I don't talk about this a lot, but it's been on my mind.
My dad weighs over five hundred pounds.
Like, probably six hundred pounds.
In today's world, he is big. But, sadly, you see people like him. Not daily, but enough that you don't drop everything and say "OH MY GD".
But growing up in the '80s, like I did, it wasn't normal. I remember walking a few steps ahead of him everywhere we went. I would have a menacing look on my face, DARING people to stare at him. I would run ahead in restaurants, to make sure we could get seats that didn't have arms, and that weren't too out in the open, but at the same time, not too much of a walk back. He couldn't walk that far.
My dad has a sense of humor as big as his stomach. Seriously. He literally would tell people that he was a recovering anorexic, and that he was proud of his recovery. He never seemed to eat TOO much in public, but had no problem talking about his favorite foods, restaurants, or what he ate last night. He was shameless! Have you ever noticed that "fat" people never talk about food? It's like they don't want you to think that they actually eat.
I went through an anorexic phase, and I remember going to visit him. I wsa going to be there for 3 days, which meant roughly 5 workouts. My dad was about to turn 50 and thought it would be fun to join. (He was lighter then, maybe 400 lbs.) He went with me, and for a brief moment in time, we had something in common.
You see, when I was growing up, my dad didn't really do anything with me or my siblings. He worked crazy hours, and when he was home, you could find him on the couch. "Quality time" meant praying, eating, or long drives. (He was a car afficiando). I have no memories of doing physical activities with my dad. I know he coached my brother's soccer team, but that was more for the folly of it, and there were other coaches that actually knew the sport.
At my sister's wedding, he was to do the father/daughter dance with her. There was a glitch in the technical system, however, which left him standing, painfully still, for over 30 seconds. He couldn't handle the agony and sat down, and my brother filled in. My dad never spoke of that moment, but I know it killed him. We aren't close, (for many other reasons), so this wasn't an issue at my wedding. He did, however, roll a wheelchair down the aisle.
Why am I writing about all of this now? Because I am at the age when I will try to have kids in the next year or so. And I worry. I am no where near his size, but I know genes are genes.
I am making a promise, from here until forever. Being on the Zone and Crossfitting can't be novelties to me. And, sometimes, I feel like they are. Not because I don't love Crossfit, or the energy and power the Zone gives me, but because, somewhere deep inside, I think I feel like I have been sentenced to following in his shoe steps. And I WON'T DO IT.
When I do something "big", like get my double unders, or run a 400m, no one is more surprised than me. Because I feel like a 600 lb shadow of a man. I don't think I've ever realized that, until right this minute. But I'm as much of a Crossfitter as anyone else at the box. I am earning my title as an athlete with every WOD.
I am going to be a healthy mom and wife. I will be able to ride bikes with my kids, and do Disneyland, and go all over the world. I have to. Because I don't want to be standing in a room of people, all staring at me, wondering if the lifestyle I chose was worth not being able to be a good parent to my child.
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