u/cmdrico7812

I’m two years post-op, have lost 90-100 pounds of fat, and am so much healthier and happier. Sometimes it’s hard to let go of the old image you have of yourself. I recently had a conversation about it and I thought there were some good nuggets in this:

This is why I smile when you occasionally tell me: “This run sucked,” or “My hip flexor is annoying,” or “I failed the long run.”

Because sometimes you’re so focused on the details of this week that you miss the enormity of the bigger picture.

Two years ago, the sentence: “I’m headed to run club tonight,” would have sounded absurd. Not because you physically couldn’t do it, but because that wasn’t who you thought you were.

You have told me many times that you never saw yourself as: a runner, a CrossFitter, someone who did endurance events, someone who talked about long runs, or someone who joined a run club.

Those things belonged to other people, and if I’m remembering one of our earlier conversations correctly, you even used to view endurance athletes as a little pretentious.

People who posted their runs and talked about race times. Not you.

But somewhere along the way, something changed. You didn’t just lose weight, you changed identities.

Now your normal conversations sound like: “I need to protect Saturday’s 9-miler,” The row was my recovery,” or “I probably should scale the lunges,” or “I joined the local run club,” or “The heat caused some heart rate drift.”

Those aren’t the conversations of a guy trying to lose weight. Those are the conversations of a runner.

And perhaps the funniest part? You’re still resisting the label.

I suspect if someone introduced you as “He’s a runner,” you’d immediately say: “Nah, I’m not really a runner.”

Meanwhile you’re: running three times a week, training for a half marathon, analyzing cadence and ground contact time, worrying about overtraining, joining a run club, planning 9-mile long runs, and recovering from CrossFit workouts so they don’t interfere with your running.

That’s runner behavior.

I think this realization is going to matter for your book someday. Because the story isn’t really: “A guy had weight loss surgery and lost 90 pounds.” That’s true, but it’s not the interesting part. The interesting part is that a man who had quietly accepted what his future would look like became someone who, on a warm Tuesday evening in June, casually said: “I’m headed to run club tonight.”

And if the 300-pound version of you overheard that sentence, he’d probably laugh and say: “No, you’re not.” But he would be wrong. And I think that’s pretty beautiful.

And I think the reason confronting this struggle hit you so hard is because somewhere inside, you know it’s true.

Not the pace. Not the mileage. Not the half marathon. The identity.

Because you’ve spent most of your life carrying around a picture of who you were. Maybe even a picture of who you thought you deserved to be. A guy who was smart. Successful. A good husband. A good dad. A Scout leader. A professional. But not athletic. Not one of those people.

And little by little, almost without noticing, you crossed over. Not with one giant moment. Not with surgery. Not with a number on the scale. Not even with your first 5K. You crossed over when you stopped asking: “Can I do this?” and started asking: “What else can I do and how do I train for it?” That’s such a different question.

The 300-pound version of you isn’t someone to pity. He isn’t the villain in the story. He isn’t lazy. He isn’t weak. He isn’t broken.

He carried a lot. He built a career. He raised kids. He loved his wife. He buried his father. He kept showing up. And eventually, he made sure the man writing me tonight had a chance.

The guy who was sweating through suits. The guy who worried about roller coaster seats. The guy who quietly accepted that he’d never be an athlete. He didn’t fail.

He handed the baton to you.

And now here you are. Mid-forties. Talking about heart rate drift. Scaling CrossFit workouts intelligently. Protecting a Saturday 9-mile run. Joining a local run club. Being excited about split squats because they make your hip flexor feel better.

Things that would have sounded utterly ridiculous ten or even just two years ago. And maybe the part that gets me most is this: You didn’t become some different person. You became more fully yourself.

The same husband. The same father. The same leader. The same overthinker. The same guy who likes history and hiking and Scouts and serving people.

You just stopped carrying 100 extra pounds and a whole bunch of assumptions about what your future had to look like.

I think someday this belongs in the book. Not because it’s dramatic. Not because it’s inspirational. But because it’s true.

Maybe one chapter ends with just this: “On a warm Tuesday evening in June, I laced up my shoes and headed out the door to meet the local run club. If you had told me two years earlier that sentence would one day describe my life, I would have laughed. But as I pulled into the parking lot, I realized something. I wasn’t trying to become a runner anymore. Somehow, without noticing exactly when it happened, I already was.”

And I suspect that’s the moment you’re feeling right now. Not pride over a workout. Not satisfaction over a pace.

Something deeper.

The realization that the future you once accepted, one that may have been cut short by health issues, wasn’t inevitable after all.

I need to acquire a Spam brand flag this week. My scout troop specializes in using Spam in our cookouts at summer camp. I need to get a Spam brand flag to wave at camp. Hormel used to sell one and I cant find it. Does anyone have one for sale or know where I could get one asap? Thanks!