We are always a work in progress

So, I have been training for a half marathon.  I am still not sure exactly what motivates me for this goal, but I am doing it.  I have been working fairly diligently since the beginning of the year and I am not a runner, so it has been slow going.  This past weekend, I put a little milestone in my journey and participated in a local 5K for charity.  In the two weeks leading up to the 5K, I noticed something a little weird…more often than not, I was talking myself out of running in the morning.  It was so weird!  I have not been able to run very far yet, but I had been on point when it came to getting myself out of bed at least 4 mornings a week, putting on my shoes and huffing and puffing through my neighborhood before the work day began.  What was different?  What was this little voice in my head telling me “it’s fine, go back to sleep” or “you can do some yoga on YouTube after work, that counts” or “you are going to the trainer tomorrow, you don’t need to run.”

About 3 days before this 5K, it dawned on me.

I was doing it ON PURPOSE.  Seriously, on purpose.  I don’t mean intentionally, but I was letting myself off the hook so that if I sucked at the 5K this weekend, I would have an excuse.  “Well, I didn’t train very hard, so of course my time is slow.”  When I realized that, I was SO disappointed in myself.  Not because I had the potential for sucking at running, but because I sit in front of people all day and say, “it is okay to fail, that is how we learn” and I seriously was not practicing what I preach.  Because, honestly, even if I trained hard-even if I ran every single day of my life-it is still okay to not be where I want to be.  This realization hit me pretty hard the week of the race and I felt like a fraud.  And that brought up all kinds of emotions to deal with.

The night before the race, I was a total mess.  I was so nervous about what would happen the next day.  Would there be a million people there?  Would I be able to run more than 5 feet?  Would I step in a pothole and break my ankle of the first leg of the run? Would I cry?  Would it take me 3 hours to run 3.1 miles?  Would I throw up?  Would I cry?  A million questions flooded my mind and it all centered around “will I fail?”  I hardly slept at all that night.

Then came race day.  I rolled out of bed before the sun rose and wondered if there was any way to get out of it.  I had signed up my husband as well as one of my best friends and her husband to run with me so that was not really an option.  I held my hand to my head-did I have a fever?  I held my hand to my stomach-was a sick?  Alas, I was perfectly healthy and had no reason to skip.  Dammit.  We arrived at the race site and there were a LOT of people.  I continued to get nervous as the questions from the night before returned with a gusto.  My oblivious husband looked at me and said, “you don’t like the crowd, huh?”  If only he could hear the thoughts running through my mind.

The start to the race actually went pretty well.  I was off to a decent start with a good book in my ear phones (I can’t run to music, it throws off my pace) and I ran quite a bit longer than I expected at the beginning.  The entire race was going pretty well, I was working on this walk run pace that I was pleased with and I remember thinking “alright, this is not what I imagined, but I can work with this.”  Then, you wouldn’t believe what happened.  My husband.  My stupid husband (whom I love dearly) that did not train a bit for this race and claims that he “lacks cardio” freaking RAN PAST ME AND BEAT ME BY 6 SECONDS.  I hated him a little bit for that but in the same thought had visions of us happily running 5Ks together because, at the end, I was quite proud of myself.  When I looked at my time, I was 15 minutes faster than the last time I ran a 5K!  Emotional rollercoaster that the last 12 hours had been, I was pleased with the result of my work thus far and celebrated with my people with brunch and mimosas.  What a glorious day.

And then.

My reward to myself for running a 5K was permission to purchase a pair of coveted Lululemon running pants.  If you don’t know, Lululemon is seriously the bee’s knees when it comes to work out attire.  I sometimes go into the store and stare longingly at the beauty, running my hands over the glorious material and wishing for the day that I would be able to purchase a pair for myself.  See, Lululemon is a little more expensive than the pants I buy at Target and, although I am willing to pay for quality, I was not allowing myself to spend that kind of money until I was sure that I was going to commit to running.  I told myself that, if I completed this 5K, I would go treat myself to a pair of Lululemon running pants.

Once inside the store, I made my way back to the wall of pants and stopped short in my tracks.  The sizes stopped one size short of what I was currently wearing in jeans.  My heart sank and I literally walked right out of the store.  So upset.  I had worked so hard, had so many ups and downs and now I was not going to be able to give myself the thing I promised me if I would just do the work.

So, moral of my emotional roller coaster this weekend?  I am always a work in progress.  I do not have to be perfect.  I am not always going to get what I want, exactly how I want it-even if I have worked really hard.  Taking steps forward is a success in itself.  There were some tears, both the night before an the day of, but ultimately I gave myself some grace.  There is nothing wrong with the way that the race went, the time that I ran it in, the fact that my stupid husband beat me and that the Lululemon pants were not the right size.  You know why?  Because where I am at on my journey is perfectly fine and I am going to keep going because this work in progress is worth the effort.

With Gratitude,

Jessica

P.S. You might be happy to know that, as I was near tears on the sidewalk outside of Lululemon, trying to explain to my husband why I was so upset, he said to me “Babe.  They are stretchy pants.  Just try them on.”  He was right, they were a little more snug than I would prefer, but I bought the crap out of those Lululemon pants.  And they are glorious.

So, I have been training for a half marathon.  I am still not sure exactly what motivates me for this goal, but I am doing it.  I have been working fairly diligently since the beginning of the year and I am not a runner, so it has been slow going.  This past weekend, I put a little milestone in my journey and participated in a local 5K for charity.  In the two weeks leading up to the 5K, I noticed something a little weird…more often than not, I was talking myself out of running in the morning.  It was so weird!  I have not been able to run very far yet, but I had been on point when it came to getting myself out of bed at least 4 mornings a week, putting on my shoes and huffing and puffing through my neighborhood before the work day began.  What was different?  What was this little voice in my head telling me “it’s fine, go back to sleep” or “you can do some yoga on YouTube after work, that counts” or “you are going to the trainer tomorrow, you don’t need to run.”

About 3 days before this 5K, it dawned on me.

I was doing it ON PURPOSE.  Seriously, on purpose.  I don’t mean intentionally, but I was letting myself off the hook so that if I sucked at the 5K this weekend, I would have an excuse.  “Well, I didn’t train very hard, so of course my time is slow.”  When I realized that, I was SO disappointed in myself.  Not because I had the potential for sucking at running, but because I sit in front of people all day and say, “it is okay to fail, that is how we learn” and I seriously was not practicing what I preach.  Because, honestly, even if I trained hard-even if I ran every single day of my life-it is still okay to not be where I want to be.  This realization hit me pretty hard the week of the race and I felt like a fraud.  And that brought up all kinds of emotions to deal with.

The night before the race, I was a total mess.  I was so nervous about what would happen the next day.  Would there be a million people there?  Would I be able to run more than 5 feet?  Would I step in a pothole and break my ankle of the first leg of the run? Would I cry?  Would it take me 3 hours to run 3.1 miles?  Would I throw up?  Would I cry?  A million questions flooded my mind and it all centered around “will I fail?”  I hardly slept at all that night.

Then came race day.  I rolled out of bed before the sun rose and wondered if there was any way to get out of it.  I had signed up my husband as well as one of my best friends and her husband to run with me so that was not really an option.  I held my hand to my head-did I have a fever?  I held my hand to my stomach-was a sick?  Alas, I was perfectly healthy and had no reason to skip.  Dammit.  We arrived at the race site and there were a LOT of people.  I continued to get nervous as the questions from the night before returned with a gusto.  My oblivious husband looked at me and said, “you don’t like the crowd, huh?”  If only he could hear the thoughts running through my mind.

The start to the race actually went pretty well.  I was off to a decent start with a good book in my ear phones (I can’t run to music, it throws off my pace) and I ran quite a bit longer than I expected at the beginning.  The entire race was going pretty well, I was working on this walk run pace that I was pleased with and I remember thinking “alright, this is not what I imagined, but I can work with this.”  Then, you wouldn’t believe what happened.  My husband.  My stupid husband (whom I love dearly) that did not train a bit for this race and claims that he “lacks cardio” freaking RAN PAST ME AND BEAT ME BY 6 SECONDS.  I hated him a little bit for that but in the same thought had visions of us happily running 5Ks together because, at the end, I was quite proud of myself.  When I looked at my time, I was 15 minutes faster than the last time I ran a 5K!  Emotional rollercoaster that the last 12 hours had been, I was pleased with the result of my work thus far and celebrated with my people with brunch and mimosas.  What a glorious day.

And then.

My reward to myself for running a 5K was permission to purchase a pair of coveted Lululemon running pants.  If you don’t know, Lululemon is seriously the bee’s knees when it comes to work out attire.  I sometimes go into the store and stare longingly at the beauty, running my hands over the glorious material and wishing for the day that I would be able to purchase a pair for myself.  See, Lululemon is a little more expensive than the pants I buy at Target and, although I am willing to pay for quality, I was not allowing myself to spend that kind of money until I was sure that I was going to commit to running.  I told myself that, if I completed this 5K, I would go treat myself to a pair of Lululemon running pants.

Once inside the store, I made my way back to the wall of pants and stopped short in my tracks.  The sizes stopped one size short of what I was currently wearing in jeans.  My heart sank and I literally walked right out of the store.  So upset.  I had worked so hard, had so many ups and downs and now I was not going to be able to give myself the thing I promised me if I would just do the work.

So, moral of my emotional roller coaster this weekend?  I am always a work in progress.  I do not have to be perfect.  I am not always going to get what I want, exactly how I want it-even if I have worked really hard.  Taking steps forward is a success in itself.  There were some tears, both the night before an the day of, but ultimately I gave myself some grace.  There is nothing wrong with the way that the race went, the time that I ran it in, the fact that my stupid husband beat me and that the Lululemon pants were not the right size.  You know why?  Because where I am at on my journey is perfectly fine and I am going to keep going because this work in progress is worth the effort.

With Gratitude,

Jessica

P.S. You might be happy to know that, as I was near tears on the sidewalk outside of Lululemon, trying to explain to my husband why I was so upset, he said to me “Babe.  They are stretchy pants.  Just try them on.”  He was right, they were a little more snug than I would prefer, but I bought the crap out of those Lululemon pants.  And they are glorious.

So, I have been training for a half marathon.  I am still not sure exactly what motivates me for this goal, but I am doing it.  I have been working fairly diligently since the beginning of the year and I am not a runner, so it has been slow going.  This past weekend, I put a little milestone in my journey and participated in a local 5K for charity.  In the two weeks leading up to the 5K, I noticed something a little weird…more often than not, I was talking myself out of running in the morning.  It was so weird!  I have not been able to run very far yet, but I had been on point when it came to getting myself out of bed at least 4 mornings a week, putting on my shoes and huffing and puffing through my neighborhood before the work day began.  What was different?  What was this little voice in my head telling me “it’s fine, go back to sleep” or “you can do some yoga on YouTube after work, that counts” or “you are going to the trainer tomorrow, you don’t need to run.”

About 3 days before this 5K, it dawned on me.

I was doing it ON PURPOSE.  Seriously, on purpose.  I don’t mean intentionally, but I was letting myself off the hook so that if I sucked at the 5K this weekend, I would have an excuse.  “Well, I didn’t train very hard, so of course my time is slow.”  When I realized that, I was SO disappointed in myself.  Not because I had the potential for sucking at running, but because I sit in front of people all day and say, “it is okay to fail, that is how we learn” and I seriously was not practicing what I preach.  Because, honestly, even if I trained hard-even if I ran every single day of my life-it is still okay to not be where I want to be.  This realization hit me pretty hard the week of the race and I felt like a fraud.  And that brought up all kinds of emotions to deal with.

The night before the race, I was a total mess.  I was so nervous about what would happen the next day.  Would there be a million people there?  Would I be able to run more than 5 feet?  Would I step in a pothole and break my ankle of the first leg of the run? Would I cry?  Would it take me 3 hours to run 3.1 miles?  Would I throw up?  Would I cry?  A million questions flooded my mind and it all centered around “will I fail?”  I hardly slept at all that night.

Then came race day.  I rolled out of bed before the sun rose and wondered if there was any way to get out of it.  I had signed up my husband as well as one of my best friends and her husband to run with me so that was not really an option.  I held my hand to my head-did I have a fever?  I held my hand to my stomach-was a sick?  Alas, I was perfectly healthy and had no reason to skip.  Dammit.  We arrived at the race site and there were a LOT of people.  I continued to get nervous as the questions from the night before returned with a gusto.  My oblivious husband looked at me and said, “you don’t like the crowd, huh?”  If only he could hear the thoughts running through my mind.

The start to the race actually went pretty well.  I was off to a decent start with a good book in my ear phones (I can’t run to music, it throws off my pace) and I ran quite a bit longer than I expected at the beginning.  The entire race was going pretty well, I was working on this walk run pace that I was pleased with and I remember thinking “alright, this is not what I imagined, but I can work with this.”  Then, you wouldn’t believe what happened.  My husband.  My stupid husband (whom I love dearly) that did not train a bit for this race and claims that he “lacks cardio” freaking RAN PAST ME AND BEAT ME BY 6 SECONDS.  I hated him a little bit for that but in the same thought had visions of us happily running 5Ks together because, at the end, I was quite proud of myself.  When I looked at my time, I was 15 minutes faster than the last time I ran a 5K!  Emotional rollercoaster that the last 12 hours had been, I was pleased with the result of my work thus far and celebrated with my people with brunch and mimosas.  What a glorious day.

And then.

My reward to myself for running a 5K was permission to purchase a pair of coveted Lululemon running pants.  If you don’t know, Lululemon is seriously the bee’s knees when it comes to work out attire.  I sometimes go into the store and stare longingly at the beauty, running my hands over the glorious material and wishing for the day that I would be able to purchase a pair for myself.  See, Lululemon is a little more expensive than the pants I buy at Target and, although I am willing to pay for quality, I was not allowing myself to spend that kind of money until I was sure that I was going to commit to running.  I told myself that, if I completed this 5K, I would go treat myself to a pair of Lululemon running pants.

Once inside the store, I made my way back to the wall of pants and stopped short in my tracks.  The sizes stopped one size short of what I was currently wearing in jeans.  My heart sank and I literally walked right out of the store.  So upset.  I had worked so hard, had so many ups and downs and now I was not going to be able to give myself the thing I promised me if I would just do the work.

So, moral of my emotional roller coaster this weekend?  I am always a work in progress.  I do not have to be perfect.  I am not always going to get what I want, exactly how I want it-even if I have worked really hard.  Taking steps forward is a success in itself.  There were some tears, both the night before an the day of, but ultimately I gave myself some grace.  There is nothing wrong with the way that the race went, the time that I ran it in, the fact that my stupid husband beat me and that the Lululemon pants were not the right size.  You know why?  Because where I am at on my journey is perfectly fine and I am going to keep going because this work in progress is worth the effort.

P.S. You might be happy to know that, as I was near tears on the sidewalk outside of Lululemon, trying to explain to my husband why I was so upset, he said to me “Babe.  They are stretchy pants.  Just try them on.”  He was right, they were a little more snug than I would prefer, but I bought the crap out of those Lululemon pants.  And they are glorious.