In 2015 I began what has now been a seven year journey to reshape my health. I’ve previously written about losing 100 pounds and how it didn’t take me much more effort than simple calorie counting (no fad dieting required), all while mentally fighting off my body’s natural desire to turn itself into a six-foot tall bean and cheese burrito.
But while I was building the foundation to win one battle, I was simultaneously losing another.
Even though I was getting healthier by definition of what the scale said, I was by no means physically fit.
My most humbling day came towards the beginning of my journey on the first day I visited a personal trainer and he had me do a series of basic exercises to assess where I was at. (Spoiler alert: Not very far.)
He asked me to do a plank (holding your body weight up on your forearms) for 30 seconds. I made it like 15 seconds before my body started shaking and collapsing.
But then something worse. I learned that my body had like zero strength.
He gave me two five pound weights and told me to lift them over my head. Nope. My arms were wobblier than a Project Runway contestant who has never had to wear heels before. He was astonished. I was astonished. Generously, this moment sucked.
On a day-to-day basis, this wasn’t much of an imposition. I could still lift my kids easily and if I ever found myself as an Amazon delivery driver, I’m confident I could’ve shuffled some 50 pound boxes around, but the point remained - even though the scale improved, there was a part of me that was lagging far behind.
These were two experiences I never wanted to feel again.
If you’ve never spent a moment as a Stay-Puft Marshmallow Dad, perhaps this part of the journey isn’t relatable. When you’re trying to lose any amount of weight, or in my case, the equivalent of a healthy five-foot tall woman, the idea that losing weight doesn’t automatically equal some level of strength is a real mind bender. Once you’ve committed to a low calorie diet, giving up foods you like, exercising more than you ever have in your entire life, you definitely convince yourself that it’s enough. (Narrator: It isn’t.)
The reward for losing the weight is exactly that. It’s losing the weight. It’s not having to convince yourself that you look good in an XL shirt despite it literally being a size they had to invent because regular sizes weren’t enough for you. It’s never having to say the phrase “I look good for my weight.” It’s not having to be embarrassed for the 3Xth consecutive year of your life that you don’t want to take your shirt off at a pool. It’s not having to emotionally beat yourself up for not being anywhere close for where you want to be.
All of these are really, really good rewards.
But the reward is not being strong.
It took me a little over 5 years to get to my goal weight (160’s, down from 270’s). And after a year of maintaining that weight and being busy with work in a way that prevented me from really wrapping my head around taking on something new, I decided that I wanted to finally get as far away as possible from that guy who couldn’t hold his own weight for more than 15 seconds.
Back when I got down to 160, I didn’t really want to acknowledge that I had made it until I stuck there for about a year (it has been nearly three now). For years I took two steps forward followed by two steps back, a scenario that we know only plays out well when sorting out the differences in your relationship with a cartoon cat. The idea of having made it to my goal had to be really official for me to want to actually talk about it.
In that same way, I haven’t felt inclined to write about building any strength via weight lighting until I had literally managed to hold my own weight. I did that a few weeks ago, when I managed to bench press 160 pounds for the first time.
And the “Guy who could only do 15 second planks” (also the title of the worst 1970’s pulp novel) is also gone. For no other reason than “I could” I recently propped myself up for 7 1/2 minutes. I only stopped because I got bored.
These are small achievements and far short of where I hope to be in the coming months or years, but one that felt symbolically meaningful when I compare that to the version of me that might have had his elbow buckle if he lifted a bag of flour the wrong way. It’s hard to not look back and wish I started 20 years earlier, but the alternative was not having started at all.
The difference between these two people (who, in case you’re not following, are the same people) is that I have much more confidence that the person I was is no longer the person that I am.
I can acknowledge that (far too late) I’ve begun (better late than never) yet another journey in trying to create a version of me that is not just healthy, but also strong. In fact, in terms of getting some extra years out of my life (seems like an OK goal) it might be even more important. Am I where I want to be? Absolutely not! Will I get there? Definitely! (Maybe?)
But either way, my goal remains the same. Never stop getting better, even if it feels like you’re a million miles away.