The First 100 Pounds (11 - 20)

The standard warnings still apply: I'm still not a medical professional, and I don't pretend that this is some sort of program. It's what I did, what I do, and what has worked for me. It doesn't even necessarily make sense. Your mileage may vary, and your doctor should have a say in the matter. What the hell do I know about this? I'm a poet, people. Get professional advice.

I also want to remind you (and myself) that some of these realizations/developments/changes were 16 months or more in the making. Process, process, process.

If you want to start from the beginning, you can do so here. Or you can move on to 11 – 20:

11. I HONOR MY DAYS OFF.

If I take a day off, I take it OFF. I don't take a lot of them (usually one every two or three weeks, although sometimes as often as once a week), but when I do, I don't decide that I'm going to take a little walk that turns into a long walk or an easy jog. This doesn’t mean that I'm a giant slug all day, but if I'm taking the day off, I'm doing so because I need the rest. I could say the same thing for cross-training: I don't sneak running into my cross-training days because the muscles I use for running need a chance to rebuild and strengthen (which happens during rest, not during the workout). Oh, by the way

12. I CROSS-TRAIN.

Yoga, hill walking, swimming, crunches, push-ups. I don't do all of these on the same day, but one or more of them are usually involved, and I'm okay with making it up as I go along.

13. I KEEP A PAIR OF WALKING SHOES UNDER MY DESK AT WORK

Because it's nice to just get the hell outside once in a while. I work at a lovely campus, and I sometimes unexpectedly have 15 or 20 free minutes in my schedule—just long enough to put on a pair of sneakers and  pop outside for a quick mile. I don't try to build a sweat or raise my heart rate, and it's fine with me if I'm so busy that I can't get outside that day. But if I can, it's lovely. It's more reviving than a cup of coffee, and it will actually help me sleep better rather than screwing up my sleep cycle with caffeine.

14. I GET THE RIGHT GEAR

(But not too much of it.) It's easy to get into outfit-buying mode. Or gadget-buying mode. I find I'm happier with a basic amount of gear, but I can still see myself going crazy—and I expect to have to fight the urge a little more once my sizes are consistent. At this point, I usually still shrink out of clothes before I can wear them out, so spending a lot of money on clothes—even for running—feels extremely wasteful to me. At the beginning, I picked up a couple of pairs of wicking capris (EVERYTHING I wear on a run—except shoes—is made of moisture-wicking materials. I'm generally an all-natural-fibers kind of girl, but trust me on this one: when it comes to running, cotton is Of The Devil. You can thank me later) and a couple of wicking t-shirts. I got 2 running bras and a 6-pack of wicking socks. I've added to the collection since then, because things wear out or get too big, and because I live in New England with its challenging climate, and also because I stepped up my workouts from three days a week to six or seven as I got stronger and I just didn't want to do laundry that often. But to start? I stuck with the basics.

15. I WEAR GOOD SHOES

That meant going to a running store, talking about what I'm doing, and getting fitted. Good shoes changed my running life. And if you think the people there won't take you seriously, you're wrong—or you need a different store. I weighed over 250 pounds when I got my first pair of real running shoes (Brooks Defyance—stupid spelling, but the right shoe for me). I wish I hadn't waited so long, but I just wasn't confident enough that I'd be seen as a runner. The woman there asked, "For running or walking?" and that was it. I volunteered some information: I have very wide feet; my long run at the time was 6 miles; I hadn't had any knee problems or anything else from the running (which surprised me, since I had knee problems in high school, never mind as a morbidly obese woman in her 40s). She watched my feet as I walked away from her and then back to her in the store, and we tried on some shoes. Then she watched me run in them, and I bought the Brooks. The cool thing about it? She treated me like a runner. When she asked questions, they weren't born of disbelief but of a desire to help me get the best shoes I could for my gait, my feet, my routine, and my weight.

The salesperson might toss around words like "over-pronation" or "supination" or whatever. Don't worry about that. If you answer their questions, they'll get you the right shoe. And if I don't like it, or it doesn't work for me, my store will take the shoes back (not all stores will). At this point, I could order my shoes online, but I'm not going to. That one woman at that one store earned herself a customer for life, and you should expect the same experience. If you don't get it, go to another store.

16. I REPLACE MY SHOES OFTEN

I read a lot of different opinions about when I could/should replace my shoes. Every 300 miles. Every six months at the outside. No, that's ridiculous—I should be able to get twice as much mileage out of my shoes as what the companies want me to believe. Blah, blah, blah. Everyone has a different opinion. My first pair of shoes lasted pretty much exactly six months. I wasn't keeping a running total of my mileage at that point, and I'm too lazy to go add it up now, but my mileage was pretty low. I also, as I mentioned, weighed 250 pounds. What I weighed, how often I ran, the way I ran—all of these things affected, and continue to affect, how long a pair of shoes will last. My second pair of shoes didn't last anywhere near as long. I'd bumped up my running to four days a week instead of three, and three of those days were consecutive, so the shoes didn't have much time to rest in between uses. I'd bumped my mileage way up, too, and my long run was sometimes twice as long as it was when I bought my first pair. So when I went for my third pair of shoes, I bought two—both neutral, from different manufacturers. I'm sticking with my Brooks, but I added a pair of Asics while I was at it. My hope is that having two pairs in rotation will help them last longer, but we'll see.

The thing is, I knew I needed new shoes because I developed a pain in my right knee. It started as discomfort at the ball of my foot while I was running, and showed up in my daily life as pain in my knee. When I got new shoes, the pain went away. Is it expensive? Kind of. Is it worth it? Absolutely. Now I keep track of when I buy my shoes, and I track my mileage. I also keep in mind that the outside of the shoe might look perfectly fine—it can still be breaking down on the inside.

17. I WASH ON HOT AND HANG IT DRY

In other news, I don't put my running clothes in the dryer. Some runners hand-wash their gear, but I've learned that I sweat enough that a hand-washing just ain't gonna do it. I bought some mesh lingerie bags and I put my running clothes in them and toss them in the wash on hot with the towels. The bags protect the clothes from getting worn down and drying them on a rack helps keep the elastic intact.

18. I WEAR ANTI-FRICTION, UM, STUFF

I don't know what to call it. Balm? A common brand is Body Glide, but my supermarket carries the Gold Bond brand, so I use that. It goes on like stick deodorant, and you can put it wherever you're worried about friction. Runners use it on their toes, their thighs, places where the seams of their clothing might rub, stuff like that. I generally use it where my bra band hits my ribs, and I only need it for long runs. Sweat + friction + time = ouch. If you've got friction issues, you'll know it as soon as you get in the shower, if not during the run itself. It's easily solved. Balm is not expensive, but I would pay twice as much for it if I had to (don't tell the Gold Bond people).

19. I TAKE THE STAIRS

Most of the time. My rule of thumb is five flights down or three flights up. If it's more than that, I'm 100% pro-elevator, but most of the stairs I encounter fall under those guidelines. There are other exceptions—if I'm wearing shoes that make stairs dangerous, or if it's a million degrees and I'm trying to get somewhere important without looking like I drowned, or if I'm carrying so much weight in my briefcase that I risk dislocating a shoulder even on a flat surface, then fine. I'll elevate. Generally, though, stairs. It's not about the exercise—I don't expect that taking the stairs is going to allow me to drop five extra pounds this year, and even if it does, five pounds a year is not exactly motivational. It's about having a different attitude toward moving my body. Movement is not a chore. It's what I was designed to do, and I'm happier if I do it.

20. I MAKE IT A PRIORITY

Sometimes, I have to schedule my life around my workout. It's a pain, but it's how I keep myself on track. If I don't prioritize it, it won't get done. Something else is bound to come up. There are days where I get up early to get a walk in. Other days, I just need to know what the schedule is. My husband's out of the house two nights a week, so on those days, I tend to run in the early evening, while he's gone—but if someone wants to meet me for dinner, I get the run in earlier. I'm flexible, but the workout—especially on a running day—needs to happen. Running complicates things further by requiring a certain amount of fuel. I need to be well-fed, but not so recently that I risk nausea (or worse). A long run can take several hours, between eating, changing, running, cooling down, refueling, cleaning up. I can accomplish other things during some of that time (it's not like I have to sit in my living room, staring into space, while I wait for my breakfast to digest), but it takes organization and scheduling. If I were a more casual runner—three miles, say, three times a week—it wouldn't be as big a deal. But the longer my runs get, the more I have to think things through. So that's what I do.