So, how was it 15 months ago I found myself in a beautifully decorated tattoo parlor in Saratoga, NY that resembled an art studio more than the stereotypical dark caves my mother depicted so many years ago, getting my second tattoo at the age of 46? Yes, I have a total of three now, the other two have their own stories I will save for another post. By the time I entered NeedleWurks that day, I had long reached my goal weight and was released to run after my hip fracture four months before that. I finally was to a place I held the notion that if I could maintain my weight loss and fitness through a broken leg, this level of health just might be sustainable, a belief I had never been able to have because of so many past failures. To cement the notion of permanency I began to think that an indelible visible reminder of this journey was in order.
What would said reminder look like? My tattoo was born out of the idea that my obesity served as my cocoon in so many ways. Despite weight struggles being on public display for the world to see, I came to learn this same weight was as comfortable as a caterpillar's warm cocoon. My obesity kept me safe. I was safe from the demands of physical things. Nobody was going to ask me to go running with them or lift anything heavy. I was the less successful friend or family member and had been for decades so I was safe from big demands or challenges, thus limiting the odds I would take on something huge and fail... although these are things I would not truly learn until much later, I am certain this is why I never had lasting success. As I now look back, while my conscious self was busy engaging in one crazy diet plan after another, the flipside was. I really did all I could to make my cocoon of obesity state of the art. Outside of the poundage that surrounded me, I created an external environment that fed it all. I had a recliner, a heated blanket, and a family room kitchenette full of snacks, along with 300 channels on a 64 inch TV to continue to feed my complacency while I existed in the confines of the comfortable cocoon.
What you don't see in this existence is there is a fine print. This existence is gray. It is monotonous. It is a soul robbing place where the security I felt was there only to keep me from being what I truly could be if I could only get out. So many times in the last three years on this journey, I have been uncomfortable. I was afraid of looking silly at my first Dry Triathalon, at Orangetheory. It was my first race of any kind in life. I was terrified of being last. Well, guess what...I was last, but as I finished the 5K part, the last leg of the race, my son would hop back on the treadmill, as he had already finished, and run the last quarter mile by my side encouraging me the whole. I learned that day, being last, which I previously was terrified of, was not fatal. In fact, it could be pretty amazing.
There was my first outdoor Spartan Race in March. Up and down the snowy ski slopes of Greek Peak. I spent the days leading into the race with serious concerns I may not finish or I may fall off the mountain which made me long for the comfort of days gone by, at least by a little bit. There was no falling off the mountain in a coccon. To be fair, sliding down the back of an icy mogul repeatedly made sitting a bit challenging in the days that followed, but this was Spartan's first winter race ever. I got to jump the fire at that race and part of something entirely new with my son by my side. Not to mention, a two hour grueling climb for 3 miles and many obstacles in 16 degrees, taught me so much about what I was capable of. This is not an emotion discoverable deep into my previous cocoon of fear, complacency and carbohydrates. Thing after thing I would do. Each challenge different than the last helping me to see who lived beneath the heated blanket and pile of snacks.
Walking into Needleworks that day I knew what it had to be. It had to be a butterfly. The colorful entity that symbolized me learning to fly after decades of gray darkness. For those dark years, I can honestly say, all I wanted was to be who I am now with absolutely no idea how to get there. Fear of the unknown, unhappiness with the present and goals that seemed completely out of reach. I would read every book on weight loss and fitness available. Something had to get me from here to there. Years and years this would go by until I finally realized the answer was in my kid's bookshelf. A simple conversation between everyone's favorite obese bear and his sidekick.
Who would know Piglet could be so prophetic. I learned that by overcoming the fear that holds us in our own cocoons, we leave the worst parts of us behind, so the beautiful colorful parts of us can fly. There are many days I feel my wings have only begun to spread, but I have a colorful kick ass butterfly on my ankle that tells me I have a whole lot of flying left to do.
