I woke up this morning at 6am sharp, as I have done almost every weekday morning for five weeks. It hurts to get up that early. My right eye is about twenty minutes behind as I shuffle around my apartment getting ready. I want to go back to bed, but I drink a cold brew coffee instead and slip on my running shorts. Once my right eye is finally open, I notice how cool the air is outside, even in the dead of summer. The sun just rose and the last bits of pinks and orange liter the sky. It's quiet, except for the songs of house sparrows on the sidewalk. Angie and I leave the apartment, and I feel the familiar nervousness start to seep in my bones.
What if I fail.
My stomach starts to ache. It's one thing to be the Fat Girl running. It's another thing to be the Fat Girl who tried to run and couldn't, in public, for everyone to witness. Today is the last day of week five in the Couch to 5K program. Day two was 8 minute intervals. Today is running 20 minutes straight. I'm afraid I can't do it. I give myself a pep talk. "I will try my best. I know what my best is by now. I will run as far as I can. If I stop before the twenty minutes is up, I will not beat myself up. I will not consider it a fail because I will try again and again until I can do it."
As I start to grasp my health, I've grappled with the idea of failure. I see fitness blogs or Pinterest posts often with phrases like, "failure is not an option." Let me tell you something, failure is absolutely an option. Not only that, but when you're a 250 pound person who's trying to shed 100 pounds by her wedding next year, it will absolutely, without a doubt, fucking happen. I understand now, though, that true failure is when you fail the first time, and never try again. I did that a lot when I first started because I listened to the voice in my head that told me I was a gross, fat, loser who was never going to be a runner. I would laugh at myself, "get a load of this asshole, this 250 pound lady thinks she's going to run." I would get sad. I would eat a bunch of cheez its, I would drink a bunch of beer. I quit. That kind of failure hurts everywhere. It wasn't until I saw a YouTube video about a 500 pound man talk about learning to accept himself that it all clicked.
Though sometimes deceivingly helpful on the outside, the anti-fat movement in this country is damaging. It feeds the monsters that live in fat people's minds that says, "you aren't good enough. You are disgusting. You don't deserve to feel good. You don't deserve anything good." Do you know what the least helpful thing is when trying to accomplish a goal? Particularly weight loss? That goddamn negative self talk. It's ironic that people who hate fat people so much do the very thing that keeps fat people fat. When the man in the video started explaining that, it totally clicked for me. I formally tried to use negative self talk as motivation. "Get up off the bed, you fat fuck. You are useless. Get up and run, you lazy piece of shit." I don't have to say that it doesn't work. That same talk would come creeping back when I did fail, and keep me in the state of failure. "You really are useless. Just give up, you don't deserve it. Go get drunk and forget about all of this. Nothing matters, you're disgusting." Do you see why that shit doesn't work?
So, I will love myself through this process, instead. I will talk kindly to myself, "look what your body has done and will do! You are beautiful. I'm excited to see you sharpening your sword! You deserve to feel good today, how about a run?" I will love myself enough to give myself nourishing foods. To strengthen my body and my mind. I will run. Hike. Identify birds. Laugh uproariously. Be unashamed to refer to myself as "fucking awesome." To call a therapist. I will because I love myself, and I want myself to feel better. I will because I deserve to have a full life. I deserve to find beauty again. Though, I don't mean to say that like it's easy. It's not. I still hate looking in the mirror, and often avoid mirrors and any other reflective pieces of glass at great lengths. I don't talk kindly to myself naturally. I have to purposely choose to do it, and it often feels contrived and ridiculous. But, like I said earlier the only true failure is giving up. So, even though it hurts, and I tend to do it with one eye open, I will choose to love myself.
This morning, I woke up at 6am. The air was painted blue and orange, and I quietly sipped my coffee trying not to be grumpy. My stomach sank heavy with worry that I was going to fail. I chose to be kind to myself, and asked that if I didn't make it the full 20 minutes that I would speak only honey to my soul. I wouldn't come undone. I wouldn't quit.
This morning, I woke up at 6am and traveled to the Metropark. I put my headphones in, with the intentions of trying my best. I ran the full 20 minutes, without stopping. The longest I have run since freshman year of high school. I feel proud.
Oh yeah, here's that video. I never thought a white man would say the words that helped shift my views and ultimately change my life, but he did so thanks, dude!
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