Size 8 jeans. Despite the Ding Dongs I am suddenly now addicted too. I think it's my mothers fault for never giving us that crap as kids. It's like grown up guilty crack. So I am not doing any extreme diet. I am trying my very best to unwire the way I was wired from birth. ALL or NOTHING. You had a Ding Dong? Eat three boxes and screw this losing weight thing. You are tired of lettuce leaves with fat free dressing? Too bad lady, eat like an honest to goodness rabbit or else.
It goes against every cell in my body that screams, "More is better!" To this day I can not make coffee without adding just a few more heaping giant spoons because more is better even if you end up with black sludge. I am an extremist. If I can't do something perfectly or with some amount of guaranteed success at a not too much later date then I'm done with it. It is a miracle I kept throwing clay on that wheel in college because two years of throwing and my pots even at 2 inches tall weighed 20 pounds and that my non pottery acquainted friends is NOT a good thing. I think there must have been cute boys in those classes to motivate me.
So now I am going to talk about God. This is your chance to scoot on out of here if you are not super into that sort of thing.
Here we go. For the past few weeks whenever I got on the treadmill and ran ever so slowly at a 1.0 incline I hit a wall at thirty minutes (sometimes 15) and I had to stop. It has been infuriating and depressing and I tried every single thing I could think of to snap out of it. I ate a banana before or didn't. I tried more sleep, more food, less food, more coffee, less coffee, different shoes, extra water and every variation I could think of. When I thought about quitting I would praise myself for not being a quitter. This is how it went in my head:
"Greta, you are awesome, you are a real trooper showing up at the gym day after day. Even when defeated by running you keep at it. It will be better next time."
So I'm somehow still feeling okay and as I was giving myself props for not quitting to a very wise friend she gently asked me where my focus has been.
It's been on size 8 jeans and Saucony sneakers. How to keep the hair out of my eyes and searching for a hand towel without embroidered pirates or bleached out Disney characters to bring to the gym. Whether or not my shorts are clean and how to bribe the younger kids to go to the gym without a lot of fuss. And to be very very honest I am at a point where I am comfortable and I'm not sure that I want to work all that hard.
So, me. The focus has been on me.
I have been trying to run under my own power. My own will and it has failed me over and over again. And because I am so caught up with being "one who exercises" I started to let that define me. If I run well I am a good person. If I run poorly there must be a way to fix it. I am that mom in spandex and I like it.
Last Friday I walked up to one of Sadie's classmates mom (who I have seen kicking ass running at the gym) and asked her for advice. She told me to aim for 31 minutes and then the next time 32 minutes and so on.
Yesterday I got on the treadmill and I prayed and it went something like this:
"31 minutes God. Please help me get to 31 minutes. I am first yours and then the other things. I am your daughter and you created in me a desire to run. You give me dreams where I run. You give me moments of peace when I run. Help me run. Help me not give up. Thank you. Thank you for getting me to this place. Thank you for reminding me through running where I should place my focus. Not on deeds or acts or miles and times. On you Lord."
There was also a lot of sweat and heavy breathing and The Police on the highest volume and some sort of home show on the t.v. screen in front of me just in case you think I'm some sort of awesome Christian. I'm not. I am the most forgetful of Christians. When life works I turn back to me and then when it gets hard or doesn't go the way I think it should I remember to pray.
Yesterday I ran for 35 minutes. I just wanted to get to 31 and God in his infinite goodness gave me 35 minutes. Tomorrow I'm going to shoot for 36 and more prayer. Then I'm going to put on my size 8 jeans, eat a Ding Dong and remember to thank Him.