The girl from the past.
I could tell you one of two stories today. The first story would be about the girl who’s back in action after an injury, training for her half marathon and everything is going smoothly. And while that’s happening there’s a more important story to tell. This one is about the girl who’s well… struggling a bit. And since I’ve kept this blog going with the intention of always being honest and using it as a tool to hold myself accountable- I will stick to the latter story.
For the last few months I’ve been coasting. I thought I had this whole maintence thing down. I thought I was invincible. And as a result… I got a bit careless. A few too many fro-yo dates. A couple extra nights where I drank at dinner. The old “I just ran 5 miles so I can eat everything in sight” mentality. Invincibility disolved when the scale recently started showing a slightly higher number than I’m used to a little too frequently. Not enough to make a difference… but enough to make a difference.
I of course went into panic mode. I stood in front of the mirror and tried to pinpoint the culprit spots on my body. My brain immediately transformed what I was looking at in front of me to “that girl” from days gone by. I felt my stomach jump up into my throat. And while I tried to blame it on a million different life factors that I have going on at the moment, in my heart I knew the underlying factor.
This is where I want to hang my head in shame and disappointment. I’m the rockstar, the success story – I shouldn’t be backtracking here. I’m supposed to be thriving, running away from that girl of the past, not letting her creep back in. And as if admitting it to myself isn’t hard enough- the fact that I openly tell my story to the entire world (well, whoever actually reads this little blog) is even more mortifying. Nothing like airing your dirty laundry smack in the middle of the interwebs.
I had two choices. I could deny that this was happening… or I could confront it. I’ve been down that first road before. I remember watching the scale climb higher and higher and pretending I didn’t notice… until it got to the point where I was crying for help. So I did what I knew I had to do. I admitted my setback. I asked for help. I clung to my lifeline.
Ironically just a short while ago I actually saw the girl of the past, in the form of another person. At first glance I was annoyed by her. And then I remembered what that felt like. I remembered that frustrating feeling of being trapped in a body. I remember what it felt like to not be able to do a sit-up, to steam in envy over someone who could run more than from one light pole to the next. It was a very real life reminder of where I’ve come from and what I sometimes take for granted now as the years and months go by. And more importantly- it was a reminder that I am not invincible. I don’t get to move on and pretend the past never happened. This is a part of my story, and my life, forever.
So I’m going to pick my head back up. I’m going to wake up tomorrow and start fresh. I’m going to put one foot in front of the other. And while I’m disappointed in my small setback, I’m proud of myself for recognizing it. I’m proud of myself for admitting it. I’m proud of myself for blogging about it. And I’m proud of myself for promising that I will keep moving forward- I’ve worked too damn hard to ever see that girl in the mirror again.
Just keeping it real here kids.