Why I Train

Shannyn Caldwell wrote a blog yesterday that made me think quite a bit.

http://iknowurbutwhatami.wordpress.com/2012/10/18/the-why-that-makes-me-cry/

I especially thought about this as I shivered in the chill at Buffalo Park last night waiting for the run to start, and already hacking up a lung.  I ran 2 minutes and thirty seconds, and could not recover.  My chest was actually aching and even after walking two minutes, I could not actually speak.

So, last night, the run was done after about 5 minutes!

But I as I walked back to my car, waving at the all the other runners, I pondered some more.  Why AM I doing this?  This question nagged me during the drive home, drinking a protein shake, heading out again to the volleyball game.

I want to be engaged in my own life, and actually be in my body.

I spent so much of my life numb to what was going on around me and to me and by me.  When something awful happened, I simply dissociated, took my head to my happy place of rainbows and unicorns and hid my body -on the roof or under the bed, or as I grew older, under layers of baggy clothes and excess fat.  I did a lot of stuff that I could hardly credit later during my rare moments of lucidity.

I remember thinking -this doesn't matter, it is just my body, it isn't ME.  ME never gets touched or hurt or broken.

The light went on a couple years ago, when a dear friend pointed out that God made us to have bodies and that our bodies are just as much US as our souls are.  When we are resurrected, we will have bodies again.  We are not body or soul, we are both.

And then God told me that I do matter, and my body does matter, and He would heal me if I let Him.

This has been a long and difficult and amazing and delightful and terrifying and exuberant process, this figuring out how to live my life and be me.  Running and getting stronger every day helps me glory in this miracle that I was born and have a healthy body and have a purpose, even if I'm not entirely sure what it is.

I had a moment walking into work this morning.  It is homecoming weekend and we are crawling with alumni and parents visiting.  I'm on my way to a board meeting, so I actually made effort with a suit and make-up.  A woman was hissing at her college-age daughter who was wearing pajamas and a hoodie (high college fashion right now, BTW!)  Her daughter was slumped and looked so sad.  As I stood waiting for traffic to pass, she hissed in a low voice to her daughter, "Look at her!  She is a big girl, too, but look how gorgeous she looks!  She is put together and standing straight.  Why can't you at least TRY?"

And a million memories of my own mom doing pretty much that flooded through me, and the sharpest memories of the various humiliations I felt, knowing I was not the daughter she wanted and could never live up to whatever was in her head.

And all of that came flooding out my mouth in a simple, "Your daughter is beautiful.  Stop trying to beat her pretty out of her and make her in your own image."

I was wearing my name tag, so it is entirely possible I will be getting a phone call to come visit my boss later today, I don't care.  What I said probably made no difference in the grand scheme of things.

I just thought it needed to be said.