Becoming Michelangelo

Warning: monumental achievements about to be discussed!

I remember hearing a story about Michelangelo, who was a sculptor long before he completed two of my favorite works of art (reproductions of which hang in my home)--The Last Judgement and the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

It was said that he would look at a blocks of marble and find the statue that was already waiting inside. I believe it was when he was selecting the marble for his iconic statue of David that he had to go to quarry after quarry until he finally found the block of stone meant to become the work. Then, he said, he just had to cut away the stone until that which had always been there was revealed.

A final product, illuminated, from a recent bike ride.

I'm finally at the point where I feel like I'm becoming Michelangelo. After losing 110 pounds, I can see what is left to be stripped away. I know, in the process, that I will also add some muscle. I'm curious to see what the final product will actually look like, but I'm getting to the point where I can start to see what was meant to be all along.

It's been a long, hard process during the past two years, and the anniversary of making this radical change in my life is May 8, the day after my birthday. In the past six months, I've had to come to grips with several realizations:

Feeling as fragile as the cherry blossoms ...

1. There was a reason why I felt so incredibly fragile for several months. It's a common thing amongst people who come close to halving their weight. You see it on The Biggest Loser, and also in blogs like mine. A friend shared a blog of someone who lost more weight than I ever will, and she railed against the idea that there is an "after" to the weight loss journey. The full blog post, which is very, very real and emotionally raw is here.

What I know is that I am proud of this woman for what she has accomplished, and her concerns are very real: just because you lose this much weight and achieve your goal doesn't guarantee happiness. You are still who you were, with the same emotions, psychological and intellectual gifts and challenges, and the same family of origin and other dynamics you started the process with. You weigh less, and people react to you differently. Unless you change beyond those superficial characteristics, it doesn't change you, except superficially.

Sometimes our lives our like landscapes, beautiful, but barren.

I am equally proud of her for insisting that no one bash who she was before because it is still her. I'm willing to bet there is more discipline in her life and she can do things she couldn't do before, but she's still the block of marble she started with, just shaped differently.

2. I'm convinced that the reason people don't keep the weight off (and this is a concern that has been voiced to me many times during the journey) is that they don't change what got them there in the first place.

Some changes are meant to be seasonal ...

They view the "change" as a temporary "diet" that gets them to a goal so they can go back to what they did before ... which gets the same result. That, and when they hit the point that they're no longer comfortable with what they see in  the mirror, they're not willing to work to adapt to the new reality. Also, how others treat you becomes subtly different and if you don't re-establish yourself, it can be very easy to go back to what was once comfortable.

 3. Permanent change doesn't happen unless you accept where you've been, in all its glory and all its mess.

Glorious first-place triathlon shirt

The glory part is the accomplishment of losing all the weight, doing the 5Ks, the 10Ks, the loaded bike camping trip, the century bike ride, the triathlons, and yes, finally placing first amongst all of the women for the first time in an indoor sprint triathlon (and 7th overall among more than 80 competitors, full results here). All the great tales, fun experiences, and entertaining reactions from friends old and new.

Then, there's the mess. You see, I had a lot of mess in my life--bad eating habits I had grown up with, eating to handle stress because that was the stress-defense mechanism modeled for me for years, never being exposed to much exercise beyond walking. These were habits that had to be broken one at a time. I had to learn better general nutrition, portion sizes, and now how to eat based on my workouts. I had to learn how to handle stress without eating my way through it, and how to reduce the stress in my life coming from both past and present situations. And I had to learn how to work out in different ways and embrace different types of exercise to make progress.

Sometimes, you can't see the forest for the trees;
admittedly, this is a rather pretty forest

But, above all else, there was a main reason I ate that had to be addressed. I hit a point in my life a decade ago where certain unresolved issues from the past had to be resolved. The issues were not of my making, but I had to unmake the consequences. It took years of counseling and hard work. During that time, I knew I had no right to be in a relationship with anyone and I turned to food as my "comfort" and told myself I didn't need to be attractive anyway because I needed to deal with what I was dealing with and food was the least destructive out.

Notice that phrase: least destructive. Not healthy, not neutral, not non-destructive,  but least destructive. Regardless of what was done to me, or what hand I was dealt in life, focusing on taking comfort in food was my own personal choice. In reality, no one held a gun to my head and forced me to eat. No one else was responsible for the 50+ pounds I gained at that time. It was all me and my choices. They were bad choices. It doesn't matter that there were worse choices available (a lot of people around me were doing drugs or being promiscuous as a way of dealing with similar issues), they were still not healthy. Even if I hadn't ever exercised more, if I had simply not eaten as much, I would have saved myself a great deal of time and effort now. I am undoing the result of my own deliberate actions. And that was something I had to face up to during Holy Week this Lent. Funny how after that I finally hit the 110 pounds lost mark. Raced across it, in fact.

First place flowers--thanks to Dave!

And, after six months of feeling oh-so-fragile, I finally started feeling like myself again. The old, kick-butt Rosemary that started this crazy venture so long ago and yet so recently. The woman who knew it was daunting but also knew she would never ever give up because it was finally time to put all the old ghosts in their place and for the phoenix to rise from the flames and ashes.

So here I am, becoming Michelangelo in the home stretch. Not because it's what the world expects. Not because it's what someone else finds attractive. Not to get a different response from the men around me (or the women, for that matter). Not to put anyone else in their place or look down on anyone. Not to place myself above anyone else or to hate the me that used to be.

I'm doing this because my life is a gift from God and I want to make manifest His grace in my life. I want the me that He sees to be freed from the rock of the past. I want the people around me to see what a striking cooperation with grace looks like.

If I wind up with battle scars from the process, so be it. Even Christ had wounds on His glorified body after the Resurrection. He didn't make the past not happen, He glorified His wounds so everyone could see the triumph of grace over sin.

I want that to be the living legacy of this journey; that it is possible, through grace, for all things to be made new. Even, and perhaps especially, me.

In the Midst of a Lifestyle Change ...

"So, when's the next one?" That's the question I got asked by the former coworker who dropped by work today when I told him the results of my latest triathlon. I came in 5th again, by less than 2 points. But the story of the hour was the swimming portion of the event.

The last time I blogged, I was very disappointed with the overall swim experience, where I completed 17 laps, and initially felt like it was a major setback until I found out that the pool was measured in meters instead of yards, and therefore was longer than what I was used to. This time, I emailed the race director in advance and found out that the pool would be metric. I wasn't overly happy about it, but I was determined to do the best I could, regardless.

This time, I focused very hard on staying in control while I was swimming, and particularly staying in control of my breathing. Instead of panicking after the first 200 meters and losing at least a lap's worth of time swimming with my head above the water or clinging to the side of the pool to catch my breath, I forced myself to be very regular with my stroke and not to sprint until I had finished at least 300 meters (12 laps). I ended with 20 laps. In metric pool. I was very happy.

I'm the one doing the dolphin impression on the right,
in the same lane as the woman who placed 4th.

My bike and my run were not quite as strong as in events past, but conquering the swim was a major accomplishment and a way of measuring significant progress.

Not all progress can be measured by numbers. I was in the break room preparing my lunch at work the other day. One of my newer coworkers commented on how everyone was eating greasy takeout that smelled really good except me. I said, "I don't eat that anymore, but, believe me, I want to." He asked, "Are you in the middle of a dietary change?" Before I could answer, another coworker piped up and said, "You have to understand--she's lost more than 100 pounds. She's not in the middle of a dietary change, she's in the midst of a lifestyle change." I guess consistency pays, and even gets noticed by the people I manage ... It was a really good conversation to be a part of.

The other "lifestyle change" moment I had was tonight, shopping for my Easter dress, but I think that will be time for a celebratory post later on.

So, my next stop athletically will be to put the same run and bike I had at the beginning of the year together with the swim I just did. I'll be working on that between now and the next one. Which, by the way, is April 26th.

Triathlon Results: the Danger of "Should"

I completed another indoor triathlon this weekend. I'll be honest, I wasn't initially very happy with the results. I swam 17 laps, biked 9.36, and ran 2.24 miles in the times allotted (10 minutes, 30 minutes, and 20 minutes).

The reason I was frustrated was that I had done the same swim last year with the same results, and it seemed like I should have done better this year. Last year, I had biked 8.3 miles and ran 1.79 miles, so both of those numbers were significantly better. But, my concern was that, in January, my swim was 20 laps, with a bike of 9.5 miles and a run of 2.39 miles.

Much later that day, I found out that the main difference was that the pool, in addition to having a composition of far more salt water than I usually swim in, was also measured in meters, rather than yards, so it was several feet longer per lap than what I had trained in. That resulted in far more muscle tiredness going into the other events, in addition to my having a couple of laps where I just had trouble swimming well because I could feel the strain and didn't know what was going on. When I went to the chiropractor this week, he had to reset my shoulder blades for the first time because of how hard I had pulled while swimming, so I certainly hadn't slacked off.

2015 Results

However, I didn't know any of this immediately after the triathlon and I just felt like I had failed. That I had done worse than I had before, even though I had an extra eight weeks of training. And it hurt emotionally because of what I thought I "should" have been able to do.

I had a conversation at work with someone who was brand new and someone who has known me for four years. In that conversation, I had reflected back to me just how much I had changed in the past two years: eating habits, flexibility, exercise habits, and all the athletic events I had done.

2014 Results

Two years ago, I wouldn't have even dreamed of a triathlon as a possibility, as something that was even open to someone like me. Now, I'm targeting improvements in successive events over a three-month period. And I "should" be doing that because I'm continuing to work toward other goals.

But "should" is a most dangerous word, and I've known that before. A lot of people get caught up in what their childhood "should" have been, or what their relationships or work "should" be. And I am remembering again words that I heard for the first time about 16 years ago from a fabulous boss who was also a priest, "The perfect is the enemy of the good."

What he meant was that many people look down on being good because it's not perfect. They won't do what's better because it isn't what is best. And that's the trap of thinking about what "should" be.

I don't mean that goals aren't important. They certainly are; and without them, I wouldn't be over 100 lbs lighter than I was two years ago. And I will continue to strive for what I think the best version of me looks like, feels like, and can accomplish. But, at the same time, part of my Lenten practice needs to be a detachment from what "should" be because that will only torture me. I can focus on what is, look at what can be, and work toward making that a reality. Without beating myself up for what "should have been", what "should be", "where I should be by now", or any of the other "should" statements that lead to stress rather than progress.

In the meantime, let's celebrate one really great thing: the year vs. year difference in the triathlon pictures. Because a picture is worth a thousand words, and the whole story is not in the numbers:

2014, featuring a friend who cheered me on!

2015: good, if not perfect

Do I Know Me?

Ok, so I'll admit. It finally happened to me. I looked at myself in a photo and didn't realize it was me.

Can you find me?

Mind you, it was a group photo, and I was in the background. But, I had also been tagged. So, I really have no excuse. Especially to need to use the tag to find myself.

I was at a ski weekend retreat.  Two years ago, I didn't know how to ski and I wouldn't have dreamed I would ever even try it. Let alone ski through 12 inches of newly falling snow, snow fog, and ride an alpine roller coaster. I assumed skiing was a sport for the rich, the fit, or both. Now, I've skied double-black slopes and I own my own equipment and a frequent skier discount card (which greatly reduces the cost). It wasn't lost on me this weekend (especially as I sang and conducted a small group for Mass) that I literally would not have been there had it not been for all the changes in my life over the past two years. And I am so grateful for all of that.

Relaxing in the hot tub while watching the snow fall on Saturday night (yeehah!), a friend said, "Look at all you've done in the past year. And it's not an act. It's really you." Yes, it is really me. And it's been so much change so fast, that sometimes it's good to hear that come back from the outside. Especially from someone who has watched so much of the progress.

The first night of the retreat, I received a rather pointed question, "Since you're such an attractive woman and you have such a great personality, how come there is no mister in your life?" The compliment was not lost on me. For a moment, I thought through the answer and then honestly responded, "I gave a lot of my life to the Church. Then, I had to spend a lot of time learning to take care of myself and take care of some issues that I really didn't want to bring into a relationship." The weight was the visible sign of those things that were out of order on the inside. And I only started this journey after a lot of work on the core issues, which is what causes most people to rebound. The only way to make the change permanent, was to permanently change.

It's still not perfect, and the Lenten temptations to stress and be afraid are alive and well. But the progress is there to be seen, even in going to renew a yearly license today and seeing the difference in the photos year over year.

So, here's to new experiences at the start of a season of change. I wonder what other permanent changes it will bring ...

Bits and Pieces (or How Dancing Changes Perspective)

There are moments in my life in which past, present, and future converge. I had a recent experience with that at a dance.

Looking at the past, I've had some common experiences with most people who are overweight. In one way or another, words, actions, and events stole bits and pieces of my soul. People who wrestle with their weight know what I mean: being chosen last for a softball game as a kid, having trouble getting off the couch, people interacting with you and speaking of you differently because of how you look, having to make different vacation choices and plans because there are things you simply can't do. Because of the eating decisions you made, often in response to things that were far, far worse than was apparent on the outside.

I recently went to a dance where suddenly, a lot of things changed. As I was checking in for the dance, the woman running the event looked me over from head to toe. This has not been a common experience in my life, and for a moment I even wondered what it meant. Next up were the comments from the other women at the dance. Complete strangers came up to me to compliment the red dress I was wearing and to ask me where I got my dancing shoes. I even had one woman in the bathroom comment on my hair clip. Apart from the dress, these were all items I had worn before, but not with that reaction. And, as I noted the accumulating compliments, I felt some of the little bits and pieces of my soul coming back to me.

Then, there was the interaction with the men in the room. A dance instructor asked me to dance. As the music started, I knew it was a style of dance I had done before, but I couldn't quite remember the name. As we started, I realized it was a Meringue, and we had danced this one time months before, as I was just beginning to learn Latin dance styles. I remembered it well enough (and moved well enough), that he did a lot of more complicated moves than the last time we had danced. I was successfully able to follow his lead and execute the more difficult moves. And I felt just a little bit more accomplished than I had before.

There was someone at the dance whom I had known for the better part of 25 years. As teenagers, we had been in school together. At the time, he was considered the cat's meow by the other girls in high school. I thought he was a bit full of himself at the time, but by paying dues he's turned out to be a very fine man now. He asked me to dance. When we were done, another friend commented, "that looked like fun."

The thing is, he would never have asked me to dance back then (or rather, in fact, he never did, though we attended many of the same dances). And, after the dance, he reminisced about how long we had know each other. Inside my head, I realized that, at the age of 37, I am actually in better shape and stronger than I was as a teenager. In all that time, I had never been so physically strong or fit as I am now. And, I felt another piece of my soul restored not because he had danced with me, but because I had accomplished so much.

Apart from a few key close friends, I have historically not worried about what other people thought of me. It is a failing, I think, common to being overweight, and a matter of self-defense. You stop worrying about what you feel you cannot change (your weight) and focus on more ethereal goals (being good, friendly, educated, etc.) instead of taking control of what's actually bothering you and making the changes you can. And there is a tendency to criticize those who respond to you differently because of what you look like.

I still firmly believe that what is on the inside is far more important than anything else. I have no patience for the "attractive" people who are full of themselves and treat others badly. I don't consider that attractive in any way, and I think those people wind up very lonely in the final estimation. And that is just as sad as the person who is overlooked because they are overweight.

On the other hand, I had to learn several years ago that it was ok to also focus on the outside (like wearing makeup) and that was not being false to what is on the inside. I am learning that lesson again, and on a deeper level, as I reclaim what was meant to be mine--being healthy, strong, attractive, and the woman God always intended me to be.

So, here is my call, at the start of Lent to myself and anyone who takes the time to read this:

1. Make the inside even more beautiful by growing closer to God.

2. Embrace making the outside just as beautiful as the inside because it is good for you, it is a greater manifestation of God's glory, and it removes a barrier between you and others you can influence.

And may the bits and pieces of our souls continue to be healed from whatever sin and damage has brought us to where we are now.

No Fear, No Boundaries --- a Return to Skiing

Two weeks ago, I returned to skiing for the first time this season. I had a great time, and it was memorable for both what was missing and what was found.

Last year was remarkable because I learned the process of how to ski. In about 13 lessons, I went from the most basic lesson (how to put on your boots and skis, go downhill, and turn in both directions) to skiing a double black diamond slope during an advanced lesson before the season was out (the most difficult slope on the hill). This year, I purchased a discount pass so I could ski at about 40% off, which makes it pretty inexpensive (about the cost of going to a movie with snacks) since I had purchased my own ski equipment with my tax return last year.

So, my first stop this year was to the ski shop. One thing I learned last year was that skis have settings where the boots clamp onto the skis (the bindings) that are based on the skier's height, weight, and skill level. The bindings keep the skis attached to the boots, and, more importantly, release the skis when you fall. Since my weight had changed by more than forty pounds since the last time I skied, these settings had to be changed. The people in the ski shop told me it was good I stopped there first, as I would have lost my skis multiple times because they would have released too easily as I was going downhill.

When I got on the snow, it was a different story. The first liftie (nickname for the guys/gals running the lifts) asked me if I was tired. I suppose I looked  little apprehensive, which I was. I just didn't know if I would be starting from scratch again and in for a day of falling in the snow, if I would pick up where I left off, or something in between. I got to the top of the lift and discovered that none of those assumptions were correct--I was actually better than I was at the end of last year.

Forty pounds lighter, it was SO much easier to turn. Even though my left side is still stiffer than my right (most people have a dominant side that is easier to turn on), I wasn't having to push really hard to start the turns, like I did last year. I went from the easiest slope to the next hardest in progression, working my way up to the most difficult black slopes.

Each hill was easier than the year before, and I was able to do something I couldn't last year--keep my body pointed downhill while gaining speed and while turning. I decided to press my luck and ski the double black diamond slope for the first time by myself (last year, I had done it twice in a lesson with my classmates and instructor). I skied it three times that day, each time without falling at all.

In addition to the fact that it was easier to ski and my form was better, I learned something else about myself that had changed in the past year. I wasn't afraid of the hills anymore. Mind you, at the very top of the highest slope, Ultra, my form wasn't as good as on the lower hills and I hesitated a moment before starting. But, by and large, I was able to enjoy the scenery at the top of the slopes and see more while I was skiing because I wasn't terrified by the thought of losing control while going down the mountain.

At the end of the day, I had fallen only twice. Once was complete inattention on my part, and the other was the one time I got going too fast and did too many short, tight turns in a row. What was totally awesome, though, was that first time I went down in the snow. I was on an intermediate slope and I came upon a gentleman down on the snow with a group of four or five snowboarders around him, who had stopped to help. He looked to be in his mid-to-late fifties, with the oldest of the snowboarders appearing to be about twelve. The skier was in a sitting position on the back of his skis, trying to stand straight up, and the snowboarder was pulling, trying to help him get upright on the skis. This requires tremendous leg and ab muscle strength, which the rather portly gentleman appeared to lack. He fell back in the snow.

I stopped to help and explained a different method of getting up, which involves being on your belly, face down in the snow, crossing your skis in a V formation behind you (and downhill), and pushing up with your hands and ski poles until you are in a standing position. He found the explanation confusing. So, I got down on the snow, copying the position he was currently in, and demonstrated. He was able to successfully get up and we skied together down the hill about halfway. He fell again, but was able to repeat the process and get up on his own using the same method.

I'll never forget what he said when he was trying to get up the first time. He said that, "Thirty years ago, the boots were more flexible, and it was easier to get up by standing straight up." I agreed with him that the boots were more flexible at that time (because I hear they were), but I also wondered if, just maybe, he might have been more flexible thirty years ago, too. Regardless, I had taught him a skill that helped him out, and I'm confident he didn't have to walk down the hill.

At the end of the day, flexibility was the moral of the story. I had learned that time had, for once, made me more flexible rather than less. Time, hard work, discipline, and the kind of mileage that built me up rather than tore me down. I've had a generation of the opposite mileage, the kind that makes you weary, worn, and sad, creates fear, and binds you within your own self. It's a remarkable change to be strong and healthy, to find the boundaries falling away, to explore this new world, and offer a helping hand to others along the journey.

Resolutions ...

One of my last resolutions for 2014 was to break an 8-minute mile, which I did just before seeing the last Hobbit film at a midnight showing on opening night. In the midst of an end, a new beginning.

I noticed at the New Year's Eve party I went to that my resolutions this year were a bit different than in years past. And the reactions of the other guests to hearing my resolutions were different as well. I got asked the typical question, "What are your New Year's resolutions?" several times that night. And, in each case, the person asking the question was pretty much speechless at the answer.

Well, here goes: I intend to break an hour in a 10K. I will run a 10 mile race. I will also complete a half marathon. I will do at least one century bike ride this summer, maybe two. I will make sure that my work allows me to pursue my personal goals despite new obstacles that are surfacing which are beyond my control. I will fully enjoy the summer months and everything I can now do. And in my personal life ... well, those goals don't rely solely on me, so I won't post them here.

I intended to and started the year off with an indoor triathlon this past Sunday. I was very happy with my overall performance, completing 20+ laps in 10 minutes swimming, 9.5 miles (19MPH or 103 RPM) biking on a spinner bike for 30 minutes, and running 2.39 miles in 20 minutes. I just found out I was 5th amongst the women (52 total), and 22 overall (out of 92), with total results posted here. I topped that day off with an 18 mile bike ride and a killer sunset.

I was humbled when I put together my Christmas letter this year to see all I had done physically in the past year. I could never have done that on my own, without guidance, and without the support of a few key friends, coworkers, and family members who helped with training, came to events, or just didn't tell me I was crazy (well, some did, but I really just didn't let them stop me).

I didn't realize the effect of everything I did on others until I got one particular Christmas card in the mail. It was from someone who had survived cancer in this past year. Someone who had known me for years remotely, and had inspired me a great deal in college and just after. The card read something like: "Thank you for the annual update. It was inspiring to see your progress and it gives me hope that I can reclaim some of myself after the chemo and radiation." I didn't know he was sick, nor did I dream that my "annual update" would be able to help someone in that kind of situation.

I know a lot of people were anxious to get rid of 2014. Not me. Not after all that was bright and beautiful and new last year.

So, here's to another bright and shining new year, with the promise of new falling snow, sparkly ski slopes, crackling fires under starry skies, tinkling streams, waving grass, misty meadows, startled wildlife, roaring ocean waves, and whatever other adventures await!