January 20, 2015
On Saturday January 17, 2015 I realized that I like to run because it makes me stronger. Not stronger like Matthew Innman's Oatmeal:
But mentally stronger. During the last 5 miles of Saturday's 21.7 mile run, I felt feelings that I have never felt while running. Here is an abbreviated list of things I have felt while running: I want to vomit, runner's high, I have to stop and poop behind this bush or I will poop on myself, this sunrise is so pretty I wish I could take a photo of it and post it on Instagram for nobody to care about, fuckfuckfuckfuck, I love everyone, I hate everyone, look there is a doughnut in the street... I wonder if it still tastes good?
On Saturday though, I dug so deep to finish this run that I scooped out some real gnarly shit. Like when your cell phone drops between your car seat and the console and you reach in there and invariably touch something really sticky that you are hoping it is something less gross than seman/vomit/poop/melted marshmallows (you choose your poison). I pulled up some feelings that had no business being there. All I was looking for was the strength to tell my body "fuck you knees and hips, I am finishing this shit with or without you!"
Now that I am 30, I have become an expert at the 'fake it till you make it' game. Also known as "bury your feelings until you forget about them until you are real drunk and make a scene." The hope is that everyone else is just as drunk and nobody notices.
So as I was digging deep for strength, I was also unearthing these thoughts that I had worked so hard to bury. You know, the "You are not good enough for anything/anyone" thoughts.
And so I found myself running down Congress at a pretty good pace giving myself a pep talk "Come one Mary! Fucking finish this shit so PANCAKES" and trying to ignore the "You will be alone forever just go ahead and stop and curl up next to that homeless guy that just offered you a shot of whisky. And do some meth while you are at it 'cause fuck it who needs teeth anyway?"
And there was this battle raging.
And you know who won? PANCAKES.
And that is how running has made me stronger.
January 15, 2015
A couple of days ago I went to a yoga class at my gym. As I entered the room, this hot little 20-year-old was complaining about how she "forgot" to bring her tank top. "Do you think I could just wear this?" THIS being a lacy (probably from the Urban Outfitters) sports bra. "Do you think it is too sexy?" she asked her friend. But really she was asking everyone around her. I looked at her, shrugged my shoulders and said "Uhhh I doubt anyone cares. I am sure it is fine."
BITCH. You know you are sexy. And you know your stupid sports bra is sexy. Shut up. She was definitely fishing for complements. And attention. But I guess that is what you do at age 20. And 30...
I hobbled over to my mat in my non sexy yoga attire. The teacher opened the class by asking if anyone had any injuries. As people listed off common injuries/tight areas it came around to sexy sports bra girl. "No, I do not have any injuries. BUT. Well. My heart hurts. Does that count?"
WHAT?! Can you actually say that? Why have I not thought of that before? Sexy sports bra girl just got real deep in yoga class. And you know what? My heart was hurting a little as well. But I was not about to admit it. I prefer the "fake it till you make it" method.
The teacher's reply was quick and appropriate. With a smile she warmly replied, "Well, there are no yoga modifications to alleviate that."
But there are also no life modifications to alleviate that. Except time. And wine. But mostly time. And time is a jerk.
Later after class we were all gathered in the locker room in various states of dress. Sexy sports bra girl walks in with her friend to find that our tiny sauna was full. But also, there were no towels. I assumed someone was playing a cruel summer camp practical joke on me. Turns out the dryer was broken. Shows how trusting I am...
Anyway, sexy sports bra girl turns to her friend "Well, I am ok with going balls out in there. I mean, we were all born naked, right?" In most cases, I would agree with you sexy sports bra girl. Being naked is my second preferred state. Number one is wearing soft pants. BUT. Nobody in that room wants to sit on your vagina juices. Sit on a goddamn towel woman.
Oh to be 20 again. Maybe I should get some sexy sports bras.