“Why don’t we start with the ellipse.”
It was 2012, and my first session with a personal trainer.
“Okay, sure,” I thought. “A warm-up would be great…”
He then continued:
“…Because weightlifting will be too hard for you.”
“Wait what?” I wonder, “Too hard? Why do you say so?”
He continued, “After all, we need to exercise that abs!”
Mentally, I glanced down. My stomach. Like the rest of me, it’s big.
However, that’s not why I signed up for the training.
My fingernails dug into my palm.
Perhaps, I thought, if I explained everything to him, he would understand my background and goals. However, the desire to please me kept me from talking.
Instead, I entered the ellipse.
“See you guys next practice,” he chirped as practice ended.
“Certainly,” I said.
But there will never be another session—at least, not with him.
A few months after that personal training session, I stepped into the CrossFit box.
When I saw the dumbbells – and the people using them – I lit up.
I knew, immediately, that this was strength training for me.
When the instructor asked us to set up and show the class how to do the deadlift, I lowered my dumbbells and looked at the 125-pound iron with eagerness.
Then the trainer walked over to me and took one disc, then another.
Confused, I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure if you’re strong enough to do that,” he said.
Heat hits your face.
I was strong enough. Possibly stronger than the smaller ones in the class.
He doesn’t know it because he hasn’t asked.
Seeing my body, he assumed there was no history, no personal fame.
He looked at me and he saw a beginner, both in his class and in gymnastics in general. Again, I said nothing. At that point in my life, I had no confidence.
I just want to fit in. I did as I said.
Finish 150,000 won certified health & fitness professionals
Save up to 30% on an industry leading nutrition education program
A deeper understanding of nutrition, coaching competence, and the ability to turn that knowledge into an effective coaching approach.
Many people misunderstand a lot about older people like me.
They tend to associate large bodies with weakness.
They also mistakenly believe that we have never tried to change our shape or size, which rarely happens.
Not long ago, I was sitting on the examination table to check my health.
Before asking about my medical history, the new doctor said, “How does it feel when you’re trying to lose weight? Losing 10% of your body weight can…”
My stomach churned with anger, shame, and disbelief.
In my flimsy paper robe, I felt exposed. I stare at him, blinking faster and trying to process how I’m going to tell him that. I have lost 50 pounds. That’s more than 10 percent of my body weight.
Again, this medical professional did not ask about my history or current habits. He just assumed.
My background may surprise you.
At eight years old, I was, as everyone said, a big girl – but that’s not what my dad saw when he looked at me.
He saw my potential, strength and beauty.
Dad had huge brown eyes that greeted everyone, a laugh that would put a smile on the face of the most difficult person, and a doable attitude that was contagious.
As he often says, “There’s no reason you can’t. It can never be done. ”
Several times a week, he invited me to join him at the firehouse where he worked. In the TV room there is a bench, a set of dumbbells and a Smith machine. With the scent of spaghetti, chili and cornbread wafting from the nearby kitchen, Dad turned on the music and asked, “Are you ready?”
In each of those sessions, he encouraged me to do things that at first, I thought were impossible.
At least, not for a girl.
Especially not a newbie like me.
Each session leaves me feeling strong, capable and proud.
Inexplicably, I didn’t stick with it.
My parents are divorced. Dad moved out. I grew up as a self-disciplined teenager and young adult smoker.
In my 20s, the scale is 284 pounds, and my doctor describes me as “pathologically obese.”
I swore that I would never consider myself again.
Then, at the age of 30, I had a stroke, and I vowed to be healthy.
My wellness journey started with walking on the treadmill for two minutes.
It involves the daily battle with self-doubt and depression.
There were slow, clumsy improvements with diet and the treadmill — and ultimately a love of weights.
By the time I met that coach in 2012, I had lost 30 pounds and had run a half marathon. By the time I met my second trainer at the CrossFit box, I had lost 50 pounds — and was able to deadlift 125 with ease.
And now?
I can deadlift 250 and clean power over 130.
I am also a certified health coach and CrossFit instructor.
I’m not weak. Not physically – and not mentally.
Kelly Fucheck presses 125 pounds overhead in a weight room.
Losing weight and keeping it off the charts is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
And it’s right up there with the walk into the gym.
No matter how strong I become, people constantly underestimate me — based solely on how I look.
Some people may wonder: What keeps me coming back?
I face the gym partly because I don’t want another stroke. I don’t want my children to be orphaned. I also don’t want to weigh another 280 pounds.
However, on my toughest days, it was my dad who got me through the door.
Back in 2014, he was taken to the hospital with acute pancreatitis. Three weeks later, at the age of 57, he died.
I still mourn his loss. Every time I lift weights, I keep a part of him.
“I will do this and I don’t care what others say,” I tell myself whenever self-doubt tries to stop me.
“Never can. Never can. Can not. Never. May. I’m walking through this door.”
Sometimes I wish I could go back in time — I would be louder, advocate, educate.
Instead of taking my word for it and doing what I’ve been told, I’ll explain to the medical professionals that there’s more to me than just my size.
“Hey, I’ve lifted before,” I imagine myself saying, “I wanted to show you what I can do.”
I suggest that your doctor review the full history before jumping straight to advice.
I also don’t mind telling dozens of people, “I know you guys are staring at me.”
And that “good for you, honey” comments can be really painful.
Most of all, though, I want anyone in my body to know this:
Keep your purpose in your pocket.
When you are scared, threatened, or feel unworthy — and you will be-miss why you are doing this. Keep it close to you and know you can do anything.
Your why will keep you going. And I’ll be right there with you.
If you are a coach, or you want to be…
You can help people build nutritional and lifestyle habits that improve their physical and mental health, boost their immunity, help them better manage stress, and lasting results. We will show you how.
If you want to learn more, check out Certificate of Nutrition Training Level 1 PN.
