On by Spencer Schunk
When I was a kid I hated sports and all manner of physical activity.
Running was something I actively feared. Skipping, which seemed like effortless fun for everyone else, was more like torture for me. Catching a ball was something I told myself I’d never be able to do. It should come as no surprise that I was always picked last for sports teams during recess and gym class.
To go along with being physically inactive I was a very picky eater.
I detested vegetables but loved fried foods like chicken fingers and French fries. My family owns a restaurant famous for comfort food in huge portions. It’s no exaggeration to say that I ate chicken fingers -– then my favourite meal –- almost every day growing up, and the portions I consumed were bigger than adult-size. On days when the restaurant was closed it was usually McDonald’s for dinner, because my mom didn’t cook, and when it came to food I was denied nothing. I got pretty big pretty fast.
Athletics were only a source of humiliation for me but on the other hand I excelled in academics, so I decided to ignore the physical part of my life. I told myself ‘that just isn’t me’. Maybe it wasn’t a conscious decision at the time but looking back I can see that I made a choice about my identity. I was a fat kid who couldn’t catch a ball, and that’s who I was always going to be, and nobody in my life –- not my friends, not my family, not my teachers –- ever let me forget it. When I would visit the doctor for unrelated issues he’d be sure to bring the conversation back to my weight, and how excessive it was. By the time I was fourteen I weighed nearly 200lbs (I’m not tall), and then I just stopped getting on the scale.
To be fair to my doctor he did have a point, however callous his approach may have seemed.
I began to have health problems. My visits to the bathroom were so irregular they often kept me out of school. I frequently found myself out of breath after minor exertion. I would experience crippling back pain that rendered me nearly immobile for minutes at a time. I was convinced there was some mystery medical cause to all this -– it couldn’t be my weight. Plus, I’d come to like being the ‘fat guy’. It made me a natural underdog. ‘Hey look at how many friends that fat guy has!’, or, ‘How’s that fat guy dating such a pretty girl?’ I clung fiercely to that identity. After all, people seemed to like me.
When I was sixteen I found out my back pain was related to scoliosis that I’d likely had since birth.
Aha! A mystery medical cause! I was vindicated! But then the doctor who read me my X-rays told me that the best thing I could do would be to strengthen my back and core muscles through low-intensity exercise –- well, I didn’t want to hear that. I wanted to hear, ‘This isn’t your fault and there’s nothing you can do to change it.’ So that’s what I told myself, giving permission for the pain to continue to the point where one night as I was serving tables at my family’s restaurant I was struck by an attack so intense I had to lean against the server stand, barely holding myself up, able to do nothing but cry while everyone in the dining room looked on.
I weathered it out. But I didn’t go to the gym.
It was the strangest thing that finally got me there. I was in the third year of my theatre undergraduate program. I had half-heartedly tried to make a go of various exercise practices but my discipline always collapsed after a week or two. My acting teacher announced to the class that roles in our final year would be cast with physicality in mind -– not necessarily what we looked like but what we could do. After that lightning strike moment, I went home for the summer and just like that I started hitting the gym three to four times a week. Because it wasn’t about changing the way I looked (so tied into my identity). It was about achieving a greater purpose.
Over the next few years my exercise routine became consistent. My back pain all but disappeared.
I was working out with friends who were mostly ex-athletes, we were lifting heavy, and I was building muscle. But there was something missing. I was stronger, but still carrying a lot of extra weight, and was unhappy with myself in a way that was difficult to define. I felt like an impostor –- this gym stuff wasn’t really me. I’d backslide eventually.
There was a battle happening on a subconscious level. That old identity was constantly reasserting itself: ‘But you’re the fat guy! If you’re not that, will your friends and family still know you?’. And implicitly, ‘Will they love you?’. It was all about what other people thought, but I was still convinced these were my thoughts. A much smaller voice inside was desperate for change, but it was easily silenced.
In January 2017, things started to change for me even though I didn’t know it yet.
I participated in boxing coach (and champion), Steph Dykstra’s bootcamp a couple years before. Through a friend I found out she’d opened a studio called Iron Lion Training with her husband and fellow fitness professional Ron Dykstra.
I was nervous to try the new gym, because I was coming off a very busy six-month period during which I’d neglected exercise almost entirely. I remembered the first day at the last bootcamp I attended: my cardio had been so bad I wanted to puke. But I went, and I kept going even after my friend dropped off. That little voice got louder. I got into boxing, group classes, and weight training. And eventually, about a year down the road, Ron had a conversation with me about nutrition and asked me if I wanted to try Precision Nutrition through ProCoach. It took me a long time to be ready for this conversation but Ron sensed that I was finally there.
That was seven months ago and during my time in the program I’ve lost nearly thirty pounds.
But the beautiful part? That number is the least remarkable thing about my transformation. I’ve started coaching boxing classes and working with personal training clients at ILT. A few months ago Steph referred to me as ‘athletic’ in an offhand way, not knowing it was the first time I’d ever been called that, or how much it meant to me to hear it.
It’s the furthest thing from my old conception of myself. It helped me realize I have changed my identity, and I don’t think I have to tell you how much happier that has made me, and how powerful it can make you feel.
It’s still a battle, but thanks to coaches Steph and Ron Dykstra and the PN program, it’s a battle I know how to fight.
On Monday, January 21st, we’re opening Precision Nutrition Coaching to a small group of men and women who want to look and feel their best. With PN Coaching, we help you get in the best shape of your life (and stay that way for good) by personal coaching which will help you:
* Eat better, without dieting or feeling deprived.
* Get active, no matter what shape you’re in now.
* Build fitness into your life, without taking it over.
* Achieve, and maintain, your goals, even when life gets busy.
The result? You’ll:
* Lose the fat you haven’t been able to shed for years.
* Build physical strength and confidence in your body.
* Gain mental confidence, no longer hiding your gifts and talents.
* Let go of food confusion, learn what to do, how to do it.
With Precision Nutrition Coaching, Iron Lion Training can help you change your body (and life) forever.
Get started here!
We have also broadened our reach, and are now offering this system online.
Why is that important to know?
We can train you anywhere in the world, remotely.
Cool right?!
Sign up, trust the process, and keep showing up.
All you have to do is make the decision to start!
We’ll take care of the rest.
Where do you want to be one year from now?
We’ll help you get there!
Email us at: info@ironliontraining.ca
Call: 647-998-5466(LION)
Find Your Power in the Pride!!
Tagged with: change, fat loss, fitness, strength
