"Hey, fatso! Get out of the way!" a voice yelled as I pushed through the crowd heading into a concert. How rude, I thought, feeling sorry for the target of his nastiness. And then the truth kicked me in my size-16 rear: He was talking to me—I was the fatso!
Me, the once hard-bodied, soccer-playing girl who had moved to Boulder, CO, for college 12 years ago; got addicted to skiing, rock-climbing, and hiking; and eventually called it home. Me, who'd quit my pack-a-day habit so I could run faster, only to gain 15 pounds in 6 months. Me, who'd put on almost 40 more by staying in a relationship that was so miserable I ate my way through it.
It had been easy to ignore my weight. After all, I was still running and competing in mountain bike races, but the truth was, after a 20-minute jog, I was so wiped out that I'd retreat to the couch and do my favorite exercise: powerlifting a bag of Doritos and a pint of ice cream.
At the end of 1999, my boyfriend and I broke up, and alone at a New Year's Eve party surrounded by cute, thin people, I forced myself to face the facts: I was fit but fat. Even though I loved exercising, I hated dieting, and this is where it had gotten me. I downed a few Cosmos and some fudge, and the pity party was over: I was ready to get slim.
I joined a gym that had a much-buzzed-about trainer, Marcus Eave. (It was impossible not to notice the perfectly sculpted muscles his clients displayed.) I finally snagged a coveted spot in his Spinning class and concluded that even on my sales-job salary, springing for his $80-per-hour private sessions once a week would be worth it.
Proving Myself
"I can't take you on," Marcus said, when I asked him to be my trainer. He only had time for clients who were really committed to getting in shape. Apparently, he didn't think I was, and I hadn't been at the gym enough to prove otherwise. I glanced at a woman parading around in fab fitness wear, and thought, If she can be a member of the buff-client club, so can I. It almost killed me, but I exercised every day for 2 weeks and cut back my calories. When I showed up 5 pounds lighter, Marcus said, "Okay, you're in." His prescription: cross-training, to build up my strength and stamina. My drill was to work out five times a week, whether strength training or running and biking out in the foothills.
What I'd lacked before was consistency. I'd go 10 days between workouts. Now I was going to be lifting weights and doing cardio 5 hours a week. As an athlete, I could handle this challenge. I was less sure of his diet suggestions. I'd convinced myself I could eat anything if I worked out hard and threw in the occasional crash diet.Marcus explained why my strategy wasn't working: It was almost impossible for me to burn off as many calories as I was taking in each day unless I made exercise my job.
Clean Machine
The diet I'd begun was a start, Marcus said. I'd eliminated sugar, but if I wanted to really lose weight for good, I'd have to make more permanent changes. He pushed me to eat five or six small meals a day—rather than three large ones—to curb cravings.
Moving in Slow Motion
I was all geared up to start shedding pounds, and nothing happened. I wasn't losing a thing! Where were the 5-pounds-a-week losses I was used to from my crash diets? I wanted to try it my way again, but Marcus kept insisting I eat. "Give it time," he said. I visualized his thin clients and agreed. I outlined my meal plans and prepared preportioned snacks of raw almonds or cashew butter and ZonePerfect bars so that I could fuel up on minimeals all week.
After a couple months, I definitely felt fitter. I loved impressing Marcus by doing a one-armed push-up off a medicine ball, but the slight changes in my shape were barely registering, which made it, at times, very difficult to resist sweets.
For a long time, the experience remained more about the journey than the destination. It took months of hard work for the 2 pounds I was losing each month to become noticeable to me or anybody else.
A Thinner, Fitter Me
Half a year later, I got my reward at long last. I was in a dressing room and realized that for the first time since college, I had choices. That first glimpse of success gave me the resolve I needed to keep at it. Now, 5 years later, there's no fatso in sight. I've gone from a size 16 to an 8. I've lost 42 pounds, shaved more than 2 minutes off my mile time, and packed on a lot of sleek, toned muscle. That's not to say that it's over. My get-fit journey continues—and will for the rest of my life.
Via health.yahoo.com
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