When the going gets tough...

The Buddy's Barbecue Race Against Cancer was last  weekend.  I'm six weeks into half-marathon training and figured it would be a good test.  The whole family did a 5K back in August that did not go as well as expected.  I blamed it on the heat, humidity and my cranky six year old race partner.  This time around it would be considerably cooler and the only Pemberton I'd have to worry about is me.  Completely different experience, right?

Wrong!  I did more running in this 5K than the last one, but walked over half of the distance.  And really questioned whether I am a race kind of girl.  I know all about the race advice to maintain your own pace and not worry about others passing you, but it was hard to hold on to that when the couple HOLDING HANDS strolled past me.  Yes I passed them later in the race, and that supports the "don't worry, maintain your pace" philosophy, but by that time I was just so ready to finish the darn thing that I didn't care.

It was like every single ugly voice that I've worked to silence for the past ten months had their say with every person that passed me.  (And that was A LOT of people!)  "Who do you think you are?"  "Look at the fat girl trying to run!"  "Ten months running and this is the best you can do?"  "Waste of time, waste of time, waste of time" chugging through my head like a train.  Even earbuds with my best power songs couldn't drown them out.  (Let me be really clear here, nobody that passed me actually said anything to me, the Buddy's race is a very positive environment and a fun race to do.  Those voices were all in my head.)

I don't feel like this on my solo runs.  Often a fellow runner gives me a thumbs up or "great job!" as I plod along. So obviously I came to the conclusion that I'm just not cut out to run races, that I 'll just run for myself.  The thought of running the happy fun Disney Princess Half Marathon in a tiara and tutu while those negative voices have their way with my mind is a pretty miserable picture.

But here's the interesting thing:  even with the walking and the voices and the unhappiness, I went a lot faster than I normally do on my solo runs.  My fastest 5K time ever.  And even though I was miserable and prepared to give up racing, I skipped a shortcut several other people took. 

So I'm going to keep training and planning on running the Princess Half Marathon because I'm pretty sure I'll talk myself out of running if I don't still have it as a goal.  But I'm also telling myself that I as long as I continue training, I can opt out.  It’s enough to keep me going for now.

Doing all the things, like hula hooping, pumpkin carving and Christmas light application...

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”  - Philippians 4:13

This is a go-to verse for me, as I’m sure it is for many of you.  This verse has seen me through graduate school, doctor’s appointments and medical procedures, singing a duet with my sister-in-law at a funeral and times at home when Bart has been on business trips.  But I’ve realized that I tend to use this verse as a superhero costume, pulling it on when times are tough.  (And how many of us have done the following exercise:  I can do all things…, I CAN do all things…, I can DO all things…, I can do ALL things…, I can do all THINGS…?)

But I started thinking about this a little bit more recently.  (This may seem odd, but stick with me.)  To celebrate the fiftieth day of school last week the first graders had a “50’s” day where the girls dressed in poodle skirts and the boys slicked their hair back.  They also had a hula hoop contest to see who could keep the hoop spinning the longest.  Will was REALLY upset that he didn’t do well and I was REALLLY baffled about why he was so upset.  He’s good at a lot of other things, why was it so important to be good at the hula hoop?  We don’t even own a hula hoop!

At the same time, I was fighting a virus or something that knocked me on my butt for a few days.  I barely had the energy to get out of bed, so my version of running was out of the question.  I missed two long runs and was very disappointed in myself.  Because I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.  My thought process went like this:  Well, Elizabeth, you could get out of bed and run if you were stronger in your faith.  Your smaller than mustard seed faith obviously isn’t enough to move this mountain.  I even thought about abandoning the half-marathon effort.  Clues to why Will was so upset about the hula hoop contest started falling into place.

Philippians 4:13 isn’t like Superman’s Cape, we can’t just can’t pull it out, shake it off and use it as (someone else brilliantly called it) a “spiritual steroid” to accomplish a difficult task.  It is so much bigger than that.  We can’t claim that verse and pick up a hula hoop for the first time expecting to win a contest, just like we can’t claim that verse and run five miles with a fever.  But we can survive and thrive in whatever comes our way through this life.

So many of the studies mention that you really do have to look back a couple of verses to fully understand what Paul is saying.  In verses 11 and 12 he says,

I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.

I can endure all things via my attitude, not my aptitude.

And even though we may truly believe that “we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us”, we don’t actually have to do ALL the  things.  I’ve spent a lot of mental energy on my inability to carve a pumpkin or place lights on a Christmas tree so that you can’t see the wires.  And in my weird little head I  tell myself that I should be able to do those intricate pumpkin carvings through Jesus, or that if I only trust in him I’ll be able to wrap the Christmas light strands so that you only see the bulbs.  (God answered a prayer for me, calling me on this ridiculous obsession, when someone developed the pre-lit Christmas tree.  Also, if you are good at pumpkin carving and Christmas light cord hiding then please know that I am really and truly are happy for you, and still a little bit jealous.)

Turtles, stampeding through peanut butter...

So I’m following the Jeff Galloway runDisney Princess Half Marathon Training Program (http://www.rundisney.com/training/) and crossing off each day as I do it. (I mean it, the first thing I do after a run is go straight to the refrigerator and cross of that day’s training assignment with a big fat pink Sharpie.  Making that big pink “X’ is the best part of my running days.)  But I’m sore and still awfully slow and feeling sorry for myself.  

Okay, maybe I run slightly faster than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter, but only slightly.  I’ve been running to Pandora’s Pop and Hip Hop Power Workout station and Sweet Lord they play an awful lot of Pitbull.  Also, there is the very delicate process in opening the apps on my phone required for my runs.  First Pandora, then Nike Run+ to track my mileage and time and then Two Timer, which is an app that allows you to build in walk breaks to your running time.  (Yes, I’m “fudging” a bit about how much I’m actually running, but more on that in a minute.)  When the third Pitbull song in a row comes on, I can’t just hit the “next” button because it messes up the Two Timer app and then I have to navigate over to that one to fix it.  (Imagine the Napoleon Dynamite “Gosh” right here. And yes, I am fully aware that this is a perfect example of a first world problem.)

Jeff Galloway is a proponent of the run/walk combination in completing long distance races.  You set a specific time to run, followed by a shorter time to walk.  You’ll switch back and forth between running and walking throughout your workout.  The purpose of this is to “rest” yourself before you completely deplete yourself.  Galloway has found that this actually results in faster overall times in marathons and half marathons for many runners.  I run for four minutes and walk for one and the Two Timer app keeps up with where I am and beeps when it is time to transition from one to the other. 

So the whole running thing has been really annoying, and I’d like to quit, but I really don’t want to quit, and I’ve put so much effort into this already it would be a shame to quit, but I am really annoyed by it, but I miss it when I don’t do it, but there’s way to much Pitbull.

Then I hear about Maickel Melamed.  He’s a thirty eight year old man from Caracas, Venezuela who has muscular dystrophy.  Last weekend he completed the Chicago marathon in 16 hours and 46 minutes.  He was the last finisher, and his message to people is “If you dream it, make it happen.”  And the amazing thing is that this is his THIRD marathon.  He has also finished races in Berlin and New York City.

Okay, I'm back on track now.

Zen and the Knuckleball. (And what does this have to do with running a half marathon?)

I didn't grow up with baseball.  My brother played and my dad coached for a few years, but we didn't follow a particular MLB team.  Our big sports tradition occurred each fall listening to John Ward broadcast Tennessee football games on the radio.

When trying to come up with a name for our firstborn son, Bart and I decided on "Aaron" as his middle name in honor of Bart's childhood hero, true home run king and outstanding human being Hank Aaron.  Little did I know just how much our family would embrace this sport, although Jay's first word ("ball") should have given me a clue.

Jay gravitated towards Chipper Jones as his sports idol and while I won't argue with Chipper's on-field performance, he doesn't quite provide what I'm looking for as an away-from-baseball role model for my sons.  (Mr. Jones is a nice guy and appears to be a good dad.  But he seems to have the off the field emotional maturity of an adolescent boy.  And I don't mean that as an insult, but when your own 10 year old is struggling with the emotional maturity of an adolescent boy, you want to shield him from idolizing men who still seem to struggle with it.)

We were at an end of season baseball party for Will's team at UT's Lindsey Nelson stadium when I noticed RA Dickey's name on the wall of honor as a three time academic All-American.  This was in the spring of 2012 as Dickey was starting to get a lot of media attention for his pitching, his memoir, and for putting his major league contract with the Mets at risk to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro in order to raise money and awareness to fight the sex trafficking of young women in India.  Smart and compassionate former Volunteer who was a professed Christian, Star Wars fan and pitcher of note?  We could work with this!

But he was famous for throwing a knuckleball, a pitch many consider simply a novelty or trick.  Aspiring pitchers (including the one in my family) want to throw hard and fast, they don't want to rely on a "gimmick" like the knuckleball.  But I like to encourage thinking outside the box, so I learned more about the knuckleball and those who have "mastered" it.

To a batter, a knuckleball looks like it should be pretty easy to hit.  It is much slower than a standard pitch so hitters think they have time to swing hard and crush the ball.  But a well thrown knuckleball has no spin, which makes it look like it is "floating" or hovering up and down as it approaches the plate.  You'll often see hitters smile or laugh as they strike out because each pitch looked so hittable until it wasn't.  

The interesting thing about throwing a knuckleball is that once you become proficient at the mechanics of the pitch you have to surrender to it.  The more a pitcher tries to "control" a knuckleball, the more hittable it becomes.  And sometimes, even when a pitcher is doing everything right he may still give up a lot of hits.  Fans, and sometimes even coaches and managers, love the knuckleball when it works but are quick to dismiss it as soon as a pitcher gives up a few hits.  Those who understand the knuckleball tell you that you just have to ride out the bad times and wait patiently for it to get better.  It provides such a great template for running, as well as for life.  Master the mechanics, understand that there will be peaks and valleys and be prepared to ride them out. 

It is interesting that the first ten minutes of a run are excruciating and I am always so tempted to quit.  The first ten minutes should be the easiest, right?  I’m rested and haven’t started sweating yet, the hills don’t come until later on in the run.  But if I ride out that initial physical discomfort and mental frustration, I am rewarded later on (usually after the first or second hill) with both my body and mind relaxing and starting to enjoy the run.  I won’t call it a “runner’s high” because it isn’t a euphoric feeling, it's more a place of contentment.  The feeling lasts longer on some runs than others but I can always count on it to be there for some of the run.

Finished the first official week of half marathon training and am very excited to see what happens in the coming weeks.  Still a little bit sore, but it is a happy sore, one I feel like I've earned.

If you ain't first you're last. That makes no sense at all!

As of yesterday, I am officially training for the Disney Princess Half Marathon.  Still not fast enough, and a little bit sore after my first thirty minute training run, but as Lao Tzu supposedly said, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” 

Or, to borrow from Butch Jones, I’m gonna build this program brick by sparkly, princessy brick.

It’s a relief to have a specific program to follow rather than having to motivate myself to run just for the sake of running.  I’m not a very entrepreneurial person (at least that’s what I always list as a weakness on performance reviews) but tell me something that needs to get done and it will be done.

We’re not all cut out to be leaders, and it took me a long time to come to peace with that.  I felt that as a fairly intelligent and ambitious person, I should seek out leadership roles.  But I don’t like “leading” people.  And I really don’t like “disciplining” people (unless I gave birth to them).  But “fairly intelligent” and “ambitious” don’t always equal “leader.”  Also, if everybody leads, then who follows?

In my very first post I wrote about coming in last place in a race my friend Becky “ran” (aka walked).  I’m so thankful that we were able to laugh about it, particularly when the really old lady passed us with about half a mile to go.  Oh, and also when the police car followed us the last quarter mile or so when we were obviously the only ones still on the course.  I'm not afraid of coming in last because I've already done so, and it wasn't the worst thing in the world.  We even laugh about it.

How many people don’t even run in the race because they are terrified of coming in last? 

Of course, later on in the movie Reese Bobby tells his grown son:

“Hell, Ricky, I was high when I said that!  That makes no sense at all!"

When first told about my half marathon goal, Jay immediately suggested that I could win the race and seemed a little disappointed in my settling for simply finishing.  I adore his optimism, it has encouraged (and will continue to encourage) me for the next few months.  But finishing is enough.  

Not Pinterested

It may be obvious by my lack of posting, I’m sort of at a crossroads with the half marathon training.  School and sports started for the boys which threw off my training schedule.  And it was still pretty hot and humid, not a very fun time to run.  Of course the past few days have been really nice when it comes to weather, but has that inspired me to lace up my shoes and hit the road?  No.   I’m back to battling with the voices, particularly the ones who tell me than I’m not a real runner and that this is all a waste of time.  I’ve looked at some running blogs and the Pinterest Health and Fitness section for inspiration, but everything makes feel worse rather than better.  I don’t look like any of those people that I see.  (Granted, a lot of those Pinterest posts don’t look like real people either.) 

It is going to take a lot of “Just One More’s” to get my abs and arms to look like this, so I like to head over to the Humor section and pin lots of snarky e-cards about working out.  

I’ve felt this way for a while but have hesitated writing about it because I know how whiney it sounds.  The part of me who was so drawn to Louis Zamperini’s story in Unbroken says “Quit complaining and get on with it.  Zamperini would have considered himself lucky to have the problems you have!”  Or “You’re trying to run a race in a tutu, not rebuild houses in Haiti.”

But I still feel like a bit of a fraud.  Running was supposed to be the magic cure for body issues and weight and it hasn’t been.  Just like Weight Watchers wasn’t, and Marianne Williamson’s “A Course In Weight Loss” wasn’t.  Oddly enough, the only thing that ever really magically worked on body image and weight was pregnancy.  I was so nauseous during both my pregnancies that I couldn’t tolerate emotional eating, and for once (twice, actually) my size didn’t really bother me.  

If someone else complained this much to me about preparing for this race I would exasperatedly tell them just to give it up.  But I can't.  Because even though I'm averaging about one run a week, it still feels pretty good.  In January I would run once a week and it would take me two or three days to physically recover.  Not anymore.  Even though I've lost very little weight, my body has somehow adapted to running.

And, as anyone who has asked me about my training will tell you, the official runDisney training program for the Princess Half Marathon on February 23, 2014 starts on October 1.  I still think I can do this.  So I'm at a crossroads, and I'm going to chose the path that leads to awesome!

Kid President Pep Talk

You've probably seen the Kid President Pep Talk several times, but to me it never gets old.  The Princess Half Marathon is going to be my Space Jam!

There Is Work To Be Done. (But still I run.)

The Pembertons did their first family 5K this weekend, participating in Knoxville’s Color Me Rad race.  I say “participating” because unfortunately, there wasn’t as much running as I hoped there would be.  But I learned some important lessons:

• My half marathon quest really has to be my own because Bart is very tall and has long legs and therefore goes faster than I did even though I’ve been running since January and he started a couple of weeks ago.  

• Will lost his mind, complaining every step of the 5 kilometers, only to announce later on in the car that he “really had fun and can’t wait to do it again!”  

• Sweet, helpful Jay needs to stop being so sweet and helpful because it is getting on my last nerve.  He’s trying to get me to run faster, and is having some success because I am trying so desperately to get away from him.  (There's a difference between running to first base and running 13.1 miles, amirite?  Please don't say anything about this to him, it isn't his fault he's got such an ungrateful mother.)

I was passed by a lady running in some sort of jelly shoe-Croc hybrid, a guy in fleece pajamas (in mid-August!!), and a dude in a unicorn mask.  That was disheartening and I really hoped none of them could walk the next day.  But Becky and I were not the last ones to finish.  That was good.  (Although I have to be truthful here, Becky started in the wave behind me and passed me just before the halfway point in the race.  It may have been the thirdway point, but Becky wasn’t holding hands with a cranky six year old at the time so I’m going with my original assessment of where we were on the course.)

We weren't last!  

Headphones and music are probably going to be a must have for the Princess Half Marathon.  Becky had her headphones and music, and as she noted in our post game analysis at Cracker Barrel: “Between songs I could hear myself gasping for breath and I got scared ‘til another song started.”  Also, I need to do more cardio on my non running days and probably less post game analysis at Cracker Barrel.  And maybe try another 5K on a day where the humidity wasn’t way up there in the 90s at 8:00 in the morning.  (Hmmmm, I think I see aspects of Will’s personality in my own.  And I wondered where he got that!)

But the nice thing about Color Me Rad is that it is all about the fun of running.  I don’t even think they declare winners, and they don’t have a time clock.  People of all shapes and sizes were walking and running and having fun.  It was an incredibly supportive environment.  And even though I can see the amount of work that needs to be done between now and February 24, 2014, it still seems like it is possible. 

We have a favorite “get fired up” piece of music in our family for when we need a little audio inspiration.  Titled Awesome, it is a mash up of songs including the Zulu chant from “The Circle of Life” in the Lion King, Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” Fort Minor’s “Remember The Name,” Kanye West’s “Jesus Walks”, and Leo Arnaud’s “Bugler’s Dream” (also known as the Olympic Theme).  There’s a line from “Remember The Name” that is repeated over and over:  It’s 10% luck, 20% skill, 15% concentrated power of will, 5% pleasure, 50% pain and 100% reason to remember the name.  That will be my mantra as I work towards next February.

Here's a link for the song:  Awesome

Just tell me that doesn't make you think you can do anything you set your mind to!

Lucky number seven?

I’ve been reading Jen Hatmaker’s book Seven.  I’ve spent 30 minutes sitting here trying to figure out how to summarize it, so I’m just going to post the description of the book from her website: 

• 7 is the true story of how Jen took seven months, identified seven areas of excess, and made seven simple choices to fight back against the modern-day diseases of greed, materialism, and overindulgence.

Essentially she focuses on seven things each month for seven months.  The first month she limited herself to seven foods, the second month she only wore seven pieces of clothing, the third month she decides to give seven things away each day, etc.  This book really has me thinking about how our family lives.

On one hand, I’d like to congratulate us on buying used cars and driving them ‘til the wheels fall off, mowing our own grass and having very little credit card debt, but then I’m confronted with how much spoiled food we throw away each week, the staggering number of pairs of black shoes I own, and the piles of toys we end up picking up every evening before bed.  Maybe that’s why I love watching “the Real Housewives” of wherever, because I can comfort myself with the knowledge that at least I’m not THAT materialistic and indulgent.

Seven has also caused me to question my motives for the half marathon goal.  There are races closer to home that would be more budget friendly.  (I mean, if you’re going all the way to Disney World to run a race you might as well stay a few extra days to visit the parks.)  Also, did I really need the expensive (and more importantly CUTE) earphones and shoes?  Was it necessary to download $20 of music from iTunes to motivate me to run?  Thankfully (I guess) I’m too fat for really cute workout clothes because that would definitely be another thing I MUST HAVE in order to achieve my goal.  Actually the “too fat for cute workout clothes” is the reason I splurged on the really cute earphones.  And it’s the reason I have a bunch of adorable baseball caps that I have since learned I can’t wear when running because they make me sweat twice as much as normal, which is a lot.

I spend a lot of time on this we’re so poor/we’re so blessed fence.  (I spend a lot of time on metaphorical fences.  See my “Coke is the elixir of Satan/not a big deal” debate in the previous post if you need to be convinced.)  And I’ve come to the realization that it is because I am physically blessed yet spiritually poor.  There’s not really anything we can’t (or don’t) buy for ourselves.  We have a hard time when asked for gift suggestions for ourselves at Christmas and birthdays because there isn’t much out there that we (or our kids) don’t already have.  But I’m pretty sure we bought all those things thinking that they would make up for what was lacking spiritually.

Let me veer off a bit to define what I mean by spiritually poor.  I have struggled with the parable of the prodigal son for years, always identifying with the brother who stayed and worked with his father while his sibling was off having a grand old time spending his inheritance on hookers and blow.  (Sorry, “hookers and blow” is my new favorite go-to phrase for summing up overindulgence.  Just got a raise at work?  Let’s go spend it on hookers and blow.  Need a theme for your 40th birthday party?  How about "hookers and blow?")

Back to the prodigal son.  As I said above, there was always a simmering resentment of the younger son, feeling bad for the one who got up early and fed the pigs, planted the wheat, went to temple whenever he was supposed to, even when it was raining and his sandals got wet and caked with mud.  It is only very recently that I’ve realized the reason I identify so much with the older son is that he is spiritually poor like me.  We both think we can earn the love of our father by what we do.  But the point, I think I’ve finally realized, of the parable of the prodigal son is that being a child of God means that he loves all of us however we are, that we’re enough.  For the first time I’m beginning to understand that I am enough.

But, as UT football coach Butch Jones frequently says, “It’s a process” and I would currently put myself at “spiritually working-poor.”  There’s a point in Seven where Jen Hatmaker talks about donating a large part of her really nice but no longer needed wardrobe to a domestic violence shelter.  She says that she’s praying for the recipients of her clothes, that they will make those feel special and worthy until they heal enough to know that they are special and worthy.  Now, I don’t equate my body image struggle with that of a victim of domestic violence, but I do think that choosing the Disney Princess Half Marathon was my way of pretending to be special and worthy.  Interestingly, each training run helps me realize that I’m actually getting closer to knowing for sure that I’m worthy.

So I’m not going to regret choosing the Disney Princess Half Marathon.  The entrance fee has been paid, and plans are in place.  And I honestly don’t know that any other race would have motivated me to get off my butt and start running.  But I don’t expect this “journey to worthiness” to end on February 24, 2014.  (Although it may take a day off to recover in a hot tub.)

Making Peace With My Coke Addiction

How's that for an attention grabbing headline?  But the "coke addiction" I'm talking about involves good old Coca Cola, created in Atlanta by pharmacist John Pemberton, who unfortunately for me isn't an ancestor.  The decision-making involved in consuming this product is indicative of pretty much my entire relationship with food.  I don't drink a whole lot of it, my daily consumption so between 12 and 20 ounces.  One can or bottle each day.  The rest of the time I drink straight water or Crystal Light flavored water.  (The non-alcoholic Appletini is a particular favorite, although I once had to explain to a babysitter just what my five year old meant when he asked for an Appletini with breakfast.)

So I spend a lot of mental energy deciding whether or not to drink 12 to 20 ounces of soda a day.  And I spend a lot more mental energy justifying and then shaming myself for the decision I made.  "Soda is bad and you should eliminate it from your diet" versus "everything in moderation" countered with "is one soda a day really considered moderation" followed by "it's just a freaking DRINK!"  Then I drink it down really quickly figuring that the sooner I get it in, the sooner I can work it off.

I do give up soda for Lent and somehow survive.  It isn't pleasant, but it really does serve as a very good spiritual exercise.  We live in a society where we rarely deny ourselves anything, it is very meaningful to deny yourself something you enjoy while contemplating Jesus fasting in the desert preparing for what was to come.  Of course, during that forty day period (that is actually forty six days) I mull over why I'm willing to give up soda for Lent but not for good.

This may be related to something from my childhood.  Around my third birthday I somehow decided that I would only eat peanut butter sandwiches.  This was obviously a big deal to my mom, after a period of time she took me to the pediatrician who diagnosed it as a “phase” and prescribed "waiting it out."  She tried his suggestion, but I was very committed to my peanut butter sandwich cause.  

We battled over this for three years.  She would make dinner and would tell me that I couldn't leave the table until I'd tried it.  Initially I was very good at secreting a bite into my napkin, then slipping it to our dog.  That plot was foiled pretty quickly, so I branched out to excusing myself to go to the bathroom and flushing whatever was offered.  A few times she sat at the table, not ever taking her eyes off me, to make sure I would take just one bite of something innocuous like a hamburger (or less innocuous like salmon croquettes.)  She'd say I couldn't go to bed until I'd tasted everything on my plate.  I would wait her out until she gave in and ordered me to bed.  (This is why I avoid ultimatums with my own kids, because it would be time to reap what I've sown.)

Now we're not talking about a preference for peanut butter sandwiches.  Other than eggs and bacon or cereal for breakfast and fruit, peanut butter sandwiches were the only food I ate (I also drank a lot of milk.)  During this time my sweet mom would slip a sandwich wrapped in foil or plastic wrap to take to nice restaurants, fast food places, neighbors’ houses, anywhere we went.

So I have some obvious “issues” with food that go way back that interestingly mirror my “issues” with body image and self-worth.  It’s those damn negative voices that never shut up.  But the thing about the voices related to food is that they make good points.  “Why bother fat girl?” is obviously a voice that has bad intentions.  But “soda is bad for you” and “everything in moderation” and “is one soda a day really moderation” and “but it is just a drink” are all valid statements even though they are on opposite sides of the soda argument.

Hollywood thinness is not my goal, and too many good memories have food as a component of them for me to completely give up things like dessert.  Interestingly, ideally I'd like to eat the way I do when on vacation or out with friends, aka, when I am relaxed.  I eat what I want, but the stresses are gone.  At times like that I really enjoy eating, rather than using food as a tool to silence those voices.  I can savor a Coke or chocolate cake, rather than getting it over with so I can work off the calories.  Science tells us that we have to expend more calories than we consume to lose weight, but I don’t think we can discount the emotions behind those calories.  When relaxed, I naturally make better food choices.

I’ve told several people that the blog writing keeps me running and the running keeps me writing.  During the past couple of weeks I’ve let both of those slide and have really missed it.  Glad to be back on track!

Air it out!

I have boys that have apparently inherited a propensity for sweaty feet from both sides of our family.  Add this to Keens and Chacos and you end up with some pretty smelly shoes.  Some of you know what I'm talking about, but if you've been blessed with kids who can wear those shoes without making you nauseous with the odor you should thank God EVERY DAY!

If I haven't lost you yet, please know that I don't just let the stink grow and build.  They are pretty expensive, and apart from the smell they are great play shoes.  So I've tried a variety of methods to get rid of the smell.  Odor Eaters spray, anti-bacterial wipes and sprays, soaking in Oxy-Clean for a couple of days, trying Voodoo spells with leftover Buffalo Wings.  The thing that works better than anything is setting the shoes out in the sunlight for a few hours.  

That's sort of what I'm doing with this blog, letting some of those stinky feelings air out in the bright sunshine.  Two things have happened.  First, so many people have told me that they have those same feelings and hear those negative voices.  While I hate that so many of us have that shared experience, it is interesting that we all have it.  How many of us thought we were the only ones who felt shame or unworthiness?  Some people I viewed as sailing through life told me about their anxieties, and a couple of incredibly sweet people have told me that they are surprised by my writing because to them I appear cool as a cucumber.  

There is a quote attributed to Plato that says "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."  In trying to confirm that it was, in fact Plato, I found other people who may have said it:  Philo of Alexandria and Ian Maclaren, also known as Rev. John Watson.  Not to be confused with Jackson Heights' own Mr. Randy Watson.  You all may know him as Joe the Policeman from the "What's Goin' Down" episode of "That's My Momma." (If you know the source of this quote just let me say “Hello soul mate!”  Or should I say “SOUL-GLO mate?”)

Click here for Jackson Heights' Own Mr. Randy Watson

Anyway, hearing people's responses to this blog has helped me really understand that a lot of us are fighting a hard battle.  And opening up about that battle allows other people to say “Yes I understand, and you are not alone.”  And when you know you’re not alone you feel empowered to do just about anything.

The second thing I’ve noticed about exposing these stinky feelings in this blog is that they now have a much harder time taking hold of me.  They aren’t compatible with sunshine and fresh air.  Or running.  Oddly enough, I feel most “normal” when I’m out on a run; all is right with the world.   I may be slow, but I can outrun the stinky feelings.

Several years ago in Sunday School my friend Clay Brown pulled out a crisp twenty dollar bill and asked if anyone wanted it.  Of course we all said yes.  He then pulled out a container with water and placed the twenty in the water until it was soaked.  He asked us again if we still wanted it and again, we all said yes.  He then pulled out a baggie of dirt and dumped it in the container of water creating some pretty nasty mud.  He ground the formerly crisp twenty in the mud and asked again if any of us wanted the bill.  Again, even though we were in our Sunday best and not in terrible financial straits, all of us were willing to take a chance on a muddy twenty dollar bill.  Clay finished the demonstration by asking why we would place so much value on a soaked, muddy twenty dollar bill while failing to see the value of our own selves beyond the damp, muddy, stinky feelings. God created us for better purposes than that.

Let’s “air it out” and get on with the race!

The Voice

Do you hear “that voice?”  Not the usual somewhat negative voice that mildly questions just about everything you do.  That one is annoying and can wear you down.  It’s the one that suggests that “Sure, it’s fine if you stick around for one more episode of Duck Dynasty, you can run tomorrow.”  Or “Well, you’re already having a burger and fries, why not have the milkshake too.”  It is the voice of the grasshopper that wants to enjoy the sun while the ant stores up food for winter.  It is self-involved Goofus to the always perfect Gallant.  Let’s call this the Goofus voice.

(Every freaking month when Highlights arrived in the mail I’d hope for Goofus that he had learned his lesson from the previous month.  It was like my own third grade soap opera.  HE NEVER LEARNED!  I did read somewhere that today Goofus would be considered as having “an alternative learning style.”  I love that!)

But I’m not talking about that voice, I’m talking about the voice that goes for the jugular, the one that says “You’re a complete and total failure, why even bother exercising at all?”  Or “Your crappy body deserves crappy food.”  The destructive voice that you don’t hear often, but when you do nothing good comes of it.  I’m not sure where this voice comes from, but one person I know truly believes that this is the voice of a demon that should be called out in the name of Jesus.  I don’t fully agree with this view, but I do appreciate the seriousness with which this person takes that voice.  (And I do like looking at the voice as something apart from me.  It isn’t my voice, it isn’t me.)

I heard that voice last week.  My friend Kelly called to give me a pep talk about running.  She’d read in the blog about my disappointment with how little time I was dropping on my mile pace and wanted to let me know that she ran a slower pace in the summer than she did when the temperature was cooler and with lower humidity.  This call was like a life ring, or a water station in a race.  (Look at me embracing running imagery!)  Kelly has run several half marathons and obviously knows what she’s talking about, and it made perfect sense to me once she said it. 

But no sooner had I grabbed on to that life ring that the voice started up.  “Why on Earth would Kelly call you about running?  Why would she waste what she knows on you?  It isn’t heat or humidity, it’s YOU!  You’re SLOW because you’re FAT!”   That voice also rears its ugly head when people have said such nice things about my writing and this half marathon goal.  “They can’t possibly mean it,” it snarls, “they have to say SOMETHING because what you’re doing is so ridiculous.”  This voice sounds a lot like Nellie Oleson at her worst, so we’re going to call this the Nellie voice.

Here’s the interesting thing though.  This Nellie voice makes no sense.  Kelly has just moved to a new town and is pretty busy establishing a new life for her family.  It would be so much easier for her not to make that call than to make it.  And the people who have said positive things are actually very nice people who are not known for saying things they don’t mean.  When I push that voice out in the open, it is exposed for the sad, angry thing that it is.

When I go for a run I hear from Goofus first. “ It would be so much easier to stay in the air conditioning, chafing is becoming a problem in the heat and humidity, my thigh is a little achy.”  After a couple of minutes Nellie takes over and starts her tirade of “This is a waste of time, are you sure this thigh thing isn’t actually hip dysplasia?”  Interestingly though, about ten minutes in I start to hear from another voice.  It is quiet but very confident.  It is reassuring  and tells me that I’ve got this.  This voice is all me.

Welcome to the world, Brave Elizabeth

Thinking about this running journey led me to read some mom running blogs.  I wanted to see if it was a realistic goal.  A lot of them were very inspirational, some were rather aspirational.  One blog really struck a chord with me and in a pretty uncomfortable way.  The post I read from this mom talked about how thankful she was to take up running and lose 40 pounds, and that she hated that body and the person she used to be.  Ouch!  I composed a response to this person in my head, but didn’t have nerve to post it since this woman was a total stranger.  But here’s what I wanted to say:

I’m so sorry that you “hate” the way your body used to be, but in my opinion, that body is pretty badass.  That body made the decision to start running even though it was hard and it hurt.  That body ran even though there were no cute running clothes in its size.  You should embrace that body and say thank you to it every day because that body is the one that took the first step.

I had such an emotional reaction to what this woman wrote because at the time I was working my way through Marianne Williamson’s “A Course on Weight Loss” which is supposed to guide you through 21 spiritual lessons for “surrendering your weight forever.”  This is my “brass ring” - what I want for myself more than anything is to be at peace with food and my body.    Williamson (and others) support a philosophy in the weight loss/self-help world that believes that if you are at peace with yourself you will be drawn to foods that are nourishing and satisfying and that you will naturally settle at the weight you are supposed to be.  This approach is very appealing to me because the discussions in my head about food and weight are exhausting.  I’m so tired of classifying foods as “good” and “bad” and having my self worth tied to what I ate on a particular day.

But here’s the funny thing.  Marianne Williamson has 21 steps to surrendering your weight and I got hung up on lesson two.  So much so that I abandoned the whole process.  What did the second spiritual lesson ask of me that I was unable to do?  She asks readers to reconcile “thin you” to “not thin you.”  In her example, “thin you” and “not thin you” write some brutally honest letters to each other, and I just don’t have it in me to be that mean to myself, even if the result is to realize that “thin me” and “not thin me” are the same person.

See, I’ve hated “not thin me” for so long, I’ve cursed the size of my upper arms, my stomach, my butt.  I’ve felt hopeless when I’ve gone shopping for dresses or swimsuits.  I’ve skirted around doctor’s appointments so that I don’t have to be weighed, and suck in my stomach when I do have to be weighed, as if that will make a difference in the number on the scale.  I’ve scrolled through cameras and phones, quickly deleting pictures that aren’t very flattering (and there are an awful lot of those) and attempted to position myself behind something or someone when I don’t have control of the camera to delete the unattractive shots.  And I wince when a picture of me shows up on Facebook that I didn’t know was being taken .

But I’ve also come to sort of love “not thin me.”  She’s incredibly brave.  She just paid $160 to run the Disney Princess Half Marathon even though she hasn’t run farther than three miles after five months of training.  She wore plus-size maternity clothes for two pregnancies, and was pretty darn stylish given that strike one was plus size and strike two was maternity.  She’s given a couple of professional presentations at conferences, and plays in the pool with her kids.  She’s read scripture in a televised church service and teaches 4 & 5 year old kids in choir. 

Here’s another funny thing.  “Not Thin Me” deserves to run the Disney Princess Half Marathon, but I don’t think she can physically or “physics”-ly do it in the required amount of time.  So I’m going to have to do what I originally didn’t want to do, which is to reconcile “not thin me” with “thin me.”  And while the usual course of action is that your head knows something that your heart doesn’t, in this case I think my heart knows that they are one and the same, henceforth known as “Brave Elizabeth,” I just have to convince my head.

Guide My Feet While I Run This Race

Recently I heard a choir sing an old spiritual I hadn’t heard before:  “Guide my feet, while I run this race, ‘cause I don’t want to run this race in vain.”  It sums up how I feel about this whole process.  I’m at a bit of a crossroads with my goal to run 13.1 miles on February 23, 2014.  The Disney Princess Half Marathon requires you to maintain a 16 minute per mile pace and I’m not there yet.  I’ve actually been disappointed by how little time I’ve dropped from my mile runs over my four months of running.  I can run for longer periods of time, I’m just not covering as much ground as I hoped to.  But I press on, because there’s a voice somewhere deep that keeps telling me I can do it.   (And I can take solace in the fact that I haven’t quit, which is a pretty big deal for me.  Also, last week I swallowed a bug while on a run, and I figure that makes me just about as much of a “real” runner as finishing a race would.)

So many people have said such kind things to me about my writing, and it has meant so much.  As big a goal as running 13.1 miles is, the other goal for this journey was to live more authentically and to allow myself to be vulnerable.  This authentic-vulnerable place is not an easy one for me. There's a part of me that wants to go through life with my head down, not ever calling attention to myself.  But that part cannot coexist peacefully with the other part that puts so much stock in other's opinions of me.  It is a weird balance that I haven’t mastered yet.  But really, have any of us mastered this yet?  (If so, please share with the world.)

And it doesn’t get any easier when I dig deeper.  Am I “head-down-non-attention-seeking” because of the introverted part of my personality?  Or am I avoiding opportunities to experience new things?  And is my approval seeking cowardly because I’m unable to decide if something is worthwhile on my own?  Or could it be an unsophisticated attempt to be vulnerable?  (And just what would a “sophisticated” attempt to be vulnerable look like?)  Why do I ask so many questions?

Maybe that’s why I keep running, even though I’m not much faster than when I started in January.  Because every other day for an hour or so, the pounding of my feet drowns out the voices in my head that question just about everything I do.  And the running makes me so tired that the questions don’t stand a chance at night as I’m drifting off to sleep.  Running is helping me think less and live more. 

I’m trying to pass this along to my kids as well.  They are very careful about trying new things, which can be good (drugs, “Jackass” style stunts) and not so good (swimming, vegetables).  And while I want them to be cautious, I don’t want them to miss out on something fun because they are too scared to fail, or worse, look foolish trying something new.   In fact I often forget just how alive I’ve felt when I’ve let go of the head-down-no-attention as well as the what-will-others-think parts of my personality and jumped into uncomfortable situations with both feet.  That feeling of “Oh my gosh, I’m really doing this!” is wonderful.

The one disappointment I had on our original Disney trip (where I learned about the Princess Half Marathon) is that the boys were too afraid to try any ride that was the slightest bit scary, even Splash Mountain.  Pirates of the Caribbean was about as intense as we got, and even then there was a little more “fingernails digging into mom’s arm” than I would have liked.  If I’m running 13.1 miles on our next trip, the least they can do is take a chance on Space Mountain.

This reminds me a quote from one of my favorite movies, “Parenthood.”  Gil’s grandmother recalls a roller coaster ride: 

You know, when I was nineteen, Grandpa took me on a roller coaster.  Up, down, up, down. Oh, what a ride!

I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.

Here’s to frightened, scared, sick, excited, thrilled, all of it.  ‘Cause I don’t want to run this race in vain.

If you haven't heard it, click for an awesome version of this song:  Guide My Feet

Run Your Own Race

It is Elementary School Track Meet season, and this year Jay has been so excited to be a member of his school’s track team.  Last year several of his friends from baseball participated in the multi-school track meet and Jay felt a little left out because he wasn’t one of the fastest third graders and didn’t make the team.  What changed between third and fourth grade?  Jay didn’t get faster, he just found an event that plays to his strengths.  Third graders are not eligible for the tug-of-war team but fourth and fifth graders are.  Jay is built for tug-of-war, so much so that his coach made him captain of the fourth grade team, and they are headed to the county’s “elite” meet this week. I can sense his relief at being a part of the “elite” meet, although I can tell he wishes he were running alongside his fast friends.

We need to be comfortable focusing on our own event, what we were made to do.  Too often we compare our event to someone else’s and we always come up lacking.  We compare our lives, careers, homes, families, even appearances to others and we can’t measure up.  Someone is always going to run faster, have a bigger house or nicer car, or a family that looks like they stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad.  But that doesn’t mean that our own event or “race” isn’t worthwhile.

Although we joke about kids being rewarded for every little thing, we live in a culture that values winning above all else.  And winning isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  But for every winner there is at least someone, maybe many who didn’t win.  And we don’t give enough credit to those who give their best effort, even when they don’t win.

Brenae Brown has written a wonderful book, Daring Greatly, inspired by the great Theodore Roosevelt quote about “the man in the arena.”  The quote is wonderful.  (So is the book!)

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

"Citizenship in a Republic"

Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

For so long I felt like my own race wasn’t worth running because it didn’t measure up to the ones I saw around me.  I was one of those cold and timid souls too numb to experience victory or defeat.  And while I am thankful to have pulled myself out of that place, I’m still close enough to it that my heart hurts for those who are still there.  (And while mine was directed inward, I wonder if those people who are so focused on winning and negative about anything short of perfection are another  type of cold and timid souls, criticizing anyone who falls short of the ideal they themselves have no hope of reaching.)

So this week I’ll cheer for Jay and his team in the tug-of-war, and his fast friends as they run their races, and myself as I plod on towards my goal of running 13.1 miles in approximately 3 and a half hours.  And I’ll say a prayer for those with cold and timid souls, that they either have the courage to step in the arena (if their criticism is directed inwardly) or get off their asses and actually do something (if their criticism is directed at others).

Fat Girl Running.

The name of my blog, “See How She Runs” comes from a made for TV movie I saw as a child.  Joanne Woodward portrays a 40 year old divorcee who decides to take up running, eventually competing in the Boston Marathon.  Not sure why this movie has stayed with me so much, I only saw it once and I’ll be amazed if anyone else remembers it.  (Although it does have an entry on imdb.com and has two user reviews.)  Since you’ll probably never see this movie I’m going to spoil the ending for you.  Betty Quinn, the character played by Woodward doesn’t finish the race in the required time and is disqualified.  But her teenage daughters, who up to this point had not been supportive of her goal and training, create their own finish line for her to cross.  That ending still moves me today, and propels me on the days I don’t want to go out and run.

I considered calling this blog “Fat Girl Running” because it really gets to the point of what I’m trying to do.  My goal is to go 13.1 miles, not go 13.1 at my goal weight.  So much of my teenage and adult life has been lived with “I’ll do this when I lose weight” playing on a continuous loop in my head, all while going from heavier end of normal to clinically obese.  The “when I lose weight” demon didn’t steal all of my joy, I married an incredibly wonderful and supportive man, had two generally lovely children, travelled,  appeared in public in a swimsuit several summers in a row, hosted some pretty awesome parties and went to a few as well. 

Those events were very welcome highlights on my personal timeline, but they are just brief respites from the “life would be so much better for you if you lost weight” voice and his slightly more sarcastic twin sister, “you’re just not good enough.”  And I probably would have let these two live out their days, voicing their negativity, until I noticed that they seem to be trying to take up residence in my children’s minds as well.  What I want for my precious boys, more that good grades or athletic success or attractiveness, is emotional resilience.  But my teaching them emotional resilience would be about as effective as my teaching them Greek.

The first step in developing my own emotional resiliency was making peace with the word “fat.”  A small word, only three letters, can stop you dead in your tracks and ruin your day, ruin all your days.   But that word only has power if you let it.  I’ll never forget when a small child, maybe four years old, asked me why I was fat.  There was no judgment in his voice, it was a completely honest and non-emotionally loaded inquiry that kids have mastered so brilliantly and it just came out of the blue.

It was like the voice of God.  I don’t know that I’d ever thought about why I was fat without attaching ideas of unworthiness or failure.  It was so illuminating to be able to say “Well, I haven’t always made the healthiest choices when it comes to eating and exercise” and move on with what we were doing rather than marinate in my cesspool of self-loathing. 

This little event didn’t magically solve everything, it happened seven or eight years ago and I’m not much smaller now than I was then.  But it did open up a door in my mind that allowed me to look at my situation differently and to learn to think of myself in a more positive light.  “Life would be so much better for you if you lost weight” and “you’re just not good enough” still pop into my head more often than not, but now I can look at them with a critical eye and question why they are there.

And my family is having some interesting and productive conversations about that small word, those three letters.  About how that small word, those three letters, can have a lasting impact when used to shame others.  But also about how that small word, those three letters, can be diffused of their emotional charge when they've been used to describe us.

So I'm making my peace with "fat."  But things aren't so peaceful that I wouldn't unleash a torrent of curses and profanities (at the very least in my mind but quite possibly out of my mouth) if that small word, those three letters, are used in an effort to shame someone I love.  Including myself.