I have been wanting to write a blog for a while. I definitely work through my thoughts and feelings with writing more than speaking or thinking. For months I’ve written ideas for this blog in my journal and in unsent email drafts. So what happened to light a fire under my ass and make me actually start my blog, you ask? I was out with friends. These particular friends are a beautiful, strong, amazing women, and I don’t mean the following story to reflect negatively on any of them. One woman was recounting waiting for her daughter (age 12) to cross the finish line of a local town 5k race, and it was taking longer than the mother expected. She was waiting as more and more people crossed, with no sign of her daughter. “And then fat, slow runners were even finishing…” She said in a snide tone. And still no daughter. She said this, in a car with six people, and not a single person said anything to redirect her. Now I can’t be critical of the rest, because I didn’t say anything either. But I am that slow runner. I am a solid 12 minute miler at best, shuffling along at my snail pace. And she knows this. They all know this. We have all run multiple 5k’s together, them finishing around 25 minutes, me rolling in at my 36-37 minutes. I refer to them as gazelles, and I’m ok with it, that’s who I am as a runner. They keep inviting me to run with them, so I assumed they were fine with it as well. But the way that comment rolled off her tongue brought back all the mean girl taunts of my teenage and early adult years, made me cringe and retreat into my clamshell. Me, with my masters degree and my beautiful family and my successful career, it made me feel my same weight, but 2 inches tall. So I decided it was time for me to start this blog and encourage the discussion about how fat is incorrectly linked with unfit or lazy or slovenly, and my personal struggles and observations.