Journey from the fat guy in the picture to a racer

Where the hell have you been, Switzer, you say? Well, you're right to wonder, but I don't appreciate your tone. The truth is, it's been...an odd year. Let's see - where to start? Tell ya what, let's make this a multi-parter. I'll tell you where I've been, and later I'll cover why I started this blog, and why I'm writing it now.

Okay, sooo...after I made my last post here almost a year ago, cross country season started. It did not go well. I was fat, out of shape, not nearly as ready as I thought and hoped I was, and it was all around humiliating. And the truth is, club teams say they welcome runners of all abilities, but the word 'welcome' is in the eye of the beholder. But that's okay, I expected some humiliation along the way - you plow through and become stronger for it. What I did not expect was the photo.

I don't have a link to this photo, as it seems to have disappeared from the intertubes. But I can describe it, because it lives on with crystal clarity in my mind. I went to the Sundodger Invitational to support my Eastside Runner teammates. I was not fast enough to run in this meet, which was okay with me. I love the sport, so I had a blast watching college athletes from NAIA Division II up to the eventual NCAA national champion UW Huskies run, and the club runners were right in the mix. Nobody on the team knew me, so I didn't really chat with anyone, but again, no big deal. I was new on the team, I can be a little shy, and they were doing other things. What I found out later was that I had inadvertently stood in the shot while some photos were being taken. When a link to the club's photos of the event went out, I happily looked through - hey, running photos are kinda awesome! I came across one that I glanced at, but didn't look that closely. The caption said "I love the look on the not-so-fit guy's face as he watches these Kenyans fly by!". I looked up to see the poor fat guy being made fun of, and was horrified to realize that I was that fat guy.

Well, I will say this. I had never experienced such a deep blow. I don't know why it hit me as hard as it did, but it did. I stopped blogging, stopped running, stopped everything. After a couple days, I decided to do something about this, and started looking into the 20/20 Lifestyles program at my gym - basically, you pay assloads of money to the club in exchange for six months of a dietician, doctor, personal trainer twice a week, and private and group therapy. My company pays most of the cost, but that still leaves a couple grand coming out of my pocket. I decided, to never feel like this again, to walk across my house without getting winded, to never feel ashamed of big clothes fitting snugly, to not fear the beating of my own heart - well, no price was too much. I perked up and was excited about this new direction in my life!

You can feel the other shoe about to drop, right? It did. I went through two physicals (to make sure I was unhealthy enough to qualify for this, but healthy enough to not die in the process), two blood tests, and all sorts of paperwork, only to find at the last minute that I had the wrong insurance. Suddenly, I was out in the dark again, and wouldn't get the help I so obviously needed until I could change my insurance, in three months.

I'm sorry to say that this put me in a depression like I've never felt before and hope to never feel again. It lasted from October into January, and I was just destroyed. I hated being fat, and desperately wanted to go to the gym, but I was borderline qualified for the program, so couldn't risk getting any healthier. I refused to take blood pressure medication, wouldn't work out, and ate even more than before, which is saying something. I ate things I didn't want, WHEN I didn't want. Eventually I could see others looking a little embarrassed, so I began to eat normal meals and snuck out to McDonalds after they'd gone to sleep, and would eat in my car. There is no way to explain the shame and hurt of sitting in your car at 1am, eating a burger you don't want.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Switzer was not cut out for supporting someone going through this type of trauma, and couldn't be with someone she thought of as fat, lazy, unwilling to fix these things, and depressed, and found another Mr. to love - I finally moved out on January 29 of this year. So, to add to the shame and hurt of being Mr. Fat Guy, I had become Mr. Single Dumped By His Wife Guy. (I promise, this story cheers up) Prior to that date, however, I had started to make some changes on my own. I stumbled on these little tuna salad with cracker things - they're $2 each, and all self-contained. I found little puddings. I forget what else I ate at this time, but the point was, while other things had gone out of my control, I found I could control one thing - what I ate. And while I felt weak in other aspects of my life, feeling hunger that I'd imposed on myself felt strong. So I started eating small portions, identical foods and amounts, at the same time every day. And weight started to come off.

In January, I started to run again, and this time enjoyed it. I actually kicked it off with a race on New Year's Day (see the photo!) I was struggling to run two miles at 10:00 pace, but I was doing it, and it felt good. In February, I'll admit that the stress compounded and I made some poor eating choices (essentially, I became obsessed with the weight loss and stopped eating), but I was running 4 or 5 times a week and added boxing to the regimen. By the end of February I'd dropped from 198 lbs (207 on January 1) to 182, and was able to run up to 4 miles at a 9:00 pace. In February, on the days I ate, I took in under 1000 calories.

In March, I got down to the low 170's, and even peeked under 170, and rediscovered my ability to run on my toes and use a quicker stride. I signed up for races to give myself a target goal. Also, after an embarrassing fainting spell at boxing, I started eating enough food - and PROTEIN - to keep the machine going and suddenly found myself with abundant energy, and even managed to run 6 miles a couple times. I started eating closer to 1600 calories a day, and felt like I was gorging myself to do it!

In April, I got down to the low 160's, made more tweaks in the diet, adding some calories back in and moving some protein around. I also started to accumulate miles, and got up to 10 miles for my long runs.

By May, I was ready to race. I locked in at 162 lbs, and was running consistent miles, long runs around 8:45 - 9:00 pace and shorter runs around 8:20 pace. I finally added an interval workout - 2 x 1600 in 7:45, with an 800 jog between. Well, I ran one at 6:37 and one at 6:45, and knew that things had really changed. I was ready for Bloomsday.

Bloomsday is a 12k in Spokane, with Doomsday Hill about halfway in - a hill I was terrified of, as I've struggled with hills for the last few years. When I registered, I predicted a 9:00 pace on the registration form, and thought that might be a little aggressive. Even though I'd improved faster than I thought I would, I was still expecting no better than an 8:30 pace if things went really well. As it turned out, I finished with a 7:50 pace

The more important moment in May, though, involved my Eastside Runners jersey. When I got it (size XL) for cross country season 8 months earlier, it was SNUG. Like, embarrassingly, here-are-my-man-boobs snug. I wore it, but I hated it. Well, during my moving around I found it and tried it on, just out of curiosity - and it was baggy on me. Hence, I wore that bastard at Bloomsday just to make a point to myself. And I wore it at the next 5k I ran (in 21:43), in the mile I ran at an all-comer's (6:37), and in the half-marathon in late June (1:51), and the 5k on my birthday (21:49 on a longer/mis-measured course).

And I'm back. I have my confidence back. I have my assassin back - rather than just slogging through races because it's what you do, I target people and pick them off for the fun of it. I'm beating people in my club. I'm top 10 in the 40-44 division in my last three races. I can love participating in this sport again, instead of just watching it. I feel, in short, like a runner again. I look like a runner again. I eat like a runner again, sleep like a runner again, think like a runner again. This is what I do. It's been a weird and at times difficult year, but on the other side of it, I have me, and I'm happy about that. I missed me. I didn't like being the guy who couldn't tuck in a shirt or keep up on a walk to the cafe. I like this - I love watching this sport, and I love competing. I think it's a shame that I had to start beating people before I was welcomed into my running club, and I hope I can use my experience to teach people about that.

Most of all, I'm happy. And I look forward to re-purposing this blog, to tell the story of a comeback, to talk about the sport I love, and to just generally...well, drop 2,000 words at a pop and make you all suffer through it!