I'm a runner. Both physically and mentally. When shit gets hard I run. I'm not the most organized person. I'm not always the most passionate. When it gets hard I up and leave.
I do love water, but I'd much rather have coffee. It just tastes better. I'm all for some soda, but my body doesn't handle it.
I run.
It's easier. Why put up a fight when you can just walk away?
Who needs tears?
Food works.
But then again I have a butt. I have hips. I get a tummy. When I use food.
When I workout, it shows. I get lean. I get muscles and my butt, hips, and tummy go small.
I'm 29.
The first 28 years weren't great.
Of course having a kid at 23 was a great joy and surprise, but in the past few weeks it has really hit home. I wasn't ready. It would be so easy to run. She started Kindergarten a week ago today. I didn't get to take her that first day because I'm a teacher. I had to wait for the picture. It would be easy to leave her in my parents care so I could find another life. I stuck it out. I didn't run. I've wanted to but I haven't.
I let my health go. I almost had cancer. My doctor rocked it out and I got my first clean results in a year. I had good results for 2 years then I had two come back questionable. It felt good to finally see good. I'm hoping the next ones are just as good! Couldn't run because my doctor came after me. Sometimes others keep you on path.
I weighed 230 pounds a year ago. I did. I didn't care. I ate whatever I wanted, but I didn't look good. I looked fat. I had a stomach and 52 inch hips. My thighs were 40 inches. The same as my waist! Yea I ran from looking good. Correction, I thought I looked good. I didn't.
I've had several crappy/shitty relationships. All depressing. All control freaks. None the right fit. Running fit perfectly here.
Running cannot always be my answer to the hard things in life.
I currently weigh 180 pounds. I have weighed 172 about a month ago. It didn't keep. It is okay. I will get there. Last night I wanted to just give in. Instead of running, I biked. Call it reality, but I couldn't run. I could bike. I could cry and boy did I ever. It was probably my slowest 6 miles I've biked in a LONG time, but I let it all out. In the end I had no clue why I cried. For frustrations. For fears. For pain. For getting my trainer on my ass. It hurt to get his text message, but I've either got to get in or get out. He cares enough to tell me I deserve to be in the 140s. If I'm working so hard why am I eating so shitty?
Running 5 K's is what I do. Running from life is no longer an option. I will be a success and if I eat clean and work out, how long is this really going to take?
I plan on writing down my feelings in this journal. I'm a writer by nature. It may not always make sense but it will be here. I will also write down food I eat at times and how I'm handling stresses.
Here's to getting my running legs back and for using them for the right reasons!
Happy Runnings,
Shortie
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