So I was just laughing hysterically with Honey Bunny over a few not-so-fond memories of my fitness adventures. Some of these have been outright disasters. I am very pleased to report however that there have been more successes than failures. The failures though are downright duds - and unfortunately for me and the people around me at the time they were somewhat public.
When I was growing up I didn't exercise at all. I was on the local swim team and actually did quite well until most of the kids signed up for a year round league. That left me totally unable to compete with them when summer rolled around again. I tried tennis and wasn't really that good although I loved the clothes and the sound of the shoes screeching against the court and the noise that was made as the racket hit the ball. Didn't keep me on the court though. I also tried golf which - I am shuddering over this - landed me in such hot water with my father that I never played it again. I was 11 and going through very very early puberty - I had already had my period for a year at that point - and was very awkward and had no coordination. I hope all of the golfers will forgive me for this but golf is not a sport. It does not take some super athletic ability to play this game. What it does take though is practice and coordination and a huge dose of patience. I had none of these. So my dad who is an avid golfer forks the big bucks over so I will play. I took a summer of miserable lessons with boys and at the end of the summer we had a mini tournament. During this tournament I was playing so poorly but one hole stands out above all the rest. I swung at the ball on the tee about 12 times and missed each time. I threw the club and started crying. I am sure your heart is going out to me but read on. My father comes up to the tee and says to me in front of everyone. If you can't learn how to behave on the course you cannot play. So I didn't. Ever again. Boy I showed him.
I tried track. Loved it again for the uniforms. I really just wanted to be part of a team and my friends were doing it. I tried the hurdles. I scraped my knee so badly hitting every hurdle that I still have a scar. I had one race and then I retired.
When I was growing up we didn't have gyms. Not like today. There wasn't really a family oriented place where everyone went to workout. My parents didn't work out. They had golf and tennis and that was about it. Those were the days of aerobics. I vaguely remember doing "The 20-minute Workout" which was on TV. Does anyone remember that? It had two or three women working out with leotards and head bands and leg warmers. Full makeup and Farrah hair. They would have these camera shots that were between their legs and on their butts. It was really more like porn come to think of it. But I did the workout in my basement. I also had a short bout of Kathy Smith type workouts but never Jane Fonda. Skipped that whole rage. I didn't do anything in college and even though I was skinny I looked kind of ill.
I started a job where I had a good friend that worked out all the time. She had an awesome body. I mean really, one you would kill for. Small ass, huge boobs, muscular but long legs. Bitch.
Anyway, I was able to be the bigger person and look past all of her amazing physical endowments and see her for the wonderful person she was. She took me to the gym. My first gym. I hit the StairMaster and never looked back - at least for a while. I loved that thing. Too bad as we have all learned it makes your butt big. Whatever, at least I was sweating. I was single and the place was a meat market. I tried step aerobics but one class was all it took for me to swear that off forever. Way too much coordination needed. So I lifted a few weights and learned to do a few crunches and had a good time. But eventually I stopped going because it got too hard to workout and get in all my smoking and drinking.
SO I meet Honey Bunny and I get fat. We don't really care about this and my lack of physical activity did not get in our way until we decided to go back packing one weekend with some friends. Honey Bunny was just reminding me of how we went to Blue Ridge Mountain Sports to get some stuff for the trip and I was all excited about buying the crap to get ready. Are you sensing a theme here? So we get ready and we drive to the mountain and we park our car, strap on the backpack and I admire my brand new hiking boots and off we go. For about four minutes. Literally we get to the base of the mountain which has a very very SLIGHT incline and I am huffing and puffing. So I quit. I decide sleeping in the car would be a better option. Honey Bunny waves our friends on. "We'll meet you at the top!" He says. HAH. I developed a pattern on the climb. I would walk for about three minutes. Cry for two. Yell at Honey Bunny for six and then want to vomit for one. The walking interval became shorter the more we climbed. They yelling interval became longer. I can only imagine that this was pure hell for Honey Bunny because it was so awful for me. We get to the spot where we are camping and then they all inform me that we have to go to the top of this godforsaken mountain to catch the view. What the fuck? Who gives a shit about the view. This time at least we had no packs but the climb was literally (at least in my mind) vertical. And I mean straight the hell up. Rocky and steep. More torture for Honey Bunny. We were not even married at this point so the fact that we just celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary means something to me. We get to the top where our friends have been waiting for us and I was so pissed at myself and everyone around me for making this look easy and fun and I was so completely embarrassed that I walked to the edge of the mountain (no I didn't throw myself off - duh) that I turned right around and started climbing back down. I really wanted to die. So what did I do? I got to the campsite and lit up a cigarette. WOW!!!!!!
When we got back from that Honey Bunny and I decided we had to join a gym. More torture? Why not. We joined this little gym down the street and I went shopping. The theme again. New shoes, new shorts, new shirts. Sweet. The night before we went I remember looking out of my window from my way cool apartment in Charlottesville - back story - I lived in the pink warehouse where Dave Matthews played his first concert. Oh yeah - I am that cool.
O.K. so I am looking out of the window and I am crying. I am crying because I have for the very first time realized that I was fat. I was living the life of my Mom and it had all caught up to me and losing the weight was not going to be nearly as much fun as gaining it. It took me three days of fits and breakdowns to make it to my first workout. Getting to that gym was very very similar to getting up that mountain.
But then something changed. Honey Bunny and I decided six months after we got married to quit smoking. Cold Turkey. We also decided that we were going to get to the gym at 5:00 AM every morning before work. And we did it. We quit smoking - haven't had one in 12 and 1/2 years. That was the first time I ever ran. I ran on the treadmill. That first run the day after I stopped smoking was the worst run I have ever had. And I only ran about 2 of 30 minutes. The rest I walked. But I got better. Not really faster but I got to the point that I could run 4 miles on the treadmill. SUCCESS.
We move to New York. We are lonely. We join a gym. We go for awhile. We drink way too much. Every night. I get pregnant. Now believe it or not I was actually banned from working out. So I didn't. Not until we moved back to Va.
We joined a gym and I went with my little honey bunny who hated it but I made him go. I always told him it was the difference between me being a nice mommy and a mean mommy. So he went.
It wasn't until that fateful January Day when "L" and I stepped out with our brand new running shoes that I started my running career. I was hooked. I sucked and I wasn't fast but running was like heroin for me. I wanted to do other races. I wanted to be able to run three miles without stopping. I wanted to break my 13 minute mile record. I wanted to wear the shorts without chafing. I wanted to be like those people. Those people that ran in just a running bra and shorts. I looked at them as if they were gods and goddesses. I just wanted to be in the same room as them. Then Honey Bunny decided he was going to run the marathon. Which he did in 2005. Being a marathon widow totally sucks but I love him more than that and I really wanted this for him. I was able to see him three times on the course. I feel a welling up coming on but the last time was at the finish line. When I saw him coming down the hill I was so overwhelmingly proud of him. I could not believe that he had just done that. It was so awesome. But then I had to hang around a bunch of people who were marathoners. I was intimidated but they were the nicest people ever. I couldn't believe they were all marathoners. They really didn't look it. The 10K was not going to be enough for me. Honey Bunny was the first person to say it and then my friend "Ethel" said it. Could it be? Could I do it? NAH.
But then I did. I injured myself, I lost six toenails, I had chafes so bad that I still have the scars. I cried more during the six months of training then I ever have before. I wanted to quit, I threatened to quit, I tried to quit. But I didn't. I didn't quit. For the first time in my life I didn't quit. I had numerous chances and I didn't give in. Running a marathon is the hardest physical and mental thing I have ever done. SUCCESS.
Finishing the marathon on November 10, 2007 (two days after my 40th birthday and the day of my son's birthday) single-handedly erased all of my previous failures. Honey Bunny gave me the best advice. He said - leave it all out on the road. I did.
Happy Running,
Sarah
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