I am still not a runner. I may run, but running is not in my heart. It is not out of love for running that I run, but something very different.
Recently I ran passed a house not far from our own, and a man who always appears to be drunk, started hollering at me, "Are you okay?"
I was having an off day. I never found my breathing rhythm (at least that's what Hotsauce calls it) and I was struggling to breathe let alone talk, so I respond, "Yes." More out of fear that he would call 911 thinking I was being pursued by an attacker, then to bring any kind of peace of mind to him.
"So, what are you doing??"
"Running." I don't stop, because I'm a little paranoid and because I was just a few blocks from home and the sweet freedom of being able to stop running!!
"Well, duh. What are you running from?"
I kept running and never responded. Well, at least not aloud. What am I running from?
Such a heavy question isn't it? I mean if you asked me as I laced up my shoes what I was going to run from I would look at you like you were ca-razy. But, I've played that question over and over in my head and deep down I know exactly what I'm running from.
Let me take you to a day in middle school that will forever burn in the deep place of hurt in my heart. Middle school had already proven itself to be that horribly awkward time where hormones are doing a number on everyone and on top of that it's a time of jockeying for popularity. I'm not sure that I've ever met a Jr. Higher that really had a deep rooted self-confidence and like most I was completely unsure of who I was or if I held any value to anyone... and then it happened. It started off like normal days. I walked to school and dropped my backpack off in my locker. Because my last name started with an "A" my locker was the very first one in the long line of 7th (or perhaps 6th?) grade lockers. Thus, my locker was right next to the gym door. Where someone was watching out for my arrival. This person then reported to others that I arrived. I remember hearing the shuffling of bodies on the bleachers which were right by the door close to my locker, but thinking nothing of it I entered the gym expecting to find my friends awaiting my arrival. Instead, a large group of my classmates, started chanting, "Albino, albino, albino..." Over and over again until I ran out of the gym embarrassed and brokenhearted. I'm not sure what I did the rest of the day. I don't know if I acted like all was well or what... but I forever knew that I was ugly and had suffered a great public humiliation because of it.
Years later I started dating a boy who I thought could possibly be my future husband. He was athletic and the first Christian boy I ever dated. The simple fact that he was a Christian made him so different from any boy that I had ever liked, and in hindsight it is easy for me to see why I fell so hard so fast... oh, how I loved him. But, of course being 16 I didn't have the first clue what love was and so when he told me that he loved me as well, I believed he meant he would love me forever. I remember in vivid detail the day he broke up with me and how crushed I was. There were other boys, but none like him. He also started dating other girls and my heart broke every time I saw him holding the hand of another girl. Soon a pattern began where he would date a girl and then I would start to get over him and he would break up with the girl and we would "hang out" for awhile and I would convince my heart that this time it was forever. Finally one night when I confronted him about the pattern he told me, "I've never loved you. I always just said that I did because you said that you loved me and I felt like you expected me to say it back." Again my world shattered and I figured that if only I was prettier, or funnier, or more lovable or not so albino, or somehow just better that he would've fallen in love with me too.
I'd like to say that since I'm not in middle school or even college that I have grown up and came to realize that kids are kids and sometimes they do incredibly cruel things, but it doesn't mean that I'm forever ugly or completely unlovable... but the truth is that I still believe those things. I believe that most women have similar hurts and believe the same lies that I believe. As their friend or even as a stranger I would tell them that God doesn't make mistakes and that they are wonderfully and fearfully made. Dear Sisters, you are beautiful the way that you are... oh, if only I believed it for myself.
So, what am I running from? I'm running from the hurts of my past. The worse of which you'll never find in a blog... but I'm running so that I might be prettier and more lovable. Silly isn't it? Perhaps.
But, in running from the past I find myself running farther and longer then I ever thought I could. I hate almost every step, but I'm doing it. I run through the pain of the past as I run through the pain of being out of shape. Every time that I do something that I didn't think that I could, I start to believe something new about myself. I am stronger than I think. I am capable of more than I realized. My thoughts about my body are generally untrue. I don't have to stop, I'm not really going to puke, I can catch my breath. Then the other day as I was running I said to myself, "My body is really an amazing thing." It only fails when my mind lies to it... and I chose to let my mind win.
I have pale skin with freckles. My face is almost always red. I was not the woman God intended for the boy I once thought I loved. But, he isn't the man God intended for me either. I'm not as curvy as I would like to be... except in the places where I wish I was flatter. But, oddly as I run from the past I realize that am more then what my mind tells me that I am. I believe that someday soon I will stop running from the past and starting running towards something great. And on that day the run will be far more enjoyable then even I can imagine.
Recently I ran passed a house not far from our own, and a man who always appears to be drunk, started hollering at me, "Are you okay?"
I was having an off day. I never found my breathing rhythm (at least that's what Hotsauce calls it) and I was struggling to breathe let alone talk, so I respond, "Yes." More out of fear that he would call 911 thinking I was being pursued by an attacker, then to bring any kind of peace of mind to him.
"So, what are you doing??"
"Running." I don't stop, because I'm a little paranoid and because I was just a few blocks from home and the sweet freedom of being able to stop running!!
"Well, duh. What are you running from?"
I kept running and never responded. Well, at least not aloud. What am I running from?
Such a heavy question isn't it? I mean if you asked me as I laced up my shoes what I was going to run from I would look at you like you were ca-razy. But, I've played that question over and over in my head and deep down I know exactly what I'm running from.
Let me take you to a day in middle school that will forever burn in the deep place of hurt in my heart. Middle school had already proven itself to be that horribly awkward time where hormones are doing a number on everyone and on top of that it's a time of jockeying for popularity. I'm not sure that I've ever met a Jr. Higher that really had a deep rooted self-confidence and like most I was completely unsure of who I was or if I held any value to anyone... and then it happened. It started off like normal days. I walked to school and dropped my backpack off in my locker. Because my last name started with an "A" my locker was the very first one in the long line of 7th (or perhaps 6th?) grade lockers. Thus, my locker was right next to the gym door. Where someone was watching out for my arrival. This person then reported to others that I arrived. I remember hearing the shuffling of bodies on the bleachers which were right by the door close to my locker, but thinking nothing of it I entered the gym expecting to find my friends awaiting my arrival. Instead, a large group of my classmates, started chanting, "Albino, albino, albino..." Over and over again until I ran out of the gym embarrassed and brokenhearted. I'm not sure what I did the rest of the day. I don't know if I acted like all was well or what... but I forever knew that I was ugly and had suffered a great public humiliation because of it.
Years later I started dating a boy who I thought could possibly be my future husband. He was athletic and the first Christian boy I ever dated. The simple fact that he was a Christian made him so different from any boy that I had ever liked, and in hindsight it is easy for me to see why I fell so hard so fast... oh, how I loved him. But, of course being 16 I didn't have the first clue what love was and so when he told me that he loved me as well, I believed he meant he would love me forever. I remember in vivid detail the day he broke up with me and how crushed I was. There were other boys, but none like him. He also started dating other girls and my heart broke every time I saw him holding the hand of another girl. Soon a pattern began where he would date a girl and then I would start to get over him and he would break up with the girl and we would "hang out" for awhile and I would convince my heart that this time it was forever. Finally one night when I confronted him about the pattern he told me, "I've never loved you. I always just said that I did because you said that you loved me and I felt like you expected me to say it back." Again my world shattered and I figured that if only I was prettier, or funnier, or more lovable or not so albino, or somehow just better that he would've fallen in love with me too.
I'd like to say that since I'm not in middle school or even college that I have grown up and came to realize that kids are kids and sometimes they do incredibly cruel things, but it doesn't mean that I'm forever ugly or completely unlovable... but the truth is that I still believe those things. I believe that most women have similar hurts and believe the same lies that I believe. As their friend or even as a stranger I would tell them that God doesn't make mistakes and that they are wonderfully and fearfully made. Dear Sisters, you are beautiful the way that you are... oh, if only I believed it for myself.
So, what am I running from? I'm running from the hurts of my past. The worse of which you'll never find in a blog... but I'm running so that I might be prettier and more lovable. Silly isn't it? Perhaps.
But, in running from the past I find myself running farther and longer then I ever thought I could. I hate almost every step, but I'm doing it. I run through the pain of the past as I run through the pain of being out of shape. Every time that I do something that I didn't think that I could, I start to believe something new about myself. I am stronger than I think. I am capable of more than I realized. My thoughts about my body are generally untrue. I don't have to stop, I'm not really going to puke, I can catch my breath. Then the other day as I was running I said to myself, "My body is really an amazing thing." It only fails when my mind lies to it... and I chose to let my mind win.
I have pale skin with freckles. My face is almost always red. I was not the woman God intended for the boy I once thought I loved. But, he isn't the man God intended for me either. I'm not as curvy as I would like to be... except in the places where I wish I was flatter. But, oddly as I run from the past I realize that am more then what my mind tells me that I am. I believe that someday soon I will stop running from the past and starting running towards something great. And on that day the run will be far more enjoyable then even I can imagine.
