Tag Archives: running

Fat again

So, it happened. The thing I promised wouldn’t happen happened. The thing I swore I wouldn’t become, I became. I was another short-term success story. I’ve read that as many as 80% of people who have substantial weight loss gain it back within two years. Count me as one of the 80%. I got fat again. There are a lot of reasons it happened. Injuries, change of jobs, and grief are the top three candidates.

In case you missed it, this is how I went from Fat to Fit the first time:

In 2012 I dropped about 70 pounds. I followed a very simple formula: exercise more and eat less. I used the Lose It app on my phone to track every calorie burned and eaten. I learned a lot about portion size, and saw big changes from making little choices like fruit instead of hasbrowns at breakfast and broccoli instead of fries at dinner. I started exercising more, starting with the elliptical machine, and working my way up to jogging. I started my program in January, and in June 2012 I ran my first 5K in 36:00. In 2013 I stopped tracking the calories so comprehensively, but kept making good choices, and kept running. In June 2013 I ran another 5K in 26:28, which earned a trophy for second place in my age group, and remains my personal best. I added longer distances, including two five miles runs that I completed in under 50:00. In 2014 I slipped a little, but somewhat intentionally. I went to the gym a little less frequently so I could spend more time with my preschool daughter, but in May I completed my first half marathon. At that point it had been two and half years since I embarked on a new fitness journey. I felt good, and believed that I had made changes in my life that would be permanent.

Then it all came apart.

Injured at the Bix7 in July 2014.

One catalyst was an injury I suffered at the 2014 Bix 7 in Davenport. This is a huge event, one that is a part of the culture of the Quad Cities. Everyone who runs in this area has run the Bix. It counts as the National Championship for 7 mile runs. It features two large hills. On the second one, at about the 3 mile mark, a muscle in my calf popped. I couldn’t finish. I went to the doctor and he didn’t seem to think there was any structural damage. So I laid off of it, and let it heal. A couple of weeks later, I would run again and start to feel good, then it would pop again. So I would wait a few more weeks, and try again, only to hurt it again. So then I waited a month, got in worse shape, and tried to start again. It would be going well for a few weeks and then pop! After about six months of starting and stopping, I settled on stop. Also in July 2014, I started a new job. I went from being an associate pastor to the solo pastor. This meant more responsibilities, more preahing (thus less blogging), more stress, and more demands on my time. It became harder to get to the gym – or at least easier to find other things to do, especially one I was discouraged from being out of shape.

My memory of when a 3-mile jog was a light warmup weighed heavily on me. I became discouraged by how far I had fallen. I blogged less. Again, there were a lot of reasons I strayed from this blog. One was that my creative outlet was being met by preaching every week. I was prolific on this blog when I preached about once a month. When I started preaching 48 times a year, I found less time, and less creative need to write here. Second, I focused more attention on the Pulpit Fiction Podcast. Since 2013, my partner Eric and I have released over 300 episodes. I focused my social media attention on the podcast first, my new church second, and the Fat Pastor third.

The real reason I stopped blogging was simple. I was embarrassed.

Over the course of 2015, I slowly gained more weight, and worked out sporadically. After two years of finding a way to get to the gym, I found plenty of excuses to stay away. And for me, it all flows from regular exercise. When I’m exercising regularly, I eat better. I sleep better. I study and preach and write better. When I wasn’t exercising regularly I ate crap. The route from my church to home passed a Hardees, a Wendy’s, and a Taco Bell. Taco Bell is my personal Satan. On any given day you could see the passenger seat of my car littered with brown paper bags from fast food places. It wasn’t uncommon for me to have a Wendy’s lunch and a Taco Bell dinner (Mexican pizza, two soft taco supremes, and sometimes a Meximelt too). While I was already falling down this spiral, my Mom died.

This sent me reeling in ways that I didn’t even notice at the time. She died in August 2016. I spent the next year in and out of depression-like symptoms. I had low energy, so I wouldn’t feel like working out. I was depressed, so I sought comfort in bad food. I felt terrible, so I would punish myself with self-hating thoughts. I hated getting dressed because none of my clothes fit. No, I didn’t hate getting dressed. I hated myself. I would think to myself, quite often, “I hate myself.”

This death-spiral continued until I had gotten up to 360 pounds (30 pounds more than when I refocused on my health in 2012). My whole body hurt. I was out of breath all the time. Simple tasks like picking something up off the floor were difficult. After walking up the stairs to my office, it would take me a couple minutes to catch my breath before I could say hi to the secretary. Tying my shoes was difficult, and would leave me gasping for air and muttering to myself, “you are a piece of shit.”

The Challenge

One day in August my friend texted me a challenge. He saw that I had posted something no Facebook about being frustrated with my fitness and health. He proposed  challenge. We would both work on getting healthier, and whoever lost more weight by Thanksgiving would win. We exchanged some baseline information, getting details about where we were physically. When I told him where I was, his response was, “Jesus Christ, you’re going to die buddy.” He was right. I was going to die. That is where I was heading, and I knew it. At our official start to The Challenge, I was at 358 and it took me 16:00 to run a mile. The memory of the 8:40 pace for a 5K mocked me.

A few days after we got started, on the anniversary of my Mom’s death, I was at 360. I was on the treadmill, struggling to jog for a minute without stopping. Sweat pouring down my face, legs in pain, air hard to find, I cried. I cried as my heart raced, and for a moment I thought I was going to drop. And then it happened. I wanted to.

The grief.

The shame.

The pain was too much to bear, and I thought to myself, “You are going to die right here on this treadmill.” And I let out an audible response: “good.”

I didn’t die. I finished my mile a few seconds faster than the one I had run two days earlier, which was a few minutes faster than that first one. Four days later I was back, and ran it 20 seconds faster. I was sore, there was pain. I started doing more elliptical machine to alleviate the stress on my legs. As I grew faster and stronger I started feeling better about myself. I started tracking my calories again. Profits at the Taco Bell dipped in September. Then one day I looked at the floor of my car. It was littered with VitaWater bottles, the ones I would buy after every workout, instead of paper sacks.

This morning I weighed in at 318. I’m winning The Challenge (We bet dinner. He’s buying regardless. Winner gets to pick the spot). I’ll let you know who wins at Thanksgiving. Here’s the thing, I’m winning no matter what. This has never been about a number, or a weight, or about fitting in my clothes again. I feel so much better. I’m not in pain all the time. My heart doesn’t race any more – except for when I kiss my wife. I feel stronger, more patient, and more efficient. A few weeks ago my family went to a State Park. I was able to hike and climb and play with my girls. My daughter has noticed that I’m in a better mood and not as tired. It’s about making life-giving choices.

Today I was running a 5K on the treadmill, my third this week. My goal in August was to do a 5K in under 36:00 by Thanksgiving (which was the time of that first 5K back in 2012). As the mileage was ticking up toward 3.1, I realized I had a chance to beat that goal a few weeks ahead of schedule. I had to keep up my pace for one more minute without stopping. Sweat pouring down my face, legs in pain, air hard to find, I cried. I cried as my heart raced, and for a moment I thought I was going to drop. And then it happened. I pictured my girls. I decided to run toward them.

The joy.

The love.

The grace of God washed over me, and I thought to myself, “Finish this for them.” I turned the pace up on the treadmill a little faster, and I finished it in 35:40.

My friend John quite possibly saved my life. He got me going. He helped shake me up, and gave me something on which to focus. I don’t really care if I win The Challenge, because no matter where I am at Thanksgiving, I know that I won’t be finished. I stopped believing in “Before” and “After” a long time ago. There is only “Now,” and a future with me in it.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.” (Frost)

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I’ve gained 10 pounds, and I’m okay with it.

20140203-095440.jpgAfter spending a year losing 80 pounds, I have spent the last year putting back on 10.  And I’m okay with that.  I was extremely proud of the transformation I experienced in 2012.  From seeing the scale tip 329 to weighing in at 249, I changed more than my body.  In fact, the transformation I experienced was never about my body alone.  It was about how I felt and how I lived.

My joy came from more than a before and after photo.  It came from knowing that my life span had probably been significantly extended.  It came from the energy with which I woke every morning.  It came from being able to run a 5K in under 27 minutes, and dreams of finishing a marathon that suddenly seemed within reach.  It came from living a more disciplined life, one that was full of more healthy choices, and habits that were life-giving. Above all, my joy came from my daughters, one of whom told me, “I’m glad you are healthier and your belly is smaller, but don’t make it go away completely, I like a little softness to snuggle.”

before between after stillMy fitness journey has been well chronicled on this site.  I started this blog in October 2008, when I tipped the scale at 301 pounds.  I said from day one that the journey was about more than weight, but it was that moment staring at a milestone I never wanted to cross that pushed me to start – and name – this blog.

Since losing 80 pounds, I decided to keep calling myself the “Fat Pastor,” because I knew that fitness wasn’t a destination to reach.  It is a life.  The name of this blog reminds me every day to make fit choices.  And that’s why I’m okay with having gained back 10-15 pounds over the last year.  In my mind fitness is not linked directly to my weight.

Some might think I’m just making excuses, but at some point over the last year, I made a conscious decision – not to gain weight back – but to spend less time at the gym, and more time with my youngest daughter.

Without going into too many details, my wife went back to work part-time this September, and I was left with a choice.  I could work out while my daughter was at preschool two times a week, or I could bring her to the gym with me two days a week, and allow the nursery care there to take her.

Another way of putting it, I could have:

  • Two days a week at the gym, two mornings with my daughter.
  • Three days a week at the gym, and zero mornings with my daughter.

It was an easy choice.  For the last year, I’ve spent two mornings a week with my three-year-old.  Sometimes she goes with me to visit shut-ins.  Sometimes she comes with me to the office.  Most of the time, she sits in my lap, on my chair.  She watches cartoons. I read.  She rubs my cheek.  I smell her hair.  At random times we are interrupted by spontaneous tickle fights, or overwhelmed by a sudden need for a bear hug.  We play Uno, or Memory. We put together puzzles or read books.

So yeah, I have put on a few pounds.  My 5K time has gotten a couple minutes slower.  The size 36 pants I got last spring have stayed in the closet.  But every Sunday night I would kiss her goodnight and ask her, “Do you know what tomorrow is?”  And she would smile and shout, “Daddy-Daughter morning!”

I wouldn’t trade those 10 pounds for anything in the world.  I can get back to running more often.  I intend to get refocused this summer, and I hope to run a marathon in September.

Pretty soon she is going to go to school all day, and we won’t have Daddy-Daughter mornings any more.  We’ll have Saturdays, but Saturdays are family days.  For Daddy-Daughter mornings, this was it.  This was the only year I could spend this kind of time with her – probably forever.

For me, fitness is about choices.  It is about making healthy, life-giving choices.  My body has a little more fat on it this April than it did last year, but I’m pretty certain that I’m as fit as I’ve ever been.  

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The Virtual Run to Bethlehem

According to google maps, the journey along the Jordan River from Nazareth to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem is 166 kilometers, or 103.2 miles.

According to google maps, the journey along the Jordan River from Nazareth to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem is 166 kilometers, or 103.2 miles.

This Advent, I am going to run to Bethlehem, but I need your help.  As a way to encourage people to Live Well, I’ve started a new virtual running event.  From November 28 until December 25, I want to run the virtual journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem.  According to Google Maps, this is a 106 mile journey.  For me to run the 106 miles, I would have to average four miles a day.  While not impossible, it is an impractical goal.  So I’m enlisting help.

My Pulpit Fiction co-host and best friend Eric Fistler and I are going to do this together.  We are asking all of the Fat Pastor readers and Pulpit Fiction listeners to do the same.  If we can get a few people to do it with us, the 106 mile journey will be a lot easier.  In fact, I figure if there are ten people running, we might be able to make the return trip too.

If you want to participate in the Run to Bethlehem, just submit your time and distance on this google form.  We’ll compile the information and post our progress as we go along.  We’ll start tracking on Thanksgiving Day, and we’ll go until Christmas (maybe Epiphany)

If you’re on twitter, use the hashtag #AdventRun to post pictures or tag routes if you use something like Map My Run.

Also, don’t forget to use #BeChristInChristmas to share ways that you, your family, or your church is trying to be Christ in the life of your neighbors.

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So, what do you do when you fall short of a goal?

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I created this meme in February, shortly after reaching my goal weight of 260, down from 329.  Now seven months later I have to ask myself another question: “What do you do when you fall short of the goal?”

Sunday was the Quad City Marathon.  At 7:30 a.m. on Sunday a few thousand people gathered at the starting line, which was just a few blocks from where I was sitting as I prepared for worship.

That was not the plan.

I was supposed to be out there.  I was supposed to be taking on my next great challenge.  I was supposed to be conquering the half-marathon.  Instead, I was in my office, going over my outline one last time, making sure I had my sermon ready.

I consider preaching a tremendous honor.  I always find it remarkable that over 200 people are willing to gather and listen to me talk for 20 minutes.  I understand that there is a lot more than that going on in worship, but it is still a very humbling experience.  As an Associate Pastor, I usually jump at the chance to preach.  It is probably my favorite thing to do in ministry.  Yet on this Sunday, I was a little disappointed.  I did not let this affect my preaching, but I knew I was only available to preach that Sunday because I had fallen short of a goal.

In May I finished a 10-mile run in Chicago.  It was a great experience.  I met my goal of finishing the race in under 100 minutes.  Shortly after the race, I decided that I could go farther.  I set a new goal – run the Quad City Half Marathon.  Up to that point, I had made a habit of crushing goals.  Finish a 5K? Did that in June 2012.  Run a full 5K without walking? October 2012.  Run a 5K in less than 30 minutes? March 2013.  I even won a running trophy in June, something that I had not even considered possible.  I watched the movie “Spirit of the Marathon,” and was convinced that there was nothing that could stop me from the September half-marathon.  “Who knows?” I thought with much gravitas. “After I knock of the half in September, the Chicago marathon will be doable in October.”

Then the summer happened.  Vacation, lack of regular schedule, and various excuses hit me.  The next thing I knew, I had lost a few minutes off of my 5K, gained 10 pounds, and running 13.1 miles seemed impossible again.  I had a pretty good winning streak going, but streaks were made to be snapped right?

It hurts, but this will not defeat me.  I had a setback, but I will continue.  Since writing about my backslide in the middle of the summer, I have gotten back to running and lifting more regularly.  I’m back down five pounds, meaning I’ve kept under my goal weight for seven months.  I have a chest cold right now, so I’m not pushing the cardio-vascular, but I’ve gained strength during my cold.  I signed up for another race next Saturday.  It’s an 8K (roughly 5 miles), a distance I’ve never done.  I’m probably going to run another 5K at the end of October, and my goal is to set another PR.

Getting back to my first question; I think the answer is remarkably similar to what I did all those times I reached my goals.  “What do you do when you reach a goal?” The answer was simple. “Celebrate.  Then catch your breath, lace ’em up, and set another goal.”  What should I do after falling short of my goal?  Reflect. Then forgive myself, lace ’em up, and set another goal.

I didn’t run the Half Marathon, but there will be another.  I’m pretty certain that The Chicago Marathon will be run in 2014, and Chicago is beautiful in October.

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September 26, 2013 · 4:34 pm

Run, Robb, Run!

Running has become a huge part of my life.  Running in official races has been one of the most important factors my transformation.  Since February 2012, I have have gone from 325 pounds to 250 pounds.  In June 2012 I ran my first 5K in just under 36 minutes.  I ran three more in 2012, trimming minutes off of each of my times.  Throughout the winter, I continued to train.  In March 2013 I knocked off almost 5 minutes from my personal best.  All of these races have come within the span of a year.  Eventually this crazy rate of improvement will slow down.

June 2012 – Susan G Kommen Race for the Cure – 36:00 (12 minute mile)

July 2012 – Firecracker 5K – 35:15 (just under 12 minute mile)

August 2012 – Crimestoppers 5K – 33:47 (11 minute mile)

October 2012 – Lagomarcino’s Cocoa Beano 5K – 31:40 (just over 10 minute mile)

March 2013 – St. Patrick’s Day 5K – 26:52 (under a 9 minute mile)

May 2013 – Soldier Field 10 Mile – 1:38.30 (10 minute mile)

The Soldier Field 10 was the most rewarding run yet.  After crossing the finish line I was able to pause for a moment and reflect on what I had just accomplished.  When I registered for the race in January, I had set a goal of finishing in 1:50.00.  By the time of the race, I had moved my goal up to 1:40.00.  I knew that a 10-minute-mile pace was going to be tough.  It was tough, but I made it.

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The workout begins when you want to quit

workout beginsYesterday was my 35th birthday.  It was important to me to get to the gym.  I’ve actually gotten to the point where going to workout is a treat, not a chore.  As I was jogging on the treadmill I set the pace to my usual 5.5 mph.  For the last few weeks I have set it at that pace for the first mile, then set it down to 3.5 for about an eighth of a mile.  Then I finish with long stretches of 5.5 with some 3.5 walking in between.

In the last month I’ve run two 5K races.  My goal at both of them was a 12 minute mile pace, and I achieved that both times.  Now I’m ready to set a new goal.  I want to jog the entire 3.1 miles.  Yesterday as I approached the completion of the first mile, I was preparing to punch the speed down to 3.5.  Then I thought of this saying.

“The workout begins when you want to quit.”

I don’t remember where I first heard that, but it struck a chord.  I realized that for me to improve, I couldn’t keep doing the same thing.  If I want to grow, I have to push through the barriers that I create.  So I kept going.  I was ready to slow down, but I didn’t.  That’s when the workout started.  That is when the growth started.  That is when getting stronger happened.

I pushed through and found myself jogging past 1.25 miles.  Then I thought about stopping.  Again, I had to keep pushing.  When I finally started walking, I had run for 2 miles.  I completed it in 22 minutes – by far my fastest pace for that distance.

A good friend and I have signed up for two more 5K races before Halloween.  I’m hoping to do at least one more.  My goal now is to run a full 5K without slowing down to walk.  The next step is making a two mile jog routine.  The next is to not let the routine be the limit.

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July 10, 2012 · 3:02 pm

5K Results: 1214th overall, 89th in age division, 1st in weight class*

On June 9, 2012, I ran in my first 5K.  I ran as a part of Team Hope in the Susan G. Komen Quad Cities Race for the Cure.  It is something that I’ve been blogging, tweeting, and status updating about a lot in the last few months, so I thought I’d share my experience.

I took my shirt out the night before the race.  I should have been in bed.  I was a little worried because I had just spent the last few days at Annual Conference, at which I did a lot of sitting, a little walking, and no running.  My last run was Monday, and the race was Saturday.  I had hoped to get a run in on Wednesday or Thursday, but I got back to the hotel exhausted each night after conference.  Plus, on Monday night I re-tweaked my knee and strained my calf.  It wasn’t exactly the week of prep I had been hoping for.  I laid out my shirt and bib, drank a few glasses of water, and went to bed shortly before midnight.

At 6:30 my wife and I are up.  We get our girls up, and we arrive at our team’s meeting place at about 7:30.  I had a bunch of glasses of water, and one little breakfast wafer.  I’m worried that isn’t enough food for before a race.  I don’t like to workout on an empty stomach, but the anxiety suppresses my appetite.  There are a few extra things I have to put on – the shoe chip, the number bib, and the “In memory of” paper.  On it, I write simply “Aunt Jean.”

As I walk from our church to the starting line, I start to get emotional.  I see other teams.  Teams with names of survivors.  Teams with names of women that have died.  I see one 10 year-old-boy whose “In Memory of” paper simply says, “Mom.”  I wipe a tear from my eye as I think of all the women that are represented here.  I feel a surge of energy as I think of the women in my life.  I have their power.  My heart starts to race like it did before a football game.  “It’s game day,” I think to myself.  I’m excited.  I’m ready.  I start to think of my Aunt Jean, and I feel a twinge of guilt because I know that I’m not doing this for her.

I am running in memory of her.   I am inspired by her.  I am strengthened by her, but I do not do this for her.  I kiss my daughters as the people that are with them make their way back to the “Strollers” part of the starting area.  I am waiting in the “joggers” section.  If this moment were all about Aunt Jean, I would be with them.  I would walk easily with my girls and hold their hand as we were united in solidarity.  I’ve done that kind of walk before, and I hope to again.  That’s not what this is about.

I am running for myself.  I am running for my life.  I am running because I want to be better, feel better, and live better.  I am running to be a better husband and father.  I am running because I want to see my girls graduate college.  I am running because I want to be a better pastor.  I am running because I want to be a witness, no, I want to be evidence, that transformation is possible.

It hurts a little to think in such a selfish way, but it is true.  On the way to the race, my daughter asked me, “Are you going to win, Daddy?”  I chuckled and said, “No, sweetheart.  It’s not that kind of race.  There will be lots of people that finish before me.”  ”

“Who’s going to win?”

“I don’t know.  I’m not really trying to win.  I’m not trying to beat anybody but myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I only want to beat my old self.”  I’m not sure if she understands when she asks, “So are you going to win?”

“Yes,” I say.  “Yes I am.”

I’m standing with 8,500 others, getting ready to start.  The people are packed in, and there is a lot of energy.  A survivor says some things that I can’t listen to.  The national anthem is sung, and goosebumps raise on my arms.  We start.

The pace is extremely slow at first, and we are a good 100 feet from the starting line.  My wife and I are together as we walk toward the starting line.  She has never gone 5K before.  She’s hoping to finish in an hour.  I’ve done it a few times on the treadmill, and six years ago I ran a 5 mile race in St. Louis, but six years is a very long time.  In February I set a goal of 40 minutes.  I have since updated that goal to a 12 minute mile pace.  It takes awhile to get to the starting line, and when we do we let go of each other’s hands.  I start to jog.

Before the race

The energy at the start of the race is high.  There are bands playing.  There is a high school cheer squad.  There is heavy traffic as I weave between people still walking.  I finally make my way to the edge of the street and try to get into an even pace.  My mouth is full of cotton by the time we reach the first watering station.

When we reach the mile marker, there is a turn-off for those just doing the walk.  I keep going.  My first mile is under 10:30, which is pretty fast for me, and I get a little worried.  Usually when I’m on the treadmill I walk when I get to the first mile.  I keep going.  I might not be doing this for Aunt Jean, but I can feel her power.  I push and tell myself to keep going.

It is a fairly hot day, so I decide to jog on the shady side of the street.  I’m astonished at how many people continue to line the course.  We pass another band.  We pass some front yards, and I give high-fives to a bunch of people as I jog by.  I pause for 30 seconds to walk at one water stand.  I pass a guy in a clown suit cheering us on.  I pass an extremely large woman hip-hop dancing and cheering with a microphone.  We run through a Mexican neighborhood, and people are on their porches playing Latin music cheering us on.  The support may seem silly, but it helps.  I know I’m not alone.

I pass the second mile marker at about 22:30, 1:30 ahead of my 12 minute mile goal.  It starts to hurt.  I walked twice for a total of 45 seconds in my first two miles, but we make a turn and head directly into the sun.  After a short time I start to wonder how they picked a course that is uphill both ways.  I walk more.  I jog more.  I see the really good runners doubling back, running against traffic just for fun, I guess.  “Show offs,” I mumble between heavy breaths.  I walk more.  Every time I start to walk I see my girls.  I jog more.  I see their smiles.  I remember my oldest daughter counting out my sit-ups at the gym when she was two.  I tell myself “you are strong enough.”  I tell myself, “For them.”

At the end of the long straight away there is a turn, and  the third mile marker.  I’m at about 35 minutes.  I have something left.  I stop jogging, and I start running.  I run hard.  I kick my legs, and as I make another quick turn I see the finish line.  Now I am flying.  A woman next to me starts to run too.  We cross at about the same time.  The official clock reads 37 minutes, but I know it took at least a minute to get to the starting line.  Somehow I reset my stopwatch during my final kick, so I’ll never really know my exact time, but I know it is right at a 12 minute mile pace.

I almost collapse at the end.  I catch my breath, grab a cookie, and a bottle of water.  I want to hug my daughters.  I want to tell them that I won.  Instead, I grab an extra water bottle and turn around.  I go back to the final 50 yards and wait.  I don’t cheer anyone on because I have no energy left.  Then I see her come around the turn. I go to her and take her hand briefly and say, “You can do this. We can do this,” and she nods.

She starts to jog again.  I jog alongside her.  Now she can see the finish line, and she starts to run.  I run alongside her.   She runs harder then I’ve ever seen her run.  We started this thing together.  We finish it together.  I give her the bottle of water, and she drinks.  She catches her breath, and we hug.  For a moment I think we’re both going to collapse.  We just lean into each other and cry.

We finished the race.  We met our goals (she crushed hers – she actually finished at a 15 minute mile pace).  We have done so much more.  We have transformed our lives.  We have changed our bodies.  Together, we’ve lost about 60 pounds.  Together, our clothes don’t fit quite the same.  Together, we are healthier and stronger.  We started this thing together, we still have a long way to go, but I know that we are going to finish it together too.

After.

Eventually, we find our daughters.  They aren’t too keen on hugging us because we’re soaked in sweat, but they both accept a couple of salty kisses.

My oldest asks me, “Daddy, did new, strong, healthy Robb beat old, unhealthy, fat Robb?”

“Yes,” I say, and I laugh because I know she gets it.  “Yes he did.”

*There actually are no rankings for weight class, but if there were – I’m pretty sure I would have won the 275 pounds and over category.

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