Ever since I was little, I struggled with food and my weight. My parents frequently pushed me outside along with my brother and whatever friends we had over, but even in elementary school, I was teased and I knew I was overweight. I can remember several times sitting at the top of the stairs, crying and howling into my knees while my mother tried to console me from the bottom steps. She offered to take me to WeightWatchers and/or Curves throughout this time, but I was reluctant, to say the least -- what elementary school kid goes to WeightWatchers?
I continued to fight through middle and high school. I considered getting a gym membership but could not drive and was still embarrassed about it. The only people I knew who actually went to the gym were in sports and my softball days ended after eighth grade, when the town did not have anything left for me. I tried out for the school's softball team but was eliminated quickly: during this time I was also going through the worst of my depression and anxiety, which I believe made me perform at my worst for the try-outs.
When I got into college, I, like many other college students, dreaded the promised "freshman fifteen." Going into college, I was at my heaviest of around 200 pounds. When my mother found out how heavy I was, she was surprised, even though she saw me frequently -- somehow, between what I wore and the way I carried myself, I managed to hide it fairly well.
My second year of college, I decided to knock out one of my physical education requirements. I decided to take a class called Lifetime Sports because there would be a variety of things we did (so if I ever hated one thing, I knew it wouldn't last all semester). Our class liked our first section so much (tennis) that we ended up skipping the second section (frisbee golf) and shortening what would have been the third section (badminton). Though tennis was hard, I enjoyed the challenge. We ran two laps around the court every class time and, since I usually arrived before everyone else, I did my laps as soon as I got there.
The instructor of the course was really encouraging. I've had a full spectrum of gym teachers -- from people I loved to people I hated, to everyone in between. This instructor was one of the best ones I had. (I've had eight physical education instructors that I can remember.) That semester, I lost thirty pounds, just by going to class. I didn't notice it too much, but when I went home and had to go to an endocrinologist appointment, I (and my mother and my doctor) were pleased to see a number thirty less than last time. The doctor asked what I had been doing and I told him. He told me to keep it up.
And keep it up I did. I opted to take a second class with her in the spring, Tennis II. Because we spent so much time on tennis in the fall, I was not required to take Tennis I as a prerequisite. The semester went well and I got better at tennis, even though I sprained my ankle during one class and had to sit the following two weeks out.
I liked the instructor so much that I decided to take a third, not-required class of phys ed, this time badminton, something I had discovered I was naturally pretty good at. I found out in late spring that, though the class would still be offered, the instructor had decided to retire. A new person came in to teach the class and he was horrible. But I'll talk about the details of that another day.
Because I had accomplished so much in that first semester of tennis, I wanted to do more. My weight hadn't changed much since, though my pants were getting baggier. After the horrible experience with the badminton class, though I was somewhat deterred by that experience, I decided this was my year. All the time I would tell myself, "If you had started this time last year, you'd be where you want to be." And this time I decided to take my own advice.
I started going to the school gym every other day (except weekends, I'd pick either Sunday or Saturday which would make for two days in a row for either Monday or Friday) for half-an-hour to forty-five minutes. I got on a bike and, after determining (rather quickly and painfully) that it was too big for me, I moved over to another bike that was like a chair and got moving. My mom has consistently asked me if I've lost weight, but I avoid scales like the plague. I know that whatever number I see will disappoint me
In order to keep myself from getting bored, I brought my iPad and read books I had downloaded (something I had been incredibly adverse to before, as I want to be a librarian -- I still think digital books have nothing on real books). I've considered reading stuff for school there, but it's better if I just read "trash." It's enough to keep my mind occupied, but not so much that I lose focus on what I'm doing physically. I've been listening to my iPod, too -- mostly Reel Big Fish, though I did some Ke$ha the other day and might move onto MxPx soon.
This past week, I wasn't able to go to the gym. Wednesday, I had the beginnings of some kind of mouth sore and feminine stuff going on, and Friday, the cold I currently have had hit me hard enough that I didn't want to get out of bed, let alone go to the gym.
But today, while stuffing my face with Indian food, I looked at my boyfriend and said, "You know what, I'm actually excited to go back to the gym."
And that is a victory by itself.
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