I said I’d never do it, then I went and did it anyway.

I ran my first 5K!

I know you’re disappointed in me. You feel betrayed. Cheated. As the most non athletic, fairly lazy, nerdiest person you know, I know you felt like you could trust me not to go and do something like this. I feel like a fraud.

Believe me when I say, I never thought I would do it. In fact, I had no idea I could do it. I started the couch to 5k program over a year ago and never made it past the 5 minute mark. But I never stopped doing it. I just kept walking/running as much as I could a few times a week without ever making progress and I was fine with it.

But last Saturday at my cousin’s wedding, my other cousins were talking about running in the 5K the next weekend and I sort of just decided to do it with them. They lured me in. A bunch of friends and I ran the race course to check it out the next evening. I surprised myself by running a mile without stopping. I finished the course and only had to walk a few times.

The day after we practice ran the course I posted this picture on Instagram: The dog’s face still cracks me up.

I was sort of nervous.

Would you believe my friend Ruthanne came down to support me?

That was pretty awesome! She kept me going when I wanted to quit and walk.
She was such an encouragement.

It was also pretty fun to be running with so many friends and family. It was the first race for me and Andrea, the girl in the blue beside me and we finished together at the same time.

So there it is. My full confession, and the sad thing is I can’t promise I’ll never do it again.

 

I had a bit of an obsession with The Far Side, when I was, well, younger. I can’t remember dates anymore so I’m not even going to try. I have a few comic books that I’ve never been able to part with and I’m glad I didn’t, because every once in a while I uncover one and sit a while with it laughing to myself.

Today I had to dive into the younger kids’ destroyed bedroom. I’m having an overnight guest on Friday and the thought of her sleeping in that room spurred me to action. Nothing like company coming to get you inspired to clean. But, while cleaning, I found my Far Side book and had to sit a minute and reminisce.

Maybe you could use a laugh tonight too.

Here’s a question I’ve been asking myself and a few other people lately if they can answer, “When was my body perfect?”

Think about it for a minute. Is it a number, an age? Maybe a feeling on a particular day? Can you identify a time when you loved the way you looked?

I thought about this because it had to have happened to me some time in the span of 43 years and various weights, but I can’t remember it. I never remember thinking, here, if I can stay right here at this weight, at this strength, this is when I love my body.

Was it in the time that I was 18 hoovering at 98 pounds? That was the summer I graduated and took a senior trip to the beach. I spent as much time as possible in an over sized t-shirt to cover my embarrassingly thin figure. I was ashamed that my body was smaller than everyone else.

Maybe in my twenties hoovering around 100 pounds. I tried out a bikini for the first time and felt like my belly was too obvious and my breasts too small.

Or in my thirties, after birthing two children and going from 100 pounds to 130 and back down again to the same weight but distinct body changes. When I all but gave up shorts because of the mysterious spider veins that appeared on my upper right thigh.

Perhaps now, at 43, after having seen 140 pounds, my body stretched and used to its maximum capacity, able to walk, run and bike at 125 pounds. I feel strong and happy but I still tend to hide my upper legs. My soft flabby middle, evidence of four babies, shames me.

So, I wonder, at what time did I consider myself perfect? At what time did I not want to improve this, or reduce that? Perfection had to be lurking in there somewhere? How did I miss it?

I’ve gone from wanting to hide a too thin body, to hiding parts that I’m ashamed of.

I see a problem and it’s not our bodies. It’s our minds.

Have you ever heard yourself trying to tell young girls, your children, teenage girls that they should love themselves just as God created them? Do you tell them their body is a temple? That God made them in his image? Do you tell them this in an attempt to keep them from things like anorexia, self-hate, low self-esteem? Do you really mean what you say?

If we really mean it, how can they even hear us over what we are saying to ourselves? I need liposuction. I need to lose ten more pounds. I can’t believe I ate all that! I’m so lazy. I need a face lift, breast implants, tummy tuck…

Do you look at a picture of yourself, criticize it and then expect your daughter who sees herself in you to love what she sees in the mirror?

How can we begin to change our minds, and if we don’t, how is there hope for our daughters?