Running on the Beach: It's Dangerous!

"It should have been a perfect moment," I thought as I spit sand out of my mouth like a man spitting out teeth after a fight.

I had taken my new dog, Ruby, to the beach for a walk. An action that was totally out of character for me.

First of all, the mere idea of me having a dog was mind-blowing. I was not a "dog person" before weight loss surgery. I was a "cat person." Recently, however, I rescued a dog from a shelter so that I would have a built-in walking buddy. (Dogs never turn you down -- and they are always available.)

Second, before WLS I didn't have the energy or the desire to put a slobbering canine into my car and drive to the beach. And I certainly wouldn't have wanted to walk laboriously (actually waddle, if you want to know the truth) from the car to the ocean over hot sand.

Third, even if I had gotten myself to the edge of the ocean, I would not have set out for a hike along the beach -- let alone a run. I would have stood there with the waves nipping at my toes, studied the sea for a minute or so (looking for dolphins), turned around, and gone home.

I wouldn't even have sat down, because getting up was so darn difficult.

Now, I was a new woman. Ruby the dog and I hopped lightly out of the car, practically skipped to the shore, and embarked on a brisk walk, letting our toes get wet from time to time.

Ruby loved the surf so much, I started trotting through the water along the shore, so that she could jump over the remnants of the incoming waves.

She gained speed as we did this, so naturally I gained speed, too! And I was RUNNING! Me! Katie Jay. Running.

My hair was blowing in the wind, my strides were strong. "I look good," I imagined, "a slender, fit, woman out running in a fashionable exercise outfit. And with a great-looking dog, too!"

Sitting on a sand dune ahead of me were three college kids. They watched me approach. They didn't stare, really, they just saw me as they scanned the beach.

They were just some guys taking a break from surfing.

As I got close to them, and realized they saw me coming, I started to feel self conscious, "A fat woman running," I thought, "how embarrassing."

As I reached the guys, running at full speed, my ankle twisted, I lost my balance, went airborne -- and then landed on my face in the sand, mouth open -- directly in front of those guys.

Thankfully, I was able to jump up immediatley, spit the sand out and keep moving. I guess being in shape has its advantages.

But I'll never go running on the beach again. Too dangerous.

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Oh, Great! Now I Have Guilt!

Did you ever see Toy Story? I can't tell you how many times I have laughed at the line delivered by the T. Rex, "Oh, great! Now I have guilt!"

Recently, I was journaling about my fear of success. Acutally, not my fear of success, but my anxiety about success. Being successful is uncomfortable for me -- and I am becoming acutely aware of it.

I want very much to break out of some old patterns that keep me from reaching a new level of success. Specifically, I want to be proud to be maintaining my weight loss, rather then feel guilty about it, and self sabotaging.

When I was a kid, my success was painful for my sister and mother. They didn't mean to make me feel badly.

One example is when I was on the swim team. I got a lot of blue ribbons. My sister got a lot of fourth places. She was not a happy camper, and I felt like it was my fault she was sad. If I had done worse at the swim meet, my sister would not have felt so awful.

I want to break out of my pattern of self sabotaging to make other people feel good about themselves. I want to stop with the self-depricating humor. Stop pointing out my flaws, as if they will negate my successes.

I wish we didn't compare ourselves to one another. We all are doing the best we can at any given moment. And we can all feel happy for someone who is blessed with success -- because we know none of us is immune to failure, and we all fall sometimes.

My flaw of overindulgence in guilt has to go. Just because I'm on top of something, doesn't mean I am pushing other people down. In fact, I'm more of a "join my parade" kind of person than a "ha, ha look at me" kind of person.

When I nurture my guilt, I am limiting myself. And that's not okay. That is the victim mindset that helped keep me fat. I don't want to be that guilty person anymore!

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Ode to Perseverance

I used to think the key to successful weight loss was to eat right and exercise. But I was wrong. I loved food too much, and hated to sweat, so I quit.

Then I thought the key to successful weight loss was to do my family of origin therapy, while eating right and exercising.

But I was wrong. The therapy helped me a lot with regard to my relationships with people, but in short order I fell prey again to my love of food and hatred of exercise.

Admitting I had failed again, I decided the key to weight loss success was to do my family of origin therapy, eat right and exercise, and treat my eating disorder by admitting myself to a month-long inpatient eating disorder treatment program.

But I was wrong. The inpatient program was somewhat useful because they put me on an antidepressant (could have done that at home and saved $40,000), but when I was discharged I probably bought a candy bar in the airport terminal before I boarded a plane to go home.

For awhile I rested in my defeat and fed my hunger for meaning in life with chocolate.

Okay, I didn't totally rest. I tried overeaters anonymous, along with another valiant attempt to eat right and exercise. But I didn't succeed with that, either.

I was so stressed out in my life, I needed my food to keep me numbed out. And besides -- NOTHING had really worked in the past, so I didn't try very hard.

I begged the doctors for help, but they told me to go home, eat right, and exercise. I explained I had tried that before -- one doctor even rolled her eyes at me.

It was a defeated, obese me who was wheeled into the operating room for weight loss surgery. Statistically, I knew WLS was my only hope. But I also knew my track record.

After surgery the dietitian gave me strict orders to eat right and exercise...

The difference has been, of course, my wonderful tool -- the pouch. And I have done well, considering my track record.

But after my honeymoon period when the weight practically melted away, I got hungry again.

My eating disorder reared its ugly head. When that happened I pulled out my old toolkit. I started therapy yet again, went to OA meetings, made every effort to eat right, and I exercised.

When I look back at my life, I see the one thing that has gotten me to a place where I don't feel so out of control with my eating, and where I have a real chance at staving off obesity for good.

That one thing is perseverance.

Never give up!

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