By Helen M. Ryan
Air under my feet. Levitating. Higher. Higher still. Faster. Sweat pouring. The sound of my own raspy breath filling my ears. Heart pounding, thighs screaming. Tears welling up in my eyes, easily mistaken for sweat. Not tears of pain, agony, or defeat, but joy. Joy tinged with sadness…at my “a-ha moment.”
That moment was when I finally realized who I had become – who I had changed myself back into – how hard I had worked – and what I had lost in the process. I had discovered I was someone strong and capable, physically and mentally fit. I was there, in the moment, with 200 other fitness professionals, sweating, breathing and moving. I had fought for this. Hard. Gained a lot and lost even more, but I had triumphed. I was there and I was doing it. All my hard work and all that I lost, both physically and personally, wrapped into one. I sweated…and then I cried.
Many of us have an “a-ha moment.” Mine was at a fitness convention in an athletic skills and drills workshop. Not much of a place for a revelation. There were no lights from heavens above, no angels singing. Just a single blue BOSU half stability ball, propulsion….and me.
In August of 2003 I weighed 198 pounds at 5’ tall and wore a size 20. I could not walk very far, and could not climb stairs. My feet hurt all the time. I had spent years staring into the bottoms of empty ice cream containers, spoon in hand, wondering what had happened to me and my life. Where did I go? Who was this unhappy creature eating away her days, passing time, waiting until she died? I had no answers. The young, fit, happy, passionate, hopeful 20-year-old I once knew was gone. She had been replaced by a sad, fat, dispirited, hopeless 37-year-old – one who could not even reach her feet to tie her shoelaces.
When I made my decision, seven years ago, to give myself one last chance, to make one final effort after thousands of failures, it was the beginning of a new life – but also the end of an old. My resolution to better my health, reduce my cholesterol, strengthen my heart, and reduce the excess weight that caused me so much physical pain ended up costing me my marriage and much of my life.
Losing weight for me was never about looking better or being attractive to the opposite sex. I couldn’t have cared less and I still don’t. I wanted to feel my body move again, to feel alive again. I wanted to have less pain, to not have people look at me in pity. “Poor fat girl. No self-control.” I used to be strong. I used to be healthy. I needed to feel that again. Show my children exercise is good, and that our bodies are meant to move. That it feels great to work and stretch your muscles and that it builds you from the inside, providing mental strength and fortitude, purpose and passion.
I worked hard for this improved health. I would get up early before my kids rose and strength train. I walked them to school. I tried to squeeze exercise in without compromising time with my family. I gave up television completely and sacrificed any other recreational activities so I could participate in Spin classes.
Fighting for my health, however, became a problem because I also started fighting for myself. I finally began standing up for me, becoming who I used to be. Standing up for myself meant developing a backbone, which was the beginning of the end of my marriage.
By “finding myself” I lost the life I was used to, but I also gained purpose and meaning: helping others, through training, teaching and writing. Helping people get healthier and stronger, making them laugh and getting them motivated meant I could finally contribute something to the world and give positive energy back.
My “a-ha moment” was bittersweet. I had made huge physical and mental gains. I was healthy again and could keep up with a room full of other fitness professionals, joints smooth and bones strong. I could sense all that I had sacrificed to get there, and all that I had lost, from my weight to my marriage.
But for one moment, one magical moment, I was the “original” me, free of problems. I was in a convention hall – yes – but soaring, body and soul. Free to be me. To feel my body move. Just for minute, be that 20-year-old again. And flying.
Helen M. Ryan is a freelance health writer and a fitness pro. Follow her on Twitter @aspinchick, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/realworldweightloss, or take a Spin class with her at NC3 Fitness in Murrieta.
