why do you run

why do you run?

A seemingly harmless question, why did you start running? I can assure you they didn’t expect my response.

“I started running because I hated my body and hated myself.”

Recently, I have decided that I am going to be honest. Not to say I wasn’t honest before, but rather lean into the full truth. Especially when it is so deeply connected to something I am passionate about. When people inquire about the focus of my theological degree I tell them I love to study theology of the body. So why would I not be honest about the journey I have been on with my body? Even the uncomfortable parts.

I can say the truth because now I know what is genuinely true about myself and about my body. When I look back it is with deep compassion for my younger self. She was in an immense amount of pain and was still figuring everything out. (Do we ever have it all figured out?) I wish I could give her a hug and tell her all that we know now.

The painful truth is that I used to run because I hated my body and hated myself. After graduating from college I lived alone in a brand new state, far away from my typical support network. For most of my life I had hated the way I looked and the extra weight I carried. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to do something about it. So I began to run and work out. I tracked calories obsessively. None of this was done out of a mentally healthy place, it was all done from a source of pain and hatred. And that isn’t something I can recommend doing.

Like so many others I did the beloved Couch to 5k program. I am a big fan of plans, anyone who knows me well knows this to be true. Having a plan crafted for me that I could check off each day was perfect. Everyone around me was supportive and excited for me as I ran and began my health journey. They praised my weight loss and the way my body now looked. My reality was far different though, inside I was in an immense amount of pain and was using running to quite literally run from my feelings and problems. I ran a 5k at Thanksgiving and spent less and less time running after that.

I started running again when I was in seminary a year later, once again in a new city and looking for community. I wanted to run and continue to find ways to love my body and love myself. I had gone to seminary in order to do just that, hoping to then in turn be able to help others do the same for themselves. But I was still spending so much time running from what I was feeling inside. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life or what to do with this degree I was working towards. Often I joke that going to seminary was my quarter-life crisis because I was trying to figure it all out. All the pain and confusion from the years had built up and was spilling over.

Running remained intermittent those couple of years I was in seminary as time and weather allowed. That is until I was convinced (coerced?) into running the Disney Princess Half Marathon with one of my dear friends. To be fair, this item had been on my bucket list, though I am not sure why. I had heard about the races before and heard that they were incredible. Someday I wanted to do one too and it looked like it was about to be my time. My friend and I had agreed to run it the year after I graduated, an interesting way to ensure that we would stay in touch and have a plan to hang out.

I found myself in yet another new city, once again beginning a new running journey. I had more community this time around and a rather lofty goal of running a half marathon (a lovely 13.1 miles for those who don’t know). Running became a means of survival that year. It was my first year teaching. I was not a trained educator or even a big fan of English class when I was in school, and yet here I was teaching 8th grade English. The year was overwhelming and incredibly painful. I felt like I was drowning and could not see anyone to throw me a life vest. So I ran. On the days that seemed impossible I knew I could come home and run and it would somehow help.

Running that half marathon began an interesting season of life. February 2020 made me think things were getting better. I felt like I was getting in better shape. I thought I was turning a corner in my job, and I had just run 13.1 miles, what more could I want?

But I think we all know what happened next. An incredible shift in how we live our lives. Like so many others it felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under me. And that feeling would continue for the next almost three years. Nothing went according to plan and there were many painful and soul crushing moments. After the race I took a break from running and it was hard to get back into it. I ran here and there but could not bring myself to do it much. As I looked around at the world it seemed even harder to create the motivation to run. For so many of us it simply became about surviving.

As I ran intermittently I would ask myself why I was running.

It has taken me a long time to run for different reasons. There has been a lot of stopping and restarting over the years. But each restart has brought me closer to a deeper love for myself. Each time I have seen myself make better decisions, slowly but surely moving towards a deep love and care for this body I have been given.

I have run two half marathons in my life now. A sentence I never thought I would be able to say, but I’ve got a very persuasive friend. Each of the races have been the Disney Princess Half Marathon and I can assure you that every mile really is magic in Disney.

Now I run because I enjoy it. Yes it’s hard some days but I am grateful to reap the benefits. It has helped improve my asthma. Running is one of the things that I can clearly see helping my mental health. And it reminds me of how strong I am. How much I am capable of. And that is why I run.

risk

I smashed a mug on New Year’s Eve. We waited until half time of the Georgia game. And with all my might I threw that mug to the ground. As I watched it shatter, I felt more whole. I left the shattered pieces there and walked away.

2021 left me feeling shattered. My word for the year was courage. Being courageous meant asking for help and walking away. Stepping back and resting. It wasn’t what we normally think of for courage, but it was exactly what I needed. I looked at my life, seemingly in pieces around me, wondering when the mess and pain would finally be cleared up.

2022 was going to be different. The year of risk. It wasn’t a word I would have chosen, but I am grateful that Erin chose it for me. 2022 would be the year I took risks, following the deep passions and dreams that my heart held. I was going to be bold and step in directions I didn’t think of, or take bigger steps than I normally would dare.

I was hoping that would mean some big dreams would come true. Hoping that maybe there would be some big changes in 2022. And while there were some changes, much has stayed the same. But I look back on this year knowing I took risks, knowing I took some steps in faith, both big and small. Like Ms. Frizzle suggested, I took chances, made mistakes, and got messy. And in the process I discovered more of what I want from my life.

In 2022, I picked up the jagged pieces from 2021 that I was too scared to touch then, the brokenness I wasn’t ready to face. It hurts to look your pain in the face, to look directly at the harm caused. But I took the risk. I was honest with myself and those I trust deeply, willing to sit in the midst of the mess with me.

As I began to pick up the pieces of my smashed mug, I began to think of all the jagged pieces I picked up the past couple of years. And as I looked up, I saw Natalie picking up the pieces with me and I thought of all the ways that she, and others, have picked up the pieces with me over the years. It has been incredibly difficult, but I’ve done it anyway. And I am so incredibly proud of myself. There have been so many tears. But there has also been an abundance of laughter. Joy can always be found and for this I am immensely grateful.

Taking risks has certainly paid off this year. I started a new job that I absolutely love.I had my first piece published in a magazine. I found healing and wholeness in some pretty unexpected places and ways. They weren’t the risks I expected to take, but I’m glad I took them anyways.

And that’s why I felt more whole as I watched that mug shatter. It was connected to the past, to pain. And those parts of me have been on the road to healing. A smashed mug was one last risk, the belief that the past is behind me and that what’s ahead will be far better. So here’s to 2023 and all it will hold. And if you decide you need to smash a mug this year, I’m here to cheer you on.

margin

Perhaps the most repeated conversation I have is about maintaining margin in my life. I know it all began with Erin - she was Sunshine's Mom. And she had a cottage filled to the brim with young women doing it all. I'm fairly certain that between the 10 of us we touched almost every aspect of Berry College. But doing it all meant that most of the time we were doing too much. Most of us were absolute pros at filling our calendars and planners to capacity. Erin was the first person to ever ask me about how much margin I had in my life. She was the first person to wonder how I created space to breathe, to rest, in the midst of everything else I was doing. Honestly, it felt like a foreign concept.

And some days it still feels like a foreign concept. I never got good at maintaining margin in college. I tried. I made some small steps but it was a long journey I was embarking on. What I didn't realize then (and what I honestly fully realized a few weeks ago) was that the reason I didn't rest is because I didn't feel like I deserved to rest. I wasn't good enough to rest. Busyness and over committing was simply the price I had to pay. Maybe if I was thinner, kinder, and smarter I could rest. But I wasn't there yet so my calendar had to stay filled.

Learning to rest, working to create margin, has been an integral part of the journey I have been on to love myself, and my body, well. There's no way Erin could have known that all those years ago when I was sitting in her office.

But when you actively care for a whole person you are teaching them how to do it for themselves, and that is a gift that lasts forever.

I've begun to wonder if learning to make margin was how I've been able to learn to fully love myself. Making margin isn't just about creating time and space to breathe, though I am deeply grateful for that. But it can also be about actively working to re-charge.

I am worth taking the time to recharge. My body is worthy of rest. Productivity and busyness will not enhance my worth. These are the lessons I wish I had learned sooner.

My worth has never once been found in my intelligence, my character, or the size of my body. I never once had to earn the rest I needed. I am not sure where I learned that my ability to rest was tied to my intelligence, character, or appearance. Perhaps it was the media I was consuming or what I was viewing in the world around me. But the belief was deeply entrenched and though I have been working against it, I didn’t fully realize it was there. I am grateful for the clarity I have now. I am even more grateful for Erin, and others, who have called me to a life that has margin, that has rest built into it.

Learning to care for myself, mind, body, and soul, has been a sweet gift. It has meant that I say no when my calendar gets too full. Sometimes I cancel plans when weeks have gone differently than I planned and I no longer have the capacity to do what I thought I could. It means taking time to be by myself. And the more time I have spent by myself the more I have been able to better love who I am, who I have been, and who I am becoming. In creating margin, I have cultivated the space I needed to better love who I am, completely. The journey has been long, and it isn’t over yet, but I am deeply grateful for the lessons I have learned and the way I am able to live now.