Pride must come

There comes a point in time in this process or journey of mine, I would gather, that a certain sense of pride would come in to play. Weight loss, one might argue, impressive... 125 pounds lost and kept off for five (5) years. Three (3) marathons completed with two (2) more scheduled over the next couple of months, many other races done, improvements made...

Still as I sit here, I find it difficult if not impossible to be proud of what I have accomplished. Had anyone else done what I have, it is with great confidence I can say I would hold nothing but the utmost respect for him or her.

The root (or in reality root-s, plural) of this issue stem from two separate yet likely inextricably linked issues.

It has never failed that as soon as I accomplish something great, my attention immediately turns to "what wasn't". Whether it be the desire for a faster race time, a bigger loss on the scale, whatever the case may be, the unnerving and unsettling itch to shy away from the positives in an effort to unearth the negative is, in my lay person's view, likely a deep seeded study in psychiatric turmoil. Surely, there is medication for that.

Generally I am not of the belief in instantaneous reward for my efforts. I do not fall into the reality TV show line of thinking. I neither ballooned to 355 pounds, nor learned to run a marathon overnight. Surely, all of the other obviously far more positive changes in my life would not take hold and manifest themselves in a nanosecond. At times, I feel I would welcome that. Then, in a fleeting moment or less, I quickly realize that results without effort, a journey without a path, offers little in the way of true reward.

While this may make my journey far more challenging and filled with detours, delays and other frustrating encounters, there is perhaps no other way I would want this to be.

The other obstacle, perhaps far more fatal in nature, is the unwillingness of my soul to accept that things are different. There are times when I, still, see myself as a morbidly obese man, struggling to survive all the while wishing life would no longer continue. It was that difficult to live. Worse, I would argue that what I was doing was anything but living. In the end and without much effort at all, I was mounting my own assault on my very being in an attempt to no longer be. There was no effort to play a lead role in my own life, rather I would take satisfaction from others "doing".

At some random points during rather nondescript runs, I am forced to remind myself how amazing it is that I am able to run. Something so simple. Seven years ago, this was a pipe dream of epic proportions. Now, slow as I may be, I am the doer.

Losing sight of myself is still easy, although these days in a different way than before. At least now, I am playing the lead and directing and producing. Still not thrilled with where things are today, I am saddled with both a blessing and a curse. I am better and yet still want to be so much better. I am a winner and still cannot win.

I am learning... just not fast enough to unlearn what I already know and perhaps never knew.