Yesterday morning started out a little on the rough side, but now I know it was meant to be that way.
I woke up to run before work – my first morning workout all week, despite it being the fourth day in a row that I tried to get up for one. I think when I transitioned myself into a mostly morning person, what I mostly did there was make myself hate working out at night… but that’s a topic for another day.
I laid out all my clothes the night before to make it as easy as possible to get out the door, and off I went. My plan was to do an outside run since the weather was going to be perfect (55º, sunny, clear) and wasn’t sure whether I’d do 4 or 5 miles.
Immediately, 5 miles went off the list of possibilities and 4 it was. Despite the perfect conditions, from the start, my body was just not feeling it and my legs felt like lead. Each step took so much effort and determination and I had to reach deep inside myself to finish the 4 miles. It had been ages since I felt like that during a run and there were several times I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it.
I tried to think about everything besides the fact that I was running, which worked for a little bit, but I literally had to force myself to put one foot in front of the other for almost every step of the run. I kept repeating my favorite running mantra, “Pain is temporary, quitting is forever” (thank you Caitlin) over and over for almost the entire second half of the run. Since I wasn’t wearing my Garmin, I don’t know how fast I was going, but I do know it was a lot slower than normal and I was earning every single step of the run.
When I finally got to the finish and caught my breath, I felt SO PROUD of myself for finishing the four miles, for not walking, and mostly, for not quitting. I laid in the grass for a bit while stretching, enjoying the gorgeous weather and treating myself to a little bit of leisure. It’s runs like those that really define you – you can let them break you, or you can push through.
Little did I know how symbolic this run would turn out to be.
Later in the day during my lunch break from work, I headed to Weight Watchers to weigh in. It’s ironic because I’ve been jumping around meetings lately in search of one that is the perfect fit, but the Thursday lunch meeting was the one I attended for over a year when I first joined back in March 2009.
I stepped up on the scale, eagerly awaiting my results, and then almost fell over when she said the words.
“You’re at 162.6! You’ve reached your goal weight!”
Emotions flooded my mind and though I successfully held back tears while standing on the scale, I could barely speak. I was not expecting to feel as emotional as I did at that moment at all, or as I do now writing this.
Two years, two months ago, and nine days ago, I stepped on that same scale, weighing in at 220 pounds. This was not even my highest weight of 250 pounds back in 2005.
Two years, two months, nine days of hard work and dedication, all so that I could reach the moment I finally got to experience yesterday.
Two years, two months, nine days of fighting for this, and the day is finally here.
There were many, many bumps in the road on this journey.
It was not easy.
It was not fast.
It was not perfect.
It is not over.
But for now, I’d like to bask in the glory for a little bit, just like I did after yesterday morning’s run.