In March / April 2002 I sailed in Antigua Race Week with, among other people, the late David James. Towards the end of the week I attempted to buy a race week shirt… no extra-large la!!! There was no way I was going to leave Antigua without a shirt from such an amazing sailing experience. So… I bought a “Large” and VOWED that SOMEDAY the shirt would fit me. That shirt sat on the bottom of my drawer for eons, watching other well-weathered shirts come and go. “What about me?” it cried. You’re too small was the answer. Through the past 18 years I fought against age and weight, even completing a 47-day fast … yes, 47 days of no food on the controversial Master Cleanser, but the shirt never fit.
Until yesterday.
“That day” that I promised in 2002, was this weekend, Charles says kinda emotionally. The shirt danced for joy.
Alas, in my quest to fight aging and hold on to youth, in the poignant way that F. Scott Fitzgerald describes Gatsby’s desperation to regain Daisy’s love, this weekend I slipped below 180 lbs. (That’s 25 lbs lost, for the record.) I discarded two huge garbage bags of clothes that hung off me like bulky rags and thanked each item for their time with me. My favourite suits, who were my “Armour of God” during lots of difficult meetings - thanked and gone. I took the dog, deposited the bags at the Salvation Army so as not to have the items slip back into my human regard to hold on to the past. Together the dog and I walked the long walk home in search of the next milestone. (At left: yours truly at the helm during Antigua Race Week, 2002)
I have officially entered the post-Trent University weight universe. I weigh less than when I worked at Landmark Education in Vancouver and Toronto in the 1990s. We’re in the BC Yachts days, folks. What’s next? (At left: the crew from Antigua Race Week, 2002. The lion in my right hand was a US primary school project, sending the lion all over the world. It happened to land with me during a lot of travel!)
My Noom coach said, “listen to what your body wants next.” I listened. The body returned “I want a work-out. I want planking. I want intensity. I want more.” So I planked. The kids panicked, thinking I was having a heart attack. “No, I’m planking,” I laughed! Then Erika Gutierrez said, "you're never too old to learn how to shuffle dance."
Today marks 100 days of my weight loss journey. The next universe is the Trent University graduation dinner and then … high school. I ran fast back then but didn’t train well. I took advantage of my speed and scoffed at flexibility. Now I embrace training, tuning, flexibility... and the 1980s Nike LDV has turned into the Nike Next %. I’ll take it. I don’t know everything, but “now I know in part” and have less youthful arrogance – I hope and pray! I’m not good at any of this and am still relatively slow. But I see the vision. Where am I going? I’m going after my high school running times. No one knows them and I doubt Stephen Walton, who held the watch, remembers. But I remember, and I have those times in my sights. (At left, 1996 tuxedo pants still fit and are a bit baggy!)
What I didn’t expect, was how emotional this journey would be. What’s with that? I’m like all weepy here. It’s just a workout. It’s just a run. Or is it? Rational business brain says, “Yuh, that’s all it is, nothing more. Get over it.” But according to my feelings and intuition, apparently not. Regardless, radar says, “Keep sailing into the unknown. Believe in the horizon.”
Noom awards a break at 100 days. No lessons. No coaching. Meal logging optional. Last night there were protests and teargas in Hong Kong. Tonight there are three new coronavirus cases in Hong Kong. But tomorrow the running game resumes. Stay active. Move regardless of what the movement: walking, running, planking, stretching – it’s all good. Question your world. Aim higher because there’s something more.
So we beat on, shoes against the pavement, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
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