Lately, I've been making up lots of words. They all mean something to me. I won't list them because if everyone starts using them (they're THAT good), then I'll no longer have my own weird language. Sorry, but some precious things must not be scattered to the wind. Make up your own language!!
So, remember how I told you I was going on a running adventure? Before I tell you that it ended so nicely (because it did), I should probably tell you some backstory which is kind of humiliating for me, but I guess these demons must be faced.
(Also, this is very, very long. Probably the longest post I'll ever write, so.... feel free not to read it or just read the highlighted phrases. Haha!)
I
've been chubby since I was eleven. That was the year we moved back to the States from Venezuela and fresh fruit in the backyard and walking everywhere was no more. Instead, there were cars and McDonald's and television. So you can imagine what happened to a little girl who loved food, but was incredibly shy and hated sports. I started gaining weight. Mom didn't know what to do or how to help me (and still admits that she didn't know how to talk to me), so she pretended it wasn't happening. My dad was just very critical and pointed out every moment that he could that I was getting fat. I think he thought that would motivate me to lose weight.
I was fourteen. I didn't know how. I only understood that my mom didn't care and my father thought I was ugly. So I ate more.
By the time I was in ninth grade, my five two frame was packing a total of 145 pounds, and by the time I reached my junior year of high school I was somewhere between 160 and 170. There are hardly any pictures of me during junior high and high school, because I couldn't stand to be in them. Unfortunately, while I could avoid pictures all these years, I couldn't avoid PE.
Running the timed mile was the bane of my existence. As far as I recall, in sixth grade, or maybe it was in junior high (I guess I don't remember), to pass running the mile, you had to run it under fifteen minutes.
I couldn't do it. In high school, I was a little better, but you had to run it under ten minutes. I could only manage twelve or thirteen. I HATED it. I hated running. I hated PE. I hated me.
Finally, I'd had enough. My parents weren't going to help me, and I was too embarrassed to ask, so I did what any self-respecting bookworm would do. I read. I read everything about health and fitness I could get my hands on. I made some changes and I dropped fifteen pounds in the last two months of my junior year. Everyone was amazed. I was amazed. But the amazement didn't last too long.
Senior year was uneventful. I went to college. I probably gained the Freshman 15, but I didn't keep track. I went to the gym with my roommates a few times, but mostly I think I forgot how good it had felt to be healthy. The last half of college, I decided to get back into shape, and I've fought with myself the last three or so years to just stay where I am right now, which is about thirty-five pounds lighter than I was at my heaviest. Last summer, I was inspired by my best friend, Kelli, who is the most determined person I know, and who hated running almost as much as I did, but picked up the sport and has since run a couple marathons and a few relays (I think).
I don't tell her enough, but I always want to be like her, so
last summer I decided I would cross off a New Year's goal by learning to like running. By the end of last summer, I was burning through about twenty-five miles a week. And I was hooked. I went back to school, of course, and didn't do as well, but, still, I'd go out on a jog every now and then, and I'd enjoy every second.
I graduated last December. I got lazy during spring semester, sprained my ankle at graduation, and was a bum on the couch except for the occasional jog or hike. When I moved home a little over a month ago, my friend Marie and I decided to
sweat ourselves beautiful, once and for all! I run almost every morning and then we burn through Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred in the afternoons. Do NOT knock that workout until you've tried it. It's so killer.
Anyway, I was feeling pretty good about myself last week, but then I realized I didn't have a single milestone really to gauge myself against (other than that I actually liked to run). I haven't run a race, or really tracked much of anything. I just go. So just
this last Saturday, I asked Marie to time me while I ran a mile around the same damn track that I had to run in high school.
I ran that stupid, STUPID mile that defined half my life in nine minutes and forty-one seconds. Twenty seconds faster than what I was hoping for. I almost cried.
And before, you say, "Well, that wasn't that fast," let me assure you that I didn't think so either, because I felt like I was pushing pretty hard. Then I remembered, my short legs have to go a lot longer and harder to cover the same distance that a tall runner at an easy jog can cover. Hahaha. So I am
owning my nine minutes and forty-one seconds! And I also am gonna run a 5k by my house, because it's one of the New Year's Goals to run some sort of a race. After that, a half-marathon, and then the WORLD.
I say the world, because I can't be bothered to run a marathon. :)
PS. I'm sorry this was so long.
