One thing I love about Facebook is the “memories” feed. I enjoy looking back at past years—it’s like a journal in some ways. One thought that often crosses my mind is, “Gee, I wish I were as fat as I thought I was then.”
My 40s were filled with healthy choices. I started running at 41. I wasn’t trying to lose weight or do anything other than quit smoking. I had no intention of reinventing myself, but I did. I was transformed within a matter of months by the Crim Training Program.
There was something about being in a Crim group. Everyone was going at my pace. For reference, I was that kid in P.E. class who could never complete the running assignments for the Presidential Physical Fitness Test. I don’t think kids have to do that anymore, but it was definitely a thing in the 1970s and ’80s. I was always the last to finish—but in Crim training, I finished en masse with all my newfound friends.
Those new friends are well represented in my memories feed. Our get-togethers expanded beyond Crim training to other races and even a few concerts. I was having the time of my life, and it wasn’t a phony put-on to try to get likes. My face shows genuine joy, even when I was sweaty and hoisting a new medal.
The medals piled up, too. In just one year, I went from never running to completing a full 26.2-mile race. Running a marathon had never even been on my radar, but I did two of them in Detroit in my 40s. I ran and walked dozens of half-marathons, too. Then, one day, it ended. My gleeful race-day photos stop appearing after the fall of 2014. I lost my job, my gramma died, and suddenly, so did my motivation.
I look back at those pictures regularly, and it always hits me: I was in incredible shape—the best shape of my life. I felt great, too.
“What is this strange phenomenon with us humans? Why, when something is healthy and makes us feel good, is it the first thing we let go of when times get tough?”
After all that hard work, it’s as if one day I just stopped running. No weaning off. No breaking up and getting back together. I was simply done. It took me a little longer to lose my resolve than it takes most people to ditch their New Year’s resolutions, but the psychology behind it is the same—and once you stop, it’s hard to start again.
I don’t want to give up on 2013 me. Looking back, I’m proud of that girl who was last to be picked for kickball in grade school, then became a middle-aged marathoner. My knees tell me my running days are over, but that health-focused, joyful younger me is still in there, just dying to come out. I guess my point is this: I keep searching for a better version of myself, and she’s right there in my Facebook memories feed—ready to take on the world when I am, and still part of me, no matter how far away from her I get.
