The Space Around My Midsection

Liminal Spaces, Issue 2, Volume 1

Future Thief: Episode Number 78

I lost 55 lbs. nearly 10 years ago. It’s a strange thing to say. Nobody loses weight like we lose our car keys. “Honey, where did my fat go?” “Oh, sweetie, it’s right on the counter where it’s always been.” I found half of that weight again at the beginning of this year, but I wasn’t really looking for it. It just appeared.

I know that’s not true even though it can seem that way. The donuts I ate by the handful, combined with 14 hours of the day sitting may have been a contributing factor. Don’t blame the tuxedo chocolate cake. It’s an obviously innocent party in all of this. Stress, lack of sleep, life circumstances, pure unadulterated laziness; let’s face the facts, there’s a lot of ways I found the weight again.

But this isn’t really about how I found the weight. Most people don’t struggle to visualize the number on the scale ascending to record new heights. This is about how I started running — again — to finally lose the weight and get back in shape — again — and look good in my skivvies — again. It’s about how I found joy in an activity I once hated with a passion, and how I intend to keep it. 

Nefarious Motivating Factors

It’s a murky liminal space to be in, three years away from age 50, the dreaded half-way point to an eternal dirt nap. More so than age 40, it’s a questionable time to consider what’s been accomplished, and where retirement will lead in the second half of life. For me it’s a time to look in the mirror and realize if I’m going to make lifestyle changes, it has to happen now. It only gets harder moving forward.

The getting harder part primes the pump for running. It never motivated me. Being in poor health, wheezing after climbing up the stairs, feeling depressed or lethargic. None of that motivates. A friend many years ago suggested I should see a doctor more often. “Don’t you want to be around for a long time for your family?” she asked. “No, I want to look good in my skivvies,” I said. Of course, that’s not what I said. I probably mumbled, “sure,” but that’s not what I was thinking.

I do want to be around for my family, but death is a negative reinforcement. Late in life I realized I don’t do negative reinforcement. Most people don’t, and yet as productive members of society, we continue to use it to bludgeon our fellow man. We’re told not to steal because we could go to jail, and we all know crime doesn’t pay, except for in circumstances where it does and you get away with it. It’s better to tell people what’s possible when we’re not busy stealing. We can accomplish significant things and should be encouraged to do so.

Ten years ago, running a 5K became my first significant thing. Actually, running a mile became my first significant thing. Alright, fine, it was only a half-mile and it was on the treadmill, and I felt terrible with every attempt. But I was motivated by the potential of it all. The number on the scale helped. Each trend downward became another significant thing. Those were positive acknowledgments of progress.

The problem is I reached all of my goals. I ran a 5K, achieved my aspirational weight and became a healthier husband and father as a result. What a strange problem to have. The motivation for what it was, served its purpose. Then, like a crazed stalker ex-girlfriend promising a life of heart shaped donuts, the weight showed back up at my door. It found me.

Back to the Skivvies

In March of this year, when I recommitted to running, it didn’t get easier. Just as predicted my old man's body relented, struggling to understand why I would not simply give in to the temptation of comfortable living. I had knee problems, so I bought a brace until the muscles in my legs were strong enough to provide support. After I stopped wearing the brace, I got bad shin splints. For months, I compressed my ankle while fighting the pain, some weeks not running at all to help it heal.

Toward the end of the summer my legs were finally strong enough to support my slowly dwindling weight and my calves morphed into chiseled stone to be admired by Greek sculptors. My wife, who is the real runner, registered us for a 10K Halloween run at the end of October. It will be our 22-year wedding anniversary celebration, which we will kick off by running alongside ninja turtles, nurses and probably a few ghouls and goblins.

It’s possible I’ll be down to my new and old goal weight by race time and I don’t presently doubt my ability to finish. I run 4-5 miles every other day, which has prepared me for the spooky endeavor. However, there is a nagging feeling in my gut. When the race is done, the scale tips in my favor and I declare victory, what more will there be to motivate me?  Will I find the weight again, lapse into an Idaho-potato vegetative state and let myself go softly and squishily into that good night?

With confidence, the answer is no. While my previous and current goals are important, there is an aged wisdom that tells me the best motivations are intrinsic. To put it bluntly, nobody knows how I feel in my skivvies but me. The numbers on the scale don’t lie, and some health conditions are measurable indicators of poor health, but the best motivation is the one driven by an internal force. I want to “look better” and “feel better” in combination with objectively knowing I’m healthy.

Tiger Stance

Much of my early life was spent crafting the image of a person that pleased others. Not because I had a true desire to please them. I didn’t have a great vision of who I was, or what I could offer the world. My nature mutated into whatever traits people thought I should be composed of, leaving little room for self-discovery. The slow progress toward improvement meant I could not deflect external influences or motivations and unduly relied upon them. Those days are over.

I still have self-doubt. Exercising, losing weight, or anything difficult worth doing is best faced with some encouragement. When people take notice of changes I’m making for my own benefit it helps solidify my resolve. Recently, as I was about to step out for a run under the cover of darkness, my son asked, “You’re going now?!?” I said, “Yes, sometimes you just have to go.” He responded by slapping me on the rear and said, “Go get ‘em tiger!” My daughter, not to be outdone, says to my wife on occasion, “Aren’t you proud of your man, getting all in shape?” Encouragement.

Being in this space is an interesting place because it exists absent an end state. Even though our health declines generally as we get older, our ability to experience contentment doesn’t end on the scale or after running a 10K. Our motivations can remain resilient, even as life shifts chaotically, throwing obstacles in our path or when we’re faced with setbacks. The sooner we forge a path of consistent effort, the easier it will be to overcome no matter our age.

Go get ‘em tiger!