Keep the Focus in 2020

The last three years I have taken the time to ponder and come up with a word, or theme, for the new year I'm entering into.  What I hope to intentionally focus and work on over the following 365 days.

** 2017 - Less
** 2018 - Contentment
** 2019 - Just Be

As I went back and re-read all of these, I realized that I am like so many, starting the year out with great intentions, and then kind of losing steam, losing focus as the days, weeks, month, continue to pass by.

I'm not saying that I failed each year miserably, but I think I could have done a better job staying on task and forward moving with each theme every year.  I could have spent more time throughout the middle of year going back to those words / themes and doing a better job keeping them front and center in my day to day living.

A few of my friends have started talking about their quest to find their 2020 word, some already have it and some are still marinating on it.  As much as I hate to admit it, I have to say that the majority of my "ahh-haa" moments have come to me in our bathroom.  I'm not sure why, but I think it's just a place where I have my guard down, the crazy of my brain either hasn't quite started full gear for the day, I'm physically and mentally exhausted as I finish up some workout, or it's the end of the day and my brain has checked out for the day.  And interestingly enough, it seems in those moments are the times I can most clearly hear the whispers from within, the ethereal presence of God at work.

So it's to no surprise that after spending some time wondering what I'm needing to focus on this year, I found myself the other morning in the bathroom, finishing getting ready, and picking up my glasses from the counter to put them on.

And I looked down at them in my hands, and the image and thought span latched on to the 20/20 vision conotation.  We all can see our best when our eyes are at a perfect focus of 20/20 vision.  And just like that I heard the words...

Keep the focus in 2020.
Find the focus. Get focused.  Stay focused. Keep the focus.

And well, that was that.  It is actually quite perfect for the current state I'm stumbling around in.

I've spent much of my life lost... Lost and looking.  Lost and seeking.  Lost and trying to find myself. I'm also in this really hard phase of "maintaining" in my health and dieting and nutrition right now, all of 2019 actually.  All my life I've been the one who's on either extreme of the pendulum.  Either way to the right (heavy) or way to the left (not heavy).  I am very very bad at anything in-between.  I can gain, and I can lose - but that maintaining thing ... ohhhhhh, yeah that's hard for me.

It's been three years since I started my health and wellness journey, trying to heal inside and out and rewiring how my brain and body functioned.  It's been long and hard, and while I initially found myself at a point of great successes and the joy and highs and amazement of new accomplishments... I have been struggling and battling since as I try to just somehow maintain and figure out what that "normal" needs to be for me.

I'm not one that can eat just one cookie.  I eat the whole batch, or the whole package.  I'm not one that can eat just one chip, or one cracker, or one bowl of cereal.  It's quickly the whole bag, the whole box, and it's all gone.  I can get on a roll and steer clear entirely, but the thing with maintenance is ... figuring out how to just eat that one cookie.   How to just run just that one mile (and not nine more).

I need to continue to focus on that delicate life balance that I really struggle with.  I need to focus on the whole picture - the whole mind and body, not just the number on the scale, or the number of points eaten, the number of calories burned, or the number of days it's been since we lost our daughter.

I need to figure out what is currently out of focus, what is skewed and blurred and just not quite where it needs to be.  And then I need to start asking the questions... not just the general questions, but the specific questions of "Is A clearer than B?" "Is B clearer than C?" "Is 1 better than 2?" "Is 2 better than 3..." And then taking each little incriment and moving, tweaking, changing as needed. Some might need major adjustments, some only a little.

I find it funny how in my life I always seem to not be able to do everything all the time.  And what I mean by that is like... If I've got myself doing great on exercising and water intake each day - then I'm never quite so good on my food choices.  If I'm doing great on my hours of sleep and rest each day - then I'm never doing great on my exercise.  If I'm doing good at the exercise, water, and sleep - then I'm skipping my devotions, I'm not brushing my teeth before bed, I'm not making great meals for me or my family...  You get the picture, right?  It's like every day the perfect list includes:  Exercise, water intake, only eating healthy food choices, taking all the vitamins, helping (with full patience and loving understanding) with all the homework, school, band instruments, work, marriage, and mom related things.  It's getting all the laundry done, and the house picked up, and the meal on the table, and the dog to the vet, and teeth brushed twice a day (mine and everyone else's - oh, and with the spin brush that the dentist recommended but gives me a headache and of course also floss and mouthwash), and the hair washed, and the shoe strings untied every single time you take your shoes off.  It's putting all the clothes away as soon as you change them, it's putting everything away as soon as you're done with it.  It's texting, messaging, encouraging all the people while not being late to work and getting the school lunch packed and the lunch money needed in the account for tomorrow in the folder with the child carrying todays lunch, so he can also eat tomorrow. It's getting everyone where they need to be and picked back up without being late. It's sitting on the bleachers with the excited smile of encouragement at every single sporting, school, and extra circular event.  Oh and self care!  We mustn't forget devotions, personal development, quiet time, prayer, reflection, silence, yoga, journaling...

I could go on (and on and on and on...) but I won't.

I can do some things well for a while, at the expense of letting other things fall behind.  And then the other things that have fallen behind have to become the things I do well at for a while, while the earlier things I was able to do good at then fall behind.  Vicious cycle (for me anyway).  I just can't do all the things I know I should be doing every single minute of every single day.  And I (and "we" as an entire society) need to figure out how to honestly be ok with that, and not fall victum to the social media induced guilt flung at us from every single gosh darn direction.

So, by choosing the word focus for 2020, does not mean I'm intending to have a 20/20 focus on perfection every single day - the doing everything, every single day, for everyone (myself included).

No, I'm merely knowing that I need to figure out what things need to be changed, or realigned, or worked on to help my life run with better clarity and help me continue forward in a more clear and focused path.

Finding the middle, finding the give and take, finding the grace to walk away or the courage to take it on...  Keeping the steady focus on the stable horizon before me as I navigate the jungle of wild chaos all around me.

{ Previous blog post "Crane Clan Christmas Letter 2019" HERE }

Crane Clan Christmas Letter 2019

Here we are again, with Christmas right around the corner and a New Year, new decade in fact, following close at its heels.

We didn't send out a Christmas card last year, and decided last minute to do the easy way and just post a Christmas Letter blog with a current picture of us and just a few updates.

Gosh, where to even begin... it was another good year that flew by way too fast.

We started the year and spent much of the winter with Isaiah wresting in various tournaments around the area.  He and Brian really enjoyed their time together, and Isaiah met some really great people and new friends along the way.  They also enjoyed some time together ice fishing.  Don't worry, no one was cold or uncomfortable, as Brian has all the warm and fun stuff needed for long days on the ice (heater, ice shack, vexilar, the whole bit...)  If you ever want to go out for a day, just give him a call!

Winter proved to be rather hard for me, as I slipped into some depression and found myself just a little lost (again).  After spending lots of time in bed and lacking much ambition for anything, I was very grateful for the arrival of spring and slowly got myself back up and out there, and was slowly able to get myself into a little bit better of a place.

With spring came the excitement of getting to get back to the campground and getting everything cleaned up and our camper opened back up and ready for the season.  It was so good to be back!  We had a great summer camping, boating, fishing, hanging out as a family, and hanging out with all our camping friends.  We absolutely cherish our time and memories made at the lake.

Isaiah also played baseball this summer on a 5th grade team, so we spent lots to time in the bleachers watching him.  Bailey also played some slow pitch this summer and we got to also watch him and his team play.  Yup, I was an official #baseballmom this summer!

We decided to take a small vacation this summer and headed to Minneapolis for a few days.  We stayed downtown and got to experience a MN Twins baseball game (yup -we got to witness the epic triple play live in person!). We went to the Mall of America where ate at the Wallburgers restaurant, got cupcakes from Carlo's Bakery, and hung out in Legoland,  We also went to the zoo, and hiked, and Isaiah and I even got to run in a huge 5k race with 5,000 other runners that started right by our hotel.  You can read about that adventure HERE.  On the way home, we of course had to take in all the candies at the Worlds Largest Candy Store, and then spent a few last days just relaxing at the camper.

Suddenly it was fall and Isaiah was heading off to the 6th grade in the big Middle School building over in Alton.  New school building, new bus routes, new kids in his class, new teachers... but we worked really hard at it and the transition all went pretty well, and he is absolutely loving it now.  He also decided to join the band this fall, so we now have another baritonist in the family.  He is having two lessons a week right now and is really learning quickly.  He is excited to join the rest of his class in the "full band" practices and concerts after Christmas break.

Isaiah also played football this fall and got to go out and do some hunting with big brother Bailey (I'm not quite sure who was more excited about these outings). To date, Bailey is the only one who has come home with anything - but the season is not over!  I have no fear that our freezer will not be full again by the end of January.

In September my parents, Bailey, Isaiah, and I packed up the car and headed to Cedar Rapids for a fun little trip together.  Bailey, Isaiah, and I ran in the Kickoff to Kennick 5k race - which ended with us running under/through the stadium and coming out right on Kennick field where we crossed the finish line on the 50 yard line!  It was cool and raining, and it was Bailey's first ever 5k... On the way home we stopped to check out the Grotto and enjoyed a little picnic lunch there, just like when we were kids growing up and traveling on vacation. It is a trip and experience I will never forget!

In October Brian and I got to take a long weekend away to the Black Hills together.  I ran in the Crazy Horse 5k (Saturday) and Half Marathon (Sunday).  We stayed in a great little apartment in Hill City and got to see the trees changing, it was so beautiful.  We also drove the Needles Hwy, hiked to the Cathedral Spires, hiked to the top of Harney Peak (yes, the same day as my half marathon ~LOL), did wine tasting, toured Deadwood (where Brian won big on the penny slot machine), went to Mt Rushmore and just enjoyed a few days off from work and being away from any responsibilities (Thank you to my parents for taking on Isaiah and both dogs while we were gone #neveragain #lol)

Currently Isaiah is back to a busy wresting practice and tournament schedule, Bailey has been busy busy with harvest all fall, and added snow removal to his schedule at the first snow fall.

And here we are, the Christmas tree is up and the decorations out around the house.  The gifts are all bought and wrapped (well as long as I stop buying any more they are anyway), and while I am still fighting off a little bit of the hardness and ache I always have at the holidays, I am ready to celebrate.

And ... a  quick update on all of us.

Brian:
Still co-owner and busy working for J&B Custom Carpentry.  They had a fun year full of lots of various projects.  You can follow their work on facebook - click HERE.  And if you are ever in need of anything (big or small) give him a call!  He is busy with Isaiah and his wrestling, he is still a lover of all things camo and is off to hunt and fish absolutely whenever possible.  He is currently eagerly waiting for the ice to get thick enough to get out there and ice fish again.  Oh, and I should also mention he turned the big 4-0 in November #wink ;-).  Also this fall, he got to cross something off his bucket list when we went to see comedian Bill Engvall live.

Sara:
Last spring I took a job at Staples Promotional Products and got to get back into the Art Dept as an Art Administrator.  I've been back for a year and a half already, and just loving it.  I am also still doing some cupcakes on the side whenever I can fit them in (be sure to message if you ever need any!).  I am still very passionate about health and fitness and spend a lot of time running. (I try to always be training for something.)  I trained to do a progressive 4 for the 4th run in July, and fell and injured my ankle about a mile in to my ten mile run.  I did complete the 10 mile race and went on to finish the Half Marathon the following morning, but it's been a long road of recovery since, and I'm pretty sure my ankle will never be 100% again. You can read about that HERE.  I ran several 5k's, 10k's, and half marathons this year, and I'm currently training for another progressive 4 day challenge in January (5k, 10k, Half Marathon, Full Marathon 4 days in a row). You can read about that HERE.  We shall see if this is something I will be able to complete or not... I teach a fun and very energetic group of 2nd Graders on Wednesday night at church. (Well, I'm not sure how much they are actually learning, but hopefully they are at least feeling well loved #smile). When I'm not working, caking, training, mom-ing, wife-ing, etc I still love to take photos, scrapbook, read, and blog.

Bailey:
Bailey works full time for Kuiken Farms where he drives semi hauling cattle and helps around the farm and fields as needed. He also helps out hauling milk at Roorda Dairy on occasion, and also has his own shop and storage business called Moonlite Garage.  During the winter you can also usually find him out and about in a skid loader clearing snow in the area. He is 22 and living in Alton. He enjoyed boating and slow pitch this summer, and made it to the lake camping a few times. He also went on vacation with my parents camping at Starbuck, MN this summer and had a great time! He has a super loyal dog named Hinstley, and he still loves all things camo as well.  He is also out hunting whenever he has the time. We love having him stop over and hanging out with us, and I just love the picts of the sunsets and sunrises he sends me quite often.

Isaiah:
Isaiah is 11 and in the 6th grade.  He is busy in school and enjoying sports.  He loves legos and PlayStation and watching tv shows like Dude Perfect, How It's Make, Mythbusters and America's Funniest Home Videos.  He volunteered at the library this summer and loved getting to take his bike there and back and just having some larger freedoms and responsibilities.

Piper and Lily:
This fall we had to make the hard decision to move Lily to my parents house.  Here we thought she was going to be long gone two years ago already, and here she is, still alive and doing really well actually.  However, she was just not being very nice to Piper and we were at a bit of a loss as to what to do.  While we are sad and miss her in our house terribly, it is so nice getting to see her any time we stop at my parents, and to say that my parents are loving her well is an understatement.

We want to wish all of you and your families a very Merry Christmas.

We pray that you can all find some time to reflect over the past year and count all your many blessings.  We also hope that you are able to find moments of true joy and happiness this season. The holidays are a tricky time of year for most of us, and not always quite as joyful and happy as the tvs and social media portray.  It is our sincere hope and prayer that everyone will be touched by God's grace and goodness this season, and that the coming year will bring you blessings beyond your wildest imagination.

Blessings and hugs from our family to yours
Brian, Sara, Bailey & Isaiah


{ Next blog post "Keep the Focus 2020" HERE }

{ Previous blog post "Endurance Outside the Box - Inside the House" HERE }

Endurance - Outside the Box (While Inside the House)

So… I’ve kind of embarked on something odd, a little silly probably, and I had told myself I wouldn’t really talk about it at all until afterwards… until after it was done and completed, you know… just in case I can’t actually do it. If I can’t do it, can’t actually finish it, then if no one even knew about it, I won’t really have failed it.

Well, if it’s something I can’t actually finish, I will of course have failed myself, but at least I won’t have to tell anyone else about it, right?!?

I am one who rarely chooses to embark on anything that I might not be able to finish or accomplish. It’s one of those things you are both proud of, and ashamed of, all at the same time. Now, I’m not one that has a fairly low bar of achievement expectancy, don’t get me wrong. I’d have to say I am actually slightly on the manic, driven, side of things if I’m honest… I’m usually up for a good challenge, and I am always busy doing something. But, if that something is presented to me in a way that makes me wonder if I can, could, should even take it on, I usually will decline.

I would rather not even try, then try and fail.

Failure. Of course that is a term that is viewed at differently, as through the eyes of each beholder. To some not completing something may not exactly be a “failure” - it may simply be viewed in a more positive light, perhaps used as a measurement of how far they have come … rather than how far they didn’t make it.

I’m definitely one that views life through the glass half empty mentality. I try really hard to look on the bright side, the hopeful side, the positive side, the encouraging side, the “I’m enough” side - but truth be told, that is just not how this brain of mine is wired. All my life I have battled the inner demons of not enough, failure, self doubt… All.my.life.

Looking back, I may not have actually failed at many things. I am one that usually won’t take on anything upfront that I fear I may fail at, and the things that I have battled and battled and battled and finally allowed myself to throw my hands up to in defeat… well those are things that I have also said that if I was going to fail at something, it wasn’t going to be small.

If I was going to down - I was going down with all guns blazing, go big or go home. I fell hard and failed big. It is probably a very good thing I have led a life as guarded and controlled as I have. I don’t want to even think about some of the alternate life routes I could have ended up going down.

All this being said, back to that odd and silly thing I mentioned earlier… the one I wasn’t going to mention at all, but then did… I will try attempt to explain what I’m currently training for and why.

From the very first post I saw of @manderbeez on instagram two years ago as she ran, documented, selfied with the characters and shared her weekend, I immediately fell in love with the idea of the RunDisney Marathon Weekend! In mid January Disneyworld hosts a running event that is four days in a row. You run through the Disney parks (before they even open) with tons of other excited runners, many glammed up in super fun costumes and running gear. The characters are out, the medals are amazing, and it’s all under the stars and magic glitter of Disney! Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. 5K, 10K, Half Marathon, Full Marathon, with an extra medal at the completion of all four races. Ummmmm #swoon.

I immediately put it on my bucket list!

And then I began researching it all. Oh my it’s expensive, and the registration fee’s don’t even cover the park passes if you want to either stay or go back after the race to spend time at each park. Airfare, hotel, food, time off work… heck we were still paying off credit cards from our family vacation there a few months prior. Apparently registration also fills up incredibly fast, and if I’m honest, I think the thing that really kept pricking me in the back of my mind… I am one that is very self competitive with myself. I train hard for my races, and I don’t stop during. I also have an unbelievable love for photos, selfies, and life size Disney characters. I knew I would have to either allow myself to run the entire way and skip all the stop possibilities and opportunities, or I would have to allow myself the grace to run and truly not care about my finishing time. Oh, that was a tricky tricky little mind game going on, I will not lie.

I knew 2019 was not going to be the year, so I told myself 2020. I would have “2020” vision for training and completing the Disney Marathon Weekend in January 2020. Oh I thought I was so cleaver with that one. :-)

But, life does not always have the same clarity and vision. I changed jobs and have less time off, we have medical bills, repair bills, we have so many things going on, and I just knew I could not actually follow through with signing up (or at least attempting to sign myself up) for that race in 2020.

So I decided to be a little creative in my thinking and my expectations of the actual event.

I decided to sign up for the RunDisney’s Summer Shorts - which is a virtual 5K race that they had this past summer. You could sign up for one month, two months, or you could sign up to do all 3 months of their virtual 5k’s over the summer, and you would get a bonus 4th completion medal when you completed all of them, all mailed to your house. And I began toying with the idea of training to do it as the DopeyChallenge over the 4th of July weekend in Minnesota at the lake.

April came. May came, no medals. The first race was supposed to be for June and I thought for sure they’d have all arrived by then. There was a lot of social media talk about it as well from other wondering runners… and it came out the medals weren’t even going to start shipping until mid to end of August. Well, I am not one to run a race without a medal at the finish, sorry… but that’s just me. At first I was upset, but soon I found another virtual option, which I ordered and was assured would arrive before my July race (and honestly, was more than ok with giving up any thought of having to do a full 26.2 distance again.)

And that attempt, well, it did not go as I had planned or trained. Click HERE to read about that race.

In time, the Disney medals would finally arrive, and as I held them in my hands, a new idea began to form. I would run my own virtual Disney Marathon Weekend at the very same time the actual race was happening in Florida! I would do the very same Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday - 5K, 10K, Half Marathon, Full Marathon. Training would work out well to tag on to at the end of my Crazy Horse Half Marathon in October, giving me 3 months to train.

And so… I am officially training for this “thing”. And as the miles have been ramping up, I have been seriously wondering if this is something I should have decided to try accomplish or not. This morning my training run was 13.5 miles. Just for training. No crowds of people, no pre-race jitters, no t-shirts, no medals, no new mug, no massage. Just all those miles for a little penciled check mark next to it, and then on to the next day… to the next week.

At mile one I wasn’t sure if I was going to get to the end today. But somehow I did. It wasn’t great, it wasn’t pretty. It was on a treadmill for 9 miles and an elliptical for 4.5 miles at 4:00 am in my basement for Heaven’s sake.

I came up to find my family doing nothing on the couch, the house a hot mess, and promptly stepped in dog poop with my good new indoor running shoes (because those on the couch obviously weren’t watching the dog, although I was then blamed because it had to have happened after I went down at 4am). After cleaning up said mess, I proceeded to the kitchen to mix and drink some after workout recharge drink, only to dump the entire shaker on the floor before getting the lid on properly. Another mess to clean up, another surface to mop.

It was not even 7:30 am, and I was so done for the day. So done. I showered and climbed back in bed for a while.

Before drifting off back to sleep for a bit, my achy body was screaming at me, and my anxious and overwhelmed mind was also screaming at me, wondering what I was thinking attempting to take this whole challenge on. And why? And for who? Surely I am not going to ever be able to accomplish this. And since today’s mileage was that of a basic half marathon, I kept hearing myself over and over whispering it is time to just quit, just be done. Quit while it’s still achievable - I know I can, as I have in the past, completed the illusive half marathon. It wasn’t pretty but I have even accomplished the 5K, 10K, 10 mile, Half Marathon four days in a row.

Why in heaven’s name did I honestly think I could take on a challenge of this proportion? I have no idea. No idea, other than the simple fact that my entire soul lit up when I first saw those photos posted on instagram in Jan 2018 and I was like “What in the world is this?!?! I have got to find out and do this!”

But the simple reality is - I won’t ever be able to afford to do the Disney Marathon Weekend, at least within the fitness window of being able to actually attempt to complete it. This isn’t something you just start the ten year savings fund to go do. Ten years from now I will be 55. I don’t know if I’ll still be alive, if I’ll be healthy, if I’ll still be able to run, let alone even walk. I can’t, or at least I choose not to wait that long to attempt that which has set my soul on fire.

And by doing it virtually in my basement - I won’t have to worry about taking (or not taking) time and opportunity for all those character photo opps and I won’t have to worry that I might not make the time requirements for the marathon and someone will have to pick me up with a golf cart and drive me to the finish and then not get the extra “all achievement” medal because I couldn’t actually do it.

Never mind the fun, the glitz, the glam, the sparkle, the crowds, the lights, and sounds and smells of Disney all around me. Granted I know that’s a huge part of the experience, but I know that that will never be my reality to experience, so I have decided to just focus on the endurance portion I guess. The training, the mind over miles battle from within.

And the reality is, I might not be able to finish. That scares me, but I guess there must also be a small portion of me that is also intrigued by that. What if I can’t finish? Will I stop and give up at some mile marker before the 26.2 on that Saturday? What will that feel like? What will it take to actually get the best of me? Will I view it as how far I was able to get, or how far I was from being unable to finish?

Or what if… just what if… I actually can finish? Will I be able to say it was an actual race, since it was really only a “virtual” race, that was intended to really only be 3 5k’s over the course of 3 months? I don’t know. I just don’t know. I guess time will tell.  I didn’t think I’d get those miles in this morning, and somehow I did. So who knows. Who knows. Perhaps it’s time to fess up to this silly little thing I’m currently training for and just simply see if there’s anyone out there wanting to following along on my current journey which I have dubbed “Endurance Outside the Box… While Inside the House.”

Up next… 14 training miles next weekend. Will I make it, I don’t know… I just don’t honestly know. I guess it’s time to get a little more uncomfortable and push on with a little more depth and passion and perseverance than I’ve had to before. But you know, once upon a time, I would have never in my wildest dreams thought I could run, and finish, a half marathon. And I have. More than once. Several times in fact. And today, that distance became merely just another “training day” distance. Who knew.

So as I sit on the couch right now and look at my inflamed bunions, messed up toenails, and feel every muscle ache and scream with any small move, I find myself still asking…

Do I quit and not even try, or do I take a chance and keep going… I mean, who knows?!?

{ Previous Blog Post "The Girl In Black" HERE }

The Girl In Black

The other day as I was walking out to my car during my lunch break, my feet swiftly marching down concrete steps, a biting south wind upon my face, I heard the words “Food is the Enemy… Exercise is the Punishment” flitter through my mind. Part of it was like silent whisper while at the same time a clear and audible holler.

The exact juxtaposition that it is to me.

It was the most basic of concepts and reality within my life… dumbed down, cut down, whittled down to those eight jagged sharp words. A stark reality, finely and intricately etched out of the cellulite rich clay of my mind, body, and soul.

I knew instantly it was the simplified, yet heady, answer to what I’ve been running from my entire life, literally and figuratively. It’s what I’ve been operating through, it’s what I’ve been struggling with, it’s what I’ve been drowning in my entire life. It’s the mix of truth and lies that runs rich through the very marrow and veins of my entire being.

Food is the enemy and exercise is the punishment. It’s the black and white to the rainbow array of chaos that’s been nipping at my heels for nearly as long as I can remember, and there is nothing remotely enjoyable or fulfilling about either.

Oh I know it to be true, these words weren’t something brand new that was struck upon me in that moment, and yet, somehow the simplicity of it that day seemed to slam into me with a calm clarity that both seared my scars shut, while ripping them wide open all at the same time.

When it comes to food and exercise and how I view myself with the goals, priorities, expectations, and perfection perceptions that I have set upon myself, I know they are a lie. I know they are unrealistic, they are unattainable, and yet even though I clearly know the ridiculousness of it all, I still fall victim to the lies and the allure time and time again.

Dammit, it's what I want.  I want the picture I see in my head to be the same as the picture I see in my mirror. And interestingly enough... I'm also pretty sure that my minds eye is more than a little jaded in the reality in which it sees.  I stumbled upon this this summer as I viewed a photo of myself taken at a race I had run.  I kept looking at it, surprised somehow by what I saw, because that photo of me was not the me I see in the mirror every day, then again a full body photo of myself is an absurd rarity... so who actually knows.  Perhaps a different blog for a different day.

But as I continue to sit here and try process some of this, I allow myself to go back in time… back to the days of late Elementary and early Junior High. Back to the time when my body began to change, along with the bodies of those of my friends and classmates around me. And as my body changed and matured, my mind also began to change. I started to view myself through harsh and hard eyes. I started to think of myself through a lens of negativity and this driven complexity.

I’m not sure when exactly, or how it happened, but somehow I knew I was built “differently.” I wasn’t naturally thin and athletic. I wasn’t naturally graceful. I was a little too loud, a little too short, a little too heavy, and little too flat chested. Oh and my hair was a little too weird. Little Orphan Annie perms, mullets, naturally curly, humidity frizz.

All the way back then I was already self conscious of my heavy legs, my crooked nose, my hair, my loud personality that just didn’t always quite fit in.  One knows these things... we just do. Even if no one else point blank tells it to you to your face.

Oh what I wouldn’t give to go back and allow myself to look in the mirror and really see myself, the me on the inside, the me I was created to become, the me I surely should have figured out how to love better so many decades ago. My heart breaks and aches as I think of the demons I have chased and the voices and visions I have allowed to feed me so many half truths and misconceptions though all these years and all these stages of my life.

I longed to be accepted, to be loved, to be seen. (I still do.) I longed to excel at something, to meet all the goals, to be “in.” And somehow, I just was never quite enough to be “in” with the “cool crowd” so I ended up running with the "smarty" group a tier down, and then, with some deserved guilt, I would slowly leave behind those real and true friends and began to slide in to that little bit rougher crowd, you know… the “blacker” crowd. The ones that dress in black, the ones that are more of the black sheep kids.  I was surrounded by so much potential of serious trouble, and yet somewhere inside I did seem to also see some small glimmer of my own potential (and a whole lot of naivety) … just enough to keep me just on the border line between straight and narrow, and completely out of control. I know that sounds a bit odd, but it was the truth. I spent quite a bit of my time with a crowd that could have led me far far away, into so much more trouble than the little bit I did manage to find. I floated between the smarty group and the wrong group, and thankfully I still managed to tow a pretty straight line on the side of right.

And I guess I call them the “wrong group” because that’s what my parents called them, although I never quite understood that. I always felt drawn to them, those that were more wild and free, more open and artistic. I seemed to see them differently than my parents and general society. I didn’t question their outward appearance, I looked beyond. I looked inside to see their honestly, to feel their trust, to simply believe in their genuineness and inner realness, at least until given reason to not to.

I feel I spent a lot of my time growing up having to defend myself, or hide myself, or fight an upstream battle against the majority of the society around me. I remember saying over and over that I always felt I just “wasn’t of the same cloth” as my family, and it brought me, and them, unnecessary tension and mistrust. Somehow amid all of that, mixed with my people pleasing tendencies and my skewed perception of perfection and body image, the thoughts and beliefs in my mind began to become so ingrained, so defined, that they just became my truth I guess.

And that truth I carried, was that I wasn’t enough. This “not-enoughness” didn’t become apparent or pin-point recognizable until just a few years ago, after crashing rock bottom in my life and having to somehow either die at the bottom, or figure out how to start fighting my way back to life, climbing my way back up, and along the way I needed to start figuring out who I was - who I really was. And of course, at the age of forty, I had once thought I knew exactly who I was, until I wasn’t anyone at all any more… until I was bruised and beaten and battered and bloody and completely and totally lost in life.

I was lost, I was hurting, and I was justifiably angry at God.

My entire life I have lived with the demon of food control and body image issues. I defined myself by the number on the scale, by the size of clothing I wore, by the number of calories I ate, by the number of calories I burned. Every bite of food was a battle, a war, one bite away from possibly too much. And every "too much" led to punishment through excessive exercise, and, when I was younger, perhaps a few laxatives (which I can't even describe to you how that messed up my adult digestive system).  There were seasons I was in control and there were seasons I wasn’t. I was either heavy, or I was thin. I have spent very little of my life anywhere in between.

My closet (and various boxes stacked neatly in the basement) had an entire wardrobe from size 4/6 to size 14/16 that I rollercoastered back and forth between.  Sometimes it was years, sometimes it was only months.  But it was never ever forever.  I would lose knowing I would gain it all back again.  I would gain until I couldn't get into that largest set of clothes I owned... and then somehow, someway, I would get back the control and I would find the willpower to lose the weight again.

I was never sure how long each season of the teeter totter would last.

The funny thing is, that the seasons when I felt “in control,” are the seasons I was most not in control, the ED (eating disorder) was in full control, and it whispered such amazing sweet nothings in my mind that I was left feeling on top of the world because I was the one in complete and total control, or so I thought.

At the age of forty, I was rock bottom. I had lost one marriage, and nearly a second. I had lost my health and my infant child, the miracle child we found out we were carrying after nearly two decades of infertility.  That miracle child carried the 1 in 5000th odds against her when her very first chromosomes decided to split into three, instead of two.  Trisomy 18 would take her from us before we even got to hold her.

At the age of forty-two I was still rock bottom and knew it was time to either do something drastic, or… I don’t think I even knew what the “or” was going to be, I just knew I couldn’t let myself go there.

And so it began, my journey to attempt to start to heal from the inside out. Heal mentally, spiritually and physically. It was so much harder, and took so much longer, than I ever imagined. Recently I accepted that I never will be fully healed in those areas this side of Heaven. But, that also doesn’t give me the free ticket to stop trying, stop working on it, stop striving towards a healthier mind, body, and soul.

I'm fully aware it's a battle I will never ever entirely win or control, it's one I need to attempt to continue to merely just survive.  And please, no barrage of information on therapy and treatment centers.  And I'm not at all saying that this is an admission of some hidden depth of my current mindset, nor would I consider myself currently overly "ill" with this illness... but truth of the matter, ED is an illness that has seasons of dormancy and seasons of waging war, and a whole lot of docile, strategically, menacing, complacency in between the two ends.

It’s been an incredible process and journey these last several years, and it’s been quite a bumpy ride. I fight the war of these realities and allusions every single minute of the day. In my mind I know what I need to do, what I have to do, what I can do, what I should do… and yet there are days when I just can’t… or I just don’t… or I just won’t.  I'll continue to battle myself and find my body and mind in disagreement whenever I consciously examine and call them out on it.  However, if I don't consciously seek their true intentions out, they virtually go undetected in their war and sabotaging.

In my mind, all those years and years ago I set my definition and image of perfection high. Unattainably high. I allowed my brain to define it’s own description and definition of absolute perfection, and I didn’t argue with it when it solely went for outward physical appearances. I didn’t try sway it when it latched on to the stick thin, chiseled, tan, toned, lean, tall, athletic bodies and set that look high up on this perfection pedestal to longingly gaze up at all the day long. I also didn’t seem to give it a second thought for all those years as I listened to its drill sergeant rigidity barking it’s commands and screaming my failures over and over again in my mind.

I pushed, I strived, I lied, I over-did, I under-played, only to still never be enough, never reaching anything remotely near what I felt was good enough, close enough, or surely where I wanted to be at.  Never quite "happy."

As I grew up I looked for validation from my parents, but weight and exercise always became conversations and side remarks leading to shame, which would then cycle around into anger, and anger always cycles around to guilt in my mind.  All my life I felt I had to hide, had to underplay my accomplishments because the weight loss and exercise and body image and sexuality was a bad thing, a really bad thing. It was to be talked about as little as possible, and when it was brought up, it was always colored in the scarlet shade of shame and sin.  I know it was simply their way of trying to love and protect me the best way they knew how... but for some reason, their way and my way didn't exactly come out seeing, or feeling, quite the same way, and in turn I think I began to just bottle it all up, cover it with a thick layer or guilt and shame, and hide it far far away.

Throughout the years I would look for validation from the relationships I was in. I longed to be seen, to be valued, to be recognized, to be prized, to be wanted… but never fully felt I was. I always felt left behind, left out, unwanted, unneeded, invisible. And in my unseen, I would easily become bitter, and the unhappiness would fester and multiply.

I was never good enough for myself.  I was never good enough for anyone else. And perhaps the never good enough for myself simply blinded me from being able to see I was maybe good enough for everyone else.  I don't actually know...

I was a horrible person to live with with myself in my own mind, and I was horrible person to live with alongside anyone else.  I still am.  I still am.  Lord knows I wouldn't want to live with me if I didn't have to.

I admit I still stand here today looking at that photo of the girls in their short running gear standing on the track. Both are thin and toned and chiseled, one in black and one in white. The one in white is built very similar to the one in black, but the girl in black… the girl in black standing there in her two piece running outfit, smiling, is the epitome of perfection within my mind.

I want to be the girl in black. It’s what drives me, and it’s what’s killing me. It’s what gets me up every morning and gets me on that treadmill, and it’s also what drives me right back to bed in a funk, a depression, a weight so heavy on my shoulders that I can’t even lift my head up some days because of it.

The girl in black is this illusive mirage that I honestly know does not exist, or surely does not exist within the cells and molecules of this present body of mine… and yet I have let myself come to believe in its reality, and mark my failure levels against it. Rationally I know better, I do. And yet… looking at that photo I hear the hiss of distaste against what I compare it to in my mirror.

I've read several memes and quotes that running (or exercise) is a celebration of what we can do, not a punishment for what we ate.  Is that honestly true for anyone, or do we all just know that's a line of crap?  We all know it's about the control, of course it's about the control, the calories, the punishment.  There is nothing "fun" about running, there is no such thing as an "easy" run, a "shake out" run.... oh come on!  If I'm out there running or working out, I'm out there dying and not having fun and not taking it easy or lallygagging.  No, I'm out there fighting against myself, against every step, every breath, every jump, every curl, every burpee, every triple bear... do I need to go on?  That shit is hard hard... for me anyway.  It's a mind battle to even get to the start.  It's a mind and physical battle to then get through the minutes and miles of whatever thing it is I've decided to do.

If I'm honest, I know I still hold food to be the enemy. It's still the one that is trying to battle it’s way in and I’m trying to battle myself over and over again to keep it out.  And every single day, over and over and over again, I fail the battle. The food goes in.  The war is lost. The punishment begins. The miles, the muscles, the push, the drive, the punishment upon my body raging against those calories.  But all this is silently happening on some broken hamster wheel in the far reaches of my mind.  It's not my actual thoughts, just some invisible pulse always pushing its way around, trying not to be noticed, not be recognized, not be called out.

Why can’t I eat, and think about, and enjoy food for the glorious and decadent act of basic fulfillment that it is? Why can’t I run, and exercise, and work out for the endorphin high, for the basic pleasure and enjoyment of an activity that it is?  On a small level I believe I can, but if I'm honest, that line is spread very thin and far between.

Why does everything have to be so excessive, so out there, so almost out of control all the time? Why do I think I need to look like the girl in black? And why do I think that I shouldn't? I mean, honestly ~ is that a fair question to also ask?  Is my image of perfection actually wrong?  Or is the fact that it's more mentally harmful than physically wrong really the bigger issue?

I don't put the blame for my twisted and messed up mind and reality on anyone else.  I honestly didn't realize just how "different" certain portions of my brain and thoughts were from others.  I wonder if the majority of the world doesn't mentally operate the way I do.  Oh I know we all have our own sets of oddities and complexities and half truths we believe and cling to with every mighty ounce of our will power. We all have things we struggle with, hide from, battle against.

We all have those demons of something fighting within us.

Mine is different than yours, yours is different than mine, but I am pretty sure we are all one big hot mess express on the inside.  Some of us hide things, numb, cope with things, handle things better... and some just don't.  Oh if it wasn't just so hard to simply love ourselves, and love others as we were originally designed to do... before the fall of man, before the entry of sin.  Before technology. Before society became hard and harsh.  Before...

Before mind over matter reached inside and grabbed hold of our inner most feelings, thoughts, actions and interactions and began to pull and push and cut and twist and crimp and break all of those delicate intricacies of our own personal uniqueness, leaving us all in some way lost, hurting, alone and at war against both ourselves and the world around us.


Previous blog { Bedlam and Blessings The Magic Hair Chair } HERE

Next blog { Endurance - Outside the Box (Inside the House) } HERE

Bedlam and Blessings - A Magic Hair Chair Epiphany.

I recently found myself frantically rushing around trying to quick get a few things done after work, get supper on the table for my family, and a few bedtime instructions established before rushing off to a hair color and cut appointment for myself, that would have me out of the house for an entire school night evening.

On average I currently allow myself go and get my hair done about twice a year.  It’s usually a three hour appointment where I sit in a chair, chat a little, close my eyes a little, and just get to enjoy a few moments of not being able to do anything but sit for a while. Sit and watch thick glops of blue and red get painted onto portions of my hair and wrapped tight in a perfect arrangements of foils, like a mane of silver upon my head.

It’s a lengthy appointment, and yes, it’s expensive (hence only twice a year at this point). I know I am very fortunate to be forty-four years old and only have just a recent light whispering of grey hairs, so while I like my hair to overall “look nice” - I don’t feel the pressure of having to get my roots colored or having to color all of my hair yet. In time this will come, I’m well aware… but for now I have been blessed with fairly slow aging hair.

I rushed around, grumbling in my head about all that needed to get done and wasn’t, making cheeseburger bets with myself if the hubs would have the boy in bed and asleep before I got back home, betting myself that he wouldn’t and I would need to walk in late and deal with that, and probably some unfinished homework, dirty dishes on the counter and sink, and who knows what else.

There was also this whole frustrated inner dialogue about having to have an apt so late at night because I am working all day full time, and worried about having to pay for it, but good hair care is an absolute work of art, so I am more than willing to pay for time and talent. I didn’t know if I should cut my hair differently or just leave it generally as is, heck I didn’t even have time to go through picts online to see if there was anything different that I might want to try for the colors.

I rushed out the driveway, rushed through the door of the beauty shop, rushed to sit down, pulled up my phone and pulled up the same two or three photos I always show her that I like of cut and color, got the cape all velcro’d around my neck, and she was off to the back to mix up her three magic bowls of color that somehow goes in one color and comes out another. Love it.

And then it was silent. There weren’t any other customers or stylists currently there, the evening was quickly fading into darkness outside the large front windows, and the sky had just opened up with just torrential rains.

Silence. Stillness… after all the crazy, all the busy, all the running around...  Silence. Stillness.

And in that moment, I was struck by an epiphany… a reality of thoughts and realizations that struck close to home. Nothing new and nothing epic, nothing I haven’t really thought about in some form or another throughout my life.

Here I was, on a Tuesday evening, in the #magichairchair as I have come to call it, desperately trying to just catch up to myself, catch up to my life for just a few moments. As I sat and breathed in deep the silence around me, these thoughts began to fill my mind and prick at my heart.

I rushed there after work. Because I am blessed to have a full time job which pays most of the bills and gives our family the blessing of healthcare and benefits and allows my husband to continue to follow his dreams by working for himself at a construction company that he and his friend have built from the ground up (literately and figuratively).

I have the great blessing of health right now, which gives me all this hair on my head that I get to even cut and color. I am blessed to be able to make these appointments to come in and have my hair cut and colored, and I get to be vain and splurge and take a few hours off of life and responsibilities a few times a year while someone else helps make me beautiful. Not everyone has health, has hair, has the freedom to splurge a little on the expenses of beauty shop makeovers by talented artists.

I was grumbling over the state of my house, the mess, the stress, the activity and responsibilities I often feel so overwhelmed and frustrated by.

But I am blessed to have a house to live in, a nice house full of nice things (too many nice things which just cause for clutter and more work if we’re completely honest here). I have cupboards and a fridge full of food. I have a closet full of clothes and shoes. I have two running vehicles that are parked in our garage every night - in a garage that is also so full of things and clutter that I can usually barely get to and from my car to the house because of all that's lining the walls out there.

I am blessed to have a husband and children. I have one that is already out on his own living and loving his life, who once upon a time I stressed over and fretted about and ran myself weary trying to keep up with and get him through adolescence. And you know what, now he’s not even living in our house any more, he’s already grown and on his own. I have a feisty middle youngest child (that should have caused my entire head to be full of gray hairs) who pushes and tests every single button in my body daily. He causes me tears and anger and frustration and so much love and joy all at the same time, and you know what… I can’t even take the ownership for his existence, as there was a beautiful lady with a beautiful soul who chose to give her beautiful little boy to us eleven years ago through the gift of adoption. There are no words to describe that kind of blessing. And our youngest, she got the blessing of getting to wake up in Heaven four year ago. I mean really, what mother doesn’t wish their child to be free from sin and sickness and sadness? She got blessed to have to never know anything different.

I could go on and on about all the things in our lives that so easily and quickly we turn into these burdens and hardships, that we view with disdain and disgust and frustrations. We grumble at ourselves and we grumble and those living with and around us. We zero in on all the bad, the inconveniences, the stress, the overwhelm we willing allow to envelope us by taking in and taking on more than we should and definitely more than we need.

All these things we grumble about, rushing about having to do… are all actually huge blessings… it’s just all in the way we stop and allow ourselves to view and review it. Yes, all lumped together in a steady stream of unrest and unending to-do lists of things to complete and cross off, are all actually things that God has given us, blessed us to have, do, enjoy.

We don’t have to worry about where we’re going to sleep, or where our next meal is coming from. We don’t have to worry about third world issues of clean water and electricity and having our most basic needs met, all of which we are often completely blind to in our attempt to survive all our first world issues.

Homework, sporting activities, appointments, meetings, meal making, cleaning and house work, getting groceries, getting gas, replacing and repairing all those unwanted house repairs and expenses, and the list could go on for a mile or more if I continued.

But in that moment, as the rain beat upon the roof, I closed my eyes and smiled. I breathed in deep and merely allowed myself to let all of that stress and bedlam just rest in the background of my mind for a few short hours, and I focused on my blessings… all my many many blessings, and I thanked the Lord as I counted them one by one.

Previous blog post { Do It Scared } HERE

Do It Scared

It’s been two and a half weeks since my fall. Two and a half weeks since I struggled through completing that half marathon challenge on a bad ankle. Two and a half weeks since I have really done any running at all.

I’ve had a lot going through my mind, a lot of processing, a lot of resting. I am not always so good at process, I am even worse at resting.

Long before that fall, long before that injury, long before that disappointment, we had a family vacation booked to Minneapolis, MN and I had registered my eleven year old and myself to run a 5k race while we were there. The Wednesday night, of the random week we had picked for vacation, one block from our hotel entrance, was going to be the start of a 5k race and huge night parade to follow. Coincidence? I don’t think so. Crazy? Absolutely. Was I excited? You have no idea!

Oh I had been so excited for that portion of the vacation. The shirts were my favorite color, the medals were said to glow in the dark, and I would get to run it with my son.

In my mind it all looked so perfect. I would run hard and be able to keep up with my son. We would cross that finish line together, and the hubs would be there waiting, waving, and taking great photos of it all. Later he would also get us safely back to the hotel, all of us sweaty and full of smiles.

Yeah that was not exactly how it went down. Like not at all. Curses yet again to my damn expectations and visions of sugar plums.

I’ve run a few other local small 5k’s with my son over the past two years, each having a few hundred runners and all in the small rural town we live in and are totally familiar with. The last 5k we ran together, he started at the back behind me with some of my other family, and at mile two was tapping me on the shoulder and giving me a little “well hello!” wave and a big grin. He stayed by me for maybe a block, and then… he was gone, and I honestly was not able to keep up with him. I watched him finish maybe a block or two in front of me… and I ended up breaking my fastest 5k PR (personal time record) when I finally crossed the finish line.

What can I say, the kid is fast :-)

I did have a tiny bit of initial anxiety about doing a larger 5k in the city with him, but I honestly didn’t give it much thought. Until I fell. And then I didn’t know what in the world to think. Or what to do.

I knew the race was two and a half weeks out, so I did my best to rest, heal, ice, keep it braced, baby it along, and not allow myself to run. A few days before the race I did finally head out for a slow, short run just to see how it felt. It was a bit tender and swollen after, but overall the short run had felt pretty good. I decided I would do the 5k, hopefully be able to run it, but was open to the reality that I may need to walk it.

I was in a mental crisis about my son. It was rumored there was going to be over five thousand other runners registered. The end of the race did not end where it started, my husband was not going to register to walk it with us, and I knew my son was probably going to be able to run it much faster than I was. I was hoping that perhaps the large size of the crowd might keep him close to my side throughout the race and we would end together. He knew my ankle was bad, and I assumed he would be ok with it all.

When it came time to get dressed and head outside, he was more busy playing with his new logos than getting ready and getting something to eat, and was not showing the overall excitement I was, or as I was hoping he would. It’s all a bit of a delicate dance with him with things like this, and I was praying we wouldn’t end up with a meltdown. This was my moment, my part of the vacation, and I didn’t want anyone or anything to ruin that vision I had in my head on how I wanted it to all go.

My husband did walk with us to the starting corrals (mostly because I made him since I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find the start line on my own. It ended up literally starting out the front door of the hotel and a half block to the left!) He got us to the starting corral and hung out until we had taken off. He was slightly irritable and looked extremely bored as he leaned against the brick building nearby.

I was honestly hoping he would find a way to get to the finish and be there waiting for us, but that was not going to be the case. I’m not sure if I was more disappointed that he wasn’t there to see it because he didn’t quite get how big of a deal this actually was to me, or if I was more scared because it would mean I was the one solely in charge of getting us back to the hotel.

I knew neither my husband or son realized the brevity and size of what this race was actually going to be (it’s just not something you can fathom until you experience it). I was getting anxious, which was making me snappy and grumpy, and we were all let’s just say, not the happiest of campers.

We had hiked several miles earlier that morning (my only request was to NOT hike the same day as the race, which fell on deaf ears) and my ankle was already bothering me. We got in the street and placed ourselves in the pacing section I was hoping I would be able to maintain.

As the start time got closer and closer, the mob of people got thicker and thicker. The majority of the crowd was all wearing the same exact race shirts, it was an endless sea of aqua. The starting corral was packed tight and there was so much energy and excitement bubbling all around us. I was attempting to explain the timed starts of different pacing groups, how the chipped bibs worked, and when to hit the start button on his stopwatch and when to hit stop.

And then I said to him that if we would happen to get separated during the race, I wanted him to cross the finish line, go to the left, and then wait right there for me. And if they told him he needed to move, that he needed to just move over but tell them he was waiting for him mom to finish. He rolled his eyes and acted like this was all boring, annoying information and to just stop talking to him already. I got a little grumpy (because you know, that anxiety thing). I asked him to look me in the eye and repeat to me what side to stand and wait on, just in case.

“Yes mom, I already know!!!” Eye roll. (Did I mention he also get a little cranky when he gets anxious?)

And then it was our turn to start slowly moving forward, and then it was our corral pace’s countdown, and then the torches were blasting fire and we were off. It was a small mob of people, and it was quite congested as everyone was attempting to get spread out and get going. He stayed by my side for about a block, and we were behind a group running together and he was starting to get antsy. Suddenly he zipped over to the right, and then to the left, and then he was about three people in front of me. I attempted to zip over to the right and bumped into someone coming up behind me. Sorry sorry sorry I stammered… my eyes glued on the tan neck of the child in front of me.

He dodged to the far right, then a little to the left, back to the far right, slowly getting further and further away. I again tried to dodge and weave and get caught up to him, my right ankle and left hip already screaming at me, and in that moment I knew I would not be able to keep up with him at the pace he was at. And we were only in the middle of block two.

There were people everywhere around us running, people lining the street waiting for the parade to start and cheering us all on. There were huge sky scrapers looming straight up on the left and right sides of the street. This was downtown Minneapolis, in a 5k, with thousands of other runners, most wearing the exact same thing.

And in that moment, my anxiety really kicked in. The panic, the fear, the knowing I needed to make a split second decision right then and there. I needed to either sprint ahead hollering out his name and make him slow down and stay by me… or I needed to let him go… let him run this race at his pace and his way. I desperately wanted to make him stay by me so I could see him, make sure he was safe, make sure he was ok, be sure I was there if he got a muscle cramp or a bloody nose that needed tending (this happened in one of the races and luckily my parents were on the race route and had some tissues I could grab and help him get it somewhat stopped until the end of the race). I wanted to make sure we ended together at the same time. But, I knew his nature, his personality, his determination, his drive… and I knew the state of my current physical inablitliy to run and compete was no where at the level of what it was when I wasn’t injured — and I was not going to be able to keep up with him.

My heart was racing, from the heat, from the pace, from the lack of running over the last several week, from the large amount of people around me, and mostly from fear and anxiety.

I was so scared in that moment to let him out of my sight. And I was so scared in the moment to not let him out of my sight, not let him go all out and give it his all, and not have to settle with having to merely tag along with me while I was trying to give it my all.

I’m forty-four and injured. He’s eleven and healthy and competitive, and obviously his drive to go was greater than his fear of staying by me.

So I closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds, took one deep breath and just had to let him go. I just had to let him go and I had no idea if that was the best decision, or worst decision of my life. I just know I was scared to death to allow it to happen. But I did.

I spent most of the race fighting pain, fighting fear, and warring with the demons trying to persuade me to cancel my October Crazy Horse half marathon race trip.

It was hot, and I ran hard, and much of the last half was all uphill. I hadn’t run in weeks and everything hurt. I so wanted to walk, but I forced myself to keep going. I finally had to give up straining and looking and desperately trying to get a glimpse of the back of him weaving in and out ahead of me. I knew he was probably beyond my line of sight.

I knew I needed to hold on to my fear and just do it scared.

I needed to attempt to feel and act like an in charge responsible adult and mother, while listening to the screaming in my head telling me I was a total idiot and horrible mother and I was never going to see him again and surely someone was going to snatch him at the finish line. What rational and responsible mother allows her child out of her sight amid a crowd this size in a city this large?!?

It was a fight physically against my own body to keep myself going and get to the finish, on top of the mental insanity reel that was on continuous repeat in my head.

Finally, finally… up the hill, over the bridge, around another corner, I saw the finish banner. I was frantically trying to get myself over to the left and not run into everyone around me. My eyes were darting and straining to see the people standing on the other side of the finish banner.

To the left… looking to the left… I did not see him. The finish corral was suddenly full and bottlenecked and hot, sweaty, panting people were quickly bunching up and being slowly herded forward. I was watching for water, watching for my child, and finding neither. I kept walking slowly forward all bunched up with other finishers and my heart was just racing, my fear and my anxiety building with every step forward I continued to take and continued to not see him.

I tried to send a text message to his watch and my hands were shaking so badly what I finally got sent didn’t even make any sense. Then I got a text from my husband, he wasn’t at the finish, he was back at the hotel, and he had screenshots of both of our final times and paces.

Ok… he had crossed the finish line, I at least knew that much. I looked closer, he was over a minute per mile faster than me, so I was attempting to grasp the fact that really he was only about three minutes ahead of me and trying to talk myself off the absolute panic ledge.

Finally we reached the people handing out bottles of water. I couldn't even open it my hands are shaking so bad. My husband continues texting and asking how it went, and I’m too afraid to tell him I let us get separated and I hadn’t found him back yet.

Although he obviously can see from the results that we did not end together.

I attempt to keep taking deep breaths as my body tries to catch up with the oxygen it needs, and my mind attempts to self regulate (as we’ve learned how to do in our all therapy sessions). I keep slowing moving forward, still frantically looking to the left, turning around trying to see if I had missed him somehow, standing on my tiptoes to see if maybe he went to the right side…

A few more steps forward, and I tell myself that we haven’t gotten to the medals yet, no one else next to me has their medals yet, so we’re maybe not to the end of the finish shoot yet… oh my gosh this is thee longest slowest finish line I have ever experienced!!!!

And then I see movement to my left, a dark arm and tan face leaning over the coral wall waving, his medal proudly around his neck already.

Dear Lord Almighty - Come Lord Jesus! I thrust one hand toward him while the other clutches my heart, attempting to keep it in my chest. Finally! Finally I have located him, and finally I am getting my medal and finishers bag and able to get around the corner to get to him.

He doesn’t know about pacing, he doesn’t know about mile markers, he hadn’t done any training, and I could tell he had pushed it hard and was trying just to figure out what was all going on — with both his body and with all the commotion around him. We found a spot by the corral wall and sat down. He said his leg hurt and he was still processing and regulating and was coming off a little grumpy and wanting to immediately just go home. We sat a while longer, and he got busy looking at all the items in the finishers bag and checking out all the recovery gummies and high protein bars and pouring his gatorade into his new water bottle. Pretty soon all the packets of food were gone (he also took all of mine) as well as the gatorade.

Slowly he started to perk up a little and began talking about it all. My favorite part was hearing him saying that a guy had come up behind him and told him “You got this little man!” Oh bless that strangers soul!

He pulled up his watch and had me take a picture of his time, and then take a picture of my watch displaying my time. We took some pictures of us together with our medals, and then decided to go find the food line and check out the live music.

All runners had a tear off from their bibs for a free food item… and the line was crazy long. But he waited better than I expected, and before long we were getting little boxes of personal peppepperoni pizzas. He opened his box and inhaled it, and then asked if I was going to eat mine. I immediately handed it over with a smile. We walked and he ate and he was happy and open to taking photos and selfies at various places. The sun was setting and we decided to head back.

It was just me in charge of getting us back to the hotel. And I had no idea where to go or what to do. I am horrible with directions, I have no idea how to read a map (if I’m not going due north) and I am sooo not from a big city (I grew up on a farm in a town that had a population of less people that number of runners in this race). But I took a breath and said “I think I saw a sign for the city bus shuttles that way…” and away we walked.

He followed without a second thought, munching away on my piece of pizza, and I continued walking forward acting like I knew exactly what I was doing, because well you know, I’m the mom. I had no idea what I was doing, I was completely winging it and just acting like I had it all together.

I needed to hold on to my fear and just keep on doing it scared.

Somehow, this directionally challenged farm girl got both of us onto a city bus and back to the general starting area. I figured out how to ask Seri for walking directions to our hotel and got us back to the front door of the hotel, in our matching race shirts, our race bibs still pinned on, and our glow in the dark medals proudly hanging from our necks. #lawdhavemercy

As I look back now and reflect on it all, I can’t help but smile, grateful that it all worked out well and was overall an amazing experience for the both of us. Granted, it was an amazing experience in different ways for the both of us I’m sure, but I have to believe that we were both out there doing something we were excited to do, and we would both allow ourselves to simply go out and do it scared.

Whether right or wrong, whether smart or stupid, I stand behind the split second decisions I had to make out there in the middle of that busy street.

I chose to do it, I chose to let him do it, and I chose to let us both go on and run that race at our own personal levels, paces, and finishes. I’m sure my son will tell you he had no fear or anxiety, but I have to believe that somewhere amid all that weaving in and out and waiting at the finish for me, he had to have experienced at least just a little fear amid all his pumping adrenaline and dripping beads of sweat.

Yes, it was the split second decision to believe in my son, believe that there is still good in the world (and good people), and give him the wings to fly and to create his own experiences and to overcome his own #mindovermiles without being held back by someone else’s limitations.
I chose to believe that God would see us both through. And He did.

Hopefully I modeled perseverance through hard things, and grace in my bravery. Hopefully I let enough of my emotions show to let him know I was a little out of my comfort zone, yet not enough to cause him any pause or alarm. I hope he was able to feel the freedom to conquer, and know the pride I had in him for getting out there and getting after it with all his might. I hope I gave him the confidence to go and feel allowed to do his best, to feel believed in, to try his hardest at something without anything holding him back.

He gave me opportunity to just be his mom, the one who would be there for him at the end, to allow him this experience, to believe in me without a doubt or second thought of my ability to come through for him.

We chose to do it, and we chose to do it scared. I pray both of us will continue to conquer both our dreams and our fears single handedly, together, at the same time, over and over again throughout our future days to come.

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Not Quite As Planned

Last week it was finally “race week” for the Half Marathon Challenge I had been planning on, and training for, since the beginning of the year

A four day, “four for the fourth” progressive run over the 4th of July weekend. 5k, 10k, 10 miler, Half Marathon for a total of 32.4 miles in four days. The clothes, the shoes, the routes, the time frames, every possible detail had been studied, mulled over, and strategically planned.

Needless to say, it did not go quite how I had planned, or surely how I had hoped.

I had a great 5k race on Wednesday, and a strong 10k race on Thursday. I went into Friday’s 10 mile race nervous (double digit distances really intimidate me) and I had my typical pre-race anxiety, telling myself over and over that it’s not about the pace and to just go out and do it, push hard, and just do the best that I can. I have to give myself lot of pep talks for my longer runs; training and especially race day ones.

All along this year I have struggled with my pace and my “expectations” of what I want that pace to be. I will always speak the words that my pace doesn’t matter to me. I think it’s my way of trying to convince myself it actually doesn’t… but if I’m totally honest, I am forever chasing a pace in my mind, a very specific pace for a very specific distance… and the honest reality is, is that is a pace I will probably never be able to achieve, accomplish, conquer. Black and white fact of the matter.

Last year I got really close… really close several times. I finished three half marathons last year right around 2:02. That pace I’m chasing… that dream I’m wanting… that goal I’m trying to conquer… I’ve come to believe is that I want to run a sub 2 hour half marathon. I didn’t quite make it last year, and thought surely… surely this year I would finally be able to break that barrier and succeed, with just a little more training and a few more miles.  But you know what, I very very rarely mentioned this hope out loud. If you don’t ever utter the words that are in your mind into the world to hear, no one will ever know if you don’t ever succeed. Your failure can forever stay an inner demon of defeat, but at least it won’t be a public defeat for all to know. That is at least how the “simple logic” in my mind seems to work.

As I’ve continued to run and train this year, I have found I’m actually quite a bit slower than I was last year. My consistent and current pace, is not where it was last year, and nowhere close to where I wish it would be.  But… I was still able to run, I was still healthy, and was still able to get myself up and get out there for the most part. I have been trying to give myself grace for my current pace and working on coming to grips with it all, and just attempting to enjoy each moment as it came, not as I was expecting it to.  I also fully realized that the pace I was chasing and failing at, left me a pace that others would probably love to be able to do. I know I need to be careful in how talk down about myself around others, because the last thing my intent is, is to make anyone feel “less than.” I want to be everyones greatest supporter - I want to see everyone for who they are and where they are in the journey that they are currently in and encourage the heck out of you.  If you’re out there doing something hard, anything hard, boom ~ you are a rockstar baby! Keep that hard shit up!

I was nervous (as usual) the night before the 10 Miler portion of the Half Challenge, and I was fervently watching the radar. It’s been a crazy summer of rain and storms this year, and that morning was looking a bit sketchy in terms of weather. I decided I would just go for it between two rain systems, which put me out just a tiny bit earlier than my usual.

And a tiny bit earlier also means a tiny bit darker. And a little bit darker than pre-dawn, is well… pitch black.

I admit, I am very intentional about the times I go out and run every day, especially at the lake. It’s very important to me to take the time to watch the sunrise, watch nature awaken, listening to it whisper its soft good mornings.

There’s something magical, something special about watching the darkness fade into vivid rays of color, about being an enveloped part of the wonder and awakening of God’s nature and glory.

I found myself about a half mile in and I was already nervous and watching my pace on my wrist and waiting for my running app to update me. I was antsy, my anxiety and nerves were trying to hijack my mind and my muscles. I was trying to just breath deep, trying to slow the inner push, reign in the driving demons of unattainable expectation.

I began to pray (with my eyes open of course) and I just simply said the words “Lord, give me grace from the pace today… endurance for the distance… and grace from my pace…” It was words and a mantra amid my breathing and my moving to help slow me down, help calm me down, help settle in to a steadier pace for the long haul, and help keep me from thinking beyond the ten mile distance I was currently in.

I noticed movement to my right, and there was something running along the other side of the road. It was dark, but as I watched I was quite sure it was a skunk. I kept looking over and kept hoping it would just go down into the ditch already. I slowed down, trying to stay behind it, far from it. There was a small drive opening, and it suddenly slipped away out of sight.

Then, just a few steps later, still less than ten minutes to this ten mile run… I felt my right foot on top of something that moved or rolled or gave way beneath me… in a blur I jolted forward, in a stumbling attempt to regain my footing, and immediately and clearly knew… I was going down.

The utter disappointment in myself cut into my inner core before the asphalt even had a chance to mangle my outer flesh.

It was a back rural road that had just been re-black topped that same week. It was dark. I could still smell the tar and I saw myself falling forward, the rest a blur. After inertia had stopped and given its control back to me, I sat there absolutely dazed and confused. I stood up and had no idea what direction I was facing, I had no idea what was hurt or how badly I may have been injured. I sat back down attempting to regain my composure and access the situation.

I knew my ankle was twisted and I knew there was road rash and blood on my left side, especially my hands and shoulder. I messaged my friend that was out also running to support me over in Virginia… she immediately replied. I told her I had fallen, and I had no idea what to do.

Oh my gosh I was so disappointed as I stood there in that moment. Crushed, defeated. I knew going in that this race was going to be about distance, dedication, discipline, determination… but disappointment was not something I had trained for.

You don’t train to fall. You don’t train to deal with injury. You don’t train to not finish. You don’t train to fail.

Those thoughts and fears and what if’s of course are always there in the back of your mind, but you don’t ever actually go into a race expecting something like this to happen. Sure, it’s always a possibility, but at least for me, the second that race starts, the moment that clock starts officially timing… usually that fear turns into hope, into drive, into a straight vision line to simply finish.

The clock was still going… and I had no idea what to do. I finally slowly got up and started just putting one foot in front of the other in attempt to just get back. In the mile back I knew my ankle wasn’t good, I knew as soon as I took that shoe off it was going to balloon up like no other, and I knew I would never finish this race at a pace I would ever be proud to share. (Why?!? Why are we so ridiculously hard on ourselves like this?!?)

The sun was rising, the sky was now becoming an incredible view of beauty and I decided to just keep going… slow and steady. I reached mile three… then four. The sunrise was just breathtaking and I was able to take some fantastic photos. (I never allow myself to stop or slow down for anything, especially photos, during a timed race). Mile five… then six… I realized my running app was no longer giving me any updates (which it on rare occasions decides to do, ugh) and my bluetooth headphones were not keeping a consistent connection to my music (super annoying to me). The blood on my hands was running down my arms by now, the ankle was throbbing, the hips hurting because of my odd gait. The thought of not even being able to start the half marathon race the next morning was attempting to consume me, all while I was consciously trying to just focus on finishing the current ten miles I was in.

In time mile seven turned into mile eight. Mile nine left me with only one more mile to go… and then I was done. I had made it. I had made the distance anyway, I refused to even look at the time and pace, and I had no idea if I could personally really even count this as a “finish” or not.

Oh I was so damn disappointed in myself. Just crushed.

I officially logged everything and took some post race photos and began the process of accessing the damages. I took off the socks and shoes. I watched the ankle immediately swell and start to turn purple. I washed off the blood and tried to get out the asphalt lodged deep inside, and I saw entire pieces of skin missing.

I was so focused on all of these things, and would later realize I hadn’t even allowed myself to see the final distance that I had just finished. Ten miles. One frazzled initial mile and nine slow painful disappointing miles were all overlooked, overtaken, overshadowed by the disappointment I carried across that finish line because it didn’t go quite how I had planned it to go. I didn’t finish in a time I claimed to be personally acceptable for myself.

I had prayed for God to give me grace from the pace. I had prayed that God would just slow me down and simply give me the endurance for those ten miles. And well… He did. And for once He had decided to answer a prayer of mine nearly immediately. He also gave me the most gorgeous sunrise and the ability to allow myself to steal some picts of it.

My initial reaction was to not utter a word about this. I hadn’t shared much about this Half Challenge I was doing with many people (I was going to wait until day four when I was all done and knew I had conquered and completed the entire challenge before saying anything… you know… just in case I didn’t, or couldn’t, actually do it). Again, why do we do this to ourselves?!?

I did decide to post a little something about my disappointment, without a lot of detail, and found the response not at all what I was expecting. Inside I carried this heavy disappointment about it all, this failure mentality, this negative outlook… but many of the responses back weren’t of that mindset, they were of the accomplishment, the distance achieved, the obstacle overcome. My dear friends at the campground surrounded me with support and one of them, who is a coach, even came and taped me all up with some amazing KT support tape that he had (which I had never even heard of). I sat there while he wrapped and taped, while others watched, and I almost felt like a real athlete.

I spent most of the day laying in bed with an elevated and iced ankle. My brain didn’t know whether to try process this reality reasonably and rationally or just totally hijack the entire situation by overruling and overtaking every feasible shred of positivity and self worth.

I didn’t choose and train and go into this challenge for anyone other than myself. I did it to push myself, to mind-over-miles myself, to attempt something out of my comfort zone, something I didn’t feel natural at or at all gifted in, something that I intentional knew wasn’t going to be easy for me.

Night came and I honestly had no idea what I was going to do the next morning for the Half Marathon race. A part of me was ready to not do it and take the personal DNF and big fat failure checkmark. Part of me was wanting to at least go and try, gosh darnit I had put all of this time and training in. But I didn’t want to injury myself worse, and I didn’t know if not trying at all was going to be a worse failure than trying and not being able to finish.

Yea.. this is the crap that my mind battles and deals with all the time. I have no idea why I have been “gifted” with this thing called a “perfectionism complex,” but it’s something real that I have battled all my life, and I know I will continue battle forever until I die. It’s who I am, it’s how I am. It’s what makes me the best that I am and also makes me the worst that I am. It’s my hot and cold, my blessing and curse all at once. (It’s also what requires me to be on prozac, lol)

As I laid there I got a message from a fellow runner friend. It included the words “I think you’ll be able to do it.” And then I pulled up another gal to message, who recently ran a full marathon with a stress fracture in her foot. She went in injured, she still ran it, she still gave it everything she had in her, and I cheered her on every single step she took. I had prayed God grant her the strength to cross the finish line from half a continent away, and she did! I was going to message her and get her thoughts… and then stopped. I already knew what she was going to say - “You gotta at least try it.” That is exactly what she had done, what she had shown the world just weeks earlier.

I set out the final #flatsara outfit and took the photo. I refused to let myself post it in the race group like I had the other three pre-race #flatsaras. I said nothing. I posted nothing. I went to bed hoping to get up and attempt it, but also knowing if the pain was too great, I would have to refuse to let myself try because I could not let myself injure myself any more.

The alarm went off and I got up. The ankle felt surprisingly better than it looked. I said nothing. I dressed, I put in the old corded headphones, I strapped on the garmin watch, I opened the Gu and got it down, I pinned on the race bib. I opened the door, I took a deep breath, and I went outside.

It was a slow start, but that sunrise yet again did not disappoint. The weather was a humid cool (it’s Minnesota people -it’s a real thing, sorry) and quite breezy. I required myself to keep a slow but steady pace… thirteen miles is a long-ass distance on a completely healthy set of legs to complete…

It was a beautiful morning, and it was an extremely long and hard fought morning. Those miles were not easy, my time was nowhere near what I had trained and hoped for. But I remained determined and continued on. Then I heard the ding of a message, and then another, and realized I had forgotten to turn my phone notifications off. (Another timed race requirement.) I allowed myself to unlock my phone and look at it (which I also never allow myself to do during a timed race). Three people had messaged me to keep going, telling me I could do it and just seeing how it was going… It was what I needed to help keep me going.

Mile after mile. Hour after hour. When I hit mile ten I allowed myself to push the pace just a little tiny bit more. Same with mile eleven, pushed just a little harder. I reached mile twelve and knew I had one point one miles left. One point one miles. My typical sub two hour pace mindset, was now in a full on sub three hour push, it was time to dig in even deeper.

I made it to mile thirteen point one, and I made there in just under a sub three hour time, and I have to honestly say when I finally finished, it was the same feeling as what I’m assuming a sub two hour finish would be. Oh Lord I was ecstatic, I was DONE. I had made the entire distance, I had completed the challenge. It was the longest half marathon I have completed time wise, and it was the hardest marathon I have ever completed determination wise.

Yes, I carried a huge disappointment that overall it had not gone as I had planned, but I also did feel a huge accomplishment in merely getting up, attempting it, and actually completing it.

I know without a doubt God is in this to teach me to listen, to slow down, to honestly open my hands and release that pace and perfection expectation I cannot seem to let go of. He’s wanting me to stop looking so intently forward, to stop following and comparing myself to those amazing paces and distances and toned bodies all over the social media feeds. I’m always so busy looking ahead, looking at where I think I could be, or want to be, or should be, that I rarely allow myself to stop and look at the me in the right here and the right now. To see the actual me that God created me to be, in the body God gave me, and be ok with it.

I have a long road of healing and recovery in front of me, and slow is hard for me. Rest is really hard for me. This is going to be a hard journey, and I have to realize that that half might have been my last half marathon. At this point I honestly don’t know, but I’m quite certain that God’s answer to my “healing prayers” are going to be much slower coming than his initial answer to my “slowing down via immediate injury” prayer.

There are so many others out there just like me… looking ahead to what they think and hope and wish for, while rarely allowing to fully see themselves as the gift and beauty that they already are. We’re all at different paces and different journeys and races in our lives. We’re all dealing with different dreams and hopes and goals and setbacks and disappointments.

We’re all impatient and dreaming big.

We’re all full speed ahead to the next bigger, better, latest, greatest. We’re all in dire need of just slowing down, allowing ourselves the grace from life’s crazy pace. Lord knows I don’t have the answers to any of this, but I can tell you first hand that I think we need to try listen closer to that little whisper to slow down, to let go and let God… We aren’t in control, we don’t get to call all the shots, and if we don’t answer on our own, He just might grant it to us anyway, and not in a way we are going to probably be happy with.

Once upon a time I was full speed ahead and God granted me the “gift” of sickness and loss. I was forced to slow down, forced to stop, to hurt, and then to figure out how to heal, to mend, to somehow move forward again. And in that healing and mending, I found this crazy thing called running… which would, four and half years later bring me to the same (but different) spot of being granted the “gift” of injury and recovery.

These surely have not felt like “gifts” by any means in the moment, but in the short forty-four years of my life thus far, I have come to know that I need to somehow trust the journey, trust the plans God has planned for our lives, and trust the outcome… come what may.

Yea yea, easy peasy words to say I know, living in their reality is a whole different story.

Life is not easy, life is not guaranteed, and life never quite seems to go as planned. I find it a little bit odd that I keep being surprised over and over by this basic concept. Every time I am faced with a disappointment, a hurt, a trial, a hardship, I seem initially surprised that I’m not actually the one in control. And yet in time, in processing, in laying it at the foot of the cross… deep inside I know it’s all part of the plan, the journey, the process… we just need to look at it through the clearer lens of learning vs the cracked blurred lens of failure. Again yes, easier said than done. But maybe we need to continue to say it, in order to see it, in order to attempt to practice it.

So what’s my takeaway from all this you ask? Don’t run in the dark.

HaHaHa! No, seriously. lol.

Ok yes, “do not run in the dark” is the black and white, night and day (pun there, get it?!?!) lesson learned, but in all the shades of grey, in all the vibrant hues in the sunrise between dark and dawn, there are so many things to glean here, top of which is merely taking the time to slow down, to see myself as I am, and to stop comparing. These are hard things for me, hard painful things. And apparently it’s taking some hard painful consequences to help me slow down, help me see myself not as such a failure, and stop comparing myself to all those I perceive as greater and better and faster than me.

We need to love ourselves for who we are, I know it’s not easy, and I know I don’t do it well at all. But maybe if we all try loving ourselves just a tiny bit better, and comparing ourselves just a tiny bit less, we’ll all be able to simply slow down just a tiny bit more and live life just a tiny bit more fully.

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