—as told to—
Running and I have had a long relationship of discontent. As a child, I wasn’t athletic, though I would have loved to do gymnastics or swim more. But my parents said no to gymnastics because they were fearful of me getting hurt, and as for swimming, I was sensitive to getting chlorine in my hair and on my skin. Instead, my mom encouraged me to run track per her own athletic aspirations, which caused a bit of rebellion on my part.
My whole life, my family was more uncomfortable with my weight than I was, but their ideas about how I should look and their criticism affected my self-image.
Last year, I was 400 pounds and looking for ways to lose weight. I tried to get into running a couple times, but it was very hard to be consistent and I wasn’t seeing the results, so I didn’t stick with it.
Looking back, I realize that part of it may have been my struggle with mental health: I knew that something didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t figure out what. My family history and the conditioning I received made me believe that you don’t medicate or seek professional help, instead, you look to God for answers, and you fight. So that’s what I did for the longest time.