32 Miles from Fat: Fat Boy to Ultrarunner in 90 Days

By Ross Bays

He sat behind a computer for years while his life flew by. He lost control of his weight, his finances, and nearly his marriage. The days ran together while the pounds accumulated and things deteriorated quickly.

What has been called One of Today's Most Controversial Running Stories, Ross Bays is determined to create his own destiny. This dramatic account of fat boy turned ultramarathoner in 90 days will inspire you to challenge your own limits and reach for your dreams.

This book is not about Running. Nor is it about living a healthy lifestyle. It is about understanding that we are only limited by our own misconceptions about what should be not what could be.

There is no should.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463414153

Ross Bays

Raised in a small town in New Hampshire, Ross Bays joined the United States Marine Corps at the age of 17. Married at 21, he has spent his entire civilian career as a firearms instructor. He enjoys writing music and is currently living with his wife, Annie, in Virginia.

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CONTENTS

PART I

Fit Is A Four-Letter Word

I AM FAT. THERE, I SAID IT.

A New Generation of Addicts

Starting Off on the Wrong (Painful) Foot

And So It Begins…

Extreme Cases, Extreme Measures

Perfect Conditions: Unavailable

Official Training Begins

Breaks Will Not Be Breaks

Actions vs. Words

17 Miles and One Painful Step Closer

The Emergency Room

PART II

90 Days

And So Begins The 90 Days

Farewell, Mercedes. Hello, Trek.

60 Days Until Race Day

A Silver Lining of Disappointment

Encouragement vs. Reality

For The Cause

51 Days Until Race Day

Camping and Sugar

The Big 20

The Online War

20 Pounds Down. 43 Days Until Race Day

The Mysterious (And Miraculous) Comment

18 Miles and a New Personal Record

Murphy Rode a Trek.

Still Moving. 28 Days Until Race Day

20-Mile Run Today. 27 Days Until Race Day

Give Credit Where Credit Is Due

22-Miler Cut Short. 17 Days Until Race Day

A Letter From An Old Friend

Honesty And Disappointment.

It’s Go Time.

Controversy. 20 Hours Until The Race.

Race Day

The 1,000 Pound Club (6 Months Later)

PART III

Nothing Makes You Feel More Alive Than Something That Makes You Want To Die

The Beginning, Again

Methods to the Madness

Online Post Disclaimer

PART I

Fit Is A Four-Letter Word

I AM FAT. THERE, I SAID IT.

I’m the guy that can’t eat just three cookies and be satisfied. I can’t just grab a small bowl of potato chips and a glass of water. I eat the entire bag of cookies, the whole bag of chips. I drink straight from a two-liter bottle of soda.

I’ve used the right type of pictures in my online profiles to hide the fact that I’m fat now. But the truth is—I am 5'6 and weigh 228 pounds. This is the heaviest I have ever been. No, I might not be big enough for the show The Biggest Loser, but I’m big enough to hate myself.

I am wearing a size 38" pants now comfortably; as well as extra-large shirts which still surprises me because I am so short. I wear a sweatshirt or jacket every chance I get because I am convinced that it hides the fact that I am fat. Even on hot summer days when I am working outside; I wear a sweatshirt as long as possible.

I hate seeing myself in pictures and I can’t stand the thought of reuniting with people that I haven’t seen since I was in shape. I hate being in public because I feel like everyone is looking at me, judging me, thinking, Wow, that guy just doesn’t even care anymore. He’s disgusting.

Truth Hurts.

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Sunday, March 30, 2008

I’ve waited long enough. I’ve put this off for too long. I am one of the millions of people who have let themselves go; gaining weight by the day. I’ve been struggling with it for years now, and I just cannot seem to get control of it. When I have a good day, I eat to celebrate. On a bad day, I eat to make myself feel better. Food is my happy place. To make matters worse, it is my wife’s happy place as well. Annie and I use food as our Great Connector; the magic piece that makes us feel better for the moment, and brings us together during our long nights after work. It can be fast food, a nearby steakhouse, or even just binging on treats from the frozen food section; it is our daily solace.

Last September, we did the math on our eating excursions for the entire month and it was astonishing. For the two of us, including only the amount of money spent at a place to eat out; the final tally was over $1,500. We even realized that there were days we would eat four meals out at fast food spots.

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Lately, the bad outweighs the good and I find myself becoming increasingly more impatient. A simple mistake such as spilling a cup of water becomes an enraged cussing fit because I feel that I shouldn’t have been that stupid. Road rage, sudden anger toward family members—it all stems from the simple fact that I hate who I have become. Every time I look in the mirror I am reminded that I’ve turned into a fat, lazy slob with absolutely no self-confidence.

It wasn’t always like this. When I was a child, I ran before I walked. I raced every kid at school, regardless of their age or reputation. I craved the butterflies you get in your stomach as you prepared for the big moment. I fantasized about those first few moments of a race when you give everything you have to taste that short-lived glory of conquering a quickly-set goal. Even better were those moments when you set yourself up against someone you think you have no chance against, and you dominated the moment. You don’t know how it happened, but you knew that you gave everything you had and it paid off. I could get away with eating the massive amounts of junk food and soda because I was active and had the powerful metabolism of a child. I even remember a tradition I had started around age ten; waking up around midnight almost every night, eating about eight cookies and then going back to sleep.

As a pre-teen I biked from city to city just to enjoy that first taste of freedom. No parents or authority constantly looking over you and delegating your next move. It was as simple as getting on the bike and pedaling until you couldn’t pedal anymore. No money, no food, just a bike and a handful of freedom.

At 17 years old, I joined the Marine Corps. Boot camp was pure culture shock. Truth be told, I was a mama’s boy from a small town in New Hampshire and had never been away from home for more than two weeks. All of the sudden, I find myself face down in a sandpit, vomiting up my pride and dreams, and hating every moment of it. I just wanted to go home and be a normal kid again. Sure, the Marine Corps kept me active for the time I was in, but it doesn’t make you superhuman. They tell you what’s expected of you and you literally just do it. No hesitation, no questions asked. People always seem to think that military folks are a different breed of people and that’s why they joined in the first place. In my experience, it is a mindset that is taught above all else. If you train the mind and spirit properly, the body has no choice but to follow.

I’ll never forget a forced march I was on in North Carolina during a training exercise. At some point, I felt I just couldn’t go on. All the gear was so heavy and my short legs were forcing me to run to keep up with the rest of the company; most guys could get away with nice, long strides, but I literally had to run the entire distance to keep up.

Once I hit this point of giving up, I kept telling myself in my head that I would pretend to pass out and then get to ride in one of the safety trucks. We had a long week ahead of us, so whatever energy I expended in this first evolution would just mean that the rest of the week would be that much harder. Over and over again, every painful step would shoot up my body and cause me to wince. Okay, here we go. I’d say to myself, preparing to fake a collapse. This mental struggle went on for miles and miles, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to be the one to quit. Lo and behold, before I knew it, we were finished. Granted, I had to limp around with my feet looking like raw hamburger for the next few days, but I wasn’t the guy that quit.

Some say that when you are young, you can do that. It’s that youthful resolve that allows you to feel and act superhuman. I believe that to be about half-right. I think that, as kids, we do things because we don’t know we can’t. We accomplish things that seem extraordinary particularly because someone said we shouldn’t or couldn’t. It’s this mindset that I believe either makes or breaks us.

That brings us to today. I sit here in front of my computer, like always. Around me is a collection of soda cans and bottles, empty packages of cookies, pizza boxes, you name it. This is my station every day, and I enjoy nothing more. I sit here for hours on end watching movies and TV, playing video games and gorging myself on sugary treats that I’ve come to love so much.

About three months ago, my wife began counting calories in order to lose weight. She began to really excel at it, sometimes guessing a meal’s caloric amount within 100 calories or so. Somewhat intrigued, I began doing the same. It wasn’t a way to get in shape and limit my caloric intake, but to see just how much I was taking in. The results were astonishing. I figured I was taking in more than I should, but I wasn’t prepared for the outcome. Every day, between sodas, junk food and fast food, I was consuming between 8,000 and 10,000 calories a day.

Eating out at fast food restaurants four times a day is certainly way too much. I drink at least a two-liter of soda every day. On the weekends, my brother-in-law and I will get together and play video games for hours on end, eating pizza, fast food, and endless amounts of junk food.

The weekend gaming binges became instantly comfortable because it allowed me to let go of reality and feel temporarily confident because I’m no longer a fat, lazy slob with no motivation; I am a warrior of the highest extent, protecting others from harm and feeling the glory of a victorious battle. Apparently, letting go of reality can become an addiction.

A New Generation of Addicts

I recently read a story about a former crack addict, who left his horrible life and became an ultrarunner; one who ran across the Sahara Desert. He and two other colleagues spent 111 days running from the Western coast of Africa to the Eastern coast, averaging about 45 miles a day.

My addiction is not so profound, and certainly not so dangerous. However, it has created a lifestyle for me that makes me procrastinate and neglect reality, and makes me eat extremely unhealthy. It all begins here, and I am sure will end in more weight gain, depression, Diabetes, Heart Disease and an early death. The addiction: World of Warcraft.

More than ten million people around the world are currently playing World of Warcraft, an online game where you create a character and eventually become more powerful and well-known. You create a name for yourself in this virtual land where most of the other people you meet in the game are real people around the world.

Yes, it is just a video game, but the point is, it is something that I am addicted to horribly and has been detrimental to my real life. Here are some examples of issues which have been caused by World of Warcraft for me:

+    I have come home from work at 4 PM, sat at the computer immediately, played nonstop all night long, and then got up at 7 AM, still wearing the same clothes, and gone back to work with no sleep.

black.jpg     I played for so long one weekend (about 38 hours) that I was diagnosed with Bell’s Palsy, a condition that causes the muscles in your face to go limp and stop responding. The right side of my face nearly hung down, and when I would laugh, only the left side would laugh. The right side wouldn’t move at all; I couldn’t close that eye even when I slept. The condition remained for about two weeks and then went away. The doctor told me that such long, intense computer use could be what caused it.

black.jpg     I made a promise to my wife, Annie, at one point that I wouldn’t play the game if she were home. She took a nap one day and I started playing. When she woke up and saw me in the game, it started a huge fight.

black.jpg     On a number of occasions, I have called in sick to work so I could play Warcraft.

black.jpg     I recently started college again, an online school. I am working toward my Associate’s Degree now, and hopefully I can move on to my Bachelor’s in computer programming. The semesters are five weeks long, two classes each semester… incredibly accelerated. At nights, after work, when I should be doing homework, I am playing Warcraft. I eventually get my work done, don’t get me wrong, but that’s not until the same day it’s due, of course.

black.jpg     Procrastinating my everyday errands by playing Warcraft resulted in countless letters from the IRS about late taxes, failures to file, and even liens against my property. I’d get red envelopes and calls from them constantly, but would put off my tasks so I could play for just a couple more hours.

black.jpg     As soon as I finish writing this, I will play World of Warcraft.

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No, it isn’t a heroin addiction. It’s not a gambling habit that is destroying my career. It is, however, something that invades my thoughts from the moment