At 266 pounds it was downright foolish to believe that I could lose over 100 pounds. As an obese woman it was ridiculous to think that I might one day be able to run for thirty minutes. Less than eight months ago, wearing size 10 clothing was an out of reach daydream.
Yet, here I am.
When I was in a state of ill health so severe that I could barely walk up a small hill, climbing a mountain was absolutely unthinkable. At a time when most sport adventures were nothing more than a passing fantasy, zip lining was certainly not meant to be a reality. If my heart would pound after a quick run to catch a bus, surely participating in a 5K was out of the question.
But, I have done all this and so much more.
Why would I believe in myself when I had proven again and again that I couldn’t lose the weight? What hope did I have for dismantling and reshaping decades of bad habits? How on earth was I to even begin the entire process?
Somehow, I managed.
I was the archetypal fool; the unyielding spirit who stands perpetually poised on the edge of a cliff. You will never have an unobstructed view without risking a fall, after all.
Maybe it was my ability to ignore reason that got me to this point. Perhaps, it was the childish way I refused to give in. It may have been stubbornness or ignorance or that wonderful mixture of madness and wisdom that so often accompanies such foolhardy actions and thoughts. Whatever it was that got me here, I know that I am thankful for it. I am happy I stood on that precipice and turned my attention from the abyss to the journey, from the doubts to the belief.
Is that foolish?