Losing and Finding

Sorry for the blogging hiatus! Lent makes pastors lose their minds with crazyness-- and this pudgy parson was no exception!  But here I am-- mentally back intact, slightly less pudgy (umm 1.5 inches lost in my thighs, nearly 3 lost in my hips...thank you, Weight Watchers--and running my...butt...off!) and ready, once again, to do this thing.

On March 17-- I lost. I had been training for a 5k with the hopes of finally running the whole thing.  I was ready, mentally and physically.  I had my faithful cheering squad positioned at the finish line, where I was going to be seen smiling from ear to ear as my face said, "Yeah. I did that.  Now what?"  Only it didn't go that way.  I'd been nursing a nasty case of shin splints for several weeks, and on the day of the race, they decided to be particularly mean. A mile into the race, I sent my husband the text "1 mile down, and I'm about to cry from pain." I tried to jog really gently, but my legs were done.  To have continued would have meant sure injury.  So I walked.  I managed to sprint the last quarter mile, but my spirit was crushed and angry.   And just because my body was really spiteful, crawling into bed that night, I seem to have pulled an overly tight hamstring.  I limped through church--and had to explain to my well meaning but curious parishioners that I hurt myself running. I had to stomach the not so well hidden "Running? Really? With how big you are?"looks.   I lost that day. I lost a notion that races have to go as planned to be successful.  I lost a need to prove something to myself, even at the cost of injury.  I lost the belief that I could make my body my slave (that's scriptural!).  But I didn't just lose that day.  I found.

I found a desire to try again, a deep seated belief that I needed to work with and listen to my body.  I found truth in the idea that every step counts, and that to have finished the race at all made it successful.  As soon as the hamstring healed, I walked a few days.  I began slowly running.  I started training for a 10k.  And I've picked out another 5k (and a half marathon...in december...but that's another story.  A girl always needs a dream!)

The pudgy parson might have "lost" the race.  Or maybe the pudgy parson found what it is to be a real athlete.   Either way, she's happy that she's a little less pudgy-- because that was the goal to begin with!