That will not be me.

I watched this show last weekend, The Heroes of the 88th Floor, and it has really stuck with me. First, it was awful watching what people in the towers actually went through, both those who lived and sadly those who died. The show walked through what happened in the North Tower from the time the plane hit until after the tower collapsed and focused on two men who saved over 50 people yet lost their lives when the tower collapsed. There was an admin. assistant from the 88th floor who was older and overweight. She was going down the stairs with the rest of the people from her floor and was really struggling because she was physically out of shape and had breathing problems. Her co-workers stayed with her and helped her floor by floor. As they got closer to the ground floor, only one co-worker was still helping her. He said he didn't want to leave her even though she was covered in sweat and gasping for breath. Finally, four firefighters came into the stairwell and told him he needed to go ahead because they were worried the building would collapse. They told this guy they would carry her out, but that he needed to hurry ahead.
Sadly, the woman and all four of the firefighters who stayed behind to carry her did not make it out in time.

Do you see where I'm going with this? Beyond all the sadness that is very obvious, it breaks my heart that had this woman been in better shape, she would have made it out. Not only that, those four firefighters probably would have made it out, too. In those last moments I am sure she was scared. She was probably defeated and felt that she physically couldn't do it so gave up. There are so many times it's easy to think losing weight is too hard. It's too hopeless. It won't matter if I try. It's easier to just be chubby. After watching that, I asked myself how it would feel to know that my decision to not take care of myself not only killed me, but potentially four other people. It's terrible. I will not be that woman.
My step-dad, who was basically my dad, died of a massive heart attack at 51. Four years later, my heart still aches when I think of him. My youngest brother was only 18 years old and lost his hero. Some days I will admit that I get mad at him. Why didn't he take care of himself better?
When I think about people like them who could still be here, I realize this journey isn't just about me. It's about those who would be hurt if I wasn't here. It isn't just about looking good in a pair of jeans. It's about choosing life and health and knowing that I'm doing what I can to honor my body and live the life I was meant to.