As I was descending into the pain of the stomach bug Sunday I had a moment of panic. Then I realized it was a rest day. I wasn’t going to miss my jog because I was sick. At that moment I decided I’d be well enough to run Monday.
Monday morning I was far from 100%. The diarrhea continued. My belly gurgled and flip flopped. I ignored it and put my running tights on. When I woke up it was 15 degrees warmer than it was on Saturday when I ran. How could I miss a day of balmy 36 degree weather?
I did it. It was pretty ugly, but I did it.
The jog was slow as hell. I changed plans and skipped the hills, shortened it to exactly two miles. But I did it.
Last night Z was sick. And T had nightmares. And I’m not sure what the fuck C’s problem was, but he was up 5 times. No one in our house got a lot of sleep. This morning I dropped the boys off and did my stretches. I jogged those hills that I skipped yesterday. Lack of sleep affects my performance more than anything, just two minutes out of the house and I knew I was in trouble. But I told my tired legs to figure it out. Even on the mile with the hills I somehow forced myself to keep it under an 11 minute pace.
Last week was freezing and snowy. It was the first real taste of winter jogging. The boys were out of school for Thanksgiving break, but Z was working most days. He promised we’d figure out how to make my jogs happen. And we did. I returned from Monday’s run frustrated at my slower pace, but I was working out how to safely run on the roads and avoid the ice. I thanked Z for making the time for me to go as he headed out to work. I told him I realized something as I was outside in the freezing cold. Wanting to do this isn’t the issue. I don’t think I’ve ever really wanted to jog. I still don’t know what has kept me at it for the last 5 months. No, I don’t want to do this. I need to do it.
Life feels out of control in so many ways. The new graduate program I am planning on enrolling in will not be happening until the fall of ’15 rather than next fall. Another year is a big deal as I am hurtling towards 40. Another year before I start the job search. I’ll still take a course a semester and I’ll put a big dent in the coursework before I officially matriculate. On top of that money is tight. We are trying to be frugal, Z is being fantastic about picking up extra work wherever he can find it, but supporting a family of four on an assistant professor’s salary is challenging. We’ve made our bed. We both wanted me to be home with the boys, so this has been our choice. And we are luckier than most. We haven’t done anything to earn our safety net, we were just born to parents who can provide one. Dumb, dumb luck. We do not have anything to complain about. We have a beautiful home and can make our mortgage. We certainly don’t have to worry about putting food on the table. I just look forward to a time when we don’t have to have texted negotiations about how we are going to afford to put gas in the car.
So money is tight. Z is crazy busy at work. The boys are growing up at a bewildering and breakneck pace. I’m writing a research proposal and putting together the first powerpoint of my life for class and I feel like an academic fraud as well as an old lady in a young person’s game. The anxiety has been brutal this fall.
Yeah, life doesn’t feel out of control, I feel out of control.
The jogging. Forcing myself to go everyday. Measuring my progress. Proving I am stronger than I’ve believed my whole life. Jogging three days in a row of freezing cold and snow and not seeing one other person out there. It all makes me feel powerful and proud and just a little bit in control. I’m showing up to something. Even when it is hard or uncomfortable or life is overwhelming me. I need it. In just five months I’ve become addicted.
It doesn’t feel completely healthy, but when one suffers from anxiety with ocd tendencies I’m not sure any new obsession, um I mean hobby, ever can be 100% healthy. I fear if i don’t make my five days a week something terrible will happen. Getting sick scares the shit out of me because it will mess with my weekly routine. I didn’t really want to go yesterday. I was weak and still recovering from the stomach bug. But I needed to go. It wasn’t a choice. And it made me feel better.
Why all the redundant selfies? Believe it or not, I’m not trying to humble-brag. I’m actually pretty damn proud of myself, nothing humble about it. But in keeping with the honestly thing the jogging pictures are never filtered or altered. There has been no radical physical transformation in my appearance. My BMI is still firmly in the overweight category. The biggest change has been in my bad cholesterol and you can’t see that in a photograph. I post the selfies because I am not a size two beauty. Who cares? I’m still fucking thrilled with myself.
But the biggest reason I post the obnoxious selfies (besides the fact that my dad likes to keep tabs on how I’m doing) is if I can do it you can, too. I’m no one special. I’ve shunned exercise all my life. But I’m out there doing it. I include my times occasionally, which is also the antithesis of a humble-brag because they are damn slow. Don’t get me wrong, I’m making progress. But my fastest mile, and the only time I’ve broken 10 minutes, was 9:47 I believe. In the picture above I’d just PRed 5K. Kept it under 11 minute miles the whole time for 33:49. Yes, it is much like I jog through molasses. I guess I feel like the slowpokes should get to celebrate as much as the speed demons. I’m never going to be the best at this. I’m never going to be near the best. But I’m doing something for me. I’m plugging along. I’m proving that my middle aged body can do something I didn’t believe it could for my whole life. That smile on my face is sincere. I may not be fast or skinny or cut, but god dammit I have earned the right to be proud.
You should give it a try. And you should be proud, too. You should post selfies and your times and if they aren’t as fantastic as those of your friends you shouldn’t give a fuck. Because you are amazing. I am amazing. We are kicking ass and we are taking names.