Benefits of Being Fit

The last time I was thin ended in 2006. It took me two years to lose nearly 90 pounds. At my lowest, I weighed 173 pounds, which is the lowest I had ever been since middle school. (True story, I actually looked it up in my baby book and found a middle school physical that listed my weight as being around the same.)

There were a lot of things I liked about being fit, and this is a short (but not exhaustive) list of things I miss most about being fit.

1. Accessories are not the same when one is fat. I currently sport a "schlubby chic" wardrobe. It mostly consists of oversized men's t-shirts I purchased when I was pregnant with Jeremy. I have recently added a few cute tops purchased at a consignment shop. Aside from those (literally two tops), I can normally be seen around town sporting oversized, slightly stained, t-shirts. I've been able to enter a few shirts back into the rotation now that I've lost weight, but it would appear that I dislike either my body or fashion. Nothing could be further from the truth. I love fashion. (I'm working on loving my body.) I am obsessed with labels and on the rare occasions I find myself in a department store sans children, I fondle high-end handbags. I am partial to Kate Spade and Coach, but typically Coach is kept in glass cases. I love shoes as well. At my thinnest, I had quite a collection of shoes in a variety of heights. (True confession time--I am not graceful enough to work a pair of heels, but I will do a wedge with some height or boots.) Unfortunately, accessories designed for the thin do not work well with the fat. The lengths on the shoulder straps are not correct--they don't hang appropriately on me. Shoes are not made in my size (large, and now wide). I know there is some truth to the idea that feet spread as one has children, but not this much. Other accessories also fail--necklaces are not long enough to go around my neck, rings and bracelets are not made in my size. Yes, Lane Bryant has stepped in (as has Catherine's) to fill the accessory gap. The prices, though, are higher. It's completely logical--they're pricier because they have to use more materials. I have a jewelry box full of accessories that I simply can't wear because they don't fit me. I cannot wait until I am able to delve into my accessories again.

2. Small spaces, parties, crowded dining rooms are all overwhelming to me. When I was thin, I was able to navigate these things with ease. I didn't have to worry that I couldn't squeeze by a table full of patrons at a crowded restaurant. Even dinner at my parent's house has become uncomfortable. (I will note that my parent's dining room has one more piece of furniture than it should, but besides that it's a regular-sized room.) My kids can't squeeze by me to get to where my dad sits. They have to travel the opposite side of the table. It's quite humiliating and I remember how great it used to be to not have to excuse myself countless times to get from Point A to Point B. Being fit meant being able to squish into a third-row seat, sit comfortably next to more than one person on the couch and actually being able to wrap my arms around my shins. I am excited to be able to squeeze between people on a couch and do so comfortably.

3. I can count on one hand the number of pictures taken of me over the past almost 6 years. Part of that stems from being the only one behind the camera. The bigger picture, if you'll excuse the pun, is that I don't want to document how I look right now. I was going through my phone the other day and I caught a few pictures the kids had taken of me. The person staring out at me is not the person I imagine that I resemble. She is pudgier and rounder than I remember her being. We have no family pictures of all 5 of us. None. I am hopeful that by next summer I'll be comfortable enough with myself to have a family picture taken.

4. Crossing one's legs seems like such a small thing. Really, I'm sure most people do it a thousand times a day without thinking about it once. I have not been able to cross my legs for about 7 years. I can cross my ankles, I can sit cross-legged (for short stretches of time but with some considerable discomfort), I can sit with my foot underneath me. But what I really want to do is sit on a chair and just cross my legs. Easy peasy. The day I'm able to cross my legs again will be a red-letter day.

5. I took up running before I even quit smoking. I transitioned from walking 30 minutes every day to jogging 30 minutes every day. I was insane enough to smoke even after I had just finished a run. (Please note, I miss smoking almost every day and it's not the worst thing I've ever quit. Smoking was the toughest to quit and remains the thing I want on sometimes a daily basis.) I learned to love running. I didn't love it in a "wow, this is a great way to lose weight," but in a "my God this feels great and I feel like a superhero when I'm running." I mean, I absolutely couldn't wait to go on a run. Training for a marathon was one of the few times I could get myself out of bed at 430 in the morning. (For those who know me, that is not part of my nature.) I drive around Crystal Lake and look longingly at people who are out jogging. I try to devise ways I could go jogging with Doug in a stroller and Bekah and Jeremy on their bikes. (I've not been able to come up with a feasible way to make that happen, by the way.) I have gone out on a few runs, here and there. I trained last summer to do a 5K (and I did it, however ploddingly). When I am fit, running is a joy, a pleasure, a respite. Over the past year, when I run I can't get my breathing in a good rhythm, my joints feel like they're trying to support an elephant. I have mostly abstained from running because I literally can't afford an extensive knee injury. I am chomping at the bit to get my weight more manageable range so that I can be someone running along, making someone else jealous.

6. Last but certainly not least is my wedding ring. As I admitted in number 1, I am a freak for labels. When Brian and I started looking at engagement rings and bands, I knew I wanted a Tacori band. I picked one out that was engraved all the way around the band. I had it fitted and the jeweler explained to me that it would be a pip to resize because of the engraving. No worries, I said, because I just lost a bunch of weight and have no intention of regaining it. Alas, we know to where the road leads that is paved with good intentions. I haven't worn my wedding ring for about 5 1/2 years. I squeezed into it for my 30th birthday party but took it off the same night and have been fighting to get back into it ever since. Finances being what they have been, resizing the ring has just not been a reality. (In a crazy twist of fate we tried to pawn my ring during a particularly low time. Found out it was worth $400, nothing near what Brian paid for it. We didn't pawn it and it's locked away right now.) After Bekah was born, I lost 50 pounds over 19 months. The lowest weight I got to at that time was 258. Over a period of months, I kept trying it on but couldn't get it past my second knuckle. I am hopeful that by the new year I will be able to once again sport the enduring symbol of my marriage.


I miss being fit, in the way I imagine an amputee misses their limb. I still picture myself the way I looked in pictures just before my wedding, with no chins and no back fat and a discernible clavicle. I can almost fool myself that I still look that, until I walk past a mirror or catch a glimpse of myself in a store window. There is an instant slump in my shoulders when I realize I'm not the person I once was. I want to be active.

Contrary to popular belief, I am actually in pretty decent shape. I can't sprint or do dead squats or do chin-ups. But I spent most of the weekend in activity. I nap sparingly and try to add walking (and subtract driving) wherever I can. I don't eat mindlessly, I don't spend all day staring at a screen, etc. etc.

I know that I can't reap the benefits of being fit without walking through this hard part, the being fat part. There is truth in the saying "those who forget their past are doomed to repeat it." When I succeed, when I reach the ideal weight the Wii fit tells me (which is 140 pounds, although I'd be happy with 160, honestly), if I have not burned these moments of discomfort, of sweating in Lycra-laced clothes, of not being able to run around the block without feeling my lungs exploding, into my consciousness, I will not be able to live with all these benefits.

I keep wondering why it's been such a struggle to lose the weight. There are contributing factors not present when I last lost weight (I am almost 10 years older than I was when I last lost weight, I have had three kids, I don't have a gym membership and unlimited time to live at the gym), but I think the bigger issue is spiritual. Anything worth having is worth fighting for. I've often wondered why people who win the Lotto end up penniless and miserable. It's something we hear about time and again. Most of us think that money is the answer (or a husband, or children, or whatever).

Really, though, the answer is more God. If I can't solve the underlying issue, the need for more God in my life, in my choices, in my family, etc, then I am not going to enjoy any long-term benefits because I'll be repeating the same cycle over and over again.

So I will take my weight-loss slowly, if it means I can become even more uncomfortable with being fat. If it means that I am so uncomfortable making poor choices. If it means that the extra pounds feel that much more foreign on my body. If it means that I hit my knees (rather than a convenience store) when cravings for yucky foods hit.

But I tell ya what. I can't wait for the day that I can sport my wedding ring while running for a PR in a race. It's gonna be quite a day.