OH Magazine

by Jim Mara

In the ongoing war with the scale, we measure our successes and failures in a variety of ways. We look at our changing waist sizes, the number of pounds gained or lost, the calories consumed or the diet plans, programs or pills that we have attempted with inconsistent results. Most of these measures involve some numeric standard?pounds, inches, sizes, distances or time frames.

In my personal journey, however, I have to measure my success by the meter!
Before I underwent gastric bypass surgery in November 2003, I had difficulty walking for even short distances, due to compromised breathing, chest pain and severe lower back difficulty. Everything I attempted was measured by the distance required. How far did I have to walk from the parking spot to the door of that house, restaurant, theater or store? How far from that chair to the restroom? How many steps or stairs to that next meeting? How long was that airport security line?

In my life as a special education administrator and consultant, as well as a professional actor and singer, many of my responsibilities depended upon those answers. I often had to walk from various theaters, offices or schools in New York City to the nearest parking lot, and even that proved to be a task of Herculean proportions. I began to play a little game with myself: could I get past a few parking meters without having to stop and rest due to unbearable pain? On my few ?good days,? I could make it past three or four parking meters; on bad days I was happy to make it to one.

This was a very simple way of monitoring my progress and overall fitness, and my responses to those checks influenced my decision to have weight loss surgery. The simple parking meter measurements became the ongoing barometer of my progress before and after my gastric bypass. They still help measure my progress to this very day.

In the first few weeks after surgery, the weight just seemed to fall off without any negative indications. This was highly reinforcing in itself, but it wasn?t until a walk down that block one winter day that the extent of my progress hit home. As the parking attendant delivered my car, a colleague with whom I was traveling started laughing. With tears welling in her eyes, she said to me, ?Congratulations, Jim! You should be very proud. Look what you?ve done today!? Perplexed, I answered, ?Thanks, but what are you talking about?? Her response was quick and to the point: ?Twenty. Today you did 20 parking meters without stopping. I counted as we went by.?

It was then that I realized what had happened. I felt no pain, and in less than one month I had already increased my distance at least six- or sevenfold. I didn?t know whether to laugh or cry.

Soon I changed parking lots and walked 50 or 60 meters to get to my car. Again I was testing myself, taking the long way around to give myself more opportunities for advancement. Eventually, I even left the car behind and began to take the subway (with its numerous flights of stairs) for the first time in decades.

As time progressed, these meters spurred me to greater physical challenges. I walked greater distances without concern, chose to climb stairs and literally ran through airport terminals to make flights.

Improvements can come in very short, simple increments that we often overlook on a day-to-day basis. We mark our successes in measurable terms: inch, foot, step, second, rate. It is only when we look at ourselves in the long term that we can really appreciate that all things do indeed come to those who wait.

For some, journeys begin with a single step. For me they began with that one single, solitary meter.

The first three years after my surgery were filled with continued surprises and challenges. Losing more than 350 pounds was only the yardstick (or, if you will, the meter stick) to judge my improvement.

As the pounds melted away, I soon realized that I needed to get in better shape to match the poundage on the scale. If I wanted a body that complemented the new numbers, I had to kick up my exercise level. I was in my mid-fifties, and the excess skin and flab weren?t just going to disappear by themselves; I spoke with my physicians, joined a gym, hired a personal trainer and consulted with plastic surgeons to come up with an individually-tailored plan for the dream body that I rightfully deserved.

It took more than a year of patience, pain and prayer (combined with the right amount of humor and humility) to realize that dream. But I was never quite satisfied; are any of us? Once again, inspiration struck on that very same street. Recently, New York City has started doing away with those old-fashioned meters; instead of putting your coins in a meter on the sidewalk, you go to a machine on that block, pay for your time and place the receipt on your dashboard. How was I now going to measure my progress?

The response marked the start of a brand-new opportunity in my life. Leaving the gym one evening after a stressful session, my trainer and I headed down that block together. I told him of that epiphany moment three years earlier. He said to me, ?Come on, let?s go!? He took off at a very quick jog and I followed, wondering where we were heading. We ran for about 10 minutes, crossing streets, dodging traffic and running against lights. Finally, we stopped and I asked, ?What was all that about?? All he said was ?One.? ?One what?? I pressed.

The trainer stepped aside, revealing a soon-to-be-eliminated parking meter. ?It took us this long to reach one parking meter, and look, you are still breathing! Congratulations, Jim! Maybe you?ll eventually get to 20 or more if we find that many left in New York City.?

At my next training session, he informed me that our run had certainly been another ?measurable achievement.? The distance we ran wasn?t just one meter?it was one kilometer!

That initial run through New York City traffic became a point of encouragement and enlightenment for me. It gave me the confidence and incentive to keep on going, setting new goals and ever-changing measurements for my life. I have since continued my workouts and personal training sessions, and have now run several formal races, in possible preparation for a marathon. However, I still cannot start or end any race without embracing the nearest parking meter?both for good luck and as an expression of my surprise and gratitude for its presence.

Every day, I remember what it was like when I could not reach that first or second meter, but I continue to force myself to keep on going...one meter at a time.

August 2008