Patience and hard work helped Jen Sall lose 42 pounds.
May 3, 2006 (Press Release) --
"Hey, fatso! Get out of the way!" a voice yelled as I pushed through the crowd heading into a concert. How rude, I thought, feeling sorry for the target of his nastiness. And then the truth kicked me in my size-16 rear: He was talking to me悠 was the fatso!
Me, the once hard-bodied, soccer-playing girl who had moved to Boulder, CO, for college 12 years ago; got addicted to skiing, rock-climbing and hiking; and eventually called it home. Me, who'd quit my pack-a-day habit so I could run faster, only to gain 15 pounds in six months. Me, who'd put on almost 40 more by staying in a relationship that was so miserable I ate my way through it.
It had been easy to ignore my weight. After all, I was still running and competing in mountain bike races, but the truth was, after a 20-minute jog, I was so wiped out that I'd retreat to the couch and do my favorite exercise: powerlifting a bag of Doritos and a pint of ice cream.
At the end of 1999, my boyfriend and I broke up, and alone at a New Year's Eve party surrounded by cute, thin people, I forced myself to face the facts: I was fit but fat. Even though I loved exercising, I hated dieting, and this is where it had gotten me. I downed a few Cosmos and some fudge, and the pity party was over: I was ready to get slim.
I joined a gym that had a much-buzzed-about trainer, Marcus Eave. (It was impossible not to notice the perfectly sculpted muscles his clients displayed.) I finally snagged a coveted spot in his Spinning class and concluded that even on my sales-job salary, springing for his $80-per-hour private sessions once a week would be worth it.
Proving myself
"I can't take you on," Marcus said, when I asked him to be my trainer. He only had time for clients who were really committed to getting in shape. Apparently, he didn't think I was, and I hadn't been at the gym enough to prove otherwise. I glanced at a woman parading around in fab fitness wear, and thought, If she can be a member of the buff-client club, so can I. It almost killed me, but I exercised every day for two weeks and cut back my calories. When I showed up five pounds lighter, Marcus said, "Okay, you're in." His prescription: cross-training, to build up my strength and stamina. My drill was to work out five times a week, whether strength training or running and biking out in the foothills.
What I'd lacked before was consistency. I'd go 10 days between workouts. Now I was going to be lifting weights and doing cardio five hours a week. As an athlete, I could handle this challenge. I was less sure of his diet suggestions. I'd convinced myself I could eat anything if I worked out hard and threw in the occasional crash diet.
Marcus explained why my strategy wasn't working: It was almost impossible for me to burn off as many calories as I was taking in each day unless I made exercise my job.
Source: http://www.msn.com/
Me, the once hard-bodied, soccer-playing girl who had moved to Boulder, CO, for college 12 years ago; got addicted to skiing, rock-climbing and hiking; and eventually called it home. Me, who'd quit my pack-a-day habit so I could run faster, only to gain 15 pounds in six months. Me, who'd put on almost 40 more by staying in a relationship that was so miserable I ate my way through it.
It had been easy to ignore my weight. After all, I was still running and competing in mountain bike races, but the truth was, after a 20-minute jog, I was so wiped out that I'd retreat to the couch and do my favorite exercise: powerlifting a bag of Doritos and a pint of ice cream.
At the end of 1999, my boyfriend and I broke up, and alone at a New Year's Eve party surrounded by cute, thin people, I forced myself to face the facts: I was fit but fat. Even though I loved exercising, I hated dieting, and this is where it had gotten me. I downed a few Cosmos and some fudge, and the pity party was over: I was ready to get slim.
I joined a gym that had a much-buzzed-about trainer, Marcus Eave. (It was impossible not to notice the perfectly sculpted muscles his clients displayed.) I finally snagged a coveted spot in his Spinning class and concluded that even on my sales-job salary, springing for his $80-per-hour private sessions once a week would be worth it.
Proving myself
"I can't take you on," Marcus said, when I asked him to be my trainer. He only had time for clients who were really committed to getting in shape. Apparently, he didn't think I was, and I hadn't been at the gym enough to prove otherwise. I glanced at a woman parading around in fab fitness wear, and thought, If she can be a member of the buff-client club, so can I. It almost killed me, but I exercised every day for two weeks and cut back my calories. When I showed up five pounds lighter, Marcus said, "Okay, you're in." His prescription: cross-training, to build up my strength and stamina. My drill was to work out five times a week, whether strength training or running and biking out in the foothills.
What I'd lacked before was consistency. I'd go 10 days between workouts. Now I was going to be lifting weights and doing cardio five hours a week. As an athlete, I could handle this challenge. I was less sure of his diet suggestions. I'd convinced myself I could eat anything if I worked out hard and threw in the occasional crash diet.
Marcus explained why my strategy wasn't working: It was almost impossible for me to burn off as many calories as I was taking in each day unless I made exercise my job.
Source: http://www.msn.com/
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