do to help themselves or at least feel reasonably ok with what their situation is. Gives people a sense of control and helps to hold down “delusional thinking”.

I also think I’ve done a pretty reasonable job in my family of beating back the whole “cultural thinking says you should look a certain way” with my kids. I grew up in a family where I was 5’2” and my sister and my mom were both over 5’10” (in her more malicious moments, my sister tried to convince me that I had been adopted) and in general the message coming down to me was that I was a troll. I knew going into the motherhood thing that the chances of my kids being short like I am were pretty strong – but I also do not believe in pushing delusional thinking on my kids: when they are surrounded by negative influences all day long in the media and at school, I knew that I had very little hope of waving a few pom-poms at home and making noises that “I think you are beautiful” and having it stick.

My husband and I felt that our job as parents was to make the kids strong in the mind and the body, do as much as we could to help them feel loved for who and what they are at home and hope that would help them weather the storm outside. Part of our luck was that through a quirk of geography, we could not get TV and were too busy to get cable, so the kids were not influenced at home by that – what they got to do was read , watch old movies and work with livestock out in the barn. In general, I think that part of things worked reasonably well and the kids got through high school with a few bumps and bruises but I think with their self-esteem pretty well intact. They also grew up working along with us out in the barn, so they are pretty strong on the physical side too and understand the benefits of being able to wield a shovel and lift 50 pound bales of hay without aftereffects.

I think the whole point is not to be afraid.

Second place 2: Jill K

I laughed like crazy through Jill’s entire entry. This photo alone almost made me give her the prize. Her zest for life is absolutely contagious. I hope you enjoy her journey as much as I did. –MK

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Never Under-Estimate Your Capabilities!

Finally.

A reality based contest for those of us who embrace health and fitness and don’t own bikinis! Thank you Mistress Krista! In my 50th year, I discovered my Inner Athlete, the strong capable warrior-woman that inhabits this older, hard-used body of mine that has seen a lifetime of abuse. I am the poster woman-warrior who challenges common beliefs such as:

1) you can’t lose weight and build strength after menopause,
2) you can’t build flexibility and endurance with chronic health problems such as arthritis and
3) you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

Well, “woof-woof” I say to that! I have had some amazing experiences the last four years directly related to following my Inner Athlete into previously unknown territories. Following are a series of vignettes of the adventure.

The Story

It’s been almost four years now since I decided to get my act together and live by choice rather than chance. Good food, developing a love for exercise, learning all I can about health and wellness, and hooking up with people who “care to share” has been key to my success. Recognizing my own potential and passion has added richness to my life that cannot be measured. Saying “YES!” a lot more to new opportunities. Looking for laughter and humor in odd places.

My best take-away from the experience?

Never Under-Estimate Your Capabilities

When I first began to exercise, my only goal was to lose weight in
preparation for joint replacement surgeries. The orthopedic surgeon told me I was high-risk due to my weight (260 pounds) and sent me to a physiotherapist who set up a gentle exercise program. I officially became “disabled.” I needed to be “careful” so I didn’t hurt myself. I was sedentary prior to all this and now, when I really needed to move, I was afraid. But move I did.

Jill before

I started out on the exercise bike for 10 minutes at a time and huffed and puffed till I thought I would die. Isn’t it ironic that when I was seriously out of shape a heart rate of 160 and shortness of breath was a sign of impending doom? Now, a heart rate of 160 and shortness of breath is a sign that I am in my target training zone! I exercised in the privacy of my own basement because I believed the general public should be shielded from my jiggling, cellulite-pocked girth. I was ever so careful to avoid injury. After a few months I improved considerably on the bike but was bored to tears with the monotony of it all. I was afraid to try anything new for fear I might hurt myself. Then I lucked out. In a fit of exasperation, I looked up personal trainers in my area and booked an appointment for a home visit.

What I remember most about my initial assessment with the trainer was that, in the course of one hour, she moved my thinking from “I can’t do that” to a world of possibilities. I was introduced to weight training and core workouts on a stability ball.

Stepping Out to the Gym

After about a month of training in the privacy of my own basement, I was informed that it was time for me to step out and into the gym to take a class. I was still way too embarrassed by my size to be seen exercising in public. I had issues. I was convinced that I was physically incapable of keeping up in a class. I might get hurt. People will see me and be grossed out and run screaming from the room. But I had come to trust my trainer, so I went to my first class…and I was hooked. Look Ma! I can do this! And no one is paying any attention to me because they are all busy working out!

Three Years Later
I have maintained an 80-pound weight loss. I continue to workout on a regular basis. I’ve done two No Sweat endurance marathons (a four-hour and a seven-hour one). I use Jari Love’s Ripped DVD’s when I can’t get to the gym. I ride the bike, walk, and use my stability ball. I’ve built my own homemade paddling device in my basement. I do active stuff outside on a regular basis. I have no set routines other than I average a minimum of an hour of some kind of exercise everyday. It changes based on my schedule and what I feel like doing…and I almost always feel like doing something.

And much to the surprise of my physiotherapist and surgeon, I have regained most of my range of motion in my leg and built up significant muscle mass in my quads and hamstrings that support my knee joints, have an incredibly strong back and core muscles that allow me to do heavy lifting and twisting without pain, have visible pecs that I can make move (it’s a vanity thing) and strong arms (despite the ever-present bat wings that are to be mine forever). I am off the knee replacement surgery waitlist. I have days when I hobble and limp, but I keep moving.

Want to know more about what it’s like to become Fit After 50? Read on for more adventures about me and my Inner Athlete…

Laughter

Laughter gives our bodies a good workout. Laughter can be a great workout for your diaphragm, abdominal, respiratory, facial, leg, and back muscles. It massages abdominal organs, tones intestinal functioning, and strengthens the muscles that hold the abdominal organs in place. Not only does laughter give your midsection a workout, it can benefit digestion and absorption functioning as well. It is estimated that hearty laughter can burn calories equivalent to several minutes on the rowing machine or the exercise bike.

Stepping Out to the Gym … No Sweat

I’ve been going to the gym for a workout called “No Sweat” since March 2005. “No Sweat” is a definite misnomer! “No Sweat” is officially described as “a high-energy, energetic total body strength training class”…that’s accurate. Lord Almighty! It is functional fitness at its finest!

Functional fitness is a neurologically challenging way of exercising that mimics real-life activities in real-life positions. Exercises are designed to teach you to use your body weight while controlling balance and building a solid core. “No Sweat” routines are changed every six weeks to keep your body guessing and responding to new stimuli. It can be adapted to suit any body type or fitness level.

Challenging the Neurons…

Here’s a fun visual for you. I am never going to be petite or flexible or agile. My build is…shall we say…sturdy? I am bottom heavy. I like to call the current “No Sweat” routine “BK Number 3″…BK= butt-kicker. A large part of this particular routine is done on a decline bench…lying on a bench with your head lower than your legs. My first difficulty came when I tried to figure out how to get on the bench. The benches are actually step-benches on the floor with separate risers that you insert under the bench to adjust height and incline. If you are a flexible petite person, you sit on the raised front of the bench and ever so gently lie back. Then there is me. Remember I am in a large roomful of people. I delicately plop down (note the oxymoron) on the front of my bench and the sucker flips up, scares the heck out of me, causing me to jump up, making
a dandy-fine resounding crash as the bench slams back on the riser. I smile and bow. Meanwhile everyone is getting on with the routine. I decide to remount the bench in the middle and find myself in the desired position…head down, blood rushing in my ears, supper coming up, my butt in the air and short, sturdy legs waving like a belly-up crab. Theoretically I am supposed to do some crunches (sit-ups) from this position. I would laugh if I weren’t busy strangling on my stomach contents! Trooper that I am, I curl up for the crunch, reach the peak curl of the movement and feel myself sliding headfirst down the bench onto the floor. I roll off the bench and remount just in time for the “reverse curls.” I am still upside down but am now supposed to curl my legs up over my head. Deep down I know this is going to be bad. If I were agile, I
could have done a somersault off the bench and nailed the landing. I am not agile. It was not pretty. Good news…now I am supposed to lie on the bench properly (head up, legs down)…but am supposed to now curl my legs up over my head. Yea…right! And to think I actually pay for the privilege of this torture!

Finding Stability

I’ve Been Cored! I use a stability ball to add a new dimension to my routine. Stability balls are huge balls that a person lays on…or sits on…or rolls around on…while doing other exercises. The theory is that you will build your core muscles, gain a lot of balance and flexibility, and generally have a good time. The trainer who introduced me to the ball had a wonderful sense of humor and was professional enough not to roll on the floor laughing as I tried to get the hang of balling. I am an endomorph, short and round. The ball is round. The first step in doing the exercise is suspending logic that a person of my size can actually sit on the ball without it exploding. I mount the ball gingerly…holding my breath (not sure air weighs anything, but I’m not taking any chances). Wow! There I am, sitting atop the ball and it is holding me just fine. I can do this! So my trainer says, “raise one leg.” Okey-dokey…one leg up. I start feeling my body shifting around on the inside as it seeks to balance me. “Now shut your eyes” sayeth the trainer. Whoa! In a heartbeat I am losing my balance and fighting to remain perched on the ball. Fear of falling kicks in. Feelings of panic arise. I open my eyes, seeking the horizon. I have now learned that I can have motion sickness in the privacy of my own home.

Do What You Love

I am still surprised at how much I love exercise. Did I say that??? The key to loving exercise is finding things you actually like doing. For instance, I love the water and playing in it and on it, but the thought of swimming laps bores me to tears. I don’t care how good it might be for me, I’m not going to do it. I love goofing off on a stability ball. I actually play on the ball and can’t help but smiling as I roll around and bounce. A few months ago, in a moment of creativity, I figured out how to combine my love for paddling, playing on the ball, and the fact that I live in the Northwest (too cold for paddling in the winter). I attached an exercise band to a paddle, and then tied it around a post in the basement. I recreated an outdoor paddling experience by sitting on the ball and paddling to beat the band. It turned out to be an excellent, fun workout and is perfect for people who spend a lot of time slumped over computers or driving long distances.

Climbing the Walls

I have a dream of rock climbing. It is going to happen.

One of the most recommended exercises in the rock climbing literature are chin-ups. I have never in my life attempted a chin-up but will try anything once. All of you who can do chin-ups raise your hands! Hmmmm….not so many. Women have a particularly hard time doing chin-ups as we lack the upper body strength required. The bigger you are, the harder it is. Not only am I supposed to do chin-ups for climbing, I am supposed to be able to do one-armed chin-ups and “static-hangs.” I imagine these are very important skills when one is hanging from the side of a mountain. My Beloved Hubby has installed a chin-up bar for me in my office doorway. So far he has only needed one Band-Aid for the forehead contusions he sustains every time he walks through the doorway. I’ve already learned to holler “DUCK!” as he comes into my office. I wanted to send you a picture of me doing chin-ups…but you will have to use your imagination. Picture me standing very straight and tall with my arms raised above my head, hands grasping the bar. There. Got that image? That’s pretty much it. I have yet to achieve lift-off. I decided to start with the “static-hang” where I theoretically just hang around suspended from the bar. I lift one leg from the floor, feel my arms disconnecting from their sockets and some interesting popping sounds coming from my ribs.

I think I will just hang around on the ground for a while!

Century Bike Rides

I get these wild hairs every now and then that cause me to make really strange decisions. I was feeling all full of myself pumping iron and doing cardio, but decided I needed to work on endurance… I have no idea why… must have read something somewhere. What better way to increase endurance than by training for a Century bike ride… that’s a 100-mile bike ride. Did I mention I have never really liked biking? Bike seats and my anatomy don’t match well. Plus I have really short legs. But, once I am overtaken by the wild hair… I must carry on. So, I am in training for a really long bike ride. Of course, I do not own a bike, only have Hubby’s recumbent bike in the basement, bought to fit his tall build. For me to ride this bike, I have to insert a really large pillow behind me and wear special shoes with built-up bottoms so I can reach the pedals. I end up perched on the pointy part of a tractor-style seat. It is truly a picture.

I have been riding this computerized marvel of a bike for two years, but only for 30 minutes at a time. Endurance requires time… lots and lots of time. “Real” bikers complete a Century ride in 4-6 hours depending on terrain. I have the ability to create terrain with the computer program plus I can create wind with my dandy fan. I have now completed my first 45 mile ride in 75 minutes. I had to ask Hubby to help remove the bike seat from my private areas so I could dismount the bike. Good thing I am in the privacy of my own basement. Imagine having that happen on the road??? I talked to some competitive bikers at the gym and they shared with me all manner of things to look forward to when riding… rashes, boils, gel seats that sound good but actually insert themselves deeply into body orifices… I shudder as I speak! And bless the guys who must struggle with dangly body parts being crushed…why oh why do people do this???? Apparently it is fun!

Boot Camp

Welcome to the comedy that is my life… Boot Camp.

Friday morning… 0615… cool, windy, a fine misting drizzle. I am facedown in the wet grass surrounding the lake hoping I am not lying in goose poop. At the same time I admire the goose flesh that is my skin. I am soaked through and through. Through my ragged breathing, I hear the young man in camouflage standing over me yelling “push it!, ladies, push it!” I want very much to slap him but am not coordinated enough to quite reach him. I have just finished a 15 minute run up a hill (I am not a runner…) and have been told to drop to the ground and do push-ups until given permission to stop (or as Camo-Man says…”pushups till failure”). The lack of oxygen from running provides a surrealistic feel to the pushups. I am not actually awake yet, nor have I had any coffee. That is what saves young Camo-Man from certain death. I wonder what the heck I am doing here. After what seems like an eternity, Camo-Man releases us from push-up hell and instructs us to run (literally) across a field to a quadrangle of pylons set up to induce further torture. Camo-Man looks me in the eye and tells me to “go like a crab” across the area….

“Go like a crab,” best I can tell, means I am to run across the area on my hands and feet, posterior high up in the air, hands on the ground…certainly a movement I do a lot in real life! The young athletic women surrounding me seem more than willing to “run like a crab.” Perhaps if I had Barbie’s butt I would be willing as well. God gave me short legs and a broad behind that were designed for stability…I do not tip easily. By the time I analyze the movement and consider modifications that will protect me from injury (like not doing this exercise), it is over. The crab, that is…the torture continues.

I should have known there was a problem with this class from the get-go. The brochure described a one-month intensive workout “suitable for all fitness levels.” I went to the pre-assessment and passed with flying colors. In fact, I was quite full of myself when I came in first in crunches, second in push-ups, and dead last in a 400 meter run. I excel at exercises that require lying down! I was issued a really ugly camouflage tee shirt and told to turn up at the lake at 0600 the following morning…carrying an exercise mat, two five-pound dumbbells, an exercise ball, a bottle of water, a towel… and walk to the center of the park. That was that last walking I would do!

Can we speak a moment about camouflage??? I am the first to admit that I am not exactly a role model for fashion… but camouflage? Really! It is seriously ugly stuff…and not at all flattering on this over-50 year old body. My fellow participants… mostly Barbies… all arrived decked out in their camouflage tee shirts and a variety of head bands. I showed up in my favorite red tee-shirt; once again a beacon for middle age. By the third class, I realized that camouflage could be handy for taking short breaks in the bushes during the ever-increasing daily runs.

I am pleased to report that I survived week one of this four week hell known as Boot Camp. My primary goal is to become physically fit enough and fast enough to catch Camo-Man and show him what we old ladies can do to young whipper-snappers like him!

Motivators

• I like the way I feel and want to maintain/improve on that
• I am physically strong and capable of doing a lot of activities that I could never do before (Century bike rides, strength/ endurance marathons, amazingly strong core)
• I now like having my picture taken
• I like having more clothes options
• I have avoided knee replacements by building up my quads and hamstrings.
• I like having more defined curves, love when I see my pecs actually ripple when I look in the mirror
• I suspect I have a “6-pack” though there is too much skin/fat to see
• I am amazed at how much physically demanding work I can do (like hours of hauling around cement blocks for a patio, carrying bags of soil and manure for the gardens).
• I need a focused direction to stay on track.
• Exercise balances my emotional eating. It is a stress reducer. When I maintain an interesting, challenging exercise routine, good eating naturally follows
• In addition to making me stronger, good muscle mass also allows me to eat more!
• I love that my resting heart rate, B/P, and cholesterol are low. My heart is showing its thanks for all I have done to make it healthier
• I love that my butt has gone from a giant squiggly shelf to a well-defined, firm tush. If you are “blessed” with a big butt, you may as well show it off in style!
• I like that I have become “invisible.” I have joined the ranks of “average.” People no longer look at me disparagingly as they did when I was 260 pounds. People treat me differently. I don’t mind working out next to men at the gym.
• I can sit at a restaurant table eating alone and no one pays the least attention to me. At my peak weight, people would look to see what I was eating and often make comments I supposedly could not hear.
• I fit in the bathtub, airplane seats, through turnstiles, can ride roller coasters, can use the water slide at the pool
• I love that I can talk to other exercisers and discuss stats and personal bests. I love when new people join my exercise class and comment they want to get to where I am.

The Marathon

I completed my first full No Sweat marathon (strength and endurance)! I did the whole seven hours and it was GREAT! I am proud and happy that I pushed through the wall and made it to the end. The experience showed me that I have the strength to tackle difficult things, both physical and emotional.

Towards the end of the marathon, when we were all getting really tired, the leader made the comment: “Look Strong”… and prompted us to stand tall, breathe deeply and refocus our energy… then said “Feel Strong”… and reminded us that we could feel proud of what we were doing… and ended with “Be Strong”…and suddenly we were.

Look strong. Feel strong. Be strong.

Can’t get much better advice than that!

Second place 1: Kristen M

Dear Mistress Krista,

I feel a little strange saying this (mainly because I’m uncomfortable tooting my own horn…I prefer to avoid being the center of attention), but I’d like to share my story with you as part of your Stumptuous Fitness Model contest.

My journey of self-reclamation began in January 2007. I was smack in the middle of what I now affectionately call The Great Insanity: a six-month period of clinical depression brought on by accumulated disappointments, emotional upheavals, and obsessive self-reflection and criticism. I had grown to loathe my job as a grant writer for a local non-profit agency. One of my oldest and dearest friends met the love of his life in September 2006; he moved to Rhode Island with his new partner in November of that same year. That was akin to a spiritual amputation for me. He had been the last of my really close friends in the area where I lived. For someone who is fairly reserved and not prone to trust easily, meeting new people and making new friends can be difficult for me. Damn my introverted tendencies! I also hated the area where I lived. I had grown up there and had sworn that after I graduated from high school, I would never go back. Needless to say, things did not go according to plan and I found myself back in my hometown after finishing graduate school.

I was not happy.

Being a contemplative, introverted type, I began to think about my unhappiness. I thought about how all my friends had somehow done the impossible and escaped the black hole of our hometown. I thought about how I was the only one left and how alone and friendless I felt. I thought about how all my friends had found someone—and more importantly, a good someone—to love and be loved by, while I was still the stalwart single girl. I though about how lonely that made me feel. I thought about how emotionally exhausted I was and how nice it would have been to have someone else’s strength to bolster me. In the past, I had always been able to handle whatever life threw at me. (Not always graciously or gracefully, but I always made it through whatever the situation was.) I was battle-tested and resilient and knew how to take care of myself, thank you very much. But the cumulative effects of the disappointments and emotional upheavals I endured during 2006 finally took their toll on me. Each time life knocked me down, it took a little longer for me to get back up and I never quite recovered the emotional footing I’d had previously. By year’s end, my physical and emotional strength was spent, my defenses totally shattered. I was hurting badly but didn’t know how to make myself better. I felt defeated. Numb. I didn’t know if I had the strength to pull myself out of the depression and, quite frankly, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. I gradually withdrew into myself, effectively shutting out my family and friends. Activities that I once loved no longer held any appeal for me. I even dropped out of my kung-fu class, which until that point had been a source of pure pleasure for me. Full of boys whom I adored and who thought it was pretty darn cool to finally have a girl in class again, it was one of the few outlets I had to help keep me sane.

Outside the physical release of my kung-fu class, my main coping mechanism for the shit pile year that was 2006 was an old favorite: food. I was the queen of emotional eating. Dissatisfied with your job? Have a Snickers; it satisfies. Self-confidence non-existent? Feeling like a failure in every aspect of your life? No worries! Duncan Hines cake mixes make cake baking practically foolproof, and you can’t beat the tasty end result. Feeling lonely, friendless, unloved, and generally unfulfilled? Hershey’s has Hugs if you’re aching for them. Food was my constant: it never disappointed me, gave me a hard time, or broke my heart. Alone and hurting, with the continuous loop of my failures and disappointments playing in my head, food was my preferred means of self-medication. Some people drink, some turn to drugs. I ate. By the end of the year, the results of my self-medication were evident. My backside had reached epic proportions. Images of my fat ass and ballooning jean size added themselves to the criticism loop in my head, feeding my self-loathing, low self-esteem, and lost self-confidence. I didn’t recognize the defeated, listless, bloated person whose dull eyes stared back at me from the mirror every morning. I disgusted myself.

At the end of January 2007, I’d had enough. Somewhere within me lurked enough of my old spunky self to realize that drastic measures were in order. My former college roommate was in much the same situation, so we formed our own Biggest Loser Club and endeavored to get fit, whatever that meant to us personally. Slowly, very slowly, my little inner warrior got up, dusted herself off, rummaged around for her sword and shield, clapped her helmet on, and got ready for some serious ass-whupping business.

First on the list: kitchen cleansing. Armed with a large garbage bag, I emptied my cabinets, refrigerator, and freezer of anything that was clearly over-processed. You know what I’m talking about: foods that have the word “enriched” before half the ingredients listed on the back. I chucked sodas, cookies, freezer-burned microwave dinners, and every last bit of chocolate in my house. (That last one was painful. I took a brief moment to mourn.) I renounced fast food. Eating out became a once-a-month treat instead of a twice-a-week practice. I began planning my weekly meals, buying more fresh fruits and vegetables, watching my portion sizes, and paying attention to my macronutrient intake. I discovered what I had known all along: I like to put the right things in my mouth. I enjoy healthy food. But I had gotten lazy and allowed the appearance of convenience in processed foods to lead me astray.

Next up: a shiny new exercise routine. No more would I be a lazy, couch-loving slug! I committed to walking 4 nights a week, for at least 2 miles per session. (Obviously, I don’t believe in easing into new routines.) I re-entered my kung-fu class, which took up another 2 nights per week and had the additional benefit of lots of body-weight only exercises. I won’t lie to you—I thought I would die that first month. Talk about a shock to the system. But I persevered and saw steady improvements in my stamina and strength. My depression also started to lift as the exercise helped to change my body and stabilize my moods. It took another two months, but by the end of March 2007 I had clawed my way out of the emotional abyss of the previous six months. And I had done it without the use of medications. By channeling my frustrations and using them to fuel my exercise, I avoided falling back into my destructive pattern of binge eating.
I stuck to my new lifestyle changes until August 2007. On August 5, I tested for and received the second-level sash in my kung-fu system. By that time I had lost fifty-five pounds—five pounds shy of my original sixty-pound weight-loss goal. Week after week after my test I would stare at the scale, silently cursing those last stubborn five pounds, and week after week they continued to mock me. I walked harder, faster, and for longer distances. I trimmed calories from my daily intake. I attended my kung-fu class three nights a week. In short, I busted my ass…to no avail. My body steadfastly refused to drop those last five pounds. My little inner warrior began contemplating the merits of sacrificing some of the neighborhood feral cats to a long-forgotten god (or several, if that was what it would take to make those last five pounds go away). Not wanting to be labeled as the Neighborhood Psycho and thrown in jail for cruelty to animals, I settled on a less messy, more animal friendly plan to force my body from its adapted comfort zone.

I decided to start weightlifting.

And I don’t mean squatting with cute little pink five-pound weights. I wanted to learn how to squat with a loaded barbell across my back, damnit! I went on a tear searching for good, reliable information regarding weightlifting exercises and how to develop a routine. I bought and read the second edition of Starting Strength by Mark Rippetoe and Lon Kilgore. I poured over the training and nutrition pages on Stumptuous.com, Exrx.net, and other similar sites. I read weightlifting blogs. I revamped my nutrition program to support my eventual weightlifting routine.

Around the same time as I immersed myself in this sea of weightlifting information, my kung-fu class underwent a major transition. My instructor of three years announced plans to move to California. Uncertainty regarding the future of class ruled for a few months, but resolved itself when an upper-ranking student (one of the few with enough rank to teach) moved back to town for job-related reasons. We all breathed a sigh of relief; class was saved. In an added bit of serendipity, our new instructor had been an avid weightlifter since high school. His younger brother held (and to my knowledge, still holds) all kinds of junior powerlifting records. Perfect. I asked him if I could bounce some ideas off of him regarding a weightlifting routine. Imagine my surprise when, at our next class, he handed me a routine he’d developed for me and took time after class to demonstrate the exercises for me.

Kristen demonstrates her OL form.

With that, I was off and running. Armed with a barbell for squats, a pair of adjustable dumbbells, and a yoga ball that served as my bench, I began lifting twice a week. I remember rolling out of bed the day after my first weightlifting workout and laughing because I felt like I’d been squashed by a giant. My entire body was sore and I was delighted. Aside from the soreness, which passed surprisingly quickly, I felt great. From that day on, I was hooked. Over the next several months, I progressively increased the weight I lifted during the large compound exercises like the squat and the bench press. I also made good, if slower, progress in smaller isolation exercises. I loved the way my body adapted to the stresses I put it under, and I always got a little giddy when I was able to increase my work set weight. And, of course, it didn’t hurt that I could see the results of weightlifting in my physique. I had muscle again! Everywhere! Even in my back! And those last stubborn five pounds? They fell away, along with a lot more weight. It was amazing.

Another amazing thing happened during my first few months of weightlifting. As my technique improved and the weight I could lift increased, my self-confidence (which was practically non-existent due to the crumminess of the previous two years) slowly returned and the hurts, self-criticisms, and obsessive reflection that occupied so much of my headspace slowly fell away, too: the girls at the gym who called me butch and unfeminine for lifting heavier weights. All the years I hated my body because I never measured up to the airbrushed flawlessness of the latest “feminine idea,” whatever the hell that meant at the time. The horrible old bat working as a department store cashier who, when I showed her a dress and asked if the store had it in a larger size, looked me up and down and in her best withering tone said, “Oh no, dear. This designer doesn’t work in sizes larger than this. Maybe you should try the plus size department.” (I needed a size 12.) The last boy who broke my heart.

As of this writing, I have lost a total of seventy-five pounds. I attend my kung-fu class twice a week and am working toward my third-level sash. Three times a week I perform a full-body weightlifting routine. I just bought an Olympic weightlifting set and am happily learning to deadlift and clean, taught by the same chap who designed my original routine and who has patiently endured my questions and requests ranging from “Hey, could you check my squat form?” to “I’m supposed to lift my elbows how high in the rack position? Is the bar supposed to roll back onto my throat and block my airway?” to, most recently, “Where can I find five-pound plastic practice weights for my weight set?” He might just be humoring me because he thinks I’m crazy, but I’m okay with that. And somewhere in there I manage to squeeze in some cardio/conditioning work, although that’s something I admittedly need to do more of.

I’ve come a long way from that dark place of December 2006, and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. Friends, family, and co-workers now ask for my advice regarding weight loss, diet, and weightlifting; several have even expressed an interest in learning how to lift free weights. Most often, however, they talk to me about their own struggles with weight loss because I they know I can relate. I’ve found, though, that self-perception takes a surprisingly long time to catch up to reality. I know what the scale says. I can see the results of my efforts in my physique and feel it in my overall health. When I look in the mirror I sometimes still see the person I was seventy-five pounds ago. I’m still a bit too melancholic and contemplative at times and I haven’t been able to shed the obsessive self-reflection and self-criticism that began my downward spiral in the first place. Those character traits (flaws?) may always be with me. Unlike a year ago, however, instead of turning that energy inward and devolving into self-destructive binge eating, I’ve learned to channel it into other, self-affirming activities. I may always be slightly melancholic and contemplative, but the self-criticism will never control me again. I’ve learned how to diffuse it.