This is an excerpt from the book I'm writing about much more than weight loss, but this chapter delves into that part of my story. :) It's long, but maybe parts of it will resonate with somebody. Here's to a new chapter for all of us!
The Power of Pure Potential
I was hired as a police officer in November of 1999. At 5-9, I was a svelte 145 pounds when I was hired and spent my time in patrol in a busy area of the city that was central to prostitution and drugs. I had a great ‘work husband’, a classmate from my academy class. I was heartbroken when he decided after 3 years to go work for the feds. I found other work partners, but patrol wasn’t the same without him by my side. I spoke to some friends of mine who were assigned to the Crime Scene Unit (at the time it was called the Evidence Technician Unit) and interviewed for a position. I transferred at the end of 2002. Since then, I have investigated over 20,000 cases including 500+ deaths.
Back to how this fits in with weight loss and swimming.
After several years in the CSU, I decided that pursuing my education beyond the baccalaureate level would be a prudent idea since my end goal was to teach forensic science classes at the collegiate level. I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into and quickly found that graduate-level work was leaps and bounds above anything that I had completed before. But, I was up for the challenge and dug in for the long haul.
The first semester, I took only one class. I didn’t want to be overwhelmed since I still had my career and homicide callout to juggle along with my class work. The workload became daunting, but it was too late to turn back and I just had to grind it out until it was over. I found myself pulling later and later nights, losing sleep and drinking pots of coffee to stay awake. I also started to eat lots of carbohydrate-rich foods for the sugar high that would push me through long papers or pages and pages of research. I continued the two-course load for the next two semesters and ended up taking three courses at a time for the final two semesters. Between the caffeine, carbs and long hours, I began packing on the pounds. My waist expanded, my breasts got enormous (I’m not joking, it was ridiculous) and my thighs started to fill the legs of my sweatpants. Even my face got puffy and fat. My face and upper arms had little acne bumps on them from all of the poison I was ingesting and I looked absolutely terrible. At times, I kept a bag of those little powdered donuts on my desk and found my hand reaching into it only to find I had eaten every last one. That’s scary. Between the powdered donuts, raspberry danish, pancakes, chocolate milk, cookies, candies and snack cakes I was consuming, I had ballooned up to 210 pounds by the time I graduated in December of 2010.
At the Sheriff's Office, we were very lucky to have a yearly wellness exam scheduled for us. Many of my colleagues had life-threatening conditions diagnosed during this exam and their lives saved by this screening process. Needless to say, my results in the Spring of 2011 were abysmal. All of the crap that I fed my body over the 2 1/2 years it took to earn my graduate degree had taken its toll. I was diagnosed as hypothyroid in 2002 and take medication daily. All of the abuse that I heaped on my body had trashed my poor thyroid gland. I was pre-diabetic, my bad cholesterol levels were too high and good cholesterol levels were too low. There were nodules on my thyroid that needed a biopsy. Biopsy--that is one word in the English language that will get your attention fast. Luckily, the results were benign. On top of that, my body fat percentage was 35 percent, meaning I was on the verge of being morbidly obese. MORBIDLY OBESE. Are you kidding me? The knuckles on my hands were so swollen and sore that firing my gun during mandatory requalifications became unbearable. I was a complete and utter mess.
It shouldn’t have come as a shock to me, since I knew full well the calorie-laden, nutrient-void food I had crammed down my gullet over the past two years, but hearing the nurse read my results aloud was a kick in the gut. She asked me if I would like to attend nutrition counseling sessions and handed me a stack of booklets full of food pyramids and ‘what to avoid’ at the grocery store. Is this what it has come to? Seriously? I had to get a grip on this nightmare before I settled into a permanent health crisis. I went out to my work van and cried. Part of me was so proud for earning that degree while the other part was positively disgusted at what I’d become in the process. It was time for a change.
Being disgusted with oneself is probably the most depressing feeling in the world. All you want to do is crawl onto the couch, cover up with a blanket and hide from everything and everyone around you. Luckily for me, I have an amazing support system in my wife, Cindy. She is the yin to my yang—her patience to my restlessness, her spirituality to my science. We fit perfectly together and she has been a source of balance and strength during my darkest days.
I was lost. So much of what I thought I knew about myself had disappeared. I struggled to get up the stairs to our bedroom and my office. My duty belt was so tight around my waist that I had to suck in just to get it fastened. When I did, my gut hung over it like a truck tire. My work pants were tight and the seams would leave divots in my thighs after working a 10-hour shift. We wear Kevlar a vest over our work attire, not under it, so that we can remove it if we are going to be on a scene for long periods of time since it can get so hot here in Florida. The sides of the vest cover are made of Velcro—thick Velcro, so as not to come open during a struggle or fight with a suspect. The sides overlap, usually about 5 to 6 inches on each side. Mine? One good sneeze and that thing flew open like an automobile airbag since I could only fasten about one inch of Velcro on each side. When I would get home after a shift, I would be so tired that I would go to bed at 8:00 pm, sleep until 5:45 and still be exhausted. Something had to give. I couldn’t continue living---or rather, dying---like this.
Cindy was always supportive. She has been bodybuilding for 30 years and has a unique relationship with the gym. She has spent countless hours carving muscles out of nothingness and has an amazing physique. At 52, she still has a 6-pack that is the envy of women half her age. She would try to get me to take the dogs for a walk or try to get me to go with her to the gym. I wasn’t having it. I was too tired, and frankly, didn’t want to be seen by anyone. I was embarrassed, steadfast in my misery and content to sit on my ass and wallow in self-pity. Pathetic.
For a while, it was easier to sit and fidget on the Internet or watch some mindless show on TV. I needed to do something. No matter how much I hated it, my life was wasting away and I was becoming a person that I didn’t like very much. I had many achievements under my belt but no energy or will to put them to good use.
While I was surfing around one evening with no particular purpose, I came across an article about Dara Torres, the Olympic swimmer who defied all odds by winning two silver medals at the age of 41 at the Bejing games in 2008. I watched the 2008 games and the majority of the swimming events, including all of Michael Phelps’ 8 incredible gold-medal victories. It was an amazing time and I was in awe of Dara’s relentless focus on her goals. I started to read article after article about other women who had defeated the ‘fat’ monster or who had achieved amazing things past the age of 40. For the first time in months, I became motivated to do something about my issues. I decided to go swimming.
At the time, I had no swimsuits that could be used for any type of training. The only ones I had were for lying on the beach on a towel, and even they were old. I went to the local sporting goods store and pulled a few Speedo training suits from the rack. It took me several attempts and humiliating size increases to find a suit that fit. I looked in the mirror and was horrified. Pale, bumpy, lumpy, out of shape and well...just yuck. I took the suit home and promised myself that I would put it to use. Buying a swimsuit with good intentions certainly doesn’t burn any calories and I still hadn’t made a concerted effort to change my diet, either. The suit sat in the bag for several weeks before I decided to put it on and actually do some laps.
Pools are a strange place when you are unfamiliar with ‘deck etiquette’ and the way things work. Lifeguards are usually teenagers with lithe bodies and spray tans and an unintentional glance can be construed as a judgmental stare when you are insecure. You can feel like every eye in the natatorium is waiting for you to take off your sweats, to see what you’ve become. When you get mostly naked in a strange place in front of strange people when you know you’re out of shape and miserable, it’s a daunting task. There’s no hiding that fat roll underneath a heavy sweater or covering up the dimples in your butt with loose sweats. Nope, everything about your body is out in the open. You’re vulnerable and there’s nothing you can do about it—except pack your bag and leave.
I set my bag down on the bleachers and stood there for a minute or two, taking in the chlorine smell and watching several people go back and forth down the lanes designated for lap swimming. I caught the lifeguard’s eye a couple of times and silently wished he would just keep his eyes on the pool. I got out my towel, goggles and cap and placed them on the bench. I finally got the courage to take off my heavy sweatshirt and crammed it into the bag. I pulled my hair up into a bun and pulled the latex cap on. I still had on my sweatpants and I looked down at my bulging stomach. Before I could have second thoughts that would run me right out the door, I stripped off my pants, tossed them on my bag, grabbed the goggles and jumped into an empty lane. I didn’t even bother to feel the water, which was cold. I put my goggles on and proceeded to slosh my way, 25 yards, to the other end of the pool.
The water felt foreign, or maybe it was just the way my body felt in it. I swam a second length and a third. I was out of breath and grabbed the edge of the gutter. I needed to rest. I was heartbroken. I couldn’t even swim 4 lengths of the pool without being exhausted. I pulled my way across the edge of the pool to the ladder and hauled my body out. I walked to the women’s locker room and sat down on a bench in the back corner and cried. I was cold, wet and miserable. I had no idea how I was going to lose this weight if I couldn’t even swim it off. This was my go-to exercise! I swam competitively for 15 years! I was a beach lifeguard! How could I be so horribly out of shape? After I sat there for a while, I came to the conclusion that I had gotten myself into this mess and I was going to get myself out of it. I grabbed some toilet paper and wiped my eyes. I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “Game on.”