When I first got out of the program back in 2011, I found myself about 20-25 pounds heavier than I had ever been in my life. After several years of neglecting my nutrition, eating three good meals a day did exactly what it was expected to do: it got me healthy. But the thing is that despite eating really well, I hadn’t been doing a whole lot of physical activity during the year I’d been there. I wouldn't say I was obese by any stretch. But I was definitely a little on the pudgy side. I was over 40 and knew I probably needed to get into some kind of better condition.
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So there I was. A little pudgy, over 40, basically sedentary for the previous several years, and coming to the realization that I needed to make some positive changes. But the thing was, I had never been much of a gym guy, Yeah I had done some lifting in the past, but the thought of having to deal with treadmills and puffed up, self important meatheads didn’t appeal to me in the least.
So what did I do instead? I signed up for a footrace across the Sahara desert. How hard could it be. Besides, it sounded cool. I went and asked my sister, Heather, if she wanted to do it with me and she said yes even faster than I had signed up. Okay cool. Afterall, she was a veteran adventure racer and had raced all over the world. I figured I was in good hands. And as it turns out, I was. But it took me a while to listen.
Shortly after signing up, reality set it. Since my time in the Army years ago, I hadn’t done any type of running. But I was fast then, so no big deal. I figured running was just like riding a bike. You kind of never forget how. Anyway, I got ahold of a couple of books, got somewhat motivated and signed up for a 50 kilometer race in the backcountry of Santa Barbara. I was going to do the hundred miler, but even to me that seemed a little excessive. I had a few weeks to train. Did a little of the run walk thing on the concrete track near my house but nothing more.
Race day comes, I show up, sign in, toe the line, and start with the rest of the pretty large group of runners. I don’t know, maybe 60 or 70 people. I knew nothing about trail running. At least not at this level. I had the wrong shoes and pulled up lame with in the first couple of miles. It felt like I was being stabbed in the side of the knee with an ice pick. Lucky for me, someone was able to help me out by taping me up. I spent the next 15 or so hours hobbling up and down mountains until finally, out of sheer stubbornness, I crossed the finish line under my own power. I was dead last. But here’s the thing. I was one of only 11 people to even finish. Everyone else had dropped citing the dangerously high temperatures as the reason. It cost me dearly. I was absolutely destroyed. It was at that exact moment that it dawned on me that 250 kilometers across the Sahara was probably going to be a little tougher than I thought.
I spent the next year or so in and out of injury, ran another very hard race that caused another significant injury, and if I’m honest, I was getting a little discouraged. It was becoming clear to me that I didn’t have the knowledge to safely bring about the physical change I was going to need if I ever wanted to finish the Sahara race. My misguided, inexperienced approach was only causing more harm than good.
Sadly, this is how many approach recovery. Maybe something happens that gives them a good scare and boom, just like that they swear to leave it all behind. Well most of it anyway. They may find within themself the initial burst of resolve and determination to remain abstinent for even an extended period of time.
