The Wild and Absolutely True Adventures of Meg: My Story

In the last week-and-a-half, I've really hit my stride (pun intended) with this running deal. I Tweet about my running a lot, and I noticed a couple of running-types had started following me, so I followed back. Before I knew it, in a matter of a couple of days, I was following all kinds of runners and fitness types and participating in Twitter chats with hashtags like #workingoutsucks and #fitfluential.

A lot of these people blog, so I'm following some new blogs on my Google Reader. And suddenly, I'm part of this community of runners (or runnerds, ha ha). Part of me felt, at first, like a complete wannabe, but all these thirty-minute runs (and I'm getting faster, slowly but surely) don't lie. I am a runner because I get out there and run. I run at midnight on New Year's Eve (M. the Reasonable loved this) and I am thinking of getting a Kindle subscription to Runner's World. As I said to M. this morning, "Oh, my God, who am I becoming?!" He just laughed.

Anyway, with commenting on other blogs and hoping to get new people reading my own blog, I thought I'd write a post telling my story--the story I've been telling over hundreds of posts, starting in 2009, when I worked up some nerve and walked up to one of my gym's super-fit trainers and said those three words that are so hard to say sometimes: "I need help."

So on February 20, 2009, I had my first appointment with my first trainer, who would later be dubbed, for purposes of anonymity, B. the Sadist. I weighed 220 pounds (I'm 5'2") and carried 45% body fat. I had problems with high blood pressure and anxiety. I wanted to be healthy. I wanted to be thinner, cuter, everything else-r. I had no idea how crazy, difficult, exciting and wonderful the road ahead of me would be.

B. the Sadist kicked my butt in the workouts, but my time with him is sort of blurred now. He moved in April that year, and transferred my remaining sessions to another trainer, a woman I dubbed C. the Sweetie. I worked with her until late August, and then went on my own for a while.

The overall theme from my first to trainers when I look back on those six months is that while I got off to a decent start, they weren't the greatest fits for me. B. didn't want me eating any fats--not even healthy ones. No feta cheese on that Greek salad, no avocado, no olive oil. The diet was so restrictive, I really couldn't make it work. C. was really great to work with, but she never held me accountable for any of the cardio I was supposed to be doing on my own, like running. I loathed running, and didn't believe for one minute that I could do it. (This post, the first time she made me run, is hilarious, looking back at it over two-and-a-half years later.)

In December 2009, frustrated by my inability to keep the motivation going, and sensing that the twenty-five pounds I'd lost while working with B. and C. were creeping back on, I signed up for five half-sessions of training for "a kick in the butt." C. had left the gym, so I was paired up with my third trainer...G. the Meanie.

What can I say about G.? Five half-sessions turned into I-don't-know-how-many sessions. Over the next seven months, he would challenge me, piss me off, believe in me, make me believe in myself, and make me laugh with his vain and cocky (his words, not mine!) nature--sometimes all of these things in one appointment! He was the first of my trainers to take a complete interest in making me healthier and helping me meet my goals. B. and C. both cared during an appointment, but when I wasn't working with them on the clock, I was on my own. G. had a completely different approach. On non-appointment days, he would see me in the gym after work and he would find a few minutes to quiz me. "What's your cardio today? Just elliptical? I think you should..." I'd roll my eyes and brace myself for the coming lecture. Then I'd gamely give it a try, while glaring at his back as he sauntered off to work with another client. I can't tell you how many times I gave him the finger behind his back.

Then, one day, he made me run a mile-and-a-half. This is the only time in my life I've ever told someone, "I hate you." (Followed, a few minutes later by, "I didn't mean that," from me and, "I know" from him). From the post linked above:

I can't tell you how happy I was as we approached the end of our course. I wanted to cry--because I hurt, because I was angry that he made me do it, because I was frustrated at not losing weight this week...but also because I made it.

This was another first--the first time I ever ran a mile-and-a-half. In thirty one years, no one had ever made me try.

So I started running. It was, by far, one of the biggest challenges I've ever faced in my life--and people, I've taught middle school. But a theme started to emerge as I got to know G.--I refused to quit. I refused to bend and break. Even when I threw up in front of him while running one day, I never quit. Before long, he would goad me: "Are you gonna quit?" I would get so angry, and I'd half-screech at him, "Have I ever quit on you?!" And I never did--Coopers aren't quitters.

In my time with G., I had my first war wound (it was a beaut!), became a Gymbo, showed G. the worst side of my personality on a regular basis, used sarcasm to great effect, and insulted him (I once called him a meathead, which I think honestly made him feel bad). I learned to kick a little booty in the Boot Camp class, wore a size 10 (and then a size 8!) for the first time since high school, and at the end of it all, in July 2010, I had G. (outed in this post) to thank for my grand total of 60 pounds lost, a ton of new confidence in my ability to work out and run, and for pushing me--sometimes literally--to become an athlete.

I wasn't finished, but I felt I could keep going on my own, and for a while, I did, despite being laid off from my teaching position. But this year, in August, I moved back to my parents' place for a while and the weight was creeping back up. Some back pain in October stopped me from running and I was having some serious lack of motivation. So in November, I signed up for more training at my new club, and the manager paired me with M. the Reasonable, who has proven to be just what I need. We've discussed the differences between him and G., and determined that they're not really that different (though M. is far less cocky than G.--and again, G. owned his cockiness with pride). No, the difference this time around is me. I'm not a 200-pound non-athlete anymore, I'm someone who knows just how far she can go. I whine a lot less with M. and have met everything he's thrown at me so far with a chipper, "Bring it on!"

Since November, I've lost 10 pounds, and I'm just about back to where I ended with G. My running is really starting to take off, even though I have had some lingering back issues in recent weeks (M. has truly been a rock star as I've worked through this, helping me stretch and keeping the workouts appropriate for what I can do when my back hurts). I've started going to yoga at least once a week, and the weight is starting to melt off again. As of today, I'm back to 163. My most recent blog posts detail how I'm finally starting to make it thirty minutes, six days a week, running, without stopping or walking.

So, if you've made it through this novel of a post, well, thank you. And hello. My name is Megan--you can call me Meg. I am a thirty-something California Girl music nerd, and I...yeah, I'm a runner. : )

I don't blog exclusively about fitness and running--this blog was created when I moved to England to teach for a year, and I share my adventures. I just happen to look at being fit as a huge adventure. One I'm happy to keep having. But you'll also see pictures from trips I take, posts about my two very spoiled cats, rants about things that annoy me, and other random things.

So let's close this off with some pictures. I'm tremendously proud of these pictures. You can see just how far I've come. At my first appointment with M., I showed him my before picture. He stared at it for a moment, then turned to look at me for a moment. A grin spread across his face, and he said, "You've worked so hard."