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.