Doorways, Darkness, and Light

When your life seems too hard, when all you can see is the blackness around you, when it seems like it's never going to end. What ever you do, just don't quit. Because eventually, if you keep pushing forward, you'll find the doorway. You'll find a way out. At first it may just be that you can see a little light highlight the wall next to you, but if you keep moving towards it, eventually that doorway will be found. And when you look at that doorway, you'll see something more incredible than you ever could have imagined. So don't quit. When the darkness seems overwhelming just keep pushing on. You may come out of the darkness banged up and bruised, but it won't destroy you unless you let it. Search for that light, whatever it is in your life, for me, it's learning to love myself, and letting go of my mistakes, for you it may be something completely different. But whatever it is, keep stumbling through the darkness until you find it, because once you do, every step that you took through the darkness will be worth it, and you'll wonder how you could have despaired when something so incredible was waiting for you at the end.

Accepting, Awareness, and Happiness

I came to another important realization this weekend, which I think my last blog had a lot to do with. I am happy. Happier than I think I've ever been. After my last semester of school being so awful, that surprises me. But it's the truth. I am not like perma-grin happy. But down to earth completely content. You want to know what I think makes that difference? That makes me happy when before I was struggling to be that way? It's because I finally gave myself permission to love myself. Permission to accept my faults and flaws as part of what makes me unique, even as I still work to change the ones that I can. Permission to be okay with it when I'm not perfect. Permission to stop taking other people's problems on as my own. But most of all, I gave myself permission to look at how far I have come, rather than how far I have left to go. And that makes a big difference. There are still a lot of things in my life that could be better. People who I wish would change, decisions I wish they would make differently, but it doesn't matter, because I'm happy with me, and that is the biggest part of the journey.

So once again, I dare my readers, I dare you to learn to love yourself. I dare you to not only accept your flaws, but to love yourself for them. Dare to let go of the problems that other people try to put on you, dare to push past them dumping their low self-esteem onto you because you know that you are worth more than that. Dare to find out who you are and love that person even as you continue to try and become who you want to be.

Daring, Dreaming, and Improving

I've been doing a lot of thinking today and I've realized some important things. I've realized that it's not enough to look at where you are in your life, instead, you have to look at where you are in comparison to where you used to be. It's no good to judge yourself for what you are doing if you don't do it in the context of what you used to do. Remember that. I was thinking about my failed marathon attempt, thinking about how I spent 2 hours berating myself and basically loathing myself for being a failure, but then today I realized, I'm not a failure. Not even close. So, I didn't finish this marathon, but next time I will. And I started to think about the path that put me where I am today, and I realized that I truly am not a failure.

Two years ago, probably close to the day actually, I decided that I could run a marathon. Not necessarily that I wanted to, but that I could. At that point I'm not even sure I had ever ran a mile without stopping in my entire life. It's sad, but it's true. Physical activity has never been my focus or my strong suit. But I decided that I could, and so I started trying to make myself run. I don't remember that first time running a mile without stopping, but I remember quite vividly to this day how it felt the first time I ever ran 2 miles without stopping. It hurt, it was sooo hard, and I didn't think I could do it, but as I watched the distance tick downwards on the tredmill, every part of my body screamed out in joy and pride. All I wanted to do was cry because it was a step forward that I hadn't thought I could accomplish. Then the first time I ever ran 4 miles, my dad and brother made me, and not even two miles in, I broke down and cried, because it was too hard, because I didn't think I could do it, because I felt I was holding them back and making them run too slow, but I pushed past it, and I made it those 4 miles. I was sore for two days.

When I look back at those days, really look back and remember what it felt like to be that person, it surprises me. I don't really remember that person. The thought of running 4 miles doesn't scare me like it did then, I actually really enjoy a run after I reach mile 4, and to be honest, that scares me a little. That I have come that far without even realizing, and looking down on myself is a little frightening. How can I be so blind to my own progress and strength? I ran 10.5 miles on an injured foot, without stopping once, with almost no training. I finished 24 miles of a marathon with absolutely no training. Most people don't dare to dream enough to get out there and try that. Maybe I didn't run a marathon in 3 and a half hours, yeah, maybe I didn't even finish, but I dared to try. I dared to try and become the person that I want to be, and proved to that girl who was proud of her first ever two miles, that it will pay off, and that I can do it. If I can almost finish a marathon with no training, what can I do if I train? The concept of how unlimited I am is truly amazing.

So I'd like to encourage everyone who will read this to go for your dreams. Dare to have them, dare to try for them. But most of all, dare to believe in yourself. Dare to accept your failures and part of the path that will lead you closer to who you really want to be. Most of all, dare to be positive. Dare to overcome the little things and don't condemn yourself because you didn't make it as far as you wanted. It's not where you are that matters, it's where you came from that makes the difference.

Pain, Pride, and Well, More Pain...

Well, it's that time again. Time for an update on the going-ons in my life down here in ole Cedar for the summer. Things have been going good overall. I have been working at the Lin's Pharmacy, working towards my Pharm. Tech. Ceritification. It's been interesting, and I'm learning alot so far. I love how much the Pharmacists here know. I hope to someday get to know near as much as they do. I've been very blessed to get to work with two different Pharmacists and it's really great to be able to learn from each of them. They both do things differently of course and it's great to pick up things I like and don't like that they do so that I can someday implement them into my career and be as good at my job as possible. Hopefully the tech certification will be enough to get me into the school that I want to get into. Here's to hoping in December, right?

So, quick update on my grades, I ended up pulling high enough grades to keep my scholarship for my final year. YAY me!!! I'm not exactly proud of my grades this last semester, and I could have used a higher GPA while applying for Pharm school, but I'm still grateful to have all 4 years of my undergrad almost completely paid for.

Anyway, so here's the story that I'm sure you've been waiting for, or maybe not, who knows. My marathon story. I wish that I could say it was as good as my half story, or that I had as much pride in it as I did for that. Unfortunately I can't, but here it is anyway. So as any long time follower of this blog knows, I have been planning to run a full-marathon for about 2 years now, but it seems that something always gets in the way of my training. This year, after injuring my foot before the half and the trying to give it time to recover, I lost some of that time. It started really getting managable again around January, about the time that school started again, and so the training began. Of course, since it was early, I only included short runs, between 5 and 7 miles. I did good on this for about a month, so now we are in February. At that point my dad signed us up, and I felt like I was going to be ready because I had been doing good with the training. Then shortly after that the semester decided to completely swamp me, and everything but trying to keep my head above water school wise pretty much took a backseat. Unfortunately that included training. So my training dwindle, I kept telling myself, "I still have time, I'll be fine, once things kind of slow down I'll get some serious running done." Well, things just kept going and before I knew it I only had a month left before the run. Now granted, I should have gotten serious at that point, but things just didn't seem to work out, there was always some reason that I couldn't fit in any really serious runs in, and then it was too late.

Maybe a week and a half before the Marathon, I caught one of the nastiest bugs I have had in a very long time. I don't know what it was, but man was I sick. My head was constantly spinning and pounding and my stomach never stopped hurting. It was not very fun and didn't help much with preparing to run.

The day of the race dawned (figuratively as it was about 330 in the morning and the sun had yet to show it's face), and I loaded a bus filled with others with high hopes for there own several hours of insanity. We stood around a campfire while waiting for the race to start, and I could feel my dread building even more than it already had. What was I doing there? I didn't belong there with all of those people talking about their goals of under 4 hours. I simply wanted to finish (meaning 6 hours), and I wasn't even sure I could manage that. I wasn't prepared, I wasn't ready, and I knew without a doubt that this was going to hurt. But there was no going back. There was no getting out of it. There was no bus to take me back down to my bed that I had so insanely left. And so, filled with complete abject terror, I moved towards the starting line as the time drew near. I put in my headphones, turned on a book, and the gun sounded and we were off. I started off feeling decent about it. I was keeping up a pace that would have put me finishing around 5 hrs and 20 min. I was feeling okay about it. I hit a good stride around 4 miles, then some rolling hills between 7 and 9 that kicked my butt. I also hit some intense hunger around mile 7 as well. Note to potential runners, eat a good breakfast before the run. You will need it. Between miles 9 and 11, I was feeling pretty good again. I passed everyone who had passed me between 7 and 9 and made up a little of the time I had lost on those miles. Then I hit around mile 12 and I started to get really light headed, a residue of my ridiculous bug. I lost a little more time but I kept pushing on. I passed the half marathon start at almost exactly 3 hours, slower than I would have liked, but still on time, and things went down hill from there. I pushed on walking and running up until mile 15, but between my hunger, my spinning head, and my tensing calf muscles my body was starting to give up on me. I wish I could push my body to it's limits rather than the ones my brain sets, because I know that my body has alot more to give, I just don't know how to make it get there.

Anyway, around mile 16 I was still fighting for it, but then the six hour pacer walked by me and let me know that if I didn't finish in front of him I wouldn't get a medal, and with that, the fight went out of me. I'll admit it, I just flat out quit. I could have kept running some but realizing that I could push all that way through the pain I was then feeling and it wouldn't even count?!? I just gave up. At that point, I didn't try to run anymore, but I kept walking. It sucked because after the 6 hour pacer the aid stations closed down, meaning that after mile 18 I no longer was provided with water, but what can you do. I walked, and walked, and took off my race number because I was tired of people telling me good job, when I felt like I was doing anything but. I'll admit it, I was ashamed of myself. I didn't finish what I had set out to do. But I was still walking. Around mile 23.5 I was hot, thirsty, and my legs were starting to kill, I still planning on walking those last three miles, giving it everything I had not to break down, and then it happened. I was attacked by a flock of birds. I am being dead serious. A group of birds all came out of a hedge and started dive bombing my head. Now seeing that I am actually terrified of birds, that was the last straw. I lost it. There was no more left in me to fight with. And so at mile marker number 24 I stepped into the shade and there I waited until my parents, realizing I wouldn't make it, came and picked me up. So, I made it 24 miles of my first marathon. I'm frustrated with myself for not finishing, but honestly, with the training I had I shouldn't have even made it that far, and after how I feel today, I don't feel so bad.

Today I can hardly walk. My muscles are killer sore and the whole side of one foot is a blister. Basically, I'm not frustrated that I didn't finish in 6 hours, because I know that my body didn't have it in it to do it. It wasn't just me being weak and quitting. Granted, I should have trained more, but I didn't, and I did my best. And now there is next year. I will train this time and I will finish. Of course, after I can finally walk again.

But my dad and sister did great. My dad finished in under 4 hours, and my sister finished the half in 2:45. Go them. I'm proud of them. But now I will limp my way upstairs and crash, hoping that I will be able to walk at work tomorrow and won't be teased too terribly bad.