Days When I Am Done

I haven’t talked much about one of my rather larger goals for 2018. I’ve mentioned it briefly, on a few occasions, but I am one of those people who keep things relatively quiet along the way… you know… “just in case.” Just in case I don’t actually reach that goal. It’s much easier to just not talk or share about something that didn’t happen, or that you were disappointed in, or didn’t go quite like you’d hoped, than to have to publicly face the shame and openly explain the failure.

Emotional protection I think would be a good term for this mentality. And I’m a master at it.

All that being said… I set a goal at the beginning of the year to log 2018 intentional exercise miles in 2018. Running, elliptical, and power walking. I’m not just opening my health app at the end of every day and recording the total number of miles registered, I am logging and tracking in my running app, and I am keeping a daily / weekly / monthly penciled in calendar as well to help keep me on track and try not fall too far behind.

I am almost at 1700 miles for the year. I’m actually getting close to the end, perhaps that’s part of the problem… Because if I’m honest, I have also reached that point where I. am. done. I am sick of it. I am tired. I am wanting to quit. I am wanting to just reach that final number, throw myself some confetti, and just be done for a while, maybe forever. I have taken less than a handful of actual “days off” of zero mileage “rest” days. That is a lot of mind over miles and a lot of intentional, deliberate, self motivational planning, and it is starting to take its toll.

I am just in from a six mile run. I am sitting here still my workout gear, my body in that odd mix of being over dressed in warm clothes while yet wet, sticky, and sweaty that leaves one shivering and cold to the bone thanks to the cooler temperatures that have again returned.

I already miss summer, and it really only just left less than a week ago…

Six miles on a Monday morning. Never miss a Monday they say. I thought I was ready for the week, I thought I had done well filling my tank this weekend. I thought I had allowed myself rest and recoup. I took photos, I blogged, I took naps, I read. And yet… as my alarm went off this morning I could hardly pull myself out of bed. I had to fight myself to get dressed, get my socks and shoes on, get the headphones and chest lamp on. I had to will myself to open the door and enter the cool breezy darkness and force my body to simply move forward. My head was not in it, my heart in even further disconnect.

It was a battle this morning, a real battle. Much more so than I typically have. I have had a lot of mornings when it was hard to get going… but it’s been a long time since I’ve had this intense of a struggle of mind over body, of wanting to skip, to quit, to honestly just be entirely done with all of it.

The weather has switched on the fall button. The air is crisp and the breeze leaves a chill. The dark seems a little more black, and the length of its stay seems much more drawn out. There’s no more sunrises, no more whispers of dawn before I get back home at the end. There’s no more warm air kissing my sweaty skin, there’s no more fragrant trees and blooming flowers that leave their magical invisible lingering in the dark. It’s crunching leaves underfoot, wet soggy leaves pasted into the crevices of the curb. It’s all sorts of creepy crawlies out looking for warmth, no longer nestled in their warm and protective hiding places.

I’m half marathon training again (or still, depending how you look at it) and I’m getting to those dreaded double mileage runs that are so hard to mentally prepare for, so hard to find the time to actually fit into my day and schedule, and so incredibly hard on my body. My back, my feet, my bunions, my knees are all screaming at me. This week it’s eleven… next week it’s twelve… in less than a month, it’s race day.

I just want that race to be done. I just want this training to be over. I could very easily be talked into skipping that weekend all together. Staying home, no girls weekend away, no massage, no PTO day off work. (Ok maybe just skip the whole 13.1 miles part and leave the rest.) I just want that damn app to tell me it has finally logged the required 2018 miles and I can just be done with that as well. I don’t want to get up early. I don’t want to count points, and calories, and log everything that goes into my mouth. I don’t want to justify using creamer every time I have a cup of coffee. I don’t want to put in any more miles, any more workouts. I don’t want to lift any more weights or drink any more workout recovery drinks.

My toes and toenail polish is a wreck and I should not be allowed to wear flip flops in public. My hair is driving me crazy. It needs a cut, a color… heck it just needs a basic washing most days (and no, I have never used dry shampoo). My weight is creeping up, my motivation and positivity is creeping down, and the state of my house… the state of my house likens that of tornado aftermath.

I don’t want to balance my checkbook, I don’t want to go to work, I don’t want to wife, I don’t want to mom, and I sure as heck do not want to do spelling words and homework and read one more page of Percy Jackson Book III. I want to stay in bed until everyone is ready to leave for the day. I want to kiss everyone goodbye and be home all day with my own self and my own silence, and the sunshine, and my puppies.

I can’t. I just can’t even anymore. And yet… I have to. I just have to. The reality of that most days causes me to grimace and inwardly groan a little as I continue on, but there are days and seasons, like right now, when the reality of this nearly leaves me claustrophobic in my own skin… this inner tension and wildness clawing and biting and seizing my sanity from deep within.

I know it’s not just me… I know I’m surrounded by a world of others down in the same trenches as me… inching forwards on our elbows, shoulder deep in the dirt, and dust, and grime of day to day survival. I have hung on and fought the war... and fought the war... and fought the war… and now, yet again I seem to have reached that epic end. I am done. (Oh yes, I have been here before… all too many times before.)

I am done trying, I am done caring, I am done loving others, I am done loving myself. I am done pursuing, I am done persevering, I am done pushing relentlessly, I am done not being done.

I think I want to try see what it feels like to be irresponsible, and unprepared, and ill equipped.

Actually, no I don’t. I know I don’t, but it is so tempting isn’t it?!? It gets so hard trying to juggle it all and do it all well, and well ~ there will be days like this my mama said, as put best from that song from long ago. (And no, I don’t know the title or the singer and I’m too tired right now to go google it. You’re singing the lyrics in your head right now, same as me… so we’re all good, right?).

I guess this is when we need to rally up our troops, we need to SOS our tribe, we need to get out the Ben and Jerry’s and hot fudge sauce (microwave and pour directly into the carton … not that I would know anything about that) binge eat and cry for a while. Pour ourselves some wine, sink into a hot bath. It’s ok to be tired and give in to the weight of the world that is resting on our shoulders. It’s ok to have a little me-tantrum.

And then we need to breathe deep, close our eyes and whisper to ourselves that we really are rockstars, and we really are beautiful, we really are worthy and enough, and we really are capable of somehow handling it all. We may not want to, we may have no idea how to, but we really do have this - even when we are convinced we don’t.

It’s often in our lowest that we often are able to push off and yet again rise triumphantly back to the surface, back to the reality, back to the daily grind, back to the hope and strength needed to propel us forward, push us gently into our tomorrows.

No, we may not want this, we may not want to and we surely may not like it… but we do have this, we do really do. We mire through alone, and we mire through together, this strange and perfect mix of you, me, and us. Alone we do the work, together we do the work, and somehow, some way we will triumph and we will overcome and we will just … survive. Yes, we will survive, even on the days we don’t want to and don’t know how to… especially on the days we don’t want to and don’t know how to.

So as much as I desperately want to quit this stupid mileage goal, quit my health, quit my sanity, quit it all to be quite frank... I know that I have a line of beautiful people behind me, there for me to help me stay strong and forward moving, help me see my worth and relocate my strength, and I am proud to also be in their lines standing behind each and every one of them.

And as best quoted by Rachel Hollis in Girl Wash Your Face

"Friends, it's not about the goal or the dream you have

It's about who you become on your way to that goal." 

... It's about who you become on your way to that goal ...

{ Previous blog post "Confidence In Her Un-Confidence" HERE }

Confidence in Her Un-confidence

I read something that really struck me this week.

“You will always be too much of something for someone;
Too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy.
If you round out your edges, you lose your edge.
Apologize for mistakes.
Apologize for unintentionally hurting someone-profusely.
But don’t apologize for being who you are.” (Danielle LaPorte)

I realize I have talked about this before, but really, my whole life I feel that I have lived with this feeling, this perception, that I have always been a little “too much” and a lot “not enough."

I was too loud, too imperfect, too lost, too bold, too different, too heavy, too impulsive, too… well I could go on and on. And mixed right in with all of that was also this feeling and perception that I have never been enough. Never skinny enough, smart enough, athletic enough, happy enough, graceful enough, doing enough, making enough, providing enough. Never… never… never…

So I have basically spent forty three years of my life chasing around my own tail. Running in circles trying to create, and please, and overcome, and perfect myself to the bar and standards set by the society around me and the unrealistic demons whispering their mantras within me. I’ve listened to the lies and propaganda and been sucked in to the shame game over and over and over.

Two years ago I reached a point when it all became just too much.

The loss, the tragedy, the unmet expectations, the imperfections, the disappointments all just got too high and came crashing down all around me.

I finally begin the hard and tedious work of plowing into some of this mess head on. The health and fitness. The inner healing and growth. The spiritual forgiveness and grace. I have read, prayed, run, slept, intentionally connected, been open and vulnerable. I have willed myself to stop numbing and try to fully feel, to fully hurt, to fully process, to fully start unpacking some of the junk weighing down the suitcase of life that I’m dragging along behind me.

It has not been easy. It has been long and grueling and exhausting. It has also been unbelievably life transformational.

I have made a few inches forward I think, but still have miles and miles in front of me to continue on trudging through.

Over the last two years I have decided to be honest and real on things I’ve felt, experienced, wanted, lost, needed, didn’t understand. I have decided to share and talk openly about things I’m not proud of, things I’m held hostage to, things I know I need to change but can’t.  I've also allowed myself to openly talk about things I've done, things I've accomplished, things I've struggled through and made some progress on.

I’ve decided to stop trying to change, and conform, and remold myself... and simply try and own my “too much’s” and my “not enough’s”.

Believe me, this sounds much easier than it’s actually been, but basically I guess I have decided to just have confidence in my un-confidence. I’ve decided to try and be “more than” in all of my “less than."

 I have decided to try love myself as I am rather than hate myself for all that I’m not.

I’ve decided I’m worth putting my own self on my own to-do list, and that it’s ok to put myself on the top line, rather than the bottom. And it’s ok not to erase myself off that list when it gets too long and something needs to be taken off. It’s ok to take time to exercise every day, and do my devotions, and order my groceries online, and even treat myself to a massage after running a half marathon. Heck, it's even ok to believe in myself and allow myself to train and actually run a half marathon... that is actually the real accomplishment, not just the justification for a massage...

It’s ok to let the ten year old wear whatever he wants to school and eat ice cream and little debbie's for breakfast. It’s ok to live in a house filled with clutter and mess and not need to be clean every moment of every day.

I’ve decided to try work through those feeling of selfishness, and shame, and uncertainty… and just try figure out who it is that God really created me to be, and what it is that God really created me to do, and what it is God has created me to say through my words and actions every day.

I am not “all that” and I never will be. I am not “perfect” and never will be. I am not “all together” and never will be. I am not the perfect wife, mom, daughter, housekeeper, friend, employee… and I never will be. Of course I will still die trying to be, because that’s just the nature of the blood coursing through my every vein and vessel of my body. I’ve been hardwired with a perfection complex and it has fed and thread it’s way through all of me and all of my relationships. It’s kept me from trying a lot of things, it’s kept me from a lot of happiness, and it’s kept me from enjoying a lot of life’s moments and memories. It’s made me incredibly hard to love and even harder to live with. It’s made me snappy, and crabby, and exhausted, and feeling lost and defeated for years and years and years.

And you know what, I’m still crabby and exhausted and hard to love and live with. And I’m still lost and defeated all the time. But I’m trying to simply learn to be ok with that. To stop trying to change that, to perfect that, to stop that, to overcome all that.

It’s ok to not be ok.

It’s ok to say no to things, it's ok to say yes to other things.  It's ok to fall apart at the seams, and it's ok to do what I need to do to pick myself back up and put my pieces back together again.  And it's ok if that doesn't happen overnight.  It's ok if that takes five years, or longer.  It's ok to mourn, it's ok to celebrate, it's ok to cry, it's ok to laugh.  It’s ok to post selfies, to get tattoos, to get odd places pierced, and to go to bed at 8:30pm.  It's also ok to choose to say no to the food you have chosen to not eat, even when it’s awkward and inconvenient and no one seems to really understand or care.

It’s ok to leave my raw, edgy, sharp corners just exactly the way they are... raw, edgy, and sharp.

I’m trying to dim, lessen, not see, not dwell on the bad things about myself that are continually trying to blind me, so that I can more clearly see, hear, touch those around me who are also hurting, and lost, and exhausted, and desperately needing to be loved and seen and encouraged. I'm trying to look outward more, and inward less.

It’s trying to give myself and others much more grace and much less of all my unattainable expectations.

I will never “arrive” this side of Heaven. I will always struggle, I will always battle, I will always be lost and I need to stop letting all that make me hide and cower and beat myself up over.

I hope to simply continue to strive to be more fully accepting (of both myself and others), to be confident in my un-confidence, and to push to be the me who I really am, without apologizing.

It's ok to be too much, and it’s ok to never be enough - because the truth is, we really are enough, and we really are perfect, because we were created in the image and likeness of God.

 Let me just say that one more time… we were created, on purpose, to be exactly who we are, in the image and likeness of God.  He creates only the best, the most beautiful, and the most perfect.  He did not envision or create you or I to be anything less than that.  He knew what He was doing, and He smiled when He was done.

“You will always be too much of something for someone;
Too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy.
If you round out your edges, you lose your edge.
Apologize for mistakes.
Apologize for unintentionally hurting someone-profusely.
But don’t apologize for being who you are.” (Danielle LaPorte)

{ Previous blog post "Summer Evolution Growth to Rest" HERE }

{ Next blog post "Days When I Am Done" HERE }

Summer Evolution of Growth to Rest

I drove to the lake last night and was struck yet again by how quickly our days continue to float by, continue to slip from one into the next, into the next.

Over the past years I have commented more than once at how much I love watching the changing of the seasons during our time at the lake. We live every weekend at a small lake, about an hour from where we live, from May 1st through early October. I can hardly believe this is our forth season here already.

Every year we somehow get through the dead of those midwest winters.  Through the below zero temps, through the feet of snow that falls and needs to be cleared over and over and over again. Through the endless days on end of no sunshine and the months and months of just going through the motions of surviving the days until spring again starts to awaken.

We eagerly pack the car and head to the lake at the end of April. Sometimes there is still a little snow along the cool shadows of the ditches. The fields are dry and brown, the soil a flat, lifeless charcoal grey. The melted snow is swelling in the local little creeks, the wildlife are slowly beginning to again emerge.

A few weeks later as we continue our weekly weekend travels there for the season, we start to see the fields turn into plowed rich black soil, and then neat rows where precious seeds have been planted deep within the rich earth. A few weeks later and there is the faint pop of green in all those rows as the fields slowly begin to grow.

The months that follow are filled with those little green shoots bending, and pulling, and reaching for the sky. They lengthen, and grow, and bloom, and gain life, and are soon entire fields of swaying rich green, basking in the heat from the summer sun and soaking in the drops from the summer dew and rain.

Slowly weeks turn into months and almost like magic, one day there’s a slight change in the air. A slight chill whispering in the breeze, and suddenly, that vibrant sea of green slowly begins to fade. It fades into a lemon yellow and then a slow wrinkling and withering to a dry and crinkly light brown.

The once full fields suddenly show lines of harvest, storms of husk and leaf dust hovering throughout the fields and gravel roads. Another year, another progression of the passing of time, the changing of the season, the harvest of another years time, toil, and bounty.

Every weekend I’m always sure to watch the fields, watch the growth, witness the change, remain consciously aware of that which is changing and revolving around me. And every year I find myself thinking about this evolution of grown and rest.

Last night as I drove to the lake through the falling, darkening, dusk sky, quiet classical music streaming throughout the car, I saw more flood waters filling ditches and fields and overflowing water ways. I saw partially harvested fields. I saw utterly damaged fields that did not weather well to the summer growing conditions of this year. Some yields will come out bountiful and strong, others not so much.  Sometimes only feet away from each other.

Soon all the fields will again be empty, barren, and breathing slowly as they enter their next season of rest. They will get tilled and turned one last time for the year, and then left to sleep, to rest, to endure the cold stagnation of yet another midwest winter. They will lie silent and dormant, holding on to their hopes and dreams for another fertile and productive year next summer. If this was a summer of disaster and disappointment from their yeild, it is their time to hope and pray for restored bounty next time. If this was a summer of blessing and grace from their yield, it is there time to rest, give thanks, recoup, and humbly pray for either another returned bounty next summer, or for the grace and humility needed to endure a season of hardship and difficulty that might be on it’s way next time around.

This change, this progression, this dull to vibrant, back to dull, is so much like my life… our lives. It’s the perfect example of the ebb and flow of growth and rest. We cannot be all things, at all times, for all people. The world tells us we can, the world tells us we should, and we need to. The lies in our head tell us we are failures and unworthy because we can’t, and we honestly really don’t even want to, but somehow... we still end up caught in the endless hamster wheel of expectation.

We too have seasons... seasons we need to rest, and wait, and be ok with being a little dull, and a little unused and a little off in the background. And then there are the seasons of our vibrancy, our growth, our producing, and flourishing, when we are able to give and give and give and help provide needed life and nutrients to those around us.

We are not in control of the storms and the conditions of our lives. We can prep and plan and hope and pray, but ultimately we do not get to pick the rain, the sun, the temps, the growing conditions that inevitably touch us, influence us, and effect those around us.

Life is not a given. Bounty and great harvest is not to be an expectation.

We never quite know when our seasons will be full, and grand, and perhaps even a plethora, a bumper crop of outpouring and unexplainable abundance and blessing. Oh how we must not take those seasons, those moments, those harvests for granted. These are not a given, these are not to be just flippantly expected. These are to be valued and treasured and recognized. These are to be times of humble thanksgiving and extravagant giving and outpouring to those around us.

We also all know there will also be those unexpected seasons of heartache, of drought, of great flood, of unexplainable heartache and disappointment one after another. The seasons when we expect, and pray for hope, and growth, and abundance, but we just are not granted that luxury, when those prayers are not answered, when that plea seems to fall on deaf ears.

It’s when we find ourselves in this season of hardship that we can learn the beauty of how it works to rely on those still growing and flourishing around us, when we need to perhaps let them be the ones to provide and nourish both us as individuals, as well as those whom are depending upon us for those tasks of responsiliby, at least for the season at hand.

Whether you are currently in a field producing a crop of grand harvest , or a field that has been struck by the unexplainable, unchangeable season of heartache, know you are not alone. I believe we are all created ultimately to see each other and help each other through all things.

Our lives are all an endless evolution of growth and rest, of blessing and burdens, of growth and stagnation, of vibrancy and dullness. We need to see, to reach out, to touch, to connect, to give, to receive, to ask, to accept, to interact with love and joy with everyone. Whether we are inherently introvert or extrovert, we are all ultimately living a life designed to best function as a team, as a whole of many parts, not just as lone individuals on our own.

We’re all weathering the storms and the abundant blessings of our lives. We are all growing, and changing, and aging. We are all cycling through life, just like the fields of crops planted year after year after year, being planted, budding, growing, being fed and nutured, being harvested, being repeated over and over again.  Watch and be aware of all that's around you.  Soak in the colors and sounds and smells of the world around you. 

Be grateful, be giving, be humble.  Grow, rest, repeat.

{ Previous post "8 Weeks" HERE }

Eight Weeks

Eight weeks ago I embarked on something new, something different, something like I had never done before.

Eight weeks ago I owned a set of three pound dumbbells, a set of five pound dumbbells (though I wasn’t even sure of their exact location), a light blue measuring tape from high school Home Ec class that was folded with a cracked and aged rubber band around it and at the bottom of my very messy purse, and an old-school scale.

Eight weeks ago I was just finishing another half marathon twelve week training schedule. Eight weeks ago I had never done a plank. Eight weeks ago the thought of squats made me grimace. Eight weeks ago I was struggling along on my weight loss journey and battling both my mind and my scale. Eight weeks ago I had never heard of the terms plyo jumps, skull crushers, prayer crunches, mountain climbers, or triple bears.

And then one day I was sitting on the beach at the lake and decided to jump on a whim, jump into something with both feet. I finally said yes, sign me up, and I made a vow to honestly devote eight weeks to this thing… this program… this challenge… this group.

I honestly had no idea what I was really getting myself into.  I knew I was still actively working on logging my 2018 mile goal for 2018. I knew I would soon be starting another round of half marathon training, and I hoped I would somehow be able to fit this into all of that along with my life, my work, and my family.

After week one I went and purchased a set of eight pound dumbbells. After week three I went and purchased a set of twelve pound dumbbells I found on sale. I would have added seventeen’s (and maybe even twenty’s) as well, but just could not afford it. At week four I added a new bluetooth full body composition bmi scale to my collection (also found on a great sale), and at week six I ordered an official body measurement retractable tape measure.

I had never used any kind of recharge or recovery drink after any of my workouts, and was blown away by how much less body and muscle ache I had, how much better I felt after my workouts. I had never used resistance bands before, and I admit I found them quite awkward and I was hardly strong enough to use them for many of the initial exercise moves. I also began to seriously measure and track my water intake every day. I am not a water drinker, so this was hard for me.

I got my workouts in, I drank half my weight in water oz. every day, I tracked everything I put in my mouth to eat, I continued to log my miles. I took before photos and shared them with the other gals also embarking on this grand adventure with me. And I did all that while being a full time employee, wife, mom, friend, supporter. I got into a firm routine with my morning and evenings so I made sure to prioritize each day so everything ran as smoothly as possible, and really ~ if you don’t pre-plan, you are just setting yourself up for failure. At least for myself anyway.

And I also worked really hard to figure out how to better navigate the unknown, to go with the flow, to adapt and modify as needed without just giving up or quitting. And if you know me at all (epic crazy overachiever, perfectionist, pre-planner, and organizer extraordinaire) that was a challenge. I worked on not comparing myself to others. I also had to really dig deep during this to not be obsessed with the scale, because this was a mind, body, and soul transformation that was different than any way I had ever viewed or approached fitness ever before. All my life, the only thing that mattered was the number displayed on my old bathroom scale, and I viewed that number through the eyes of someone who has dealt with the demons of ED since the age of thirteen.  I knew nothing about body mass, muscle mass, strength training. And those added variables I would find, can greatly alter how your body reacts and changes and ultimately displays that digital number on that old scale in the bathroom corner.

I didn’t really talk about it much to the people around me. One person commented on how toned I was looking about six weeks in, one friend was doing the program with me, one friend knew I was doing the program and was a great support, but no one else seemed to notice any changes at all. I didn’t share much about it on social media. I faithfully remained fully engaged in our small online group of gals who were also doing this same challenge, but I remained relatively quiet everywhere else.

I think if I’m honest, I was afraid to share that I was doing something different because I was afraid I was going to fail it - that I was going to quit it part way through - that I was going to crash and burn and disappoint myself. And I think we all secretly want to be seen - really seen. We want what we are doing to be recognized and noticed without having to hang the “Hey world look at me” banner above us while we toot our own horns of praise and accomplishment.

Yesterday I completed the entire program. If I’m honest, it was bittersweet. It was an amazing feeling to start something and complete something without missing one workout the entire time. It was an amazing feeling to recognize the changes in how certain moves from week one to week eight felt. I’m not one that can always see exterior change on myself very well, but I felt stronger on the inside - mentally and physically. The workouts still were absolute killers, so I know I still have a crazy long way to go, but I made the time to fight my mind and body through thirty to forty minutes of intense workouts four days a week for eight weeks. I also continued to run, walk, and elliptical.   I ran a half marathon during week six that was a complete last minute decision. I put myself on my to-do list and attempted to stave off the guilt. I gave myself the gift of myself as I put my own health as a priority, right now, in this exact season.

The last eight weeks brought me through August… Oh August, so bittersweet and hard for me, that sacred and hard month when we should have celebrated the birthday of our precious Faith MaryJo, but didn't.  It brought me through finding a lump on my breast and the steps and weeks following all that. It brought me through transiting from summer to fall and getting back into the routine of spelling words, reading, and homework with the ten-year-old.

One of the hardest things for me was the mind games played with the scale. Going in, I had adamantly said I did not want to bulk - I only wanted to slim and trim, and as the weeks continued on I knew I was gaining weight, I knew my pants were starting to fit differently, and those two things waged an all-out war in my mind.   Logically I knew my body was changing and getting stronger and my muscles were changing, but my logical mind was not winning the battle with the side of my mind that deals strictly in numbers, specifically scale numbers and pant size numbers.

After week four I finally had to stop weighing myself.  I just couldn’t do it.  I did not get on a scale for four weeks, I just wouldn’t allow myself to continue on that emotional rollercoaster. Yesterday morning my heart was racing and ringing in my ears as I looked down at my bare feet and that shiny new bluetooth bmi scale directly in front of them. My arms, my core, my legs I’m fairly certain have all changed, at least a little, in their composition. I know my body changed even if my weight hadn’t, but I was still so scared to know.

So here I am, eight weeks later. I have officially completed every workout. I have officially weighed and measured. I moved down a tiny bit in weight and inches, but not to the “magic number” on the scale my mind had wanted.  But that’s ok.  I am still a work in progress, and I am stronger and healthier than I was eight weeks ago. I have eight weeks of new habits and amazing friendships to add to my Journey of weight loss toolbox. I have eight weeks of strength and confidence added to my journey. I have eight weeks of perseverance, endurance, and success under my belt.

And I can only imagine what I can achieve, who I can motivate, and what I can accomplish in the next eight weeks! Bring it on!

{ Previous blog Post "Defining Moments" HERE }

{ Next blog post "Summer Evolution Growth to Rest" HERE }

Defining Moments

It was a Sunday afternoon, three weeks ago. I was in the small bathroom in our camper. I had showered and was getting dressed. I picked up my grey sports bra and as I twisted my hands through and lifted my arms to bring it over my head, my eyes glazed past a spot on my skin… A little visible bump just off to the side of my right breast. I continued putting the bra on and realized I could hear a faint ringing in my ears, a lacy heightening of my adrenaline as the liquid in my veins seemed to instantly thicken… pumping deeper and strong.

For moments afterwards, I stood there alone in this tiny bathroom, beautiful sunlight coming down from the skylight above me. I looked on with quickened breath and an unsteady gaze into my very own eyes in the mirror.

In that exact moment I knew… I knew this might be “thee moment”… the moment when life changes… the moment the reality card is again dealt… the moment when life suddenly splits between the “before” of this moment, and to the “afters” of this moment, leaving this moment, this exactly fingerprint of time, to become the defining moments in which to gauge all things.

I closed my eyes slowly. Lord I did not want to this become another moment. No, No, No, No.

I slowly opened my eyes. I took the sports bra back of, and felt like I was moving in slow motion. I watched for that spot again in the mirror, and then slowly lifted my arm to really look, to really touch, to really say hello to the possible new visor and the reality and luggage it was surely going to drag along with it.

My heart continued to race and wild thoughts instantly began swirling in my mind. I heard the hubs walk in and I immediately summoned him into the bathroom, a space that wasn’t big enough really for one person to fit, let alone two.

I told him to look. I made him touch it. He looked back at me with a blank look stating it’s a fatty deposit, he was sure it was nothing. Have I ever mentioned just how extremely opposite he and I are when it comes to evaluating and dealing with life?!? I have already run ten point two million possible scenarios in my head for every situation I have every found myself in, and he… well… he honestly could care less. Why worry about today what might not happen tomorrow. And he doesn’t just “not worry…” he honestly just “does not care” until there is true and absolute reason to care. Granted, I could learn a few lessons from him on all this, but heaven-to-betsy-bob at least entertain the possibility every now and again!! ( you’re kill’n me smalls! )

I called the clinic the following day and was able to get in a few days later. The doctor did seem to think it was only a cyst… but also moved up my next mammogram to the next available appointment. Which wasn’t for another three weeks.

And as I shared with a few people, I was surprised and comforted to find out there was a lot of this very thing going on with a lot of people, and nearly all of them shared it didn’t end up being cancer.

Surprisingly enough I wasn’t overly obsessed, or panicked, or consumed as entered those following three weeks. I didn’t lose sleep, I didn’t lose my appetite, I didn’t lose any weight (awww shucks, hu?!).  I honestly didn’t think about it much, and I was grateful God was keeping my crazy brain somewhat at bay. Although … I did make a last minute decision to run a half marathon that I wasn’t initially planning or training for.

A small voice inside me telling me I might in fact not get to run that half I’m currently training for in October, depending what happens in the next few weeks. So I signed up and ran the Faith Moves Mountains Half Marathon … the race was on August 26th, and our dear little Faith MaryJo’s due date had been August 27th, 2015. I felt it just all too fitting to not at least attempt to finish it. And I didn’t just finish it, I almost beat my PR time! I missed it by a mere matter of seconds, and that was running with a strained groin injury I had gotten earlier that week.

There was a small voice inside telling me to run it hard, to enjoy it, to go all out… just in case… just in case this was to by my last half marathon I would get to run.

As I stood in the shower the morning of the mammogram, I found myself reflecting over the nine mile workout I had just completed. It had been three weeks since I first saw this new “friend” of mine that morning in the camper. It had been three years since we entered into our Journey to Faith, as we loved and lost our daughter. It had been two years since I had entered into my Journey to Weight Loss, deciding to finally put myself on my own to-do list, to take on my health, work on my fitness, embrace my inner self and finally work on both the angels and demons that reside deep (and not so deep) within the recesses of my heart, mind, and soul.

My whole life I have battled my weight. I My whole live I have always been blessed with abundant health (yes, I’m the one who graduated from High School with perfect attendance K-12th grade) and until I found myself sick when I was pregnant with Faith, I totally took that all for granted. But not any more. My health, and all the facets involving my health (spiritual, mental, physical) have been a grand work in process over the last two years.

And that morning in the shower, the thought occurred to me that I was standing there, forty-three years old, and in the best shape I have ever been in my life. And despite all the exercise, all the prayer, all the nutrition, all the things I have pushed and required of myself and my body… All of that still had not made me immune to that five letter word starting with “c”.

I could be at the top, the very best I’m going to ever be… and in the blink of an eye I might have that all taken away. Poof. Gone. Finished. Finito. I have always been one to be conscious of this reality. I don’t live with rose tinted glasses looking at my life expecting it all to be handed to me on a silver platter. I’d like to think I’m one that tends to be more realistic, more expectant, more deep, more weathering.

I stood with the hot water pummeling me and I breathed in deep. If that spot was in fact more than just a cyst, it was already more than just a cyst. Going in for my appointment was not going to change, or stop, or make that a different diagnosis or outcome. It’s just life… so true to my life… Another possible fork in the road. Another possible journey I will get to venture to and through. Another opportunity for growth, another opportunity to be honest, and vulnerable, and open and share about.

And possible another opportunity to hit rock bottom and try and figure out how to merely survive to the following day. Of course this is not what I’m hoping or surly wanting… but no matter what this ends up being, I am hopeful that I am going to attempt to look at it all through the lens God is wanting me to view and experience it out of.

I don’t want to meet new nurses and surgeons and fellow patients. I don’t want to endure all that packs itself into cancer’s carryon suitcase. I don’t want to be a statistic. I don’t want to be another face. I don’t want to be another story.

And maybe I won’t be. But maybe I will. And maybe it won’t be this time, but it will be next time. It’s just how this life works, with all it’s variables and unknowns. It’s how we are, and who we are, in the midst of the wait, the battle, and the aftermath that truly define each and every one of us.

I earnestly pray tonight, as I quietly and silently wait for results and feedback, that I merely live my life the way in which God has wanted and intended me to. May I walk with faith, may I run with endurance. May I speak and share with clarity and compassion and integrity. May I clearly see who it is I’m supposed to see, touch who I’m supposed to touch, hear who I’m supposed to hear, care for who I’m supposed to care for.

May whatever my plan and my purpose is, may it will be clearly lived out, no matter what the outcome, what the battles, what the journeys, what the joys, what the sorrows, what the heartaches, what the victories. May the little steps and whispers and thoughts of every single day merely weave quietly together a life’s tapestry of beauty and grace that will be fondly remembered whether my last day is tomorrow, or my last day is decades and decades yet down the road.

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