Taylor’s Journey Week 1 Part 1
I hate asking for help.
There’s some sort of weird complex that rules my brain and makes me want to be responsible for everything in my life. It’s really not a bad thing most of the time – it’s made me pretty independent and self-reliant – but when I do need help, it makes asking really hard.
I am on a deadline. A really intense deadline. I won’t call it life-or-death, but it kind of feels that way. It’s a deadline that could really determine the trajectory of the rest of my life.
Let me back up.
Hi. I’m Taylor. I’m a 27-year-old Toledoan. By day, I’m a reporter at The Blade. Most folks know me as the crazy girl who did the gang map thing or as the crime reporter, and while both of those are a profound bit of who I am in my working life, I’m now a general assignment reporter, which means I do a little bit of everything. Once the clock strikes 6 p.m., I bolt out of the building to start my second gig: taking care of my favorite little guy.
Milan, my son, is three months old and he is the best, best, best. Seriously, I love that kid.
When I turned 26, seriously, that day, I made the official decision that I wanted to be a police officer. A Toledo police officer. I was in the best shape of my life, I was strong, I was dedicated. I was working out twice a day with three to five mile runs every morning (or a trip to the gym when it was too cold or too snowy or too rainy or too dark) and an hour-long high-intensity class at Soul City at night.
I had dropped 60-some pounds from my heaviest and, no joke, I was kind of hot. For the first time ever I thought I was, anyway. In any event, I wanted to be a cop and knew I would be able to pass the fitness exam with no problems.
Fast forward five months and I was sitting in my stunned friend’s kitchen crying into a plate of break-and-bake chocolate chip cookies with a positive pregnancy test next to me. Two weeks later I realized I was going at parenthood alone and I resolved to make it work.
Pregnancy, for me, was very easy. I was incredibly lucky. I continued to work out as best I could, going on short runs (eventually, after a quarter mile I had to stop to walk to catch my breath) and visited the gym for awhile. I cut myself a lot of breaks because I was so tired all of the time.
During my pregnancy I gained 60 pounds, and, since then, have been trying to work it all off.
A few weeks back I went to Toledo’s police academy for a practice fitness exam and failed every single component. That is not an exaggeration. Afterward, to an officer I know, I cried.
“What are you going to do when you get home?” he asked.
“Cry,” I said.
I didn’t, but wanted to.
It’s been three weeks since the practice test and, since then, I’ve lost 16 pounds and, once, managed to complete a 1.5 mile run (one-one hundredth of a second too slow, and yes, that will mean I fail) but haven’t hit any of the other standards. (22 untimed standard push-ups, 31 sit-ups in 1 minute, 300-meter sprint in 64 seconds, 1.5 mile run in 15:14 minutes, bench press 61 percent of your body weight one time)
That’s why I’m here, that’s why I asked Tracy for help.
I’ve never worked with a trainer before, and I don’t know what to expect, but I’m afraid if I don’t, then I’ll never be ready for the test (which is sometime in either December or January, so I’m preparing like the test is Dec. 1). Here, on Tracy’s website, I’ll blog about what this journey is like for me and what it’s like to train with Tracy. I’m not going to lie, I’m nervous. I’m all about public accountability, which helps me a lot, but this is for real. People know what I’m shooting for and what I have to accomplish and what’s on the line. There’s a chance, hopefully a small chance, that people will have a front-row seat to my failure. That’s intimidating, but also incredibly motivating.