I don’t consider myself a “Runner.” I run. It’s a thing I do to keep my weight fluctuations remotely in hand. But, even that was a struggle. My life long battle with exercise induced asthma left me gasping for breath everyday as a kid, when it came time for gym class. Steroids, pills, inhalers, all manner of thing designed to make my lungs function like those of a child rather than those of an adult smoker. In turn, I never cared for sports. Playing them or following them. Even as my siblings ran track, and as any suburban kid, I “played soccer.” I quote that because more often than not, I wasn’t paying attention. I was a kid standing in a field who couldn’t run. What the hell was I doing playing soccer?
As you can probably imagine, I was a heavy kid. The combination steroids and inactivity tend to mix as you would expect. But as puberty hit, the weight slid off, I gained about a foot of height, and developed a sense of faux invulnerability in terms of my food choices. What? I can eat a Wendy’s triple with cheese everyday and not gain weight? Of course I’m going to do that!
I remember meeting someone who would go on to be one of my closest friends, and he warned me that once I hit my 20s it would all come back to haunt me as my body suddenly decided not to burn it all. Of course I didn’t believe him. Why would I? All of my personal experience up to that point had shown me otherwise. So, I just kept on keeping on.
My 20s came. So did my move to LA. So did my undiagnosed depression. In only a couple years I went from 180 lbs to within spitting distance to 260. I was eating two medium Domino’s pizzas for lunch on a Saturday without blinking. Punctuating my nights at the local bar with a trip to Jack in the Box or Del Taco and ordering an amount of food suited to a family. And as I had recently become a desk bound professional, what little exercise I had been getting immediately dried up. I felt like crap. Had absolutely no confidence. The idea of losing the weight sounded like the most unrealistic undertaking possible.
But my wake up call came. My tailbone started to ache. Literally the weight of my body was causing me pain. So, my boss was nice enough to give me a gel cushion, designed specifically for these situations. And that’s when it happened. After about two weeks of use, the cushion popped, leaking gel onto my clothes and chair. The embarrassment and shame I felt in that moment was enough to push me into a change.
I should mention that the two women I dated in the course of those years were both extremely supportive and tried to help, but it took me needing to do it for it to happen.
I started changing my diet. Buying my food more mindfully, and having out loud conversations with myself about why I didn’t need to go get fast food. I found the App “Zombies, Run!!!” and started loading on my asthma meds. First walking, then jogging, then running. It was heard. There were tears, pain, and the familiar sensation of my lungs sealing themselves off, but I pushed through. I remember the first time I finished 5k without stopping to walk, and upon completion, my vision going dark and me nearly passing out on a busy street corner. I don’t know how to explain it but, by then, somehow the threat of unconsciousness didn’t dissuade me. And, you know what? I dropped all the way down to 185.
In 2015 I did my first Fun Run with my sister. The Belfast, Maine Color Run 5k. Since then I’ve gone on to do 5ks, 10ks, the LA Marathon, and even hiked Peru’s 4 Day Inca Trail.
So, what now? Well, the sad truth about weight loss is that it is a constant battle. I’ve risen and fallen in weight. Every drop followed by the inevitable sense of faux invulnerability. That feeling of, '“Well, yeah. I can have that beer.” “You know, I do feel like a cheese burger. Once in a while won’t hurt.” And once in a while becomes more often. And the running stops, because who wants to keep getting up that early?
I don’t have a solution for this. But, I have a plan in the meantime. You may have seen me post #fletchersgauntlet. Hell, it’s the name of the article. But here’s what it’s about. I went up to 229 lbs last Christmas. I was in denial about it until I reached down to pick up something and tore a hole in the back of one of my favorite shirts. Shortly after I saw my doctor and was told I needed to lose 30 lbs immediately and 60 over all if I wanted to stay healthy and not fall prey to a number of issues lurking in my gene pool.
So, again I redesigned my diet. Found a plan I could actually stick to. Prepackaged meals made of real food (no or low preservatives) that I could scan into my phone and plan my caloric intake around. But, I also signed up for races. I know my style. Literally anything I do, I need the motivation of a target. A goal that I must take action to hit. So, I kept signing up for races, walks, challenges. And that is the Gauntlet.
5 months to 15 Medals. So, far 3 medals down. Two 5ks and a 10k. And, as I type this, I’m mentally preparing myself for a 5k “Terrain race” later today. But, next week is going to be the killer. The midpoint of the Gauntlet, and proverbial descent into the underworld in my Cambellian monomyth. Next week is the Philadelphia “Freedom Challenge.” A half marathon followed by an 8k, and a marathon the following day. Can I do it? I have no idea. But, much like I did with my first marathon, hiking in Peru, moving to LA to be a filmmaker, or even the very undertaking of starting to run, after an entire life of experiences proving to me that running = death, I’ve learned not to ask that question. I just assume that I can, and I will do everything possible to prove myself right.
