you just might find, you get what you need

Sometime in the first week of January 2009, I signed up for my first half marathon, to be run in April and for my first marathon, to be run the next January.  On that day, I had never run straight through more than 4 miles at one time and had participated in exactly one organized race.  A 5K.  In over my head?  A little, but in this case, ignorance was bliss.  I had no idea what I was really in store for.

Over the months I trained my butt off, finally got real running shoes, and asked more questions than a toddler from everyone whom I could possibly glean a sliver of insight - even the dentist.  In the world that existed then, there were no paces to calculate, no splits to aim for, not even a PR to beat.  I had no idea when I would finish the race or how I was going to make it 13.1 miles without music.  All I knew how to do was run and pray that I didn’t die.

Then it came, the April morning I had worked so hard for.  And it was raining.  And I was petrified.  Thankfully, between the enthusiasm radiating between my mom and my aunt, I mustered up the courage to line up in my coral.  As I stood there, protected from the rain by my motley garbage-bag-poncho, I surveyed the crowd and tried desperately to figure out what last minute preparations I was supposed to be making while I stood in line.  My mom has always told me that God would take care of me and even though this was the furthest thought from my mind, I had the luck of making eye contact with another lone runner.  We struck up what turned out to be a 13.1 mile conversation.

On that day, a stranger became a beloved and together we pushed each other to triumph.  Without her help, I would not have been able to run the whole race and with my help, she was able to beat her time goal.  I’ve often considered her an angel who showed up when I needed the support the most, even though I didn’t really think I needed it.

Today, on a glorious Easter morning, almost exactly three years to the day since that race, I ran with my Anonymous Beloved again.  It is only the second time in our lives that we have run together, or even spoken face to face, in our lives and yet it all just fell so naturally into place.  And again, we pushed each other passed our road blocks.

One of my favorite images of God comes from the “Footprints in the Sand” poem, when God tells the speaker that the places that only show one set of footprints are from when God was carrying him.  Maybe old friends, new friends, and strangers who become friends are the arms of God.  We weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders alone, sometimes we just need to be reminded.

starting from broken

Starting to run from scratch was difficult.  There were times when I did not think I could do it.  And there were many more times when I realized, in awe, that, despite the odds, I had.  

I remember dreaming of effortlessly running for hours and then the devastation when my lungs and muscles were screaming after minutes.  But I remember the progress, too.  I remember the first time I ran for 3 miles straight through - I was on a treadmill and I thought for sure that it was going to explode as I wondered if anyone had ever run that far before!  Ha!  I remember the first time I ran 7 miles.  I was at my favorite park, which I had been trying to conquer for years; I couldn’t stop smiling when I realized I had made it the whole way around, and then more when I realized I wasn’t even as tired as I thought 7 miles should have made me.  I remember when I finished my marathon, I cried as I crossed the finish line.  My dad had been very sick through most of my training, so sick that I almost stopped training all together; but, I am happy to say that he was there on the other end of the phone, waiting to celebrate my finish with me.  

It was this time last year that I started to feel the pain in my legs.  I was confident in my ability to run the distance that I was starting to work on my speed.  By the end of April last year, I was out of commission with surgery scheduled.  Nine months after surgery, after 13 odd weeks of physical therapy, after countless stretches, lunges, and squats, I am ready to start training again.  I have my sights set on a half marathon in June - the one I was training for last year when I tore the labrum in my hip.

Now, I am starting from broken.  And I think this time around it is harder.  It is humbling to set out for a 3 mile run, a quick, down and dirty workout before, and realize that I can’t do it yet.  I feel like I’m the chunky little kid of my childhood who wants so much to be athletic, but whose dreams are bigger than her ability.  My runs are leaving me frustrated and previous landmark triumphs taunt me.  I’m trying to be forgiving and understanding, reminding myself that I am starting from scratch again and that there will be good and bad days.  But I’m not starting from scratch and the bad days seem to be taking over and the mental scripts that I thought I had conquered are fighting to comeback.

This time, progress is going to be a mental battle.  I tried to remind myself today that even if I had to walk, I was still moving forward.  I have to remember that I am capable of the physical aspect, that is what drove me before; now it is time for a mental triumph.  It is a call to take accountability and control in a way that I have lost track of as so many things in my life are willy-nilly.  I learned once upon a time, in my non-runner life, that the cure to almost all ills is to keep my attention focused on the present.  I still have my sights set on that hometown half in June; but right now, I’m focused on three quality miles.  

terror.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous. Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."  -Marianne Williamson 

Life would be simpler if we could just live perpetually.  And be happy.  Ugh.  Living perpetually, according to habit, following the rules of what’s always, and changing only when there’s no other choice; but where is the glory?  Can we truly enjoy the beauty around us when we take for granted that it’s always going to be there?  I think no.  

As I progress into the uncharted territory of a new life, I’m almost overwhelmed at the possibilities that seem available all of a sudden.  Have these always been there?  Geeze!  Where have I been?  But I am not caught up in a whirlwind-of-regret terror, it is the whirlwind-of-what-if terror.  And not the what-if-I-fail variety.  What if I succeed?  What if people want to by my jellies and jams, and then they want to buy muffins and then I open a shop and then my brand and products become popular enough that I have to hire someone and then I get to negotiate with companies to mass produce my products because I simply cannot keep up with the demand and I am truly, unequivocally, glowingly happy because of my jelly baby?  

Of course, its not the fear of all of this success that really scares me.  It’s the almost crippling fear of leaving behind everything that has been comfortable in my life up until now.  A job that pays the bills, a nice car that solidifies my identity so that I don’t have to, a house that secures my small piece of the American pie.  I will have to rely on my ingenuity and ability to adapt to pay the bills.  I will have to rely on me to secure and solidify my identity (and my brand).  And, I will have to remember that the opportunity to follow my dreams IS the American dream.  

I will have to find enough confidence to believe that I am worth the success.

The crazy thing, it that just like the beautiful fruit that ends up in jars, life is not meant to be just looked at, it’s meant to be lived, savored, and enjoyed.  My good friend Paula Deen often says that “you taste your food first with your eyes” and I think that is true.  I think dreams and aspirations work the same way.  They look amazing in the mind, but the true miracle is when the other senses become involved and that sight is not longer a mirage, but becomes concrete.  Savorable.  I am fighting the potentially paralyzing fear of the unknown and reminding myself, like so many times before, that God will open doors for me.  Maybe the terror is more than a gentle reminder that I am alive and that I should really work on living rather than relying on my things and circumstances for the security of identity, comfort, and the American dream.