#WhyIRun

Contrary to the delusion that I may have unintentionally painted through my Instagram posts or Facebook feed, I do NOT have this stellar background or this glorified history of being a runner.  In fact, my interest in sports was limited to watching boxing matches on my once pirated cable box from a dude name Courtney.  If one person in the projects paid for the Tyson fight, EVERYONE who received illegal cable from him watched that fight for sure.  Boxing was -and still is- whimsical to me.  I admire the awkward dancing in the ring, the disturbing shit talking that takes place and the art of skillfully throwing an upper cut--but I wasn't intrigued with the regimen that came along with it.  In fact, it's the only sport that I took seriously at one point and at times, I bare knuckled a few bullies with those skills--but that's another story.

Running is one of those things that people from other sports use as a form of conditioning or even punishment if the team screws up.  Until five years ago, I thought runners were absolutely nuts for going great distances.  I knew nothing about cross country work, sprinting on the track and field, a fartlek was a funny juvenile word and if someone could've told me that I would be doing endurance running, I'd probably let out a hearty cackle until I was begging for an oxygen mask.  In my hood, we ran for the ice cream man during hot summer days or to kick someone's ass in a game of tag.  On the contrary, the speediest people that I knew were crackheads and drug dealers who ran from the cops--and no, I will not turn this into a glorified sob story.  But I get this question often:  "Why do you run--and stick with it?"

Speaking Positively to Yourself: Yesterday's long run felt horrible. It's been a while since I wanted a run to be over so bad. I couldn't make it a half mile without wanting to blow my nose, my chin hairs were saying hello before I waxed them - thanks endometriosis - and my legs felt like semi hardened cement. And after it was all done, I realized my watch was telling me a pack full of lies and cheated me out of 2 miles. It's cool though; really it is. Before I was ever equipped with tech watches, knew anything about proper sneakers or learning that cotton is 'di devil,' all I had was passion, hope and self motivation. Yesterday was a great reminder of this very thing. When we are stripped of everything that we don't know is a dependency, what do you have left? Yourself. Your fight. Your tenacity. You're drive. Hell, I can talk about the elite runners, Olympic sprinters and Ironmans until your ears bleed but one of the best runners that I read about before becoming engulfed in this sport was Harriet Tubman. I know --no medals right? But she made ME a possibility. Y'all gonna get tired of hearing me say this but I'm trying to be my ancestors' wildest dreams and trying to develop a narrative so big, you'll think it's a fairy tale. I'm not imaginary honey and ones before/after me aren't either. Screw a shoe, a watch, a hiccup in time or the people who think you're not moving at their speed. Just run like your freedom depends on it. #runningfatchef #fatrunner #runner #running #fitnessmotivation #fitmom #fitness #skirtsports #REALwomenmove #swiftwick #chaseadventure #womenwholift #inspire #rootedresistance #blackgirlsrun #selfie #celfie #hellobeautiful #bewild #strongwomen #dreamchasers #dreambig #fearless #selfcare #selflove #speakyourtruth #fuckendometriosis #slowrunner #backofthepack

A post shared by Latoya Shauntay Snell (@iamlshauntay) on Feb 11, 2018 at 10:43am PST

In my opinion, running is one of the few sports that haven't bored the hell out of my very complex mind.  Initially, my MySpace - now Facebook - friend Rob signed up for a half marathon in the UK and I felt compelled to do the same here in the States.  This was purely a bucket list item that manifested into a beautifully complex and sometimes, expensive obsession.  

I'm not afraid to admit that I was a very ignorant runner for the first year and I learned through Google, emulating others and eventually through the support of a hell of a group called Black Girls Run.  I watched my reasons for why I run evolve as I went through my self proclaimed metamorphosis. 

In the beginning, I looked at it as a bucket list item that could help me lose weight--and oh dear, it really did.  In fact, it did too much of a good job that I found myself in the middle of West 8th Street at a busy intersection in the middle of January temporarily losing my vision, ability to hear and being guided to a side walk from an older customer who frequented my ex- employer's restaurant.  Within ten minutes, I was pumped with bags of fluid, hit with yet another cancer scare and told that I was starving myself.  Ignorance almost killed me because unlike what my hecklers currently imply --I didn't eat 4,000 calories a day; perhaps it would've prevented me the hospital trip, missed days of work and scaring the hell out of my entire crew.  I learned that proper nutrition required for me to eat more than usual.  My then 2,500 calories a day during peak training wasn't enough--a very harsh and expensive learned.

When the weight fell off and was ten pounds shy of my goal, I received a different sort of trolling:  I was now "too skinny" to some of my 'friends', family and a small audience who followed my journey--even to me.  I was now "the skinny bitch" and I couldn't call myself fat anymore.  Words and people who once uplifted me to lose the weight also stung me twice as hard, encouraging me to "eating some more doughnuts" and "lay off the crack" that I was allegedly smoking to get this small.  Their words forced me to reevaluate why was I doing this and how can I make me happy, not the entire planet.

Solidarity. That word means so much to me, especially because of the state that we find ourselves at in the United States. Typically I dislike allowing my social media to cross with politics because I do my best to respect viewpoints across the board. In addition, I'm not in the mood for someone trying to scapegoat my feelings as being biased because I'm an African American woman. Honestly, this country has progressed, regressed, spiraled and bounced back. We are both fragile and resilient. Strong is an understatement. With our president calling out athletes who refuse to stand when we are exercising the rights that were allegedly given to us, we have no CHOICE but to be strong, resilient and demonstrate how fragile this country truly is. Mr. "President," many of us don't feel free when we are crucified by the flag that you want us to pledge allegiance. Aren't I American enough for you for using my voice to say that we're an incorrect nation that's dancing on a D grade arrogantly trying to look like a straight A student. How callous are you to make such statements to the world about us being superior yet we're divided? Together we stand; divided we fall. Ain't that right? there's no picket deep enough to buy our silent protest or to prevent us from taking a knee. Sincerely, Latoya Snell, A Black Athlete Kneeling #runningfatchef #fatrunner #Spartanfinisher #ultramarathoner #marathoner #ultramarathontraining #marathontraining #selfie #runner #running #fitnessmotivation #fitmom #fitness #istandwithkapernick #takeaknee #blackgirlmagic #blackgirlsrun #dearmrpresident #solidarity #usa #togetherwestand #swiftwicksocks #chaseadventure #skirtsports #REALwomenmove #groupselfie #runningselfie

A post shared by Latoya Shauntay Snell (@iamlshauntay) on Sep 26, 2017 at 5:40am PDT

This may sound strange but as I mentioned on several forums, I intentionally gained some of my weight back.  Granted, I didn't ask for ALL of this but I knew that the number wasn't what made me happy.  Instead, I took the time to learn about building muscle while holding onto my newfound joy, running.  And how exactly could I do this as a plus size runner?  

To burst a bubble:  I NEVER made it to the BMI number for my height.  Even at 165 lbs, I was still overweight yet resting on a comfortable 8, sometimes size 6.  Sometimes you don't know how much you don't desire something until you attain it.  Instead, I learned that running was the best gift that I never asked for.  

Extra weight slightly sacrificed my speed but that too, can be corrected.  When I took away the weight being my motivation, I quite literally lifted 'weight' off of my shoulders.  By this point, I ran to see if I could make it to the next milestone.  And in some strange way, I relearned how to trust people.  Although it was a slow moving process, running with a group who made sure that they stuck around for the very last person established a healthier relationship with women.  It debunked this primitive thought that women cannot trust other women and I built a new family with a bunch of strangers.  

As I allowed others to enable me to push for my happiness and growth, a friend talked me into signing up for my first marathon.  I never thought it was possible to run 26.2 miles but even in while battling brief but nasty stint of alcoholism (check the link to read about it) due to depression, I managed to train for my first marathon with Rock and Roll DC.  After boxing with my demons, I utilized the New York City Marathon as my redemption race and impulsively signed up for a 60K two weeks later--this was 2015.

Transformation Tuesday... I tend to avoid participating on these posts because it bothers me a bit. Before I get ambushed, hear me out. Have some of you noticed the trend with transformation Tuesday where someone posts a before an after picture of their weight loss, stating how "happy" they are with life because they shredded some pounds? Granted, some people find their happy through weight loss. More power to you. That wasn't my case. In the first three squares, you'll see me at my highest weights of 265 lbs. (And no, I wasn't pregnant, just fat). I was in shit health, neck didn't exist and thought that my happy would come in the form of losing weight. Square 4 is at 185 lbs. I really did find my happy here. At this time, I was trying to lose more weight (now, I hope that I don't hit lower than this but that's another story.) Square 5 is at 170 lbs or possibly lower... maybe 165. I never felt so depressed during my journey quite like this time. I thought weight loss meant happy... right? Hell nah. Emotionally, I was done and a month after, I started exploring areas of being a functional drunk. It didn't help that people gave me shady ass compliments like "you look better skinny..." or "whew, you escaped the fat farm, huh?" Chuckle... chuckle... chuckle? Or my once supportive group reminding me that I might need help for my "eating disorder." Folks kill me. The last image is less than a week ago: 214 lbs and bloated. I'm happy again. Not because I gained weight or will lose more weight again but I'm just happy. What does this have to do with transformation Tuesday? Every fucking thing. Your weight loss will not be the cure to finding your happy. Your desire to live life to its fullest will be your transformation. I managed to jump out of perfectly good planes, run for miles to get a medal and stale bagels, cycled throughout the city because my legs finally did not send me to the hospital. In turn, for this transformation Tuesday, it will not be some emotional ass post about how shedding a shit load of weight turned me into a poster child for Jenny Craig (no shade seriously). This will be for my mental health.

A post shared by Latoya Shauntay Snell (@iamlshauntay) on Jul 25, 2017 at 9:38am PDT

​Present day, I am certain of why I run.  I love the exhilarating feeling that the course gives me and this reassurance that this 200+ pound frame can tackle pavements and trails, even at a snail pace.  When I feel the muscle cramps kick in, I'm reminded that I'm still alive despite having a rough life.  When participating in endurance races, I know that the real race is while I'm training.  Race day is just a test and reflection to the ultra marathon secretly gift wrapped as life.  If I can manage to be a mother, wife, friend, mentor and recently, viewed as a role model to others, I know that I'm capable of so much more.  I run because these events are just visual and physical metaphors of a time in my life.  I can grieve, smile and deflect negativity on the pavement as I move.  Despite having a wall full of finisher's medals, the real trophy resonates in my mind and this body.