I Ran 100 Miles and Didn’t Lose A Single Pound…

About 6 years ago, my family and I moved to California from New York. My husband and I had moved there for work, not knowing how long we would be staying, and ended up living there for about 7 years!

Both of our children were born in New York, and its also where I learned how to lose ‘the baby weight’. Twice.

I felt like I had it pretty down. I knew exactly what to eat, and how often I had to work out in order to get results. In preparation for summer time I would bump up my efforts and drop 5 pounds for swimsuit season, and then let it slide back on for winter.

I had a system, and it worked for me. 

Then we moved.

I immediately gained 10 pounds. I figured it was because I wasn’t working out regularly since I was busy unpacking an entire house, entertaining 2 kids in a new neighborhood through the summer, and getting them ready to start a new school.

We had missed any real summer vacation, so my husband booked a trip to Jamaica just for the 2 of us and it was on! We got trainers at the gym and worked out like people on a mission! I dropped most of the weight, though not all of it. But at least, I was back to my normal ‘non-summer’ range.

After that trip my husband decided that we should have another goal to keep us motivated, so he convinced me that we should run a half-marathon.

For those of you that don’t know, that is 13.1 miles.

Yes. Crazy.

I should also mention that I had never run a race of any length at this point. It sounded like absolute misery to me. But I figured I still had some pounds to drop, and I know it does help me to have a goal to work towards. So I agreed.

My husband, our friend, and I signed up and began training.

About a month later, my husbands knee was giving him trouble, and he dropped out.

I went into a panic!

I pressed him to see the doctor, tried to order him knee supports, anything to keep him in the race with me. But it wasn’t happening. I realized… I was in it alone.

Well almost.

Our friend was still going running the race, and my husband’s niece was going to run it too. The half-marathon was taking place on August 17. So May 26 began the first week of my 12 week training plan. The plan included 6 days of exercise: 2 short runs, 1 long run, 1 day of strength training, 1 day of cross training and 1 day of Yoga.

I happen to live in a very hot area, especially during the summer months, so I was up quite early to run in the mornings. I literally ran over 100 miles. It was a serious schedule and it consumed my summer.

By the time the race came, I was ready to be done. The day came and it was just as miserable as I had expected.

The race started later in the day than I was used to running, and the unrelenting sun and  humidity sucked my energy. I also learned that while I had done some little inclines, I hadn’t really practiced on any large hills. That was a mistake.

This course had 2 huge…long…soul crushing hills right at the end that nearly brought me to tears. But I had a time goal I was trying to reach…3 hours…not a fast pace, but one I would be happy with. And I knew my family and children were waiting for me at the finish line.

When I finally made it up the hill I had forgone the running and was walking at the quickest pace I could muster. I turned the corner and saw my children holding up signs and cheering for me.

I gathered the strength and ran the last little bit to the finish line and got my medal. 3 hours 1 minute and 50 seconds. Grrrr!! I was SO close! But it was over. And I had done it!

I was so proud of myself!

I also vowed never to do that again, and haven’t run a single mile since that day.