Long-time Listener, First-time Caller

[anaelle]

Well, this seems to be the place for introductions, so here we go.

 

My name is Anaelle - not my real name, but my nom de internet for more than a decade on an assortment of games and forums. I'm a gamer (though not as much now as I'd like to be), a life-long sci-fi/fantasy fan, and in general an incorrigible nerd.

 

I think my story will sound fairly typical, in some regards. I was stick-thin and nonathletic throughout my youth, constantly exhorted by my relatives to eat more so that I wouldn't waste away to nothing, or at least so I'd fill up the tapeworm. I joined the Air Force straight out of high school, and barely hit the minimum required weight for women - and I got through basic training just on stubbornness and the fact that it doesn't take much muscle to push a feather through PT, because I certainly didn't have much. And then... a decade happened. An extremely sedentary job, years straight of rotating shift work, lots of alcohol, no concept of healthy eating, and an utter lack of self-care led me staring at myself in the mirror, wondering where and when I'd suffocated the tapeworm and put on seventy pounds.

 

I was 27, 5'4", 170 lb and climbing, barely scraping through PT tests, and coughing like a life-time smoker though I'd never had a drag in my life. I was wearing dumpy men's clothing because it fit better, went through four sizes of uniform in as many years, and my shoes went up a size from unnoticed, constant swelling - but none of that even clued me in past my denial. It was, instead, a doctor's visit. I mentioned that my feet were constantly numb and falling asleep, and the doctor simply stared at me and said, matter of factly: "Well, at your weight, I'd expect that."

 

Over the last two years, I've cleaned up. I went to a trainer for a six months, concentrating on body-weight exercise, and consistently track my meals on MyFitnesspal - a process that finally taught me what a portion size is, and that it's okay to leave food on your plate if you're finished. I eventually left the trainer and have kept it up solo, in part thanks to the routines and advice found on here. I'm down to a steady plateau of 145lb, out of the military, and in treatment to manage what turned out to be adult-onset asthma. My biggest success is maintaining my weight, even when I go months without tracking my food - junk just doesn't taste good anymore. 

 

However, I'm still not there yet. I'm not strong, and my aerobic/cardiovascular health is still shaky, at best. My workouts are nowhere as consistent as my clean eating, so I haven't gained any new abilities along the way. I could blame this on a million excuses - night-shift schedule, allergies, moving twice, etc. etc... but ultimately, however, I know what I've done wrong.  I have been going at this alone for two years -  I am the very image of an introvert, and even internet forums seem like going out on a limb about something so personal as this. My friends and coworkers are either uninterested in fitness or in supporting me, or they are rabidly competitive Crossfit fanatics who pursue their goals and converts with religious zeal. There's nothing wrong with that, but it is most definitely not for me. I'm happiest alone, because even the most light-hearted of cheerleading grates on me when I'm trying to find the strength for the next breath, much less find 'the zone.' I have a small home gym and some hiking trails nearby and all is good... but then, here I am. Why?

 

Because I finally found a goal. (And thus justification to delurk.) Once I hit my goal weight (as slightly sloppy and jiggly as it still is), I couldn't wrap my mind around this dress size or that body fat percentage as a new goal. I thought that being free of the cardio-centric AF PT test would mentally free me to take up heavy lifting, but there's always an excuse.

 

Instead, last spring, I went to Yosemite National Park and found it. As I stood on the valley floor, somewhere deep within, the shriveled ghost of John Muir-slash-Radagast the Brown woke up, and pointed at the distant granite top of Half Dome, and said "There."

 

On that trip, my best was a a little bit past the top of Vernal Falls, where I stopped at the base of Nevada Falls and cried (and wheezed) because of the impossibility of going on, up the sheer switchbacks - and that was, quite frankly, 600 steep granite steps further than I ever thought I could go. 

 

I have always, always been cynical of those who set goals. It has always seemed like setting yourself up for failure. But this burns at me like the One Ring; my heart soars and tears sting my eyes when I look at pictures of the mountain. However, I think I finally realize: the difference between Frodo and Gollum was nothing inherently special - it was the fellowship. 

 

So, if you've made it this far, thank you for reading. Next stop is, I think, the Six Week Challenge boards. 

 

-Ana