My paternal grandmother was full-blooded Tarahumara, the tribe of indigenous people in northern Mexico known for long distance running. My daddy was a runner, and he's always told me that there is a runner somewhere in me too. I never believed him.
A few months ago, I signed up for a 5K training program with my 16-year-old son. I don't even recognize myself as a person who would do this. When I started attending OA meetings a year ago, I was so large and out of shape that I could barely walk a mile. I was morbidly obese: 5'2" and 267 lbs. I was pre-diabetic and at a high risk of stroke. I changed my whole life so that I could live. Over the last 20 months, I've not only lost a little over 80 lbs. by attending meetings, doing service, and working the 12 steps with my sponsor, I’ve gained enough confidence in myself that I am willing to try things I never would have before. Not only do I hardly recognize myself physically, I hardly recognize myself emotionally or spiritually either.
I feel so much better, but make no mistake: I am still obese, and I hadn't even attempted a jog in over a decade. I was terrified to go to the first group practice. I was scared the other runners would think I didn't belong there. I was afraid of looking stupid. It was much like attending my first OA meeting. I thought that I would be the only big person there. I thought I would walk into a room full of thin people who would silently judge me. I was wrong about OA, and I was wrong about these folks too.
The group has been so encouraging and supportive, exactly like my fellow OA members. I am by far the slowest runner. There are a couple of senior citizens that lap me every practice. I notice this, but I don't care and neither does anyone else. I feel strong. I feel proud. I feel the Tarahumara blood flowing through my veins. I’ve been delayed by the onset of plantar fasciitis, but I’m going through physical therapy to get back to running. There are second chances in running, just like in OA. I'm going to run in a 5K in the fullness of time. It’s going slower than I’d like, but that’s ok too. Nothing beautiful blooms overnight. I’m working on my OA program, and I’m working on reversing the injury my disease did to my body.
I may be the slowest runner, but I am a runner, and she’s happy, joyous, and free. I'm dreaming of crossing the finish line. The runner in me is laughing with joy.
Angelina
Dalton, GA
A few months ago, I signed up for a 5K training program with my 16-year-old son. I don't even recognize myself as a person who would do this. When I started attending OA meetings a year ago, I was so large and out of shape that I could barely walk a mile. I was morbidly obese: 5'2" and 267 lbs. I was pre-diabetic and at a high risk of stroke. I changed my whole life so that I could live. Over the last 20 months, I've not only lost a little over 80 lbs. by attending meetings, doing service, and working the 12 steps with my sponsor, I’ve gained enough confidence in myself that I am willing to try things I never would have before. Not only do I hardly recognize myself physically, I hardly recognize myself emotionally or spiritually either.
I feel so much better, but make no mistake: I am still obese, and I hadn't even attempted a jog in over a decade. I was terrified to go to the first group practice. I was scared the other runners would think I didn't belong there. I was afraid of looking stupid. It was much like attending my first OA meeting. I thought that I would be the only big person there. I thought I would walk into a room full of thin people who would silently judge me. I was wrong about OA, and I was wrong about these folks too.
The group has been so encouraging and supportive, exactly like my fellow OA members. I am by far the slowest runner. There are a couple of senior citizens that lap me every practice. I notice this, but I don't care and neither does anyone else. I feel strong. I feel proud. I feel the Tarahumara blood flowing through my veins. I’ve been delayed by the onset of plantar fasciitis, but I’m going through physical therapy to get back to running. There are second chances in running, just like in OA. I'm going to run in a 5K in the fullness of time. It’s going slower than I’d like, but that’s ok too. Nothing beautiful blooms overnight. I’m working on my OA program, and I’m working on reversing the injury my disease did to my body.
I may be the slowest runner, but I am a runner, and she’s happy, joyous, and free. I'm dreaming of crossing the finish line. The runner in me is laughing with joy.
Angelina
Dalton, GA