Taking the plunge

I finally did it. Last week I registered (aka: paid for) a full marathon. And I have about 17 weeks to prepare myself. I've been talking about doing it for so long that it's hard to believe I'm actually going to attempt it. But as I've been reflecting on running and this race and crossing another goal off of my '30' list, I've also been reminded of my first attempts at running.

I read an article today recounting a runner's first experience on the pavement. It was beautiful, but unfortunately, I can't remember my very first experience. Being active in athletics in the small high school I attended, I would imagine it was quite a long time ago...way before I could appreciate it.

But I do remember my first steps after having my son. I was overweight by upwards of 50 pounds. I was ashamed to put on my lycra running pants. Even more when I stepped outside and took the first few steps. I could feel the extra tire or two around my waist. Bouncing with me as I trudged down our main street. It was the first time I realized that you could actually feel your fat responding to physical activity. The entire midsection of my body seemed to working a half step behind me. It was up when my foot came down and vise versa. I just hoped that what I was feeling couldn't be seen by passersby.

I'm not sure I completed a mile at a time back then. But I do remember getting home, stripping down and realizing that my arms had been rubbed raw by my extra-large, post-baby chest. It was all the motivation I needed to get up the next day and face my body fat that seemed to be taunting me. Reminding me that it was fighting like hell to stay there, weighing me down both emotionally and physically.

Just a few weeks later, I had invited my parents up to my first road race. I wore all black. And I struggled through the 5k. I'm ashamed to see those pictures even today, but they were proud and my husband was excited for me. And what followed was a series of road races. Each a testament to my dedication and desire to look and feel better the older I become.

Four years and another child later, I'm still running. Sure, I'm still chasing that goal weight but today it's more about staying healthy and instilling an appreciation for physical activity in my children.

Let's just hope I'm still feeling this way on Mile 24 in September...

Honesty comes with a price.

Earlier this week a good friend of mine brought up the idea of game changers. The idea that at certain times in our lives, we should make a decision that changes the course of our lives in some way, it can be major or seemingly small but a change none the less. At the time, I took it with a grain of salt but the conversation's been haunting me for the last several days.

The conversation led me to discovering a journal, my first journal (1993). I skimmed the pages and like my other journals, much of the content was about who I was dating or trying to date...adolescence is so crazy. Ultimately, that find led me to re-discovering a Dr. Phil workbook I had purchased during college. It was something about helping to realize how the decisions you've made and the people in your life have helped you get to this point in your life. And of course, how to unravel the mess and clear your plate.

I quickly realized that I had only gotten through two or three of the exercises before jumping ship. But one gem, the first exercise, caught my eye. It was my life history in a story format. In it, I discussed how I always felt like my father was never proud of me. He always wanted more, expected more and was always disappointed. And I had felt like the decisions I made in my life, the person I was trying to become, was solely to make him proud-and earn his unconditional love.

The strange part is that in a list-making journal I wrote in a year or so after that Dr. Phil thing, I had made a list about things I love about my dad. The first was that he's forgiving and loves me regardless of my downfalls.

So which entry was honest? I've been trying to figure that out all day and I've got to admit, I'm pretty perplexed. But I do wonder if I've always used my relationships with boys and men as a cover. A way to avoid having to confront the feelings I had/have for my father. Or as a way to try and find whatever sort of approval and acceptance I was so desperately trying to gain.

Because in all honesty, I feel myself craving and striving for approval and acceptance from my spouse. So the big question here is: as we grow and mature, do we ever fully grow out of who we were as a child?

I'm becoming more and more doubtful.

The results are in...

Just to follow up with my previous post: the race was awesome. The weather was perfect. I was in the zone. My hips and knees seemed to understand that I was on a mission and they were in full compliance. While I didn't break any world records, I did break my own personal record and felt great afterward (which makes me wonder if I pushed myself hard enough)...












Wouldn't quite classify myself as a real runner yet but I'm re-energized and feeling ready to take the plunge and give 26.2 a shot.

For the time being, my stress level is low and I'm just waiting for things to overload again.