I watched him that summer, losing weight and running his ass off for 6-10 miles every afternoon while I sat up in the kitchen and cooked high fat, high cholesterol, high everything dinners. One day I got home from work before he did and I decided to jump on the treadmill. I walked a mile in about 23 minutes and was pretty proud of myself for working out. Really. I sweated my ass off in that hot garage and huffed and puffed my way to a mile. The first time I seriously tried to work out at all.
The summer continued and I started going to work early and leaving early so that I could walk my mile before Pete got home. He would run his miles and I would cook what I thought were healthy dinners.
When I look back to that summer it was the start of something inside me. It was the feeling that I could lose weight. I could look and feel better. I think it came from Pete's example. It came from seeing how he worked and got results. It came from the gentle motivation from him every time I proclaimed that my mile got faster. It came from the feeling that I got after walking that mile and knowing that I burned calories. Somehow, I was determined to really look at how I was living and make some changes.
As summer was fading in 2007 Pete and I joined a gym. Can I tell you how excited I was to join? Silly, really. I had never been part of a gym and it seemed so glamorous and yet intimidating. The one that we joined was was a 24 hour, come when you want, but not always someone there gym. It was in a local strip mall and had about 5 treadmills, a few elliptical and some weights. No classes or showers or frills.
Pete and I started going as soon as we got home. We'd work out for an hour or so, him on the treadmill and me on the elliptical. Then we'd go next door and do it up Jered-style and have Subway for dinner. Lots of veggies, no sauce and only half the bread. We continued this way well into the holiday season. I remember being so pleased with myself that I actually went to the gym Thanksgiving morning and worked out before heading to the family celebration.
By this time, Pete had lost about 70 pounds. He was looking awesome. Just awesome. I had lost about 30 pounds and I was feeling great. We were really active going places on the weekend and hiking around and seeing places around the state. The feeling was powerful.
But somehow I lost that powerful feeling in February, 2008. It was a hard time for me. Pete and I were engaged and my parents weren't as excited as I thought they'd be. I was depressed about life in general and quickly turned to what I know best: sitting in bed, watching TV and indulging in crap food. I lost the feeling and couldn't seem to figure out how to get back there.
Pete was encouraging, asking me if I wanted to go with him to the gym. But I just couldn't seem to put it together to get there. It was all I could do to make it to work and home again. Then the unthinkable. Pete's Dad started getting really ill from his COPD. The doctors started telling the family that it was nearing the end. And suddenly, Pete was in just as deep a depression as I and the gym was the last thing that either of us wanted. The membership slipped away and we did nothing. Nothing except exist.
Pete and I survived over the summer of 2008. I was planning the wedding on my own and doing everything. Pete was mourning his father and dealing with all the stuff that happens after a parent is gone.
In September Pete and I said our I Do's.
Look how happy we were! I remember going in for my last fitting and the seamstress telling me that I had lost weight because she had to take it in a bit again and I had to go back right before the wedding to pick it up. But in all honesty, I hadn't lost anything. Because I wasn't doing anything. Neither was Pete.
After the wedding stuff settled down I talked Pete into joining a different no frills gym. I figured that this was the way we started before so let's do it again. Only he did it because I asked him to, not because he wanted to. And I had no motivation or conviction to go either. I think we paid for about 6 months of late 2008 and early 2009 and went a total of 6 times.
I remember that I bought this beautiful flowy blue shirt to wear at Christmas 2009. I remember that I had to buy a larger size jean. I was back up to size 24 jeans and 2X shirts. But I felt more in fashion and better about myself. Christmas Eve came and I could hardly walk on my right knee. A slave to fashion I wore my high heeled boots and limped the entire day.
When it wasn't better after New Years I made an appointment with my doctor. She took an xray and found nothing. She suggested that I see an orthopaedic surgeon. I remember that they showed me to the exam room and gave me a pair of paper shorts to put on while he examined me. Only the shorts didn't fit. They were the largest size and they didn't fit. I was ashamed.
After the MRI I went back to see the surgeon, only this time I wore my own shorts. He told me that I had worn a divot out of my knee cap and had arthritis pretty badly in the knee. I wasn't a candidate for surgery yet, but he guessed that I'd have a knee replacement by the time I was 45-50. I was 39 at the time. 39.
I went to physical therapy and did the exercises and my knee improved. And by the end of January 2010 I joined the YMCA. I pulled Pete along with me, begrudgingly.
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