So college. I don't suppose things got any better at that time of my life. I went to college on a track/cross country scholarship. I was sooooo excited that I had been accepted and that I got the scholarship. I got there after rebelling against my father and his coaching for an entire summer. I was totally out of shape arriving and ended up being the worst one on the team at the beginning. Later in the season I was in great shape but to be honest my body type is not one which has positive results from the amount of exercise that I had to do. Regardless, the amount of exercise didn't serve to deter me from my love of running. As a matter of fact people used to comment all the time about me running everywhere on campus. I think the problem I have is with authority as opposed to exercise. As far as eating right goes I never have known how to do that. My father is a 300+ pound man who has been large all of my memorable life. I'm from Oklahoma. We are meat and potatoes people who are farmers. The problem is that if you are not actually taking an active roll in the farming activities then the meat and potatoes are stored as opposed to burned. So now we know. I am a lover of exercise who is burnt out due to the fact that exercise became not so fun any more. I am a lover of food who has continued to love food despite the fact that I have discontinued my love of exercise. Maybe the answer is for me to rekindle my affair with exercise but on my own this time. No authority figures included.

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The Makings of a Fat Ass Part One

I have not always been this way. I grew up normal. As a matter of fact I grew up skinny and some what toned. I am about 5'6" or 5'7". In high school I was 125lbs. That was 15 years ago. When I was little I used to watch my father (a high school sports coach) coach his boys track team. I used to wish I could be a part of the team. I could think of nothing more exciting than running a million miles in front of millions of cheering people in attempt to win an award. When I was 5 years old my dad let me run in a race that was sponsored by the local radio station in the area. I ran 4 miles and I came in very last place. I got escorted in by a police officer on a motorcycle and the entire crowd was cheering for me. After that I was hooked. I was so proud of myself for finishing the race without cheating like other kids my age who cut across at certain moments when they knew no one was watching. As if the people in charge of the race and watching the race didn't know they were cheating by the time they came in and how they came in ahead of adults in the race. Any way my excitement in finishing, getting the attention, receiving a radio station T-shirt had me hooked for life on running. Eventually the coach in my dad took him over and by the time I was in high school I had him driving behind me in his car on long runs out in the country so that I could keep in shape for the race. I would get so angry that his fat ass would be driving and yelling techniques out the window at me instead of running with me or letting the whole process be fun. After a few of those experiences I was un-hooked. I knew from that point forward that I would not be running unless I thought it was fun. Thus began my rebellious fight against authority and conformity and anything which wasn't fun. Basically, I went from a kid who loved running and had dreams of becoming an Olympic athlete to a kid who would sit around and do nothing just to get away from the dictator that was my coach. My dad was not a bad guy or a bad coach he just chose a tactic of break em down and build em back up as opposed to lets have fun with it and learn something. This simply was not the best tactic for me. It may have worked on others but on me it was paralyzing.

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