Monday I didn’t want to run. I sat in my car and drank my coffee and looked at the rain-smeared windshield in the parking lot of my school. I wanted a day off. But I went easy on myself last week, scrapping my strength training and shortening my runs because I felt like I was fighting off a bug. It’s what my body needed, but I was left feeling frumpy and dumpy after a week of less.
One of the more difficult things of being committed to being fit is listening to my body, I find. I mean really listening. Last week I needed a down week, but this week I didn’t. My mind tries to trick me, and I mentally battle a lot of my runs. Is it what my body wants or is it what my mind wants? Usually it’s the latter.
I ended up having a great, quick 5k and then an hour with my personal trainer. I was flying high for the rest of the day.
On the great days, physically, it feels like I’m just starting to brush the surface of my potential. I’m pushing myself harder than I ever have, but it’s not my limit, that much I know. I’m going to run this marathon in 4:15, I have faith in my legs.
I was talking to my younger brother last week and he asked me why I wasn’t taking classes this summer. To be honest, I told him, I’m just burnt out.
He told me that he was happy to hear that, not happy that I was burnt out, but happy that I was human. He said that I do so much and he figured that either I was not human or not going to be able to maintain the pace. He was happy to know that I am human.
My therapist tried a new method this week – she told me all the ways in which I am unworthy and I was supposed to defend myself and my choices. It didn’t work. (She quickly changed tactics.)
That’s bullshit, you know? I believe that being at home with my kids is the most important place for me to be right now. I believe that running marathons is important, because it allows me to take time for myself and to stay healthy. I believe that raising money for charity is one way I am easily able to pay it forward. I may not really believe that I’m in the right program, but I do believe that I’m an intelligent person. Smarter than average, to be honest. I believe that I’m a good writer and that I will be able to touch people with what I put onto paper (or computer screen). I believe that I’m not alone in my self-doubt. I believe that one of the purposes of my life is to help people see that they are so much more than comparing themselves to other people confines them to being.
I’m done with it – I’m done with all this crap. All this feeling sorry for myself because of an inch of fat around my waist or because I get bored sometimes at home with the kids or because someone I know runs a half-marathon faster than I do. I’m making myself small and it’s ridiculous that I’ve left myself get to the point where I really believe all that crap.
My success and failures do not determine my self-worth.
My determination and perseverance do.
The love the fills my heart does.
My self-love does.
I love myself. I believe in myself. I am strong and smart and giving.
And I believe it.