I've been talking in my head for weeks about spiritual gifts, raising little girls, being a young wife, and increasing my milk supply/cup size by drinking Mother's Milk tea on the regular (the illusion of perkiness is what matters here, folk) but instead, I bring to you this little nugget of my life:
Back up to last Saturday.
I quit my fast, decide I'm special enough to back out of my promises to God. And I'm antsy.
Monday comes along and I tell Eamon "I just need to sweat" (which I follow up with a stern reminder that certain sweaty activities need to wait 'less we end up with Burke Baby number 3).
So while the girls nap I pop in 30 Day Shred and get after it. Strange thing though...I don't die. True story. I lived to tell the tale. As a matter of fact, I hardly broke a sweat. The sad, sad truth of it all, is that it's so much easier for me to work out with 40 pounds off of me that I was working with this time last year. (From post-partum weight until now, I've lost a total of 60 pounds. And I would gain it all back if I could have pizza once a week again. Bet.)
The next morning I woke up sore, but not the dibilating soreness that I'm used to. Sure, I played it up and made Eamon get all the groceries off of the bottom shelves for me, but it really wasn't that bad.
Then, one of my friends posted on facebook that she needs a running buddy. I live like 5 seconds from her so it was kind of a no brainer. The catch- H is flipping super woman. Homegirl runs like 10+ miles a week which is exactly 10+ more miles than I've ran in about 5 years. So there's that.
All week I stay active, stare at Jillian's flexi-Barbie Doll abdomen, make sure I sweat a little (which, by the way is harder than it used to be. Why didn't you skinny people tell me you're freezing ALL THE TIME?!) and kinda dread Friday morning. The morning I said I'd "run" with Hannah. It finally occurs to me, I've never ever ever in my whole life ran without an inhaler. I used to have acute asthma and use 3 different inhalers a day, at least. My body has never ran without steroids in it's lungs. Yes they help, and man did they take away the pain, but I have no idea what my body is actually capable of.
This morning comes, and I'm pretty sure I'm in the clear, it's raining. YESSSSS. Time to stay in bed.
But lo and behold...7:30 rolls around and the rain has subsided. That takes care of that. Let's do this.
I stretch and decide to take a "warm up run" to the farmers market where we are supposed to meet. The first few blocks are up hill, then it's all downhill. Halfway up the hill I start having a hard time. We're talking a few blocks people. But I decide to just go, just push, let's see what I can do today.
I make it to the top of the hill, then feel the freeing, exhilarating feeling of running down hill on a misty morning. I've never actually experienced that. I realize then that I've been keeping my pace with my favorite praise song in my head (couldn't find my ipod) and take the few minutes to enjoy the morning and invite God into my run. And just like that, I was at the Farmer's Market.
By the time my sweaty, still somehow gorgeous at 8 in the morning friend gets there she says "Oh, I've already run 3 miles, but I could do another if you want."
Oh. right. You already did three. I did...what, 5 blocks...that's like...at least five miles. Psh. Easy.
As to not look like a wimp, I take her up. My run there was great. I felt good. And just like any great 90s sitcom, I all of a sudden can't run. My calf starts seizing up on me and this spritely gazelle in front of me sees past the gorgeous, ambiguously mixed race goddess, and sees the frizzy headed 7th grader complaining to her basketball coach that "It Hurts." Thanks calves. Traitors.
So I go around the block with her and take the walk of shame limping home.
Oh, but don't worry, once I got on my street I made sure to sprint the last few blocks home, I also laid out in my front yard, did some of my best yoga cool down moves, and some bicycle crunches so, you know, everyone would think I was doing that the whole time. Chumps.
Rewind again to Thursday. Eamon is trying his hardest to sweetly tell me how foolish I am for quitting my fast because it was hard. The fasting part wasn't hard, but the not getting any business, not being able to stay in touch with my friends, not feeling supported (read, not having someone cheer for me every time I didn't log on to facebook and tell me how awesome I am). Forget the fact that instead of wasting time I've been digging deep into my photography craft. Instead of scrolling through friends that I've hid on fb because I am jealous of their lives, stirring up bitterness in my heart, I am more familiar with the map of my Bible. Forget the fact that instead of thinking in status updates and concerning myself with why I didn't get more "likes" for the clearly hilarious comment I left on someone's picture, I have actually caught myself praying, or worshiping our Savior without knowing it.
As I sat down to write this, I realized that this fast has been like my first run without an inhaler.
I'd never done something like that before. I was so excited to see how far I could push my body, to defy what I thought my lungs were capable of, and fool myself into thinking I wasn't going to smack myself in my face with my boobs. I was eager to see what my body could do without those helpful steroids. But my soul...my soul I've kept more guarded. Instead of nurturing an eagerness to push my spiritual limits, I was content with the help of those steroids. I wanted that '"feel good fast." The one where, since your fasting, you and all of your friends become closer, you get a raise, and you never have a bad hair day. You're encouraged by all of these good things that forward motion is easy. Your lungs never burn, your calves never seize up.
A few hours ago I checked my "Map My Run" website, knowing that I didn't actually finish the route that I'd planned for that morning. Mapping what I ran and walked back [not including the block that I totally failed at being impressive with my friend] and it was a mile and a half! Not bad, right?! Then I mapped just what I ran... Three quarters of a mile! Half of that was uphill! I can't remember when I ran .75 miles consecutively, let alone without my inhaler.
Needless to say, I am continuing [possibly starting over] my fast.
Here's something else I've been "digging into" (boooo! ;] )
Hopefully this fall we will have sweet potatoes!
Hope you all have a great Father's Day weekend.