Update on stats first and then a little story.
Yes, I did lose weight!
I did not check all week because I wanted today to be a surprise
(and that checking everyday thing does you emotional damage).
In my early morning fog, I read my weight and was kind of pleased.
I thought I had lost 500g.
“Hmmm,” I thought, “at least I lost what I put on last week.”
“Better get on with the breathless flailing about on the lounge room floor.
Look how beneficial it has been…..”
Later, when I sat with husband, eating our 300 calories, I realised I had actually lost 800g!
I was so happy.
I also measured up and have lost 5.5cm of myself!
Well, most of that was off my thighs and about a centimetre off my boobs.
Waist, hips and bum did not get a look-in this time.
(I’m not painting a very pretty picture here, am I?)
And arms have grown, but honestly, that is the little bulging biceps that I have now
(I think they’re called ‘guns’?)
So, yes, this week I am quietly pleased with the achievement.
And extremely pleased for everyone else who is pleased with their achievements!
I have noticed on my drives to and from work that there seems to be so many more people out exercising.
Is it just since I have started the 12WBT or am I only noticing it now because of the 12WBT?
Anyway, this morning I saw a girl running up a side street and suddenly one of
my childhood memories came flooding back.
My Dad had been a runner when he was young.
He carried the Olympic torch in 1956 (and in 2000), so you see, he knows running.
When I was about 10 or 11 years old I was a runner too.
I had been winning races (and coming second) since I was six!
But I was useless at any distance beyond 100 meters.
Dad used to coach me up at the school oval.
In truth, I was scared of my Dad.
I loved him beyond love, but I was scared of upsetting him and I always wanted to please him.
I was ‘his’ little runner.
I knew he loved me and I wanted him always to be proud of me.
Then one day in the annual school carnival something happened.
I was competing in the 400 metres.
Dad had been training me.
He told me what to do; how to run and keep going and win.
I had practiced with him.
I just loved being with him, all by myself, without my three sisters to compete with,
and I listened to him and trusted him to teach me what I needed to know to win.
It was technical stuff for a 10 year old, but I took it all in.
On the day of the race I remembered.
The thing I remember most now is how I kept going.
I didn’t feel tired.
I felt like I could run forever.
I heard his voice telling me “when you run into the wind, shorten your steps”
and I did that.
And I was powerful and my steps never faltered and the wind rushed past me and I was in front.
It felt like I was not in a race any more.
It was just me and the wind and my Dad’s voice.
And I won…
Today I remembered it all so vividly, tears welled up in my eyes.
They were tears for that little girl who was so eager to please, that little girl who must still linger somewhere in my soul,
that little girl who did run, but who doesn’t any more.
I saw a glimmer of a place I could go to, but I also saw the place that I am at now.
I realised I don’t have to please anyone, but that I do anyway.
I am blessed with the most loving husband in the world and my Mum and Dad are still with us,
so there is no need for tears when I remember the past we all had together.
We have the present and a beautiful bond now.
We have all grown and continue to grow.
And one day I might run again and I might not, but either way, I did run and I will never forget that race.
All the love in the world,