run. pray. - Scar Tissue, Firewater, and God's Grace
Saturday morning my alarm blared at 6:30 a.m. It was a real struggle to get my ass out of bed. All I really wanted to do was sleep! I've been non-stop for over a month now, and my body has been attacking me for over a week. Abdominal and pelvic pain - GI issues - low back pain and swelling - bathroom problems - bloating - fatigue...misery. When I woke up, my stomach was still feeling out of sorts from Friday, and I just really wanted to be a sack of potatoes and forget about being healthy - my mind has a been in a bad place along with my body - so, I'm not sure what motivated me out of my bed Saturday morning, but something did; it had to be God, because it took Divine strength to get me out of that bed.
I stumbled around our dark bedroom getting dressed, brushed my teeth, put my hair back, mixed my hydration powder with some water, put on my shoes, grabbed my watch and a towel (because I sweat like the dickens), and out the door I went. As I arrived at the traditional meeting spot for Team RWB, the parking lot was closed due to an event. I had no clue where to go, because I was running late. By the time I reached someone I had started route to somewhere, I didn't really have a plan, I was just headed somewhere else and persuading myself the entire time not to go back home to bed. So, I went to the zoo parking lot. I piddled around - pouring drink from one bottle to another debating if I wanted to take it with me or not - debating with myself if I should take my phone since I was alone, but it looked like it may rain - debating if I should even attempt a run since it looked like it might rain - felt my stomach cramp up and heard it gurgle, so I thought maybe I should go home and back to bed - instead I waited for the lady who parked beside me to leave the public restroom and took off to the bathroom, praying I could be alone in there. I moseyed on out of the bathroom feeling a little better, and I found a spot off to the side away from the other zillion people getting ready for a run and started stretching...lazily. I looked up and saw Old Glory flapping in the wind - there they were Team RWB. I had found them by accident.
Will saw me and told me to join in and run with them for a bit, so I did. It really helped me get going - for about two minutes anyway. Then, it started raining, and I had decided to take my phone, but I didn't have it protected, so I had to turn around and put it back in the car. So, there I was alone...again. However, this time, the rain really energized me. It felt so good on my skin. I wanted to stop in the middle of the parking lot, close my eyes, throw my arms out to the side, and twirl in the rain, but I didn't. I thought people may think I was mental if I did. And, then, I started running again - this time alone with no headphones or people to keep me company.
I told myself I'd run out two miles, and if I felt good I'd go another half mile and reevaluate. I ended up running out 3.5 miles which meant I had to run 3.5 back, which meant I ran 7 miles total. Six miles has kind of been my limit for awhile now, but I knew I needed to start pushing more, because I do have a challenging half marathon coming up in September. When I got home, I plugged in my watch to check out my splits. I was pretty proud. They looked something like this: Mile 1, 9:54; Mile 2, 10:40; Mile 3: 10:05; Mile 4: 10:18; Mile 5, 9:54; Mile 6: 9:45; Mile 7: 9:45. You see that? I got faster the last three miles!
Ok, so, those 7 lonely miles brought up some pretty intense and reflective thinking. After all, I had over an hour with myself...only myself to push me through. See I started thinking about all the scar tissue that's probably in my body from all the pavement pounding and injuries and the unhealthy lifestyle I once lead. After all, I can physically feel it more, now that I'm in my thirties. My body reminds me daily that I'm not 21 anymore. I'm not old...far from it. But, for the first time, I'm physically feeling my body start to age. After sitting for awhile, my hips scream at me when I stand. It takes me a minute to get upright sometimes. I'm seeing it too. I see the fine lines I'm getting on my forehead and the puffy circles under my eyes. I see the beginning stages of crows feet. I feel the dreaded hangover after just two, ok maybe three, glasses of wine. It's here - aging - and I'm having one hell of a time with it.
Scar tissue is defined as connective tissue that has contracted and become dense and fibrous. We all have some sort of scar tissue in our body, I'm sure of it. But, on my run as I was thinking about how my body feels different than it used to, I also discovered deep rooted scar tissue binding my spirit. And, this is where it gets really painful.
You see, I've ALWAYS had body image issues. I've NEVER been happy with my body. I've gotten pretty good at covering up how insecure I feel, or at least I think I'm pretty good at covering it up, but I'm always comparing myself to someone else. I hate it. I do go through ups where I feel more confident and comfortable in my own skin. And, ultimately, I know we are all beautiful the way God made us and that should be celebrated. However, when I look at myself in the mirror I can pick out a million things I want to change about myself. Very rarely will I look at myself and pick out the things I like about myself. For years I've been working on improving my own self-image. And, I've been very successful...to an extent.
Back in high school, I remember being so focused on my weight that I'd basically starve myself of nutrition. I'd skip breakfast or eat a Slim Fast bar. I'd eat a handful of pretzels for lunch, and dinner I'd pick at whatever my mom cooked. I had a gym membership, so I'd walk/run on the treadmill. Occasionally, I'd try some group fitness class. In my head, I was being healthy. However, on the weekends, my friend and I would sneak alcohol, pretend to go "midnight bowling," and get drunk. Yea, I started drinking at a very young age (middle school). Not my smartest or shiniest moments.
My drinking habits got heavier as I went off to college. However, my enjoyment of exercise picked up and got more serious. I exercised everyday for at least an hour at the gym. But, I kept gaining weight, because I was drinking a lot of beer and liquor which led to midnight eating. Everything revolved around getting drunk. How I ever managed to work two jobs and take 18 hours worth of classes in college, I'll NEVER understand. As an adult looking back, I can say I fit the textbook definition of an alcoholic from the age of 18 until about 25 or 26. Of course, at the time, I thought I just liked to have fun, but when you drink so much you black out on a fairly regular occasion, it's a problem. The thing about it was, I managed life. I worked full time. I completed graduate school. I volunteered a lot and raised money for various charities. It's just when I wasn't doing all of that I was drinking. All of my friends knew they could call me for a night out partying, and I'd be along for the ride. It was a lot of fun, but it also meant I was "that girl" many times in a bar or at a concert. You never knew what I might say to someone or do - nothing that ever got me into trouble - but it could have. I put myself into some dangerous situations over the years, again in the moment, it was all fun and games. Looking back as an adult, I was a dumb ass.
During my trip to D.C. last week, about 16 hours in a car alone, and on my 7 mile run Saturday, alone, I had a LOT of time to think. Why was alcohol so important to me? Because, I was trying to numb my negative thoughts. Because, I didn't want to face my insecurities. Because, I didn't want to really deal with my past and the anger and resentment it brought out in me. Because, I didn't like what I looked like in the mirror. Because, it's the only way I felt like I could deal with life. Because, life felt happy when I was drunk. Because, I was carefree when I was drinking. Because, life sucked when I had to really live it.
Within the past seven or eight years, I've done a lot of work on myself. I've changed drastically both mentally and physically. I look at pictures of me from back then and hardly recognize the person I see. The girl in those pictures may have volunteered and raised money for charity and graduated from college, but that girl hurt a lot people along the way. Some of the most genuine and sincere and loving people I've ever met, I pushed away because I was afraid to love them. I treated them less than human, because as much as I'd like to believe I cared about their feelings, and as hard as I tried to care about their feelings, the hard and hurtful truth is I didn't. If I had, I would've done things differently, and I wouldn't have blamed a lot of my actions on the phrase, "I'm sorry I was drunk." Because, let's face it, that's one sorry excuse.
At the time, I didn't know these things about myself. I thought I was doing the best I could and my intentions were never to hurt people. But, I did, because my frame of mind was jaded.
Alcohol made me think I was ok with me, yet it was the reason I was overweight and unhealthy. I always wanted to be thinner in high school, y'all I wore a size 4 and weighed 120 pounds at 5'7, seriously?! But, it wasn't always about my body, yeah right. I hated my freckles. I hated my round face. I hated my dark brown hair. I hated my boobs and butt weren't bigger. I got to college and gained 40 pounds by the time it was all said and done. And, then I really hated myself - and the alcohol helped me not hate myself.
I no longer drink like a fish. Alcohol is not crutch for me anymore. I'd much rather face life head on and deal with the scar tissue as I notice it than hide behind a bottle of Crown Royal. At 33, I'm in the best shape I've ever been in, and I'm the healthiest I've ever been. I compare pictures of myself from college and now, and I'm shocked at the difference. Am I where I want to be? No, I don't think I ever will be. But, I am better.
There are so many low valleys between the peaks of the highs, and I've been in a deep valley here recently. I've been in physical pain from my issues and the bloating has made me feel less than attractive. There are days I can barely button my pants or even fit into my yoga pants because my stomach bloats so bad. And, these kind of days really mess with my head. They make me feel fat, and yes, I know, I'm not fat, but my feelings are still real. They make me hate the way I look in photos, so I'd rather avoid them. They make me cry for no reason at all. They make me compare myself to everyone else. They make me focus on everything I hate about myself and forget everything I celebrate about myself.
The difference is I no longer drown these negative thoughts and days in alcohol. I go full force healthy eating and exercise...and I write. The desire to drown sorrows with alcohol isn't there anymore. The hangovers aren't worth it, and I finally allowed myself to love someone, and I don't want to hurt him. The repercussions of drunken-ness aren't worth it. So, yes, I have a drink or two here and there, but I no longer have the drinks to drown the sorrows. I have them to celebrate life and celebrations are already happy occasions, so they take way fewer drinks, haha.
So, that run, that was so difficult for me to get out of bed for, God knew I needed it, so He pushed me out of bed and gave me the strength to do what I needed to do. Since that run, my spirit has felt less bound, and I've allowed myself to talk openly with my husband about things I've always closed off from due to my personal insecurities. In the end, His love and grace was all the "firewater" I needed.
I stumbled around our dark bedroom getting dressed, brushed my teeth, put my hair back, mixed my hydration powder with some water, put on my shoes, grabbed my watch and a towel (because I sweat like the dickens), and out the door I went. As I arrived at the traditional meeting spot for Team RWB, the parking lot was closed due to an event. I had no clue where to go, because I was running late. By the time I reached someone I had started route to somewhere, I didn't really have a plan, I was just headed somewhere else and persuading myself the entire time not to go back home to bed. So, I went to the zoo parking lot. I piddled around - pouring drink from one bottle to another debating if I wanted to take it with me or not - debating with myself if I should take my phone since I was alone, but it looked like it may rain - debating if I should even attempt a run since it looked like it might rain - felt my stomach cramp up and heard it gurgle, so I thought maybe I should go home and back to bed - instead I waited for the lady who parked beside me to leave the public restroom and took off to the bathroom, praying I could be alone in there. I moseyed on out of the bathroom feeling a little better, and I found a spot off to the side away from the other zillion people getting ready for a run and started stretching...lazily. I looked up and saw Old Glory flapping in the wind - there they were Team RWB. I had found them by accident.
Will saw me and told me to join in and run with them for a bit, so I did. It really helped me get going - for about two minutes anyway. Then, it started raining, and I had decided to take my phone, but I didn't have it protected, so I had to turn around and put it back in the car. So, there I was alone...again. However, this time, the rain really energized me. It felt so good on my skin. I wanted to stop in the middle of the parking lot, close my eyes, throw my arms out to the side, and twirl in the rain, but I didn't. I thought people may think I was mental if I did. And, then, I started running again - this time alone with no headphones or people to keep me company.
I told myself I'd run out two miles, and if I felt good I'd go another half mile and reevaluate. I ended up running out 3.5 miles which meant I had to run 3.5 back, which meant I ran 7 miles total. Six miles has kind of been my limit for awhile now, but I knew I needed to start pushing more, because I do have a challenging half marathon coming up in September. When I got home, I plugged in my watch to check out my splits. I was pretty proud. They looked something like this: Mile 1, 9:54; Mile 2, 10:40; Mile 3: 10:05; Mile 4: 10:18; Mile 5, 9:54; Mile 6: 9:45; Mile 7: 9:45. You see that? I got faster the last three miles!
Ok, so, those 7 lonely miles brought up some pretty intense and reflective thinking. After all, I had over an hour with myself...only myself to push me through. See I started thinking about all the scar tissue that's probably in my body from all the pavement pounding and injuries and the unhealthy lifestyle I once lead. After all, I can physically feel it more, now that I'm in my thirties. My body reminds me daily that I'm not 21 anymore. I'm not old...far from it. But, for the first time, I'm physically feeling my body start to age. After sitting for awhile, my hips scream at me when I stand. It takes me a minute to get upright sometimes. I'm seeing it too. I see the fine lines I'm getting on my forehead and the puffy circles under my eyes. I see the beginning stages of crows feet. I feel the dreaded hangover after just two, ok maybe three, glasses of wine. It's here - aging - and I'm having one hell of a time with it.
Scar tissue is defined as connective tissue that has contracted and become dense and fibrous. We all have some sort of scar tissue in our body, I'm sure of it. But, on my run as I was thinking about how my body feels different than it used to, I also discovered deep rooted scar tissue binding my spirit. And, this is where it gets really painful.
You see, I've ALWAYS had body image issues. I've NEVER been happy with my body. I've gotten pretty good at covering up how insecure I feel, or at least I think I'm pretty good at covering it up, but I'm always comparing myself to someone else. I hate it. I do go through ups where I feel more confident and comfortable in my own skin. And, ultimately, I know we are all beautiful the way God made us and that should be celebrated. However, when I look at myself in the mirror I can pick out a million things I want to change about myself. Very rarely will I look at myself and pick out the things I like about myself. For years I've been working on improving my own self-image. And, I've been very successful...to an extent.
Back in high school, I remember being so focused on my weight that I'd basically starve myself of nutrition. I'd skip breakfast or eat a Slim Fast bar. I'd eat a handful of pretzels for lunch, and dinner I'd pick at whatever my mom cooked. I had a gym membership, so I'd walk/run on the treadmill. Occasionally, I'd try some group fitness class. In my head, I was being healthy. However, on the weekends, my friend and I would sneak alcohol, pretend to go "midnight bowling," and get drunk. Yea, I started drinking at a very young age (middle school). Not my smartest or shiniest moments.
My drinking habits got heavier as I went off to college. However, my enjoyment of exercise picked up and got more serious. I exercised everyday for at least an hour at the gym. But, I kept gaining weight, because I was drinking a lot of beer and liquor which led to midnight eating. Everything revolved around getting drunk. How I ever managed to work two jobs and take 18 hours worth of classes in college, I'll NEVER understand. As an adult looking back, I can say I fit the textbook definition of an alcoholic from the age of 18 until about 25 or 26. Of course, at the time, I thought I just liked to have fun, but when you drink so much you black out on a fairly regular occasion, it's a problem. The thing about it was, I managed life. I worked full time. I completed graduate school. I volunteered a lot and raised money for various charities. It's just when I wasn't doing all of that I was drinking. All of my friends knew they could call me for a night out partying, and I'd be along for the ride. It was a lot of fun, but it also meant I was "that girl" many times in a bar or at a concert. You never knew what I might say to someone or do - nothing that ever got me into trouble - but it could have. I put myself into some dangerous situations over the years, again in the moment, it was all fun and games. Looking back as an adult, I was a dumb ass.
During my trip to D.C. last week, about 16 hours in a car alone, and on my 7 mile run Saturday, alone, I had a LOT of time to think. Why was alcohol so important to me? Because, I was trying to numb my negative thoughts. Because, I didn't want to face my insecurities. Because, I didn't want to really deal with my past and the anger and resentment it brought out in me. Because, I didn't like what I looked like in the mirror. Because, it's the only way I felt like I could deal with life. Because, life felt happy when I was drunk. Because, I was carefree when I was drinking. Because, life sucked when I had to really live it.
Within the past seven or eight years, I've done a lot of work on myself. I've changed drastically both mentally and physically. I look at pictures of me from back then and hardly recognize the person I see. The girl in those pictures may have volunteered and raised money for charity and graduated from college, but that girl hurt a lot people along the way. Some of the most genuine and sincere and loving people I've ever met, I pushed away because I was afraid to love them. I treated them less than human, because as much as I'd like to believe I cared about their feelings, and as hard as I tried to care about their feelings, the hard and hurtful truth is I didn't. If I had, I would've done things differently, and I wouldn't have blamed a lot of my actions on the phrase, "I'm sorry I was drunk." Because, let's face it, that's one sorry excuse.
At the time, I didn't know these things about myself. I thought I was doing the best I could and my intentions were never to hurt people. But, I did, because my frame of mind was jaded.
Alcohol made me think I was ok with me, yet it was the reason I was overweight and unhealthy. I always wanted to be thinner in high school, y'all I wore a size 4 and weighed 120 pounds at 5'7, seriously?! But, it wasn't always about my body, yeah right. I hated my freckles. I hated my round face. I hated my dark brown hair. I hated my boobs and butt weren't bigger. I got to college and gained 40 pounds by the time it was all said and done. And, then I really hated myself - and the alcohol helped me not hate myself.
I no longer drink like a fish. Alcohol is not crutch for me anymore. I'd much rather face life head on and deal with the scar tissue as I notice it than hide behind a bottle of Crown Royal. At 33, I'm in the best shape I've ever been in, and I'm the healthiest I've ever been. I compare pictures of myself from college and now, and I'm shocked at the difference. Am I where I want to be? No, I don't think I ever will be. But, I am better.
There are so many low valleys between the peaks of the highs, and I've been in a deep valley here recently. I've been in physical pain from my issues and the bloating has made me feel less than attractive. There are days I can barely button my pants or even fit into my yoga pants because my stomach bloats so bad. And, these kind of days really mess with my head. They make me feel fat, and yes, I know, I'm not fat, but my feelings are still real. They make me hate the way I look in photos, so I'd rather avoid them. They make me cry for no reason at all. They make me compare myself to everyone else. They make me focus on everything I hate about myself and forget everything I celebrate about myself.
The difference is I no longer drown these negative thoughts and days in alcohol. I go full force healthy eating and exercise...and I write. The desire to drown sorrows with alcohol isn't there anymore. The hangovers aren't worth it, and I finally allowed myself to love someone, and I don't want to hurt him. The repercussions of drunken-ness aren't worth it. So, yes, I have a drink or two here and there, but I no longer have the drinks to drown the sorrows. I have them to celebrate life and celebrations are already happy occasions, so they take way fewer drinks, haha.
So, that run, that was so difficult for me to get out of bed for, God knew I needed it, so He pushed me out of bed and gave me the strength to do what I needed to do. Since that run, my spirit has felt less bound, and I've allowed myself to talk openly with my husband about things I've always closed off from due to my personal insecurities. In the end, His love and grace was all the "firewater" I needed.
What a journey you have lived. Thank you for sharing your scar tissue, it makes me feel braver.
ReplyDeleteLove you, Jennifer! You ARE so BRAVE!
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