My favorite sport is fastpitch softball. I never played it, but my daughter did, and we spent many a weekend on the road to tournaments. I always used to maintain that if her team held in there until the parking lot was empty, we’d done well; that means you’re in the championship game.

If you don’t know anything about fastpitch, it’s a lot like baseball, but better. It’s rarely a slugfest, for one thing; not because the girls aren’t capable of sailing a grand slam over the fence — I’ve seen that plenty of times. No, it’s because they use a lot more tools to win the game. It’s not just hitting and bunting; it’s slapping, it’s playing the short game, it’s sac bunts, it’s movement of the ball.

Real, Actual Daughter, pitching in college

My daughter was a pitcher. She had a couple of great pitching coaches, and they didn’t dwell on how fast she could throw, though she had speed; they worked on how she could move the ball and hit her targets. Curveballs that made batters back up, only to have the umpire call ssstttrrrriiiiiiikkkkkeee!! Rise balls that inevitably had batters swatting at them, and if they connected at all, went straight up in the air for an easy catch and out. Working the umpire’s strike zone so she could get those strikes called when she needed them.

It’s never as easy as throw the ball over the plate, hit the ball, catch the ball, throw the ball. It’s about strategy and long-term goals.

My journey has never been easy. I’ve had to learn a lot of strategies to get the results I want. I’ve had to put in some long days and hard nights to get one step further down the road when it seems, at times, I’ve taken three steps back. I’ve had to overcome plenty of obstacles to get to the championship game; and when you play at this level, every game ends up being a championship game. You play it to win.

This past Tuesday, I went through my pre-surgical tests, only to be told that if my potassium levels were that low on the day of surgery, they would have to refuse me. I am on high blood pressure medicine that leaches away potassium, and chances are, I’m healthy enough now that we might have to consider backing off the dosage. In the meantime, I’ve been prescribed potassium to bring my numbers up. I’ve also been told I’m borderline anemic, which I probably brought on unknowingly when my primary doctor and I opted to experiment with thyroid medications. I’ll know when tests come back if we need to reconsider dosage on that, as well.

To confound matters, my regular doc can’t understand why my tests were perfectly normal three weeks ago, so he sent me back to the vampire (sorry… phlebotomist!) for yet another blood test. He wants to see if it comes back like the one earlier in the week. At this point, I’m beginning to feel like a pin cushion.

I managed to get my surgical clearance, but I still have work to do between now and my surgical date — my current championship, if you will. I still have to work my strategies and keep at the hard fight; not just until surgery, but until the day I’m cleared after surgery, after physical therapy, after three straight weeks of spending a total of six hours a day strapped into a CPM machine, after walking with a walker — a cane — and then unaided.

Between now and then, I still need to push forward, overcome the things that stand in my way (which there seems to be on a daily basis, right now), get through surgery, and find the strength within me to do the best job possible in recovery.

I wish I could say it’s smooth sailing from here, but the real game has just begun.

(PS: this song is dedicated to both my husband and daughter, because I know they both despise it. 😉 )

I admit that I have no idea what to write, this morning — so I’ll just tell you where I am, mentally, just a little over three weeks out from knee surgery.

That’s what weighs on my mind the most, these days. I’ve done pretty much everything I can possibly do to prepare myself, but the mental part of it gets to me at times. I feel as if time is slipping away and I haven’t done everything I planned to do, which overwhelms me. I did misjudge some things; I figured I would. It’s human nature, after all.

The rest? I know my nature well enough to have anticipated that I would feel this way, a bit. What I didn’t anticipate was needing more self-care than I allotted for. I guess, in my mind, I just figured life would continue, I’d be working away and doing the things I’d normally do, and then stop for surgery, to resume at some point after adequate time for recovery. (I’m self-employed, so that point where I feel comfortable resuming work is up to me.)

I was wrong about that. I didn’t anticipate that I’d feel so mentally claustrophobic, yearning for a breakout so I can step away from the worrying. I’ll get a brief respite this weekend, but I really should have planned for more of a mental break in preparation. After all, this is a huge thing for me; a long time in coming.

I knew over a decade ago that this day would eventually come. The same surgeon who will be performing my knee replacement told me so; I’ve had a previous surgery to remove bone spurs and mend a meniscal tear. I’ve also spent most of my adult life over 300 pounds, and I’ve done a great deal of damage to both knees. Thank goodness there’s a way to repair that, and thank goodness a second time for having taken all the necessary steps to fight for it.

I thought I’d be more excited. And — well — I am, but I’m also fearful. Aren’t we all, when we are on the brink of a major change in our lives, whether it’s marriage, starting a family, changing careers, changing focus? I suppose it’s natural that I’d be dealing with a bit of stage fright.

But this is where I am, right now, the closer I get. I have no intentions of backing away from the decision to move forward with surgery. I can’t stop, now — and I’m not considering it. My pre-surgical appointments are this coming week, as well as a follow-up with my own doctor; it’s Medical Week, I suppose. And knowing that makes this all the more real.

[As a follow-up to last week, I’ll state quickly that my blood tests came back in excellent range, and I’ll be testing in another couple of weeks to see if changes we’re trying will make a difference. I am also now 182.8 pounds down and closing in on my next short goal.]

Like big butts? I’ll be honest. I don’t like big buts. Notice the difference?

The word but has stopped me from doing a lot of things over the years. I might have said it, and if not, I certainly meant it. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.

I’d go to that reunion, but I can’t lose 100 pounds in less than a month, so I think I’ll skip it. (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this one; just pick whatever amount of weight and substitute it in.) I can’t possibly walk around downtown without a lot of pain, but I’d hold you back, so I won’t go.

Or the reverse: “Gosh, you look great!” “Thanks, but I still have a long way to go.” (Oh, yep, I’ve said exactly that, far too many times.)

But, but, but… I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood in my own way and sabotaged myself with a stupid 3-letter word. BUT.

Always fight. Keep fighting. Maybe you’ll get a shrubbery out of the deal.

Guess what? I’m going to a high school alumni band reunion event in less than a month. Am I at my high school weight? Oh heck, no, and I seriously doubt few there actually are. So what? I wasn’t all that popular in high school, anyway, so — take me as I am, or it’s your loss. I am a work in progress. I no longer make apologies. Apologizing for who I am is just plain silly.

I used to not be able to walk far at all, so I felt horrible about holding other people back. Instead of letting that get me down, I worked on it. At first, I made compromises; my husband and I used a travel wheelchair so we could still go do the things we wanted without worrying about physical limitations. I graduated to planning out my trips so I’d know, for sure, I’d be able to handle it. Now, I can get around pretty darned well, even though I’ll have knee replacement surgery in 32 days. I’ll be damned if I stand in my own way and hold myself down.

Make no mistake. I had to fight hard to get where I am. I didn’t let but stand in my way. Doing the best you can do in any situation is never a compromise; giving up because you don’t want to face it? That’s not even a compromise.

I was not always a fighter. I have had to learn to dig down and find the strength to push forward, to find a way to make things work instead of letting myself down with a “but”.

Because, quite honestly, there’s always a “but” waiting to drag you down.

But is an excuse. It’s self-sabotage. It’s taking the easy way out, most of the time. But isn’t the option of someone willing to fight and keep fighting until they get what they’re after.

And I will finally get what I’m after. No ifs, ands, or… well, you know. 😉

Keep fighting, friends. That’s what I’m gonna do.

I’ve crossed the line to losing more than 180 pounds — 181 this morning. If you follow the Facebook page for this blog, you may know already that my initial goal was to lose 200 pounds. The closer I get, the more often I get the question — what’s my final weight loss goal?

I suppose it’s a natural question. After all, especially with the advent of shows like The Biggest Loser, where contestants were measured entirely by the number on a scale (and the total proportion of body weight they lost), asking for a number seems like the most obvious question. Even as recently as 40-50 pounds ago, even I had a number in mind, of sorts.

The closer I get, though, the more my perspective changes. It’s the reason I’ve stopped talking quite as much about total weight loss in this blog, although I still give numbers; I know for those who follow my journey, it’s an indicator of how I’m doing. For me, a number on the scale is not the biggest factor, so while I’ll continue to mark certain goals as I pass them, I have a bigger goal in mind. (Not to mention, finding photos that reflect the total amount lost has become a challenge!)

Eh, change has been here for the last nearly 5 years!

One of the main reasons I started this journey in the first place is because I have metabolic syndrome. (Read more here.) It’s not a disease in itself, but rather, a cluster of risk factors, usually triggered by insulin resistance as well as obesity. Now, I am more concerned about solving each of those risk factors, and dropping off prescription medication and being stable without them.

My goal is to be healthy, medically stable, medication free (if possible; I am hypothyroid, so that may be my remaining medication). Whatever weight I happen to be at when I finally cross that threshold of checking all of those boxes, will be the point when I finally decide where I’ll be weight-wise when I decide to move on to maintaining weight instead of actively seeking to lose it.

I have long believed that we have become an over-medicated society. I don’t necessarily blame doctors for this; rather, I think the system is set up to push patients through offices as quickly as possible, which often means treating symptoms rather than solving the actual root of the issue. We end up taking a laundry list of medications that likely do the job and keep us moving forward — and thank God for the souls who invented these lifesaving tools — but I believe most medications are for the purpose of assisting us to survive while we actively work on what caused the issue in the first place. Instead, so many of us simply maintain on a medication because it fixes the problem at its surface, and probably end up eventually taking higher doses or more medications down the road. It’s become normalized behavior instead of actively working to correct the base issue.

With 181 pounds gone, I felt it was high time to visit with my primary care physician and see where some of my metabolic issues stand currently, especially since I’ve lately been exhibiting symptoms of possible over-medication; considering my doses have not changed over the vast majority of my weight loss, it’s high time. I’m fortunate in that I have a doctor who fully listens to me; he has taken baseline labs and we are experimenting with one of my medications over the next few weeks. We’ll test again in three weeks.

My intention is to not only see where those metabolic markers currently are, so I can continue on this course (or correct it, if necessary), but to be as healthy as I can be before knee replacement surgery. I know I will experience some setbacks weight-wise after surgery, but I also suspect that once I get my legs back under me (both literally and figuratively!), my successes may well ramp up a bit.

While I haven’t slain all of my dragons just yet, I suspect that they’re more the size of geckos than a brontosaurus. I don’t want to get ahead of test results I haven’t yet received, but if my suspicions are true and I am ready for further changes to my medical regimen, achieving my health goals are well within my reach.

It’s a long time coming, but change is gonna come — my health is one step closer each day.

Ever notice how many experts there are in the world, now? Because I sure have.

I admit that one kind of the “experts” I find both humorous — and troubling — are the social media weight loss experts.

If you’re on social media, you know someone who has pushed the programs. Weight loss programs they just happen to profit from. Some promise you only health but then add that the unsupported side effects include weight loss. You know, with a *wink*, but if it doesn’t work for you, well… we did say that’s only what some people report. So sorry, but we have another product that might work for you…

I find them humorous because I seem to always end up a target. It was especially true when I weighed more; if I was at an expo where someone was hawking some health aid, they would head straight for me, as if I were a lost soul in search of saving. Perhaps I was, in a way, but I’m pretty sure these people just saw dollar signs, not the salvation of my health.

After I’d already lost over 100 pounds, a woman targeted me on Facebook, claiming she was just interested in being my friend; yet, after I told her quite clearly that I wasn’t interested in her weight loss counseling services because I was quite successful on my own, she said she could always use another friend. Odd how she never uttered a word to me after that, and the only posts she made were to hawk her products. Needless to say, I saw no reason to keep her on my friends list.

Humorous, yes, but I also find them dangerous. And this is why.

I am a longtime failure at dieting. Most morbidly obese people usually are; I’ve tried everything from tuna diets to vitamin plans to shakes to… well… name a fad, and I’ve probably at least considered it. Like so many others, I’ve been a target of these things most of my adult life. While all those things might at least get a person started on the path to lose weight, they inevitably fail, and all for the same reason.

They’re diets. They don’t solve the base issue because they never address it. They’re just excuses for not committing to real change.

Alright, already! YEESH!

Some consider the phrase lifestyle change a cliché, especially after the number of shows that have paraded the morbidly obese across the screen, feeding them three asparagus spears and making them run marathons, all while screaming about healthy lifestyle changes!!!! Any phrase used too often tends to lose its punch, and this one has been horribly abused.

A true lifestyle change means mentally accepting the commitment it takes to adapt. A lifestyle change doesn’t end because your bathing suit finally fits. I no longer think about some distant point when I might see a magic number on the scale and suddenly feel the freedom to scream “IT’S FINALLY OVER!!!” and dive headfirst into a banana split. There’s no goal weight.

People ask me often, now that I’m nearing crossing the threshold out of obesity (and into just being overweight! Ha!), about how much more I plan to lose. The truth is that I don’t know that number. There is no real finish point; just more of a progression in the stages of my health. I will eventually reach a point where my health is balanced enough that I will learn to maintain, but that’s as much of a process as the trip there.

Yes, it sounds daunting to anyone that’s at the beginning of the road, rather than being far down it, but consider this: time marches onward, whether you’re working on changing something about yourself or not. We face small choices every day. The long distance I’ve come was truly taken one small choice at a time, one step at a time. It’s a journey not of leaps and bounds, but of increments.

And no excuses.

What choice can you make, today, to change your life?

I have a tattoo on my shoulder. I had it done a number of years ago, after the first time I lost a lot of weight. It’s a colorful chameleon. Why? Because I firmly believe that change is always possible.

But sometimes I seem to forget that. I underestimate myself. While I think I have a fairly accurate mental image of myself that matches the physical, I don’t necessarily recognize my own abilities.

This week, for instance. I finally achieved the goal I wrote about last week and I’m on my way to the next one: a truly special one in another 11 or so pounds. Since I just passed a goal, I took progress pictures, as well as some comparisons to the last round of progress pics, and even some old ones. Being sure that the mental and physical realities of my body actually match is important to my success, so I take the time to measure and compare these things.

Yet, I lost track of my own abilities.

I’ve run out of pics that represent my weight loss, so… enjoy this lizard!

When I was in the doc’s office a couple weeks ago, talking to the physician’s assistant, he made the comment that I certainly had a lot of arthritis on both of my knees. Nothing I didn’t know, right? And then he asked me how much pain I’m in. I told him that actually my pain is well under control and I really don’t experience much in the way of debilitating pain.

The look on his face was priceless. It wasn’t what he expected to hear at all. But then, the average person going in for knee replacement is at least 15-20 years older than me, and often older people will simply back off of anything that causes pain. That’s not my circumstance.

I explained to him how much weight I have lost, and that while I had been barely able to walk and cope with the pain when I was at my heaviest, the pain I experience now is minor and manageable. Not to mention — after dealing with this for a number of years, I know my limits and don’t stress them.

Then, it occurred to me that he needed me to tell him that my arthritis was in some way limiting. And it is. While I now walk around 5500 steps a day, I can’t do long periods of walking or standing. My knee locks and buckles. I do have limits. I definitely still need knee replacement surgery. But I admit it was sort of a gas that he obviously thought I should be much worse off than I actually am.

I have a FitBit and I walk daily; and this week, entirely by accident, I joined a challenge. I hit the wrong thing and boom — there I was. So what the heck — I accepted an invite for another one. I’m in two of them. I’m still just walking my 5500, which in my mind, was a measly amount of walking. After all, FitBits are automatically set to start you at 10,000 steps a day. I started at around 1500 a day early last year. I’ve been thinking for quite some time that the number of steps I take a day is a feebly low number.

The funny part? I’m in these two challenges with people who are younger than me and don’t have the hindrances I do — and I’m not last. I’m certainly not in the lead, but I’ve actually been neck and neck with people, right on their heels, passing people. How the heck did this happen?! I’m 7 weeks away from total knee replacement, and I’m passing people? This rocks!

Not accepting a fate that people expect for you is a great challenge. Because change is always possible.

In the spring of 2003, I started a weight loss journey. Over the course of about 18 months, I lost 140.5 pounds. And then, try as I might, I could lose no more.

While a lot of folks saw that journey as a success, the longer I look back at it, the more I see it as a failure. I fooled myself into thinking that I knew myself well — when I really wasn’t living true to myself. I forced myself into something that wasn’t natural to me, and quite often, I felt like an imposter. That fit woman who grabbed her life back couldn’t possibly be me. To add insult to injury, I was inflexible and unwilling to admit to myself that I needed to change in order to progress.

I fought to get past a 2.5-year plateau — and gave up. I regained every pound I’d lost, and then a few more on top of it. There were a few attempts between then and now, but I took that failure hard and couldn’t allow myself to believe I was capable of losing the weight without flogging myself half to death.

Because really, the life I led then was hardly a life at all. Everything came second to my weight loss efforts. Now, I firmly maintain that any such program has to be part of a person’s life, not take it over. (This is one of the many reasons I prefer not to be known for weight loss. If that’s all you see of me, you’ve missed the best stuff.)

Today, I can proudly say that I am .6 of a pound away from losing every pound I regained after that failure of a journey. I’m about to be in a weight territory I haven’t been in over three decades. I am entering a new phase of this journey — one of uncharted territory I am thrilled to explore. And the one thing I am truly thankful for is that it has taken me a much longer time to lose the weight than it did over a decade ago.

Keep ’em spinning!

Please pay attention to that: I am thankful my weight loss has been slow.

And by “slow”, I mean I’ve been fortunate to lose 25-30 pounds in a year, on average. I am in my 5th year of weight loss. These years have been a learning experience like none other I’ve ever had in my life. While I still have the occasional “what the heck, that was me?” moments when I see old photos of myself, my mind and body are in agreement. They never really were back during that first big journey.

Things happened so quickly back then that my brain couldn’t really keep up with my body. I was physically strong for the first time since childhood. I was a workout beast. I loved it when I could sneak up on someone I hadn’t seen in a couple years and they totally didn’t recognize me. I felt like I could finally leave that Fat Me behind and pretend she never existed.

That was a huge mistake and eventually my undoing. I was so busy trying to distance myself from who I’d been, that I lost who I was. I truly believed that the only way I could be healthy was to punish myself on a daily basis. I didn’t exercise for the joy of feeling the strength in my muscles; I exercised because I feared that not exercising would result in going back where I’d been.

Perhaps it was karma that helped pile those pounds back on, eventually weighing in at the heaviest weight I’ve ever been in my life.

Now? Not only do I know so much more about myself, but I also know without a doubt that I can achieve my goals without flogging myself, without punishing myself. Yes, I have a bit of a journey yet to go; no doubt about that. The most surprising thing this journey has brought me has not been weight loss; it’s been the gift of realizing that I am at a high point in my life. I have never been better than I am at this moment.

Sure, my life can be quite like the circus performer trying to keep all the plates spinning without busting them; I do well in one thing but another needs my attention. That’s life, really. I’m not quite yet at a point where I fire on all cylinders equally all the time, but I will be. I know that with absolute certainty.

My life was dissonance, then; trying to understand why I couldn’t get past where I was, was nothing more than an emotional and mental vampire that took me away from everything else that my life was supposed to be. Now my life is more about harmony.

While this process is never an easy one, I find that my occasional struggles are nothing in comparison to what they once were, because so many of them have a rightness about them. The result has been that I have never felt sharper, more in command, more hopeful about my future. Each thing that’s added to my life is another note in my harmonic structure, giving my life depth and joy rather than blocking my path.

And that’s a damned good place to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A follow-up: my weigh-in to make sure I’ve lost enough weight to proceed with surgery was this past Monday, and I passed with flying colors. Two months from yesterday, I’ll be exchanging a crappy arthritic knee for a shiny new one. I’m pretty sure I’ll be getting the better end of that deal!

Yesterday morning, I woke up — ready.

I’d been preparing for this day for months. From the first moment the physician’s assistant at my orthopedic surgeon’s office told me I needed to lose more weight before surgery, I’ve had a desire to show them I could do it. I stumbled, at first, because at that point I’d been struggling with breaking a weight plateau and my weight had drifted up, but I went in for a follow-up, trusting that once I actually talked to the surgeon instead of a PA, that things would go differently.

Instead, he told me — a bit nicer than the PA — that I still needed to lose more weight. He gave me suggestions. I listened. And I’ve been working my butt off (quite literally) since that point.

So when I woke up on the morning of my scheduled appointment weighing a full 27 pounds less than the last time I was in their office, I was ready to show them that I am strong. I am capable. And I am ready.

Imagine my surprise when they called me before the appointment and told me the x-ray machine was broken and I would need to reschedule.

I’ve lost a 170 pound, 6 foot tall UFC fighter.

And so I wait — another 10 days or so. It’s not the end of the world, but next week is spring break, I am going camping, and I had planned on not being quite as stringent with my food plan as I have been over recent months. I wasn’t going to have a food blowout, but I was also going to enjoy a few choice meals that I knew would likely cause a temporary weight gain.

And mind you, here I am, a mere smidgen away from my short goal, on top of everything else.

So it’s come down to choices: what do I want, more? A few heavier meals while camping? Or a double opportunity: the chance to achieve my short goal and also march into the doctor’s office on the Monday after vacation, still showing them what I’m made of, with no gains?

The choice is both tough and easy. Of course, I want to show them what I’m made of, and I will. But this comes down to choices: the short term delight of a couple of treats, or the long term achievements of not only passing my short goal but perhaps dropping even more weight before standing on the doctor’s scales.

Normally, I would not be this scale-driven. I firmly believe in non-scale victories (NSV), and that they are at least as important, if not more important, than a number on a scale. I believe that food adds to our quality of life, and that the occasional dietary bend is okay (as long as it’s not a full break). But in this instance, I’m being judged by that number — and so I am determined to make this third time a charm.

I have to accept that at least until I have what I believe I need (knee surgery), I will have to play by someone else’s rules rather than my own. I’m giving myself a gift that’s a lot more important than a couple of meals that will be forgotten not long after they’re consumed. My planned roadside stop is going to have to wait until I’ve eased on down the road a bit more.

I have had a pretty incredible week for weight loss — in fact, a run of weeks in a row that I’ve steadily lost weight, and this far into my journey, any time I lose any weight at all is a time for rejoicing. Right now? I’m positively giddy to be very close to my next short goal, one I honestly thought might be as far away as year’s end, considering my previous loss statistics.

I did make some small adjustments, and they were apparently the right ones. (And no, I won’t say what I did, because — as always — what my body requires is likely not what your body requires, and we all have to find our own successes.) I am well aware that future tweaks may yet be required, but for now, I’m very happy and confident, going into an important follow-up appointment for knee surgery next week.

But that’s not really what I’m here to write about.

I’ve lost the equivalent of this 167 pound tuna. That’s a whole lot of tuna salad right there.

I’m a member of a club that volunteers annually for a large marathon; they man a station that serves two points in the race, the last station marathon runners and walkers see before the finish line. The station sits at the 18 and 24 mile markers; marathoners turn and come back. About 30 folks come out very early on the first Sunday morning in March, which is typically a weather crapshoot here, and work until the last walker comes through in the mid-afternoon.

This was my first year volunteering since previously, I felt I was not physically up to the task. This year, I was, although I was on the verge of becoming sick and didn’t know it at the time, so wasn’t fully up to the day’s demands.

I spent some of my time out by the street and cheering on folks who were coming through. Later, I stood and handed out Gatorade to passing participants. Late in the day, my knees and head both hurt enough that I was sitting at a distance, watching, when the last of them came through.

Perhaps it’s natural to compare yourself to those in the race. I honestly thought that every participant would be much like the early runners; fit, determined, ultra-focused passing those late markers. Despite a chilly day’s start in the low 40’s, early runners were barely clothed, having likely dispensed of clothing along the way.

As time went on, the nature of each participant changed to span a much wider gap (and, might I add, more clothing!). Sure, there were the young and fit, and the ones who came from out of state to participate and proudly wore something identifying where they were from. But then there were those who didn’t fit the norm; a paraplegic on a special recumbent bike that required pedaling by hand. A sight-impaired man with an escort. Another with running with a service dog. People who must be well into their 80’s or beyond.

Some I recognized as people who have lost weight; the signs are there for those of us who have been through it. And while far from what is accepted as “fit”, many much heavier than I am currently, they were still running at the 18 mile mark. The farthest I have ever walked was 6 miles, and that’s been a decade ago; these folks tripled that and were still on their way. Bravery comes in a lot of different forms; they have my respect.

Some were clearly determined; some appeared to be in pain. Some were lighthearted and responded to our group cheering them on; we weren’t just there with refreshments. We were there with cheerful music blasting away, smiles on our faces, telling them we had faith that they were going to keep doing a great job. And, of course, some looked at us like we were crazy. No doubt, we are, but that’s the nature of the club.

Later came the walkers, and while some were still alternating with running, a day that had promised 60’s and sunshine instead dumped quick, hard, cold rain on the runners and volunteers alike, and nearby lightning threatened to end the race early. They soldiered on, the rain and threat of lightning left, and by then, it was plainly evident some of these folks were truly suffering. Wet clothing, wet socks and shoes. Garbage bags over their clothes in case it should rain, again.

Men bled from their nipples. People stopped at the medical tent next to us; one woman, who limped in with one shoe removed, I just knew was done. People of all shapes and ages kept walking, kept going, some smiling, many not.

But they all kept going. They all made the turn and we saw them on the reverse side at the 24 mile marker, closing in on the finish line.

Finally, the police and race officials confirmed that the last of the marathoners were just down the road. I’ve heard that many stations shut down before the stragglers come through; my club — and I’m damned proud of them for this — does not. They stayed.

And when they knew the last of the marathoners were approaching, they met them and walked with them, cheering them on. Telling them that they were close, just keep moving, that they had the faith in them to accomplish their goals. And they made sure, later, that they knew who had crossed that finish line.

I’ve only done one race in my life; I walked a 5K that was a local fundraiser. While they welcomed walkers, I was the only one who signed up, and that made me dead last. And I was not a fast walker to begin with. I tell you, I was mortified. They kept sending around an ATV to check on where I was and if I was still in the race at all.

But when I finally crossed the finish line, there was a crowd of women there to meet me and cheer me on.

I have been last. And I know what it means to have not been forgotten, not marked off the list. To have achieved, anyway.

It’s one of those big life lessons you have to always carry with you: being last, being the slowest, does not mean failure. It means you finished — on your own terms. Those who are there to see you over that finish line are the ones who know that life lesson. And those who are struggling to make it over that line want them to know how very much they are appreciated, because support matters. Cheering them on matters.

Finishing despite the struggle matters most of all.