My inspiration was the 2009 New York Triathlon. All those people doing the unthinkable—specifically, jumping into the Hudson River. It just grossed me out. That water must be super toxic; I expected to find them glowing as they emerged from their swim.
Instead, I saw myself. Not then, not now, but soon. And I started thinking...
You see, I am not an athlete. Never have been. Most of my adult life I have been five or ten pounds away from the perfect weight. Two pregnancies sixteen months apart did not make matters any better. Hey, I love my little guys and treasure all the gifts they bestow upon me. Do I love what bringing them into the world did to my body? No, I do not!
It took me a long time to figure out how to find the time to make it to the gym. There were a few things standing in my way. First off, I hate to exercise. Oh, what the hell—that is THE reason. Making the time for something I hate? Not easy.
One day, in August of 2008, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror and realized that things were heading south. Literally. That week, I went to the gym and got a membership. Matt, my husband, was not so optimistic—he gave me two weeks to land back on the sofa. Proving him wrong was enough of an incentive for me, so I did the only thing I could: I started going to the gym before I was fully awake. I put my clothes, water bottle and iPod out the night before and set the alarm for 4:45AM (yes, AM). It stuck. The following summer, I was still at the gym five days a week, waking myself up to to the groovy tunes of the Bee Gees, as I warmed up on the treadmill.
Until the New York Triathlon.
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