I’ve always been a little fiery, and people tell me it must be the red hair (original, I know!). The fit part for me has been-and still is-a lifelong journey. I was always the chubby kid growing up. I am one of 6 kids, and all of my siblings were trim and athletic, but I wasn’t. I have always been overweight. In fact, I recently read parts of my baby book, and my mom documented my weight when I was 6 months old. I was a portly 23 pounds.
I vividly remember weigh-in days during elementary school. I dreaded them because I didn’t want other kids to know what I weighed. As a second grader I weighed in at 88 pounds, and as a 6th grader I was a whopping 121 pounds. Seriously, who else was traumatized enough by school weigh-ins that they remember specific weights? Of course I grew as time went on, too. I didn’t eat more than my siblings, and I always figured the struggle with my weight was due to my genes.
From an evolutionary perspective I AM fit! I mean, I could survive on almost no food, since every little thing I eat seems to stick with me. I tried to be active in high school and more so in college. I probably lost about 10 pounds in college. After college I made a big move by myself from Montana to Colorado. My boyfriend at the time, Matt (then husband and now good friend and dad to our 4 kids) drove the Uhaul trailer to Denver for me. My first year in Denver I lost another 30 pounds and was at my lowest weight ever—148 pounds. At 5 feet 5.5 inches that was a decent weight. I still had plenty of fat, though. I lived by myself, bought a treadmill, and exercised often.
Then, I got married and had four kids. I gained a lot of weight with each pregnancy. Seventeen years ago, during my first pregnancy I gained 37 pounds. I lost most of that. During pregnancy #2, I gained 47 pounds. I lost 37 pounds of that. During pregnancy #3, I gained 35 pounds. I lost all of that. During pregnancy #4 I gained 55 pounds. After Cooper (baby #4) was born I had lost 5 pounds. How is this possible since he weighed almost 9 pounds?!
After each baby I set fitness goals—after Anna was born I bought an elliptical trainer and used it religiously while I was on maternity leave. After Ella was born I trained for a sprint triathlon and also ran my first half-marathon. This is when I really got into running. When Mia was 19 months old I ran my first marathon at a 10 minute per mile pace. I thought I rocked it.
I was a regular runner by the time I became pregnant with Cooper. I stopped running when I was 2 months into my pregnancy. I did walk a half-marathon when I was 6 months pregnant. Matt walked it too, and I remember that I felt just as sore after walking that than when I ran my full marathon! All that extra weight and my loose ligaments made that a workout! When I was 8 months pregnant with Cooper, I was laid off. I was an emotional mess. I managed to have a healthy baby boy, and he brought so much joy into our family.
When Cooper was 2 months old, I started jogging again. SLOWLY. Like a 13 minute per mile pace. Finally after a month of my postpartum running routine, I was up to faster pace. Then, I stepped up onto a curb after crossing a street and landed just right (or wrong, actually). I heard this awful tear. It hurt. I limped home the last half of a mile. Then came knee surgery to fix that torn meniscus.
Two days after my surgery, I got a call from my brother that my dad, who was in seemingly excellent shape, had a heart attack and went into cardiac arrest for 10 minutes. We wouldn’t know if he would recover and to what degree for 48 hours, as they put him in a hypothermic state to cool his brain. I was hopeful that the CPR that my uncle and mom and family friend performed would have worked. He had an emergency heart surgery to place stents where there was 100% blockage. Brain damage? No telling for at least 2 more days. We rushed from the kids’ soccer game and drove 9 hours to visit my dad. Miraculously, my dad woke up with almost the same brain function as before. He was still sharp. Of course, he still had a long road of recovery ahead of him. After many years of debating a move back to Montana, we made the move home. It was home for Matt and me, but to our kids, it felt like we were ripping them out of their home in Colorado. The move was more difficult on our kids than we predicted it would be.
A few months later my dad was diagnosed with neuroendocrine cancer. Still to this day (and it's been 8 years), it is surreal to me that he passed away just 4 months after the diagnosis.
On July 5th we spread my dad’s ashes at two of his favorite hunting spots. That was when I hit rock bottom. Could anything go right? Would anything get better? That was a time in my life where I had hit rock bottom. Everything seemed out of balance, and I wasn’t happy. I knew that I needed something good on which I could focus. I decided to get back in shape and lose the baby weight and more. I wanted to be fit again. In fact I want to be fitter than I had ever been before. It's a good thing I’m a little fiery because that decision started me down a path to making my dream a reality. Now, I continue to set my intentions every day to assist me in living my best life.
If this small town girl with a big dream can do it, so can you!
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