Today, I did something most women dread doing. I weighed myself. I had stepped on the scale in a moment of curiosity, after examining my body in my full-length mirror post-run and pre-shower (because wet hair definitely adds at least 2 pounds, right?). I knew what I had weighed when I graduated from Randolph-Macon, and I knew how much my lifestyle had changed, so it was only fair to see where that left me.
I used my big toe to turn on the scale, then left foot on, right foot on. I stepped off and watched the numbers shift before my eyes, as if I was seeing the inner workings of the scale’s little mechanical brain. The numbers finally settled, and after a brief pause, a smile spread across my face. Not because I was satisfied with the numbers, but because I realized that the numbers didn’t matter to me anymore.
I’m not the skinniest I’ve ever been in my life, nor the tannest, nor the most flexible. But I’m the fittest, the healthiest, and the happiest I can ever remember. Perhaps a work-free yet paycheck-bolstered summer, filled with traveling, friends and family has something to do with it. Or perhaps it’s coming off the knowledge that I’ve survived my first year of teaching and my first year post-college all at once. It definitely has something to do with training for a half-marathon and a diet that does not depend on a dining hall buffet.
But most of all, it has to do with one little thing: I stopped trying.
I don’t mean I stopped trying at life. Sheesh, that would be dramatic, something that I am not (insert sarcastic laugh here).
What I mean is, I stopped trying to lose weight, to be skinnier, to look like one of those crazy models in Shape or Health. I stopped trying to be the perfect teacher, the perfect young woman, the perfect something I’m not. Instead, I just started to live life a little less rigidly, and a lot more enjoyably. I started trying new foods that I was once afraid of, and now love (guacamole anyone?). I didn’t criticize myself when running 2 miles took the wind out of me. I had a glass of wine after a hard day of work (there were many). I refused to compare myself to other women, physically and otherwise. I set limits for working at home, stuck to them, and took time for myself. And, of course, I still ate dessert every night, without feeling guilty. There were days that I looked in the mirror and wondered how I got where I am, figuratively and literally. There were days I frowned at my thighs or silently cursed my hair. And there were certainly days that I doubted my abilities in the classroom. But there were so many more days that I just shrugged my shoulders and trusted in the fact that I was fearfully and wonderfully made to be just who I am. And those were the days I enjoyed the most.
Summer has allowed me plenty of time to think about how hard this first year was: my first year after the cushiony existence that was college (and really, the past 22 years of being coddled); my first year in a new and wonderfully different community; my first year in a real profession for which I was minimally prepared. But I’m thankful for both the ups and the downs, because they brought me to a place where I am: for the first time, beginning to find comfort in my own skin.
I’m hesitant to profess a love of running just yet. I’ve still got a great big hurdle to jump that I think may ultimately determine whether or not there is running in my future. But I can say that running has taught me some pretty important lessons these past few months, and has played a big role in shaping my thinking. I’ll keep them short and sweet. Take what you want.
* Life, like running, is so much more a mental battle than anything else. Your attitude truly can make or break you.
* Discipline and commitment can make an impossibly large feat (like, say, running a half-marathon) slowly but surely achievable. And even sweet.
* What works for you, may not work for someone else, and vice versa.
* And most importantly: some days, you just gotta drag your butt out of bed and DO IT.
These apply to running, they apply to work, they apply to relationships--in my limited experience, they just apply to life.
I’ll admit, the heat has been making running tough these past few weeks, in a way that I’m not sure the mind can mitigate. I’ve needed a little bit of extra inspiration to get out of bed much earlier than anyone on summer vacation should to try to beat the heat. Here’s what’s keeping me going:
My new running shoes, the exact same pair as the ones I was running in previously, but brighter and much more supportive. Happy birthday to me, and thanks Mom & Dad!
New songs on my playlist. Some people choose to run to their favorite music, regardless of the beat, tempo, or genre. Me? I need something upbeat or inspirational, the kind of music you hear in a movie right before a big game (think any sports movie) or during a total makeover (think “Watch Me Shine” in Legally Blonde). Plus, listening to the lyrics of a new song helps keep my mind off of pounding the pavement. My current faves:
1. It’s My Time – Fabolous feat. Jeremih
2. Cinderella Man (clean version) – Eminem (both songs discovered while watching the ESPYs—does it get more inspirational than that?)
3. I Am Woman – Jordin Sparks (laugh all you want, but tell me you don't feel like a b.a.)
4. Good Life – OneRepublic
5. Survivor – Destiny’s Child (I’m a survivor, I’m gonna make it this last mile)
My best friend is incredibly introspective and really great at recognizing some simple truths about herself, others, and God’s love. I like to think that I channeled my inner Jessica when I wrote this. Even if you’re not a runner (am I a runner now??), I hope you can still find some truth in these words.
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