In the beginning...

Exercise has never been one of my favorite things.  I have just never stuck with it.  I think that the last time I really participated in any kind of real workout would have been when I was in high school PE.  I graduated in 1989...after that, I walked a few months in college and took the required PE classes to graduate.

I had lapband surgery several years ago.  At that time, I weighed 350 pounds.  I am not proud of that number.  I lost weight.  At one point, I weighed 223 pounds and then I ran out of money for the fills ($150 for each fill).  Lapband was a quick fix and it worked for a while, but mentally I was not ready.  I still wanted to eat and was often miserable because I would over eat.  Slowly, I put the pounds back on. Just a few at a time, but they all add up.  I had to buy some stretchy pants and some bigger shirts.  Now, at [300] pounds*, something has happened (Yes, that is what I weigh, again, not proud of that number...just want to put it out there so that you will understand how difficult the next step was.)

I work with kids.  Teaching is what I am called to do.  This year, I am blessed to work at a little home school co-op.  The director decided that the kids would have a PE class.  My 10 year old son (he attends the co-op) LOVES PE and his PE teacher, her name is Bethany.  She has a smile that fills up the room and she loves the kids.

My boy would come home and practice his push-ups so that he could do better...wow!  I watched and wondered what it was about PE that inspired him to want to be better.  Now, mind you, Bethany never said anything about my weight or how out of shape I was.  She just smiled and carried on conversations with me like we have been friends forever.

Last week, she was leaning against the wall waiting for her students.  We started talking...I explained how I felt guilty when I saw her because I didn't exercise.  She smiled her big smile and invited me to come to work out with her group.  I didn't go on Tuesday night.  On Wednesday, I asked for the schedule and location.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014...something in my spirit changed.  I put on my sweats, a t-shirt, and my tennis shoes and got in the car.  I remember thinking I was crazy...I think Scott might have thought the same thing.  I drove up to the workout location, took a deep breath, and got out of the car.  I was in tears by the time I was standing in front of my friend.  I was there and it was too late to back out.

I did what I could.  I wanted to quit.  It hurt and I couldn't do a jumping jack (it hurt to have all of me moving like that).  I cried when I got in the car and I cried most of the way home.  Thursday came and I could still move and I decided to go again.  I went.  I ran (running for me is like a quick walk for some of you).  I did sit ups.  I owned the fire hose...and I hurt my knee.  I cried.  I came home, took a hot bath, took some Advil, and put ice on my knee.

Friday, I hurt.  My knee was better.  I walked with my boy and did a few push up and sit ups.  He thought that was great.  There was not a planned workout Friday night, so I took it easy.

Saturday morning was the extra workout for the week.  I went (and took a friend).  We were told we would be doing a 20 minute workout.  Twenty minutes...that doesn't sound too bad, right?  Well, it was brutal.  It took me 1 hour, 4 minutes, and 45 seconds to finish.  We were working out on a high school football field. I am not sure how many times I walked around the track, I don't know how many push ups I did, I am not sure how long it took me to walk backwards across the football field, but I know I finished.  I finished dead last!

Here is where I need to be honest.  I HATE being last and satan uses that against me.  I was trying to finish three trips across the football field doing lunges.  People were leaving.  They had been finished for 15 or more minutes at this point.  I was about even with the goal post on my first trip across the field and I started to cry.  I was mad.  I felt like it was just not worth it and my legs were on fire.  That's when it happened.  It was like a switch was flipped in my head.  I kept pushing forward.  The friend that I invited was now standing next to me and she was praying for me.  I made it to the sideline and turned around.  I started back across, tears in my eyes, still being encouraged by my friend.  All of the other people had gone when I started across the field for the final time.  Bethany switched the music to a worship mix and joined me on the sideline.  Off we went, me, my friend (who rode with me), and Bethany.  I remember very little about the conversation that was going on beside me, but I do remember hearing, "I am going to finish this with you."  and I remember hearing Bethany singing along to the music.  I didn't think we would ever make it to the other sideline and when we did I didn't think my legs would hold out long enough to make it all the way around the track to where I started.

I walked most of the way...and then I ran.  It wasn't a long way, just the length of the bleachers.  Bethany was there until I got to the edge of the bleachers and then she ran ahead...cheering me on and telling me I could do it.  I crossed the finish line...not in the 20 minutes, not even in an hour, but I crossed the finish line.  All [300] pounds* of me.  I finished.

If you would have told me a few months ago that I would be working out, I would have laughed.  God does amazing things and getting me off of my behind is a miracle.  He has surrounded me with some amazing women and I look forward to becoming healthier and in shape...I am now a Gladiator...and I am cgBOLD!