Kristin Armstrong's Blog, page 17

wag

In the mad dash out this door this morning, our big dog Mercy came barreling past the sea of kids and backpacks and dove straight into the car.  This would be no big deal if you had a normal, well … Continue reading →

Leap

I loved yesterday, Leap Day.  I felt like I had a sly smile on my face all day, like I had gotten away with something beautiful.  An extra day.  Time pried from the greedy, clutching hands of the past.  A … Continue reading →

The Gift

My daughter Isabelle is typically quite happy about any athletic endeavor—family outings, fun with friends, or organized sports. Lately, however, she hasn't been too excited about basketball—complaining about practice and dragging her feet at game time. She only has two … Continue reading →

the gift

My daughter Isabelle is typically quite happy about any athletic endeavor - be it a family outing, fun with friends, or an organized sport.  Lately however she hasn't been too excited about basketball...complaining about practice and dragging her feet at … Continue reading →

Hush

It started late last week, a little catch in my voice, the need to clear my throat more than usual.  Saturday morning I woke up officially scratchy, but had plans to meet Katie for an early run.  I have been … Continue reading →

MILEstones

I have to tell you all that I savored your comments from my post on facing old insecurities. I read them and absorbed them and I want to thank you for your honesty and courage. If we can be collectively authentic about our ghosts, maybe they will lose some of their power to haunt us? I felt a little better after writing about it, and a lot better after hearing from you. Thank you.

I have a friend who is up against something a lot scarier than a ghost—ovarian cancer is her current foe. She is waging a valiant, and so far victorious, war. Not only is she being changed by this experience, she is also using her experience to change the world around her. Charlotte is no victim. Her team of supporters (prayer warriors and trench-mates) is called Team Charlotte. Her logo is a yellow smiley face.

Her updates are chronicled in a weekly email written by her husband, Rob. I would expect Rob to have a detailed, factual account of all the news, and he does, but what I did not expect is that Rob is a fantastic writer. He packs so much insight and emotion into one paragraph that I have to read it again just to make sure. Charlotte is healing, and so is everyone else who reads Rob's letters.

I have to share the message from last week's update because it was so meaningful to me. It is sitting here, next to my computer, written in all CAPS across a page of my journal. He was talking about getting a good report back about blood work, and popping open a bottle of champagne. He lamented the times in the past when he was too busy or too distracted to celebrate milestones. He vowed to make a permanent change in this regard. He posed this question to the team:

"Why are we numb to small victories?"

Why, indeed?  I pose this question to our team. We are runners, this should equate to some familiarity with MILEstones. We celebrate 100 MILEstones, 50 MILEstones, 26.2 MILEstones. We celebrate 13.1 MILEstones. We celebrate six MILEstones. We celebrate three MILEstones. And I bet, at some point, each of us celebrated one MILE-without-walking-STONE.

But, in the course of many miles (aka, life) we can become lazy or cynical about mile markers. Like Rob says, we can become numb to small victories. Maybe we brush them aside, our eyes and hearts fixated on the bigger goal. Or maybe we are afraid to celebrate, thinking that we don't deserve it until we reach the prize, or we will jinx ourselves by counting our chickens before they hatch.

This thinking is not only misguided, it steals our joy! If we reach the big victory our joy will not be diminished by having celebrated steps taken in the right direction along the way. And if we don't reach the goal, we may be disappointed, but we will have fully embraced the journey—and perhaps that is the real prize all along.

What are your small victories this week?

Can you celebrate where you are in your training? A good decision at work? A well-timed word of wisdom to a child or a friend? Holding your temper? Speaking your mind? Passing along a compliment? Offering forgiveness or grace? Accepting forgiveness or grace? Making a good grade on a test? A departure from selfishness? A good check up at the doctor? Taking time for yourself? Making time for your spouse? Finishing the laundry? Or even, stay with me here, making a giant, stupid mistake? (A mistake can be relabeled a victory, because one can argue that we learn far more when we mess up than when we do it right. I messed up big time this week, and I'm counting that misstep as my small victory. It is going to yield change.)

Whatever it is, it doesn't matter—note it. And figure out a way to celebrate it, even if you simply smile at yourself in the mirror. Once our eyes are opened to victories of all sizes, we can see them more easily in ourselves and in everyone else. There is no better feeling than to acknowledge someone else's milestones, especially the little ones that they haven't thought to celebrate. Remind them.

It's better to have growing pains than to grow numb.

Boo

Going to the gym is supposed to be a boost, right?  When you work out, you are supposed to have a nice endorphin kick, rosy cheeks from exertion and that good feeling that comes with knowing that you did something healthy and beneficial for yourself.  Normally, when I run or go to the gym, I finish feeling better than when I started.

Notsomuch this week.

I had a great run with Paige Monday morning. We went longer than we would normally go on a regular old weekday, close to 2 hours.  It was a pretty morning and we were happy to be out and about and in each other's company.  Plus she picked a crazy route that included a section down and around Shoal Creek, complete with hopping across rocks, so we were fully immersed in our happy place.

I was cutting it close to get to the gym, but luckily I had a Lara Bar stashed in my car door, so I could forge ahead without starvation.  My usual workout buddies just completed their half (Robyn and Dinah rocked!) so I was solo working out with Cassie.  This is somewhat painful because you have her full focus, no slackin' off.  If you are her only client, she doesn't just instruct you to do pull-ups and then wander off to check on the other girls. Noooooo, she stays right there and watches while you quiver and kick and gasp for air.  It was hard, especially after that run.  But I was excited I could (almost) hang in there.

Then comes the part that turned my smile upside down.

Someone made a comment to me, wrapped in some dubious compliment, that felt like a taser zap.  It woke every sleeping ghost of younger-era-body-image-haunting.  The ghosts started howling and rattling their chains, reminding me of all the years I spent in bondage to the lies that I wasn't good enough, pretty enough, thin enough, blah blah blah.  I tried to shake it off, telling myself this person likely meant nothing by it.  Or perhaps it was a real compliment? (it sure didn't feel like one)  But it stung and I could not wait to flee to my car and drive away.

It gave me renewed compassion for those who are still in chains and reawakened awareness for what my daughters (all our daughters) face.  I am forty years old – too old to be so concerned about what people think of me, and old enough to know the body is a shell for the precious contents. I know better.  I know I am fit enough and healthy enough, all that.  But yet, the Ghost of Body Image Past still scares the *^(&  out of me.  Clearly I am not so healed as I thought, when one comment can send my thoughts into a tailspin.  What is it with that?  What is it with me?

I speak to women and young girls about health and healing in this area!  On one hand this makes me feel like a joke.  On the other hand, being honest about something so personal and vulnerable might be the only way to earn the right to even broach the subject with someone caught in its grip.

I wonder if I am alone in these things.  I'm going to ask some of my friends if they have moments like this, sucked back into the vortex of old insecurities.  I want to ask you the same question.

We are runners, we are strong and evolved when it comes to respecting the body more for what it can do than what it looks like. And at the same time, we are human, and our bodies and minds carry memories and baggage.  How do we hold our hard earned ground when the world is so full of toxic messages and sleeping ghosts can awaken and arise?

Boo.

Welcome

Last week I talked about dread.  This week I want to talk about overcoming.

Sometimes the thing you fear or the person or situation you want to avoid is upon you, whether you like it or not.  As runners we are pretty adept at changing our pace, alternating our route, and overcoming obstacles.  We train ourselves, literally, to find some sort of comfort in the midst of our discomfort.  Our training serves us well in every area of our lives.  I recently faced my dread, and paced myself from start to finish.  Every hill I ever ran and every mile I ever clocked served me and got me through.  I want to remind you that our training is never, ever wasted.  Enough about my week.

I have two dear friends, Robyn and Dinah, who have recently truly become runners.  They ran before, but now they are runners.  And this weekend is their debut – the 3M Half Marathon in Austin.  I train in the gym with these girls every Monday.  They run on the treadmill to warm up and I usually squeak in at the last moment, sweaty, stinky and red-faced, just in from my run outside.  Cassie, our trainer, always asks me about my run that weekend, or my race if I recently completed one or have one on the horizon.  Dinah and Robyn have always been polite, expressing the interest of a friend but not the understanding of a teammate.  Until now.

I see the transformation before my eyes – they are stronger, more sure.  They have the shy smile of someone who has a good secret.  They have a new identity and I want to welcome them to the club.  I have thought a lot about them and their big race this weekend.  Here is what I want to say to them:

Dear Robyn and Dinah,

I feel tentative about saying these things to your face, I'm always better on paper.  I know this is a big week for you and I am in solidarity with you.  I think of you, early on Sunday morning.  Hopefully you will have slept well, but perhaps, if you get nervous like me, you may wake up groggy and with an anxious tummy.  Don't worry about this, your head and stomach will clear and settle.  I think the first time you lace up and pin your number on your shirt is a big moment.  Note the moment and let it sink in that you have crossed over to a new place. The way it feels to step up to the start line is another big moment.  Remember that you have worked hard and your work has earned you the right to fit in and be part of something bigger than yourselves.  It's a movement, a family, a shelter, a touchstone – it's the running community. And you are now part of it, part of us. Both of you are amazing wives and mothers.  You have done great things in your own careers and in support of your husbands'.  You are loyal friends.  And now you have another definition – you are runners.

The miles ahead of you, both on Sunday and ever after, will shape you and refine you…balance you and heal you.  You have a place to go, a moving sanctuary, to work out your stuff.  Some miles will be easy and light.  Others will be like plodding through wet sand.  Eventually you will be equally grateful for both.  Your experience on the hills will serve you well; and your approach to them and triumph over them will alter the way you face challenges of any kind.

I am here for you, and happy for you.  You are embarking on the finest journey and you have no idea how much fun you will have as you grow.  The eyes of your beautiful children are upon you.  Go Mommy, Go! You are showing your sweethearts, one stride at a time, that they can go on adventures and chase big dreams.  When you cross that finish line this weekend, you are victorious.  You are brave.  You are strong.  You are new.  Blessings over you girls on Sunday.  Welcome and Godspeed.

Love you,

Kik

Stones

Dread is such a waste of time and energy – but we all do it from time to time.  We look out into the future, and focus in on something or someone we wish we could avoid.  The person or the circumstance grows into unhealthy proportions in our mind, occupying space usually reserved for brighter and better things.  It looms in the distance, casting a shadow across our inner horizon.

My head knows that dread is useless.  I even read something this week that explains how God doesn't want us to dread and worry, because he intends for us to experience difficult things one at a time, with his help.  When we dread, we experience the thing over and over again, rehearsing it and carrying the weight of all the associated emotion.  This leaves us drained and fearful, so when a real challenge presents itself, we are not at our best.

This week I had to do something about dread.  Something was eating me alive and I needed to stop being a chew toy.  Paige took me on a run and pointed me in the direction of something I had been intentionally avoiding lately, in kind of a complacent stand off with my running – HILLS.  Funny how the thing you avoid is often the thing you need the most.

She took me on a route that we hadn't done in forever – UP Mt. Bonnell.  And it's a sucker.  An oxygen sucker, to be precise.  It's steep and unforgiving and there is no way out once you commit.  No turns.  No detours.  Just UP.  And up we went.  I love how on a hill, no matter how great your conversation may be, there is an unspoken moment where everyone involved decides to table it.  Silence prevails while each runner focuses on the task at hand, arms pumping, legs churning, lungs burning.  It is precisely in that silence that the hill becomes personal.

Whatever we are working on, mulling over, avoiding, contemplating facing, or rehearsing in our minds becomes literal.  It's you and the thing and the thing becomes the hill and there you are – taking it on.  There is a certain amount of clarity that oxygen deprivation provides.  Couple that with pain and you get the inner hum that becomes white noise and suddenly you can think.

As we crested the hill (which is a double dipper by the way, just when you think you are done you get one more for good measure) I was hopeful for a "turn and retreat." But no.  Paige wasn't done with me.  We went UP Balcones, then turned left and went UP some more.  Then we wound our way back to Mt. Bonnell and took the rocky trail that leads to the top.  It's so pretty up there with the blue sky and the serpentine curves of Lake Austin below.  We found stones and placed them on the ledge.  We do this whenever we have something personal to name and leave behind; when we desperately need our run home to have a lighter load.

I decided it was time to be done with dread.  It's time to put my energy and effort back into the moment.

The stone stays there to mark the promise to myself.

Iwouldbut

Hopefully you have made some time to think about the things you want for and from yourself in 2012.  A friend of mine shared how powerful it is to write out goals from the perspective of "one year later" as in "I am ten pounds lighter," or "I trained for and ran my first marathon," or "I weighed every decision against my priority of putting my family first; if it didn't match, I said no." She encouraged several of us to write out a list of things that would be crazy cool as in, pie in the sky, big dreamer, 'out there' thinking.  Things we could imagine if we had no barriers.

This, of course, got me thinking about barriers.  I decided a nice, long solo run would be the perfect way to sort this out.

Some barriers are legitimate to a certain extent.  A nursing mom should not probably not start a business, adopt a puppy, build a new house, invite her mother in law to move in, launch a non-profit, go back to school and open an in-home day care- all at the same time. Right?  Now that I've written this, someone will comment that they did all that (or they have a friend who did) while training for an Iron Man.  Anyway, you get my point.  It all comes down to a now-famous Ethel-ism (my mother is Ethel) – "You can do anything sweetheart, just not at the same time."

But what about other barriers.  The kind we label barriers but might actually smell more like excuses upon a second whiff.

Can you come up with a few "I Would But" statements?  I sure can.

Allow me to be your springboard.

I would (blank), but I….

Don't have enough time

Don't have the resources

Don't have the willpower

Don't have the confidence

Can you smell the excuses?  So can I.  They smell like fear.  A lot of times I think that Can'ts and Don'ts are really Wants and Won'ts.  Every single barrier we erect, every detour sign we set out, goes much deeper than the label we give it.  Take one of your Would Buts and hose it off until it's standing there, clean and naked in front of you.  Now label it.

I'm afraid to try because I might fail.

I'm afraid people will laugh at me.

My mom said my sister was the smart one.

My PE teacher laughed at me in fourth grade.

I can hide behind being a mom and be busy all day long.

I can hide behind these ten pounds.

What if I can't finish and everyone knows I'm starting?

It might hurt (to run a race, to get in shape, to say what I'm actually thinking, to love again).

Once we get to the naked truth about our barriers, we can take a good long look at the fears that hold us back.  We can trace them back to where they came from and see if they are still as scary as they used to be.  Only then can we truthfully decide if we are willing to go for it, to allow our won't to become our will.