Hi, I'm Han. I always feel so stupid doing these introductions but never know how to start off without them. I have struggled with eating right and exercising (therefore weight) most of my life. I have started blogs and trying to loose weight too many times to count. But I have this feeling, this determination that this is the last time I will start to loose weight again. I will finish this time. I will make a change in my life. I'm sure there will be set backs and bad days. I'm sure I will feel hopeless and like I can't do it. But I refuse to stop. I refuse to waste anymore time.
I was never very good at sports and didn't like getting messy or the chaos of playing with other kids. My mom has always said I was an old soul from the very beginning. That when I was a toddler I would shut myself in my room to play get mad when my brother or anyone loud would try to join in. I don't know what that says about the kind of person I am but it resulted in me spending most of my free time after school and during the summer in my room reading, crochetting or other crafts.
That is until the summer of my Junior year in high school. I spent that summer house sitting for a family friend who lived 6 hours away from my home town and pretty much in the middle of no where. The closest neighbors were miles away, the mail box was a whole mile and a half up the road because they didn't want to drive all the way down to her house. I liked it for the most part, my dad would come pick me up randomly to go to movies or out to dinner so I got to see people. I got plenty of time alone to do my summer book reports for English. All in all I was happy.
The thing I hated most was going to get the mail. It was hot, there was nothing to look at and I thought the biggest waste of my day. So I started running from the house to get the mail purely because it seemed like the logical thing to do. The faster I got the mail, the less time I had to waste on it each day. It became a mission for me to go faster and faster each day. Before I knew it, getting the mail became something I looked forward to. This started my love/hate relationship with running. I loved how I felt after I ran, it was like I could concur the world; after a shower, a snack and maybe a short nap. I loved how it slowed down my mind and only let me focus on one thing at a time. How I could think clearly and figure out problems. I loved how I could put my emotions into the running instead of crying or writing and get them out. I hated well actually running. The entire time I'd curse it and think why did I want to do this. But I kept going. Telling myself I would feel better at the end.
I came home to a surprise party for my 16th birthday. It seemed that people were more surprised to see me though. I hadn't noticed but had lost a decent amount of weight and toned up while I was gone. So I kept running, not because I had to get the mail any more, just to run. I was in the best shape of my life. When school started a friend commented that I should do track. I scoffed, thinking that was the most outrageous thing ever. I was the manager for every sport we had (we had a small school), not a participant.She convinced me that I should try, one meet and if I hated it could go back to manager. So in the spring I signed up for track.
Then, in one day, it all changed. We were running around town for practice. It was a good 8 mile run and everyone hated it, I was one of the only distance runners on the team and looked forward to running this with other people for a change. I was running with a friend. Joking about something when I hit a pot hole. It hurt, bad. My knee did not feel right, I realized I had a funny gait. My knee completly gave out a few steps later and I fell. My friend helped me back up and I tried to put weight back on my knee and almost fell again.
The next few days were a blur. I had scans and x rays. I waited in I don't know how many different rooms to see what felt like a million people. Each time I hoped and wished that someone would give me answers. It took a while, lots of tests had to be redone because of the swelling in my knee. I was so terrified I'd torn something and would need surgery. How funny it is now that I wish that had been it sometimes.
I, somehow, had caused nerve damage to the nerves in my knee. So basically they didn't realize when they were being stimulated. They didn't realize that I kind of need them ( no pun intended) to hold me up and bend my leg certain ways. The doctor was confident that I would be ok with physical therapy. So that's what I did for almost a year. I spent much of that year on crutches because my knee wouldn't work. When it finally did again I had to wear a brace for almost 2 years.
During that time I gained a lot of weight. I had started college on top of this and ate like crap. I should have been happy I could use my leg. That I could still walk. Instead I was depressed and felt jaded. I had finally looked how I wanted. I had finally made a change and it was taken away. And no one could explain why. I'm not proud of how I reacted. I wish I had just started up again. But I was scared that it would happen again. My doctor didn't know why it happened or if it would again.
Well I'm done being scared. I miss running. I never thought I would say that. I miss being in shape. I know that I have other things to change, like my eating habits. I want to, I need to. I signed myself up for a 5K today with a coworker. I took a day of PTO to do it. I will not waste all of these again, I'm starting for the last time.
