Recently, a friend of mine told me she wanted to run a 5K, and she asked me to hold her accountable. I'm all about a bandwagon, so I said, "Hey! Better than that, we'll do it together."
Just to let ya'll know, I have been avoiding anything that even looks like running for quite some time. I tell myself it's because it's too much pressure on my joints, but really it's just because I'm scared of the massive jiggle wave that would ensue...and that I might fall on my face.
Look, I'm not trying to be "body negative" or anything, but if you've ever actually TRIED to run when you're overweight, you know what I mean. You have body parts that are on a full 5 second delay.
But I decided to download the Couch to 5K app, don my worn out compression tank, and get my butt out there anyway.
The first day I planned to run, I was TERRIFIED. What if I can't do it, I thought? What if I get out there and look ridiculous and can't even finish half of the first day? What if the whole neighborhood is laughing at me? What if I pass out?
Those first few running steps felt like chains falling off.
I can do this, I thought. I'm not going to die!
However, right around the halfway mark in the program, ish got real. I started to have to hardcore talk/pray myself through each 60 second run.
Dear God, it's only 60 seconds. Please help me not pass out. Please help me not to vomit. Please help me not to pass out in my own vomit.
And then I also had to pray myself through my walks. "Please, God, help me catch my breath. My breath feels so far away."
I had to cut a couple of the running segments a few seconds short, and the final run by about half, but I made it through the 30 minute workout without dying, puking, or peeing myself so I thought it was a pretty strong win.
When I tried to roll over the next morning, my whole body rebelled. I thought I was just going to have to parent from bed all day.
Nevertheless, I found the strength to make it out of bed, and anyone who has ever worked out knows you HAVE to move when you're sore. The best way to treat soreness is to MOVE.
So, even though I was so sore I felt like I couldn't put one foot in front of the other, once again, my feet hit the pavement. I was still really worried about falling on my face, though.
When the running segment came, I was able to do it, but I was sluggish. I felt like my whole body was a full second behind my brain's commands.
But something very interesting happened as a result of my body's sluggishness: I was able to actually keep up.
Instead of huffing, puffing, and panting, I was able to focus on breathing through my runs. Instead of frantically trying to catch my breath in between, I was able to recover well and enjoy the view. Instead of praying to God he'd help me not vomit and die, I was able to pray and thank Him for helping me through - even at the end of my workout, on the long stretch before my house where there's no shade, and the heat of the sun beats down on me.
I ended the run on the second day feeling amazing, and I didn't cut ANY segments short. I didn't just finish, I finished well - and all because I had the courage to get back out there and take it slow.
Sometimes, we just want to get there, so we try to go as fast as possible. But that's just not sustainable. We run out of steam, we take shortcuts, and we finish, but it leaves us feeling depleted and sick.
Today, choose to go slow. Fully embrace each moment. Focus on breathing and praying. Run slowly and well, then make sure to take time to recover in between. You won't need to take the shortcuts, and at the end, you'll feel energized instead of depleted.
Friends, my prayer for you today is that you would finish the race set before you, not just falling across the finish line, but finishing your race well.
Talk to you all later. I've gotta run.
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