Warning! Before undertaking any new exercise program always visit your doctor. For those of us who are really fat, this is huge disincentive. We imagine we have heart disease, cancer, diabetes, and almost every other disease that is contributed to by obesity. We also know we will have to get weighed by a stern, skinny nurse, and wear a paper gown that does not fit and gapes in the front (or back if you are man). Finally we know that our doctor will be horrified and speak to us condescendingly and put us on an impossible to follow diet of 1200 calories a day, consisting largely of boiled chicken. Mostly we know that it will be implied, if not just not plainly said, that we are lazy gluttons and that our bad habits are killing us.
My experience was just about this bad. I found out that I have diabetes (blood sugar 127) and because of this, need to reduce my blood lipids from a total cholesterol of 211. My doctor said my blood pressure was high, even though every other time I have had it checked recently, it has been an acceptable 120/70. I got in a huge fight with her, because she wanted to prescribe statins, which seemed premature since I am hoping my training will improve all these numbers. She wanted to send me to a nutrition class, but i told her I work with professional nutritionists and am quite familiar with a diabetic diet. She told me to take fish oil tablets and I told her I would even though they make me burp a fishy taste. And then she sent me for a stress test, and a bone density test. Why bone density? I always thought fat people naturally had thick bones ... for us life is a weight-bearing activity.
The idea of the stress test stressed me out. I cancelled it. Then I made a new appointment after having to plead with the receptionist to extend my referral , which had expired three days before. I was particularly concerned that either I would have to ride a stationery bike which really hurts my crotch, or that I would be asked to run on a treadmill until I was gasping for breath. And then while gasping, I would be told I needed a stent or at the very least a test where a bag of iodine is past through my groin into my heart.
But I passed! I walked nicely on the treadmill on the flat, and then up hill and then more briskly up hill, and then truly quickly up hill with electrodes all over by chest and sides, and really nothing happened. My heart rate went up mildly. My blood pressure stayed within the normal range.
I got the OK to begin to an exercise program. The nurse asked me what I intended to do, and I decided not to mention running in a track meet. "I will walk briskly," I told here (retaining what I had read in many brochures), "and once I loose some weight I may jog."
"Oh no," she said, "Walking briskly is good, but don't jog. It's too hard on the joints." I grabbed my passing report card, made my escape, and took the elevator down two floors to my car.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Morbidly Obese Woman Trains to Run a Mile
In March 2009, as a devoted swim grandma, I attended the Junior Olympics to encourage my talented, smart, funny and focused young grandson in the meet. The warm-ups took forever, so I decided to explore the giant sports complex and found myself in the bleachers watching the US National Master's Track and Field Championship.
The first event was the mile for men 85 years and over. Three gentlemen participated. One ran smoothly save for a hitch in his gait. One ran and then slowed to a jog, and then sped up again to finish. The third, who was 93, ran only the first few yards and then slowed to a moderate walk. As each past my seat, I joined the audience, which consisted largely of other athletes waiting for their events, in clapping and yelling encouragement.
The meet continued, working backwards down the age groups, alternating men and women, until my group appeared, women 60-65. There were quite a few participants -- some who looked like seasoned athletes, others who looked as if they had taken up running later in life, but were built for it, and a few, who looked extraordinarily ordinary. They had upper backs sloped forward with post-menopausal humps, varicose veins, and legs that seemed flaccid and had no definition between calves and ankles. Despite this, all of them finished.
I could do this, I thought. Somewhere in me is an athlete, albeit buried deeply under layers of fat. I know I could run. I know I could look convincing in shorts and a singlet. I know I could go a mile.
This would not even have been a thought worth noting, let alone writing a blog about, were it not for the fact that I am 5" 3" and weigh 279 lbs. I am morbidly obese. I do an management job and sit at a desk all day. I love to eat. And I don't walk anywhere, except when I absolutely have too. I always take the elevator and avoid stairs. I spend lots of time looking for those close-in parking spots.
This blog is the story of my attempt to make good on my pledge to myself: to run a mile at some sort of organized track meet. I am writing it mainly for myself, to document my ups and downs. And to keep myself honest. I hope you enjoy my story.
Miriam
The first event was the mile for men 85 years and over. Three gentlemen participated. One ran smoothly save for a hitch in his gait. One ran and then slowed to a jog, and then sped up again to finish. The third, who was 93, ran only the first few yards and then slowed to a moderate walk. As each past my seat, I joined the audience, which consisted largely of other athletes waiting for their events, in clapping and yelling encouragement.
The meet continued, working backwards down the age groups, alternating men and women, until my group appeared, women 60-65. There were quite a few participants -- some who looked like seasoned athletes, others who looked as if they had taken up running later in life, but were built for it, and a few, who looked extraordinarily ordinary. They had upper backs sloped forward with post-menopausal humps, varicose veins, and legs that seemed flaccid and had no definition between calves and ankles. Despite this, all of them finished.
I could do this, I thought. Somewhere in me is an athlete, albeit buried deeply under layers of fat. I know I could run. I know I could look convincing in shorts and a singlet. I know I could go a mile.
This would not even have been a thought worth noting, let alone writing a blog about, were it not for the fact that I am 5" 3" and weigh 279 lbs. I am morbidly obese. I do an management job and sit at a desk all day. I love to eat. And I don't walk anywhere, except when I absolutely have too. I always take the elevator and avoid stairs. I spend lots of time looking for those close-in parking spots.
This blog is the story of my attempt to make good on my pledge to myself: to run a mile at some sort of organized track meet. I am writing it mainly for myself, to document my ups and downs. And to keep myself honest. I hope you enjoy my story.
Miriam
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