So today was my off day running which was like sooo difficult which is strange for me because I normally love my off days. I think it's because lately I really haven't been even like half as sore as I usually am. Yay! My muscles are getting used to this!! Haha. So yeah, because of it being my off day, I really focused on like weights and doing some core work and stuff. I really only have two things to say.
1. Elton John, as stupid as this is, is my new favorite musician to lift to. For real, put Bennie and the Jets up super loud, it's the bomb. And I sincerely don't care what people think of me now either.
2. I made my little brother hold my feet down while I did sit ups today and let me just say that he is the most ridiculous person I know. First, he tries to stand on my feet, so I say no, sit down and do it, so he sits down, except he goes to put his butt on my feet. He's a little smart alek. Anyway, I'm counting out loud, and he goes "Uhhhh...Aubree...are you trying to count how many nipples you have?" causing me to laugh which makes me sit ups harder. Then he says "Uhh...Aubree...are you trying to count how many poops you're making right right?" because earlier he came in while I was doing crunches and said it looked like I was trying to poop in a demented way. 12 is such a fun age.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
8 days and counting!!
SO, first let me say that I almost got hit by a car while running today! It was scary. There were no side walks, so I was running close to the curb in the street, and this guy like basically turned into the wrong side of the street and almost hit me. I jumped into the grass. But yeah, I'm alive.
Beside my near death or injury experience (I think I'm a little of a drama queen) I actually had a fantastic run. Let me just say that todaaayyyy I ran 5 miles in 46:05. That's AMAZING for me. My first mile was a 10 minute warm up mile which means that somewhere in there I must've run like a 7 minute mile. I was a stud. It was amazing. After all the important stuff though, let me just say that during my run this morning I had like the most amazing experience. It's been a while since I've gotten up and gone running. Since school has let out I've been lazy and have been doing my runs in the evenings. But like today I totally remembered what I love about running.
1. I love that I get to be out in nature almost every day. This morning, I was running on the prairie path, which is a nature trail by my house that stretches like for miles and miles almost all the way into southern Illinois, and the birds were chirping, it was like the perfect temperature outside, the flowers were all in bloom and it was just completely amazing. There was a light breeze on my face. For a part of my run, I just closed my eyes and thanked God for the amazing blessings He's given me. I was almost in tears! Which brings me to my next point.
2. I love how raw my emotions are when I'm running. There's no trying to mask anything. If I'm angry, I'm obviously angry, and if I'm happy, I can't stop smiling. All of my energy is going into the run, so frustration and determination and the like all come out as purely as they're being felt. There are very few moments in my life where I experience emotion that's completely unmasked like that. While in every day settings, this can be a kind of scary thing, but while bouncing along on the Prairie Path, it's really not a terrible thing. It allows me to feel what I need to feel while not doing any damage along the way.
3. I love the like secret brotherhood and sisterhood that runners seem to share. I pass other runners all the time while running, mainly when I'm on the Prairie Path, and every time there's like this little acknowledgment of each other that goes on. Sometimes it's a smile, other times it's a nod. There are even times when it's a "Good morning! Have a great run!" I even kind of like it when it's simply a grunt. Any way you do it, it's always accompanied by a little hint of understanding, like "I hear you brother/sister!" Often times when I've been on a challenging run, and it's clear on my face, the brotherhood/sisterhood of runners comes through and helps me out. Someone will pass me, understand the look on my face, and offer up a word of encouragement. When I was doing my 7 miler for my half marathon training (which was hands down the most difficult run I've ever been on), I passed this guy who looked like he was about in his 40's, and he looked like a champ. Like the guy was a beast. His leg muscles were rippling and he had all the awesome running gear. I saw the expression of frustration on my face and recognized it right away. As he passed, he showed me this huge grin, and said "Keep going! You're doing awesome!". "Thanks..." I muttered, but it kept me going.
I discovered all those things this morning as I was flying down the path. It was one of those amazing runs where you remember exactly why you love the sport you do. When running isn't boring, but rather a beautiful experience. When it isn't forcing yourself to put one foot in front of the other and hoping you make it to the finish line...when it's just purely amazing...just you, God, and the pavement (or trail...or sidewalk...where you run!) I love it.
...8 days!!!
Beside my near death or injury experience (I think I'm a little of a drama queen) I actually had a fantastic run. Let me just say that todaaayyyy I ran 5 miles in 46:05. That's AMAZING for me. My first mile was a 10 minute warm up mile which means that somewhere in there I must've run like a 7 minute mile. I was a stud. It was amazing. After all the important stuff though, let me just say that during my run this morning I had like the most amazing experience. It's been a while since I've gotten up and gone running. Since school has let out I've been lazy and have been doing my runs in the evenings. But like today I totally remembered what I love about running.
1. I love that I get to be out in nature almost every day. This morning, I was running on the prairie path, which is a nature trail by my house that stretches like for miles and miles almost all the way into southern Illinois, and the birds were chirping, it was like the perfect temperature outside, the flowers were all in bloom and it was just completely amazing. There was a light breeze on my face. For a part of my run, I just closed my eyes and thanked God for the amazing blessings He's given me. I was almost in tears! Which brings me to my next point.
2. I love how raw my emotions are when I'm running. There's no trying to mask anything. If I'm angry, I'm obviously angry, and if I'm happy, I can't stop smiling. All of my energy is going into the run, so frustration and determination and the like all come out as purely as they're being felt. There are very few moments in my life where I experience emotion that's completely unmasked like that. While in every day settings, this can be a kind of scary thing, but while bouncing along on the Prairie Path, it's really not a terrible thing. It allows me to feel what I need to feel while not doing any damage along the way.
3. I love the like secret brotherhood and sisterhood that runners seem to share. I pass other runners all the time while running, mainly when I'm on the Prairie Path, and every time there's like this little acknowledgment of each other that goes on. Sometimes it's a smile, other times it's a nod. There are even times when it's a "Good morning! Have a great run!" I even kind of like it when it's simply a grunt. Any way you do it, it's always accompanied by a little hint of understanding, like "I hear you brother/sister!" Often times when I've been on a challenging run, and it's clear on my face, the brotherhood/sisterhood of runners comes through and helps me out. Someone will pass me, understand the look on my face, and offer up a word of encouragement. When I was doing my 7 miler for my half marathon training (which was hands down the most difficult run I've ever been on), I passed this guy who looked like he was about in his 40's, and he looked like a champ. Like the guy was a beast. His leg muscles were rippling and he had all the awesome running gear. I saw the expression of frustration on my face and recognized it right away. As he passed, he showed me this huge grin, and said "Keep going! You're doing awesome!". "Thanks..." I muttered, but it kept me going.
I discovered all those things this morning as I was flying down the path. It was one of those amazing runs where you remember exactly why you love the sport you do. When running isn't boring, but rather a beautiful experience. When it isn't forcing yourself to put one foot in front of the other and hoping you make it to the finish line...when it's just purely amazing...just you, God, and the pavement (or trail...or sidewalk...where you run!) I love it.
...8 days!!!
Friday, May 29, 2009
Heavenly Post-Race Parties.
(Disclaimer...I promise...promise promise promise that after the half in about a week I will undoubtedly talk about other things in my blog again...but there's no denying it...I've got the fever - ;-) )
Yay! Double blog post day again! The majority of the reason I'm blogging is because it's 10:16 at night, and today is my off day, and I seriously seriously seriously have been craving a run. It's still early enough that I could get in a little night jog, my favorite kind of running. This rarely happens to me. I think I'm just getting so amped up about the half that I want to prove to myself that I can run. Anyway, tomorrow is a 6 miler and I want to see if I can beat my last time. If I can do just a taadddd better, then I'm very confident that I'll also finish the half at my goal time.
Anyway, I'm writing because I was reflecting on how there are two different types of runners. In my book, anyway. So anyway, like I said, I just finished reading this book by Dean Karanazas who won the worlds hardest foot race (Badwater). Anyway, at the end of the book he talks about running being his salvation, he's sanctuary. This bothers me a lot. Ok, I know that not everyone believes what I believe, but I happen to think that only God is my salvation. Dean (I speak of him as if he is my friend...I think someday I should talk about my deep obsession with books also...) finds solace in running extreme races...but what happens when all the races with all the crazy amount of miles runs out? What happens when you injure yourself and can't run? What if you were to become paralyzed from the waist down? Then is running your salvation? I don't know, it's all kind of silly I guess, but I kind of want to redeem myself here I guess. I think that Dean would be the first kind of runner, the kind that see's running as their salvation, the kind that lives a life full of finish lines, never knowing which one will be the final one. I on the other hand, and I think a few others who happen to be running the ultimate race with me, the heavenly one, run ultimately for one finish line. That finish line is our Savior's arms. I run because it helps me to be a calmer, more relaxed person. It helps me understand my faith. It challenges me. A lot of times, when I'm running, I pray. I love praying when I run, too, because my thoughts are so sporadic, my prayers are so completely naked, like stripped of the "Our fathers, who art in heaven" 's, and all the religious mumbo jumbo. My prayers during runs are often times like "Hey God, so I'm really frustrated today with the way this person or that person treated me. I don't know, I guess I need more patience. Could you help me with that?" It's me praying, not some silly religious fanatic. I pray from my heart. Sometimes, my prayers are even interrupted by "Hang on God, I gotta get up this hill...grunt...errr...I can do it...". I think in those moment's, God's like "Ok Aubree...yeah! You can do!! Get up that hill my beloved!!" My point being I guess, is that I love running, but not without first loving God. Running half marathons, 5K's, or even marathons are all just a part of this greater, bigger race I happen to be in.
And man, what a post race party that'll be.
Yay! Double blog post day again! The majority of the reason I'm blogging is because it's 10:16 at night, and today is my off day, and I seriously seriously seriously have been craving a run. It's still early enough that I could get in a little night jog, my favorite kind of running. This rarely happens to me. I think I'm just getting so amped up about the half that I want to prove to myself that I can run. Anyway, tomorrow is a 6 miler and I want to see if I can beat my last time. If I can do just a taadddd better, then I'm very confident that I'll also finish the half at my goal time.
Anyway, I'm writing because I was reflecting on how there are two different types of runners. In my book, anyway. So anyway, like I said, I just finished reading this book by Dean Karanazas who won the worlds hardest foot race (Badwater). Anyway, at the end of the book he talks about running being his salvation, he's sanctuary. This bothers me a lot. Ok, I know that not everyone believes what I believe, but I happen to think that only God is my salvation. Dean (I speak of him as if he is my friend...I think someday I should talk about my deep obsession with books also...) finds solace in running extreme races...but what happens when all the races with all the crazy amount of miles runs out? What happens when you injure yourself and can't run? What if you were to become paralyzed from the waist down? Then is running your salvation? I don't know, it's all kind of silly I guess, but I kind of want to redeem myself here I guess. I think that Dean would be the first kind of runner, the kind that see's running as their salvation, the kind that lives a life full of finish lines, never knowing which one will be the final one. I on the other hand, and I think a few others who happen to be running the ultimate race with me, the heavenly one, run ultimately for one finish line. That finish line is our Savior's arms. I run because it helps me to be a calmer, more relaxed person. It helps me understand my faith. It challenges me. A lot of times, when I'm running, I pray. I love praying when I run, too, because my thoughts are so sporadic, my prayers are so completely naked, like stripped of the "Our fathers, who art in heaven" 's, and all the religious mumbo jumbo. My prayers during runs are often times like "Hey God, so I'm really frustrated today with the way this person or that person treated me. I don't know, I guess I need more patience. Could you help me with that?" It's me praying, not some silly religious fanatic. I pray from my heart. Sometimes, my prayers are even interrupted by "Hang on God, I gotta get up this hill...grunt...errr...I can do it...". I think in those moment's, God's like "Ok Aubree...yeah! You can do!! Get up that hill my beloved!!" My point being I guess, is that I love running, but not without first loving God. Running half marathons, 5K's, or even marathons are all just a part of this greater, bigger race I happen to be in.
And man, what a post race party that'll be.
Crazy racing dreams...
Ok, I would just like to say that I'm officially obsessed in running because it is not only the only thing I think about, it is the only thing I dream about. As in my literal sleeping dreams revolve around running. Maybe I'm just nervous. Last night I had two dreams about running that I remember. The first dream, I dreamt (is that a word?) that it was race day for the half, and I woke up at like 3am with my alarm (because we have to leave by 4:30am to get to the shuttle on time downtown) and my parents drove me, and when I got there I found out that like a ton of people I knew in high school were there. Like one of my best friends was totally there going to run the race. And she was wearing like this huge baggy pants and I was like trying to tell her that she could borrow a spare pair of shorts that I had brought because she wouldn't be able to run in those pants, but she wouldn't take them. Then some people convinced me that the race started in the basement of this building and that we all would run out of this big sliding industrial door. So I went inside this building with like two other people, and then we walked into this huge dark gymnasium with an indoor track and this weird lady was standing in the middle of it and was doing like yoga moves and stuff and they tried to get me to do them, so I did for like 30 minutes and then I realized I was going to miss the actual race so I ran upstairs and the race had already started and they wouldn't let me start late because the race had already been in progress for like 20 minutes. So I was very upset and I decided to run my own half marathon just so I knew I could do it, but no one would run it with me and for some reason that bothered me (even though I actually mainly prefer to run alone anyway most of the time. Sometimes I enjoy the company.) So yeah, I ended up just sulking around the starting line. So then I had another dream where I signed up to do another half marathon, and my dad decided to run part of it with me, like a few miles, but they wouldn't let him do that, so he decided to run along on the grass with me like not officially in the race, but there were too many spectators and he ended up elbowing some guy in the face and security dragged him away. I wish I had stayed asleep long enough to find out my time for that race so that I could be like "No, I'm not settling for anything less because it's my dream destiny to get that time!"
Anyway, all this dreaming got me thinking about my long runs. I thought about my brother, Noah's comment a couple days ago about running being boring, and I realized that it totally is. How does one keep themselves occupied by running in the same general direction for like 10 miles? In truth, each long run for me is completely different. There are the runs that I'm totally in-tuned to like every single sense in my body. Every minor smell, any way that my mouth my taste at the moment I'm completely aware of it. Those are the times when running is hard. But then there are times, like in my recent 10 miler where I completely tune out for long stretches of miles. In essence, I guess this is pretty dangerous, but it's kind of necessary for running long distances in my opinion. Anyway, I started thinking about what things I think about. The very first thing I think about when I start running is about pacing myself. Like I mentioned previously, I have a hard time starting easy when I start a run. So I concentrate pretty hard on keeping my pace slow. After the first couple of miles, I let my mind wander. Although this is weird, I always think about what it would be like running next to the people in my life who've told me that I can't. I think about this guy I dated in high-school who was like a super athlete, and every single time I would go to do something, and I would make a goal for myself, he would tell me that a more realistic goal would be lower. For the ACT, my goal was a 27 or 28. He told me I probably would only get a 24 or 25. I never felt confident enough to accomplish anything with any amount of success. I always think about what it would be like for him to pass me on the Prairie Path as I run, me running like a champ, with my new runners body flashing past him (that would definitely be one of my favorite parts of running. So far I've lost 1 1/2 inches off my waist and I'm starting to get these amazing leg muscles...I love it...it's almost better than my black toe nail...). I imagine giving him a brief nod and a smile, like I don't have time for chatting. This hasn't happened yet. I imagine that if it ever does happen, which is actually more possible than I probably recognize, it probably won't happen that gracefully.
Lately I've been thinking about this book that I just finished reading, The Ultra Marathon Man by Dean Karnazes. It's about this guy who runs these crazy races. He won the worlds hardest foot race, which is 135 miles in the middle of Death Valley in the middle of summer. He is a beast. There's this quote in it from his old middle school track coach that I love and always think about whenever I want to stop. Dean gets put into the mile race and his coach instructs him to start strong and end strong. He darts out of the starting line, and stays strong throughout the entire race, ending up winning the race. Afterwards, his coach comes up to him and says "So. How did it feel?" Dean answers, "Well, it was hard at first, but at the end it felt pretty good". He coach responds...
"Good? If it feels good you did something wrong. It's not supposed to feel good. It's supposed to hurt like hell"
SO, if you ever drive past a little short brunette bouncing along on the road, and see her muttering something under her breath, it is most likely, "It's supposed to hurt like hell...it's supposed to hurt like hell"
And that's what I'll leave you with.
Anyway, all this dreaming got me thinking about my long runs. I thought about my brother, Noah's comment a couple days ago about running being boring, and I realized that it totally is. How does one keep themselves occupied by running in the same general direction for like 10 miles? In truth, each long run for me is completely different. There are the runs that I'm totally in-tuned to like every single sense in my body. Every minor smell, any way that my mouth my taste at the moment I'm completely aware of it. Those are the times when running is hard. But then there are times, like in my recent 10 miler where I completely tune out for long stretches of miles. In essence, I guess this is pretty dangerous, but it's kind of necessary for running long distances in my opinion. Anyway, I started thinking about what things I think about. The very first thing I think about when I start running is about pacing myself. Like I mentioned previously, I have a hard time starting easy when I start a run. So I concentrate pretty hard on keeping my pace slow. After the first couple of miles, I let my mind wander. Although this is weird, I always think about what it would be like running next to the people in my life who've told me that I can't. I think about this guy I dated in high-school who was like a super athlete, and every single time I would go to do something, and I would make a goal for myself, he would tell me that a more realistic goal would be lower. For the ACT, my goal was a 27 or 28. He told me I probably would only get a 24 or 25. I never felt confident enough to accomplish anything with any amount of success. I always think about what it would be like for him to pass me on the Prairie Path as I run, me running like a champ, with my new runners body flashing past him (that would definitely be one of my favorite parts of running. So far I've lost 1 1/2 inches off my waist and I'm starting to get these amazing leg muscles...I love it...it's almost better than my black toe nail...). I imagine giving him a brief nod and a smile, like I don't have time for chatting. This hasn't happened yet. I imagine that if it ever does happen, which is actually more possible than I probably recognize, it probably won't happen that gracefully.
Lately I've been thinking about this book that I just finished reading, The Ultra Marathon Man by Dean Karnazes. It's about this guy who runs these crazy races. He won the worlds hardest foot race, which is 135 miles in the middle of Death Valley in the middle of summer. He is a beast. There's this quote in it from his old middle school track coach that I love and always think about whenever I want to stop. Dean gets put into the mile race and his coach instructs him to start strong and end strong. He darts out of the starting line, and stays strong throughout the entire race, ending up winning the race. Afterwards, his coach comes up to him and says "So. How did it feel?" Dean answers, "Well, it was hard at first, but at the end it felt pretty good". He coach responds...
"Good? If it feels good you did something wrong. It's not supposed to feel good. It's supposed to hurt like hell"
SO, if you ever drive past a little short brunette bouncing along on the road, and see her muttering something under her breath, it is most likely, "It's supposed to hurt like hell...it's supposed to hurt like hell"
And that's what I'll leave you with.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Jesus spiders, marathons, and slower starts.
I have silly revelations about my life in the midst of things like chillin' with my Kindergartners, and running. Like today, it was nap time at the Y (for the kids, unfortunately, not for me. Boo, because I could've used one today). During nap, since the kids are like almost in first grade, a lot of them don't actually nap. It's kind of more like quiet time. We pull out little mats that they lay on the floor on top of, turn off the lights, and play some nice mellow music (My favorite to play them lately has been Brahms...the man was a genius), but sometimes, when I feel like being a cool teacher, I read to them. We've already blown through a couple of Boxcar Children books, a book about a little duck named Scrawney, and The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Right now we're reading James and the Giant Peach. So anyway, we're about done with the book (I'm still trying to decide what we will move onto next...possibly Prince Caspien?) and we get to the part right before James and his friends see the Cloud Men making hail stones and knock the centipede off of the peach. There's this big dialogue between James and the bugs, and the Earthworm starts telling James about how every single bit of soil on the earth has once passed through an earthworm, and that the farmers love earth worms for this because it makes the soil healthy. Then the lady bug starts telling James about how the farmers also love her because she eats all the nasty bugs off of their crops. Centipede of course chimes in exclaiming he's a pest and proud of it...and then there's the spider. Poor Miss Spider starts telling James about how she's hated, but all she ever does is good. She catches the bad bugs in her webs and eats them, never bothering anyone. Still, when humans find her kind, they kill them. That got me thinking. Jesus is kind of like the spider! He did the world good, but the world didn't, and doesn't perceive what he was doing as good, so they hated him and killed him...or tried anyway. Yep. I love my job.
Anyway, as far as running goes, my race is exactly in 10 days...this has been scaring the bazookas out of me. Well I'm excited, but also very scared. I know I'll do well. Besides, I've been reading this new book called The Ultramarathon Man and it's about this guy that won the hardest footrace in the world and runs like crazy races (right now I'm reading about how he's completing an 11 man relay race that stretches out 199 miles, except he isn't completing it with 10 other men, he's doing it by himself) and it's motivating me a lot. Also, the Indianapolis Marathon is my next feat (hopefully) to accomplish, and it's a Boston Marathon qualifier. Can you see me on Heart Break Hill? Haha, maybe I'll wait another couple of years (and couple of marathons) to try that one.
Anyway, I've realized that one of my biggest challenges in running is that I have trouble starting slow. I get all excited and amped up to run, and I dart out the door and complete my first mile or two at like a 7:50 or less pace and then I tire myself out and end up finishing my run at around a 9:40 to 10:00 minute pace. Yeah. Wow. So anyway, I'm really working on that. I will post results once I've mastered it.
SO...Jesus spiders, marathons, and slower starts. Yep. That would about sum it up. :)
Anyway, as far as running goes, my race is exactly in 10 days...this has been scaring the bazookas out of me. Well I'm excited, but also very scared. I know I'll do well. Besides, I've been reading this new book called The Ultramarathon Man and it's about this guy that won the hardest footrace in the world and runs like crazy races (right now I'm reading about how he's completing an 11 man relay race that stretches out 199 miles, except he isn't completing it with 10 other men, he's doing it by himself) and it's motivating me a lot. Also, the Indianapolis Marathon is my next feat (hopefully) to accomplish, and it's a Boston Marathon qualifier. Can you see me on Heart Break Hill? Haha, maybe I'll wait another couple of years (and couple of marathons) to try that one.
Anyway, I've realized that one of my biggest challenges in running is that I have trouble starting slow. I get all excited and amped up to run, and I dart out the door and complete my first mile or two at like a 7:50 or less pace and then I tire myself out and end up finishing my run at around a 9:40 to 10:00 minute pace. Yeah. Wow. So anyway, I'm really working on that. I will post results once I've mastered it.
SO...Jesus spiders, marathons, and slower starts. Yep. That would about sum it up. :)
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
I forgot some stuffsss
Ok, so I've realized that I'm not ready for bed yet. I'm sitting here icing my ankle because I'm like super duper paranoid about injuries, and anytime anything hurts (especially a joint) even remotely, and it's not just the normal soreness kind of hurt, I ice it because the very last thing I want to happen is to find out that I can't run my race because I was stupid and not careful. So yeah, my ankle hurt so I'm icing it.
So today my run was excruciatingly difficult. That's extremely strange, seeing as yesterday I totally cheated my good old running schedule and only ran 2 miles plus some speed-work on my street. Seeing as my work out was fairly easy yesterday, I was pretty confident going into my 5 mile scheduled for today. The second I stepped foot out of the door into my run I felt like I had just run 10 miles, not 0. In fact, at the end of my last 10 mile run, I felt better than I did starting my little fiver. Anyway, I started super slow, like obnoxiously slow to the point where I was getting annoyed with myself because I wasn't getting anywhere. Sometimes when I first start a run, my legs seriously fight it with everything they have and I feel like turning around the second after I start. Then after about a mile in, they're all warmed up and feel better. I figured this would happen. It did not. My legs felt awful the entire time.
So here is what I have concluded. I seem to find that there is a direct correlation between my hard days and a few other variables. For instance, if I did not sleep well/enough the night before, my run is hard. If I didn't eat right, or drank a lot of pop/caffeine, my run is hard. But today, I didn't do that. I was really good with eating, and I didn't drink any pop (this is actually quite an accomplishment for me). Here's what I think it is. The kids in my Kindergarten class are like obsessed with trying to knock me over and like sit on my lap, and jump on my legs. I'm pretty sure that's why my run was hard. I always notice that on days when I spend a lot of time running around the gym with them, or when they decide it's funny to hurt my legs, or I give too many underdogs on the swings, I have a hard time running. So I've adopted this new policy where I refuse to run/push swings/allow children to sit on me when I know I have a big run ahead of me. Unfortunately, I forgot today and did all three. Boo.
But yeah I survived. Oh yeah, and go figure, I turned the corner to get home, and all of a sudden my legs were all "Oh yeah, we remember how to do this" and I seriously felt like I could run another couple of miles. I didn't want to strain myself though, so I didn't. Thanks a lot legs. Thanks a lot.
So today my run was excruciatingly difficult. That's extremely strange, seeing as yesterday I totally cheated my good old running schedule and only ran 2 miles plus some speed-work on my street. Seeing as my work out was fairly easy yesterday, I was pretty confident going into my 5 mile scheduled for today. The second I stepped foot out of the door into my run I felt like I had just run 10 miles, not 0. In fact, at the end of my last 10 mile run, I felt better than I did starting my little fiver. Anyway, I started super slow, like obnoxiously slow to the point where I was getting annoyed with myself because I wasn't getting anywhere. Sometimes when I first start a run, my legs seriously fight it with everything they have and I feel like turning around the second after I start. Then after about a mile in, they're all warmed up and feel better. I figured this would happen. It did not. My legs felt awful the entire time.
So here is what I have concluded. I seem to find that there is a direct correlation between my hard days and a few other variables. For instance, if I did not sleep well/enough the night before, my run is hard. If I didn't eat right, or drank a lot of pop/caffeine, my run is hard. But today, I didn't do that. I was really good with eating, and I didn't drink any pop (this is actually quite an accomplishment for me). Here's what I think it is. The kids in my Kindergarten class are like obsessed with trying to knock me over and like sit on my lap, and jump on my legs. I'm pretty sure that's why my run was hard. I always notice that on days when I spend a lot of time running around the gym with them, or when they decide it's funny to hurt my legs, or I give too many underdogs on the swings, I have a hard time running. So I've adopted this new policy where I refuse to run/push swings/allow children to sit on me when I know I have a big run ahead of me. Unfortunately, I forgot today and did all three. Boo.
But yeah I survived. Oh yeah, and go figure, I turned the corner to get home, and all of a sudden my legs were all "Oh yeah, we remember how to do this" and I seriously felt like I could run another couple of miles. I didn't want to strain myself though, so I didn't. Thanks a lot legs. Thanks a lot.
11 Days and Counting (and starting to hear 26.2 call my name)
So, I might as well change this blog to like The Journeys of a Runner, or something like that because every single entry seems to be about running. I think it's all I talk about lately...and think about...yeah, I'm officially obsessed. Anyway, I would just like to say one little thing. Remember yesterday when I talked about the insanity only beginning, and that running a half marathon was only the first step to craziness? I find that the things I say are pretty prophetic. I was pretty disappointed yesterday to find out that the Chicago Marathon is full. I told my mom about it and she, being the amazing person she is, said "Well what about Milwaukee? I'd drive you up!!" Sooo, I looked up Milwaukee...closed also. This, however, got me thinking. I then proceeded to look up Madison, and Grand Rapids...both closed. Then I punched in Indianapolis. Still open...and the good news is that they aren't even close to their cap off number, and I would still get the early bird rate even if I waited until after the half marathon to register. I'm actually fairly sure I'm going to do it. The date is October 17th...so look out.
My challenge here is that I'm starting at a brand new school this upcoming Fall semester. October is mid-terms...do I care? Not really. This is because I'm insane.
This morning as I was making myself some breakfast, my younger brother walked into the kitchen, looked at me, and said "So, you're really getting into this running thin aren't you?" I raised my eyebrows at him and nodded. "Why? Running is boring"
And I realized he was completely right. Running is boring...to someone who isn't insane. It takes a special kind of person to actually choose to throw on a pair of running shoes and dash out the door, not returning until they've completed 10, 15, 20, 26.2 (I'm getting used to that number...) miles. I think I am becoming that type of person. Seriously, I was thinking about it, and 7 weeks ago I had no idea I would be doing this. I just randomly decided to run 13 miles completely out of the blue. I came from being a casual jogger to a serious and motivated runner...in 7 weeks. I'd say I'm pretty hard core.
Not to mention the black toe nail I've been sporting. :)
My challenge here is that I'm starting at a brand new school this upcoming Fall semester. October is mid-terms...do I care? Not really. This is because I'm insane.
This morning as I was making myself some breakfast, my younger brother walked into the kitchen, looked at me, and said "So, you're really getting into this running thin aren't you?" I raised my eyebrows at him and nodded. "Why? Running is boring"
And I realized he was completely right. Running is boring...to someone who isn't insane. It takes a special kind of person to actually choose to throw on a pair of running shoes and dash out the door, not returning until they've completed 10, 15, 20, 26.2 (I'm getting used to that number...) miles. I think I am becoming that type of person. Seriously, I was thinking about it, and 7 weeks ago I had no idea I would be doing this. I just randomly decided to run 13 miles completely out of the blue. I came from being a casual jogger to a serious and motivated runner...in 7 weeks. I'd say I'm pretty hard core.
Not to mention the black toe nail I've been sporting. :)
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Only the beginning of the insanity...
So I feel that in speaking of all this running business, I should offer up a disclaimer. I, in no way, shape, or form, really even consider myself an athlete. In fact, I find that it's extremely and unbelievably ironic that in 12 days (YIKES!!!!), I will be running a total of 13.1 miles...and that after running that, I don't intend on stopping there, my next goal being the full marathon. My reason for this being is that in all complete and total seriousness, I have always hated running (with an unnerving passion actually). In fact, I've hated sports in general. I was never ever the child you would pick first on you kick ball team. Actually, I was probably the one who opted out to go play with chalks on the side walk or finger paint. I hated all games that had to do with balls. Kickball, baseball, soccer, basketball, football. There really was no exception. In fact, the one sport I did partake in was figure skating, which I did for 8 years, and the reason I fell in love with it is because a.) you get to wear pretty costumes and b.) you get to go really fast with little physical exertion. Yep. Definitely the sport for me. As much as I hated games involving balls, though, there was one thing that I don't think I could possibly have hated more. I would've rather been subject to extreme torture. I think I would've chosen to eat a dozen worms, or have needles stuck into my body repeatedly than partake in this activity. I hated running. I remember playing tag with the neighborhood kids, and trying to devise ways I could run the absolute least possible it is to run while still not getting tagged. I had a number of techniques. The first and most obvious was the I was a base hoverer. While my friends all ventured across the back-yard, sprinted and turning and twisting away from the tagger, I stayed within a good 5 feet of the base at all times. That way, if the tagger did happen to come on over, it would only take me a couple seconds to spot her/him, and quickly jump back onto base. This generally worked until my friends started instituting "1 2 3 get off my father's apple tree" and the 10 (big) steps rule, which basically meant that once I got called off base, I could not longer hover. Then I implemented the "Time out!!!" trick. Once the tagger would get within tagging distance of me, I would scream, "TIME OUT!!!" and then act like I was going to say something extremely important. Then I would sprint to base and scream "TIME IN!" once I had a good enough head start. My friends felt that this was cheating and nixed this trick too. Pretty soon I just started developing strange and mysterious diseases that caused me to have to suddenly stop playing once it was tagged. I first developed exercise-induced asthma. When I would get tagged, I would do a short little sprint after someone, and then start coughing violently, throwing myself onto the ground and rasping out... "Can't...run...*cough cough*...asthma". Soon I "hyper-extended" my achilles tendon. I also developed a rare disease in which caused my red blood cells to become toxic and explosive, but only when running and that if I tried to run my legs would explode. I was pretty tricky.
Actually, running started for me when I decided I needed to start exercising. I started by running around the block. When I was done, I would be about ready to collapse. However, it was the sense of accomplishment, of being able to say I did it that kept me going. I remember one run in specific, it was dusk when I set out, and the night air was cool. I put my ear buds in and started around the block, but felt really good after I had completed that, and decided to keep going. Probably about 10 strides after I passed my house again after deciding to go farther, I regretted it, but I kept going. I had just gone through a pretty painful period of my life, and was recovering. I felt horrible, like crap, and the only thing I wanted to do was stop and turn around and walk home. My entire body said "Just quit. You can't do it" but I didn't. I kept running...and then something completely miraculous happened...I broke through the wall. Suddenly, I wasn't running anymore, I was flying, and the only thing I knew was God, me, and the pavement. I remember throwing my head back and laughing, and people probably thought I was crazy. I ran 2 3/4 miles that evening, which was a remarkable feat for a person who didn't even like to run across the backyard during tag.
Running isn't always like that. Running is really hard the majority of the time. I guess I run for the moments like I had on my evening run. Of the times when I'm flying because I know I did it.
The other day someone asked me why I decided to do a half marathon. He asked as if he were speaking to a crazy person. To me, running the half isn't really very crazy. A lot of people do. Marathons are a little crazy. Triathlons, kind of. Iron man competitions, crazy. 50 milers, 100 milers, those are brinking on insanity. Half marathons are just the beginning of the insanity. I was kind of lost for words. I guess I don't really know why I decided to do it. I just looked at him and answered, "Because I like running." He stared at me for a very long time, nodded his head, and said "Ok, then". Then he walked away.
He has no idea.
Actually, running started for me when I decided I needed to start exercising. I started by running around the block. When I was done, I would be about ready to collapse. However, it was the sense of accomplishment, of being able to say I did it that kept me going. I remember one run in specific, it was dusk when I set out, and the night air was cool. I put my ear buds in and started around the block, but felt really good after I had completed that, and decided to keep going. Probably about 10 strides after I passed my house again after deciding to go farther, I regretted it, but I kept going. I had just gone through a pretty painful period of my life, and was recovering. I felt horrible, like crap, and the only thing I wanted to do was stop and turn around and walk home. My entire body said "Just quit. You can't do it" but I didn't. I kept running...and then something completely miraculous happened...I broke through the wall. Suddenly, I wasn't running anymore, I was flying, and the only thing I knew was God, me, and the pavement. I remember throwing my head back and laughing, and people probably thought I was crazy. I ran 2 3/4 miles that evening, which was a remarkable feat for a person who didn't even like to run across the backyard during tag.
Running isn't always like that. Running is really hard the majority of the time. I guess I run for the moments like I had on my evening run. Of the times when I'm flying because I know I did it.
The other day someone asked me why I decided to do a half marathon. He asked as if he were speaking to a crazy person. To me, running the half isn't really very crazy. A lot of people do. Marathons are a little crazy. Triathlons, kind of. Iron man competitions, crazy. 50 milers, 100 milers, those are brinking on insanity. Half marathons are just the beginning of the insanity. I was kind of lost for words. I guess I don't really know why I decided to do it. I just looked at him and answered, "Because I like running." He stared at me for a very long time, nodded his head, and said "Ok, then". Then he walked away.
He has no idea.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
I've realized a few things about myself.
Today and yesterday were quite stressful for me. The kids at work have been crazy, and I have like sixty billion things to get finished for school in the fall, and then to top it all off, my car completely dies as I'm backing it out of the driveway. Today was not too much better. I guess I really didn't want to wake up this morning. I wanted to stay in bed until like, forever, but I had to get up and get showered and stuff. My mom drops me off at work (because my car isn't starting and was towed this morning) and I'm already stressed. Work wasn't horrible, but I think all the kids have end-of-the-school-year-itus. Basically they're insane and think they can get away with anything since it's the end of the school year and they want to be done just as much as we do. My mom picks me up, and I'm crabby already, only to find out that something called the timing chain broke on my car and I won't get it back until next week. I also find out that I haven't changed the oil in a very long time and that even though the guy changed the oil for me, my engine might still seize. Also, there's this little thing called a 700 buck bill. So I'm tired, crabby and stressed.
This is where the realizing a few things about myself comes in. Sometimes, I get emotional just for the sake of getting emotional. Like I seriously sometimes feel like crying in situations that aren't the big of a deal. I seriously was so upset.
And then there are these two factors that play into my life called eating and running. I got home, threw on my work out clothes, ran 3 miles in 25 minutes and 52 seconds (which is a record for me, might I add) and then sat down and ate two hot dogs, two hamburgers, a huge piece of watermelon, and an ice cream sandwich.
I'm not crabby anymore.
The end.
This is where the realizing a few things about myself comes in. Sometimes, I get emotional just for the sake of getting emotional. Like I seriously sometimes feel like crying in situations that aren't the big of a deal. I seriously was so upset.
And then there are these two factors that play into my life called eating and running. I got home, threw on my work out clothes, ran 3 miles in 25 minutes and 52 seconds (which is a record for me, might I add) and then sat down and ate two hot dogs, two hamburgers, a huge piece of watermelon, and an ice cream sandwich.
I'm not crabby anymore.
The end.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Reaching the Cross Roads
In the past, if you have read my blog, you'll discover that I am training for a half marathon on June 7th. That is in less than three weeks. It's becoming extremely surreal as the days of training are flying by and there comes less and less time between when training is just training, and when training actually is applied. It's pretty scary, I'll admit. That's not the point of my story though. In my life, I am constantly finding that god reminds me of Himself through practical everyday things that I've committed to do. So, I'd like to share a story in which God showed me a thing or two.
On the weekends I do my long runs, and starting from 6 miles have been adding a mile every weekend. I'll stop at 11 miles, which is this upcoming Saturday. Anyway, yesterday (Sunday), I went for my 10 mile. I wasn't too enthusiastic about doing this. I would've done it on Saturday, but I was gone all day registering for classes at Judson. I had been up early that morning to go to worship team practice at church, and frankly was pretty tired. Another thing that factored into it was that the weekend before, when I was supposed to do 9, I ran a 5k and then a few miles after the 5k instead of running just a straight 9 miles. I was a little nervous about jumping from 8 miles to 10 miles, since 10 is a pretty crucial run. All morning I had been weighing my options. Should I just run maybe a 5 miler and then run a short run tomorrow? Exactly how hard would it be to just jump to 11 miles next weekend. I could do it. It would be hard, but I really don't want to run today. Maybe I won't run 11 miles, maybe I'll save the 10 miler for next weekend and then just have my next long run be the half marathon and jump right up to 13. I could do that. It wouldn't be a big deal, right? I guess I knew though that I needed to do it, so when I got home, I put my running clothes on (for motivation...haha) and ate a little lunch then let my lunch settle a little and then I left. Immediately after setting foot outside my door and beginning my run, I knew it wasn't going to be an easy one. My legs were kind of stiff from not running for a couple of days. I did some stretching, but probably not as much as I could've. I quickly became short on breath, for no real reason at all. And inside my head, all I could think was "I can't do this". I started thinking about the half and how much harder it was going to be. I was barely at mile 1, and all I wanted to do was turn around and go back home. I got up to about 1 3/4 miles when I got to a point in my run where if I turned right down one street, and started heading that way, it would take me straight back to my house and my run would end up equaling about 3 miles...maybe a little bit over that. If I kept running straight, I would have to keep pushing for the 10 miles I had originally set out to do. It became very clear as I was approaching this point that I had a decision to make. I could quit, and make the right and run home, or I could refuse to give into what my body so wanted to do (which was pretty much lay on the couch for the rest of the day...) and keep going.
I chose to keep going.
As I kept running, I realized a few things. One was that if I had turned, and gone home, I probably would've been happy temporarily, and satisfied with being able to flop on the sofa, but it wouldn't be long before I would start feeling like a quitter, a loser. It also dawned on me that if I had turned and went home, it would only be a week later that I would have to go from running 8 miles to 11 miles. 8 to 10 is bad enough, 8 to 11 would be hard. Another is that the entire time I was running, I kept thinking about how awesome it was going to be to be able to say confidently that I ran the 10 miles, even though it was hard, and that I wanted to quit. Then I thought about my faith. I thought about how there was a point in my life where I had found myself coming to a cross roads. Much like the one I came to in my run. I found that I had a choice to make. I could turn around and quit, give into the things that my body, my sinfulness was urging me to give into. Or, I could bite my lip, take a big breath and keep moving forward, towards the goal. I chose the latter. And it has been hard, seriously. There were a lot of times when I wanted to quit and turn around. I've come to a lot of mini cross roads since then, but it was choosing to keep going past that specific cross roads that has kept me running toward the goal, toward my Savior's arms.
I am proud to say that yesterday, I ran a total of 10.06 miles. It was hard, and there were a lot of times when I wanted to stop and turn back, but I didn't, I kept going. Today, I'm super super soar, my joints feel about 50 years older than they actually are, but I did it, I finished.
In my faith, I know that the race will be hard. Very hard, probably harder than running a half marathon at times, but I'm going to keep choosing to go forward, and not turn back. Because in the end, I know that the ultimate reward, the greatest finish line is waiting for me, I know that my savior, my Jesus will be there when I cross the finish. There, I know that I'll fall before His feet, and lay my crown of jewels there. I'm running, so that in the end, I'll get to hear Him say to me "Well done, my good and faithful servant". And yeah, I'll be tired, and sure, I might be a little sore when I'm done (although I'm not sure if you can be sore in heaven...), but in the end, it'll be worth it...much more worth it than running the 10 miles was.
On the weekends I do my long runs, and starting from 6 miles have been adding a mile every weekend. I'll stop at 11 miles, which is this upcoming Saturday. Anyway, yesterday (Sunday), I went for my 10 mile. I wasn't too enthusiastic about doing this. I would've done it on Saturday, but I was gone all day registering for classes at Judson. I had been up early that morning to go to worship team practice at church, and frankly was pretty tired. Another thing that factored into it was that the weekend before, when I was supposed to do 9, I ran a 5k and then a few miles after the 5k instead of running just a straight 9 miles. I was a little nervous about jumping from 8 miles to 10 miles, since 10 is a pretty crucial run. All morning I had been weighing my options. Should I just run maybe a 5 miler and then run a short run tomorrow? Exactly how hard would it be to just jump to 11 miles next weekend. I could do it. It would be hard, but I really don't want to run today. Maybe I won't run 11 miles, maybe I'll save the 10 miler for next weekend and then just have my next long run be the half marathon and jump right up to 13. I could do that. It wouldn't be a big deal, right? I guess I knew though that I needed to do it, so when I got home, I put my running clothes on (for motivation...haha) and ate a little lunch then let my lunch settle a little and then I left. Immediately after setting foot outside my door and beginning my run, I knew it wasn't going to be an easy one. My legs were kind of stiff from not running for a couple of days. I did some stretching, but probably not as much as I could've. I quickly became short on breath, for no real reason at all. And inside my head, all I could think was "I can't do this". I started thinking about the half and how much harder it was going to be. I was barely at mile 1, and all I wanted to do was turn around and go back home. I got up to about 1 3/4 miles when I got to a point in my run where if I turned right down one street, and started heading that way, it would take me straight back to my house and my run would end up equaling about 3 miles...maybe a little bit over that. If I kept running straight, I would have to keep pushing for the 10 miles I had originally set out to do. It became very clear as I was approaching this point that I had a decision to make. I could quit, and make the right and run home, or I could refuse to give into what my body so wanted to do (which was pretty much lay on the couch for the rest of the day...) and keep going.
I chose to keep going.
As I kept running, I realized a few things. One was that if I had turned, and gone home, I probably would've been happy temporarily, and satisfied with being able to flop on the sofa, but it wouldn't be long before I would start feeling like a quitter, a loser. It also dawned on me that if I had turned and went home, it would only be a week later that I would have to go from running 8 miles to 11 miles. 8 to 10 is bad enough, 8 to 11 would be hard. Another is that the entire time I was running, I kept thinking about how awesome it was going to be to be able to say confidently that I ran the 10 miles, even though it was hard, and that I wanted to quit. Then I thought about my faith. I thought about how there was a point in my life where I had found myself coming to a cross roads. Much like the one I came to in my run. I found that I had a choice to make. I could turn around and quit, give into the things that my body, my sinfulness was urging me to give into. Or, I could bite my lip, take a big breath and keep moving forward, towards the goal. I chose the latter. And it has been hard, seriously. There were a lot of times when I wanted to quit and turn around. I've come to a lot of mini cross roads since then, but it was choosing to keep going past that specific cross roads that has kept me running toward the goal, toward my Savior's arms.
I am proud to say that yesterday, I ran a total of 10.06 miles. It was hard, and there were a lot of times when I wanted to stop and turn back, but I didn't, I kept going. Today, I'm super super soar, my joints feel about 50 years older than they actually are, but I did it, I finished.
In my faith, I know that the race will be hard. Very hard, probably harder than running a half marathon at times, but I'm going to keep choosing to go forward, and not turn back. Because in the end, I know that the ultimate reward, the greatest finish line is waiting for me, I know that my savior, my Jesus will be there when I cross the finish. There, I know that I'll fall before His feet, and lay my crown of jewels there. I'm running, so that in the end, I'll get to hear Him say to me "Well done, my good and faithful servant". And yeah, I'll be tired, and sure, I might be a little sore when I'm done (although I'm not sure if you can be sore in heaven...), but in the end, it'll be worth it...much more worth it than running the 10 miles was.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Goodnight, and Good-Luck
(So I posted twice in a day...I'm behind)
Tomorrow is my last official day at the good, great College of Dupage. Though my year at COD has not always been the easiest of experiences, I have learned a lot, gained some college credits (that I think may transfer!!!), made some good friends, and over all survived (thus far, anyway). So, because COD was not too horrible, as less than horrible as it could possibly be I think, I feel that it is only necessary to pay tribute to the school which really never ruined me. To COD...
I like the way you're pencil sharpeners always work, and make sure my pencils sharp and pointy for optimum scantron taking efficiency. Not once did your pencil sharpeners fall apart nor did the top part that holds the shavings become unintentionally unscrewed.
I'm also quite fond of the completely random and slightly insane students you house. Your campus is more diverse than an international airport, and more languages can be heard in the hallways than in Wal-Mart on a Saturday afternoon. I've encountered men wearing children's costumes, women wearing cloaks, herds of fatties dressed in bumblebee costumes, and the like.
I'm partial to the way that even on a horrible day, when most are cranky, and all won't even look you in the eye there always seems to be just one person willing to hold the door open for you, smiling at you in the hallway, letting you cut in front of them in line in the cafeteria when you have a class in 5 minutes and are starving. I've met some of the meanest people in my life at the College of Dupage, and also some of the nicest.
It's also convienant how your hallways seem to have an everlasting supply of toilets. You were obviously thinking when you designed a place where a toilet is normally only around the corner from any given class, as I am a person who realizes she has to pee in the middle of the prof's lecture, and inevitably ends up dashing out the door about to pee herself after class is let out. If the only bathroom were down the hallway, I probably would have an accident. Fortunately, there is always, and I mean always one a few strides away. So thank you for preventing many an embarrassing accident on my behalf.
So, though I won't bid you goodbye officially for one more day, I do want to give you the credit you're do...that is...as long as the credits you've given me transfer to Judson in the Fall.
Tomorrow is my last official day at the good, great College of Dupage. Though my year at COD has not always been the easiest of experiences, I have learned a lot, gained some college credits (that I think may transfer!!!), made some good friends, and over all survived (thus far, anyway). So, because COD was not too horrible, as less than horrible as it could possibly be I think, I feel that it is only necessary to pay tribute to the school which really never ruined me. To COD...
I like the way you're pencil sharpeners always work, and make sure my pencils sharp and pointy for optimum scantron taking efficiency. Not once did your pencil sharpeners fall apart nor did the top part that holds the shavings become unintentionally unscrewed.
I'm also quite fond of the completely random and slightly insane students you house. Your campus is more diverse than an international airport, and more languages can be heard in the hallways than in Wal-Mart on a Saturday afternoon. I've encountered men wearing children's costumes, women wearing cloaks, herds of fatties dressed in bumblebee costumes, and the like.
I'm partial to the way that even on a horrible day, when most are cranky, and all won't even look you in the eye there always seems to be just one person willing to hold the door open for you, smiling at you in the hallway, letting you cut in front of them in line in the cafeteria when you have a class in 5 minutes and are starving. I've met some of the meanest people in my life at the College of Dupage, and also some of the nicest.
It's also convienant how your hallways seem to have an everlasting supply of toilets. You were obviously thinking when you designed a place where a toilet is normally only around the corner from any given class, as I am a person who realizes she has to pee in the middle of the prof's lecture, and inevitably ends up dashing out the door about to pee herself after class is let out. If the only bathroom were down the hallway, I probably would have an accident. Fortunately, there is always, and I mean always one a few strides away. So thank you for preventing many an embarrassing accident on my behalf.
So, though I won't bid you goodbye officially for one more day, I do want to give you the credit you're do...that is...as long as the credits you've given me transfer to Judson in the Fall.
To love a rock
Andie is the 20 month old I used to nanny for, and occasionally babysit for now. At this age, she is doing the most hilarious things, which I believe would all warrant being granted a place in this blog, unfortunately I can’t share all of them. I will share one, however. One thing to know about Andie, is that she loves being outside. When I say she loves being outside, I mean she LOVES being outside. First of all, she loves squirrels. It’s actually really weird. Right after she turned 1 in August, I took her outside and was letting her walk around in the grass, when all of a sudden she let’s out a little squeal…actually it was more like an ear piercing scream and starts pointing. I am completely unaware of what on earth she’s pointing at, but it’s something near a big group of trees in her parent’s front yard. Andie is now running toward this group of trees, exclaiming “Ooo! Ooo!!” with extreme enthusiasm. It was then that I heard a rustling in the grass, and I realized what it was that Andie was getting so excited over. It was a squirrel. This actually would be semi cute if she didn’t struggle to go pet the squirrels every time she saw one. She’ll wiggle and squirm in my arms to try and go say hello. Again, this might be somewhat cute if squirrels were like cats, but squirrels are rabid animals that don’t exactly like it when you pet them. Andie obviously doesn’t know this. Sometimes we’ll be walking in the stroller, and suddenly a series of screams and squeals will burst from the buggie I’m hauling along. I’ll know instantly to start looking for the squirrel, and every time, without fail, there always is.
Second of all, she loves rocks. She actually loves rocks and wood chips and leaves and grass and flowers, and flower petals, and the cone part of Tennessee Cone Flowers. Yeah, we spend a lot of time outside. Anyway, it was one of those days in the middle of September that’s just perfect. It was just starting to get a little chilly outside, enough to warrant a sweatshirt, but not enough for anything else besides that. It was just the right kind of weather to take a 20 month old out in. So, needless to say, we spent a very large majority of the day outside. Andie had waddled over into the grass, and was squatting down, and picking up random bits and pieces of things up off the ground, then handing them to me. She’d pick up a wood chip, examine it, smirk, and then hand it over. Then she’d find a pebble, exclaim, “Ohhhh” and place it gently into my hands. She was having a heck of a time, and I was perfectly content sitting the grass next to her, holding her little collection of treasures. Andie had now reached a grouping of rocks that were lying in the dirt, and was completely overcome with joy by the sight of it. She took her time, picking up, then putting down each rock. A few she’d hand to me, a few she’d try to throw, and a few she’d put back where they belonged. That was when she spotted it – the dirtiest, nastiest rock anyone has ever seen. It was the kind that get’s all stuck in the ground after a rain storm, and then grows moss on the top, the kind that has bugs all underneath it when you pry it out of the dirt. It didn’t matter, Andie had just looked into the rocky eyes (if that’s even possible) of her heart’s desire. Quicker than I could stop her (this seems to be a pattern in my babysitting escapades), she dug her pudgy little fingers into the dirt and started digging (Ok, so at this point I wanted to see if she’d actually get the rock out.) She dug and dug, and grunted and furrowed her tiny little brow, until finally, with one great pull, she yanked out the rock of her dreams. Just then, a little old lady was walking by the house. Right as the woman was passing the driveway, Andie decided to express her delight by screaming at the top of her lungs, a pitch that could probably break glass. The poor woman must have jumped right out of her Depends. I apologized, and the lady straightened her wig and kept pushing her walker right on by, as if Andie had just completely disrupted her entire life by screaming about rocks. Or a rock, I should say. Andie stared at her treasure completely mesmerized. She looked up at me, gripping the rock in her hand. This was one treasure she was not handing over. Apparently, Andie had accomplished what she had come outside to do, because she got up, and startled waddling toward the door. I couldn’t help but stand there and laugh. She continued to waddle along, her treasure in hand, a days work completed. Andie had found her treasure.
I’ve been through 12 years in the general education system. I’m currently enrolled in college. I’ve met dozens and dozens of people who could be considered geniuses. I’ve met doctors, and theologians, philosophers, and scientists. I’ve spoken with some of the smartest people you could imagine. You would never think that the most valuable lessons I’ve ever learned are the ones I learned from people under the age of 12.
That day, Andie found a rock. She found a dirty, nasty, smelly rock. It was the same rock that dozens of people had walked past every day, that had gone completely unnoticed. But to Andie, that rock was the most beautiful, interesting thing she could possibly have found.
The truth is, there are some people, a lot of people who look pretty dirty at first glance – at least the situations in their lives do. People pass them on the street, take a look at all the dirtiness, and moss-covering all over them, scowl, and keep walking. Nobody wants to take the time to just dig a little. That day, Andie found a rock – a dirty, nasty, disgusting rock. A rock that her mother would be horrified to know Andie held if I hadn’t washed her hands before letting her touch anything. But Andie didn’t see a rock.
Andie saw a marvelous and sparkling treasure – one that stood out from all the other rocks. Andie dug and scraped and dug some more, all for that one little, nasty looking rock. I could say here that it was because Andie saw past the dirt…I don’t think that’s true – I personally believe that Andie loved the rock because of the dirt.
And maybe that’s a little too far-fetched still. I think Andie just fell in love with the whole rock, just as it was.
If the whole world saw each other exactly as Andie saw her rock that morning, there wouldn’t be any war, or racism, or hate. Everyone would love each other. And even if they didn’t quite accomplish the childish glee Andie found in finding that rock – even if they had to work on it…even if their love for the person who carried some gunk along with them was imperfect, I still say our world would be bright, it would be sweeter.
What would happen if the whole world woke up tomorrow morning, found a “rock” and loved it, just loved the whole thing, all of it, no matter how dirty it was?
You see, I think we take things, and people for granted. We have flashy ads by the thousands thrown at us every day, all colorful and loud and trying desperately to get our attention. Sometimes, I think we forget that if we just stopped for a second, just for one second, we might find that the greatest things in life, like rocks, or hugs from a friend, or kisses from a 20 month old (which Andie LOVES to give), they’re all free, and they’re just sitting there, waiting for us to stop listening for the thunder or wind, and start hearing the gentle whisper…just sometimes, you have to dig a little.
Second of all, she loves rocks. She actually loves rocks and wood chips and leaves and grass and flowers, and flower petals, and the cone part of Tennessee Cone Flowers. Yeah, we spend a lot of time outside. Anyway, it was one of those days in the middle of September that’s just perfect. It was just starting to get a little chilly outside, enough to warrant a sweatshirt, but not enough for anything else besides that. It was just the right kind of weather to take a 20 month old out in. So, needless to say, we spent a very large majority of the day outside. Andie had waddled over into the grass, and was squatting down, and picking up random bits and pieces of things up off the ground, then handing them to me. She’d pick up a wood chip, examine it, smirk, and then hand it over. Then she’d find a pebble, exclaim, “Ohhhh” and place it gently into my hands. She was having a heck of a time, and I was perfectly content sitting the grass next to her, holding her little collection of treasures. Andie had now reached a grouping of rocks that were lying in the dirt, and was completely overcome with joy by the sight of it. She took her time, picking up, then putting down each rock. A few she’d hand to me, a few she’d try to throw, and a few she’d put back where they belonged. That was when she spotted it – the dirtiest, nastiest rock anyone has ever seen. It was the kind that get’s all stuck in the ground after a rain storm, and then grows moss on the top, the kind that has bugs all underneath it when you pry it out of the dirt. It didn’t matter, Andie had just looked into the rocky eyes (if that’s even possible) of her heart’s desire. Quicker than I could stop her (this seems to be a pattern in my babysitting escapades), she dug her pudgy little fingers into the dirt and started digging (Ok, so at this point I wanted to see if she’d actually get the rock out.) She dug and dug, and grunted and furrowed her tiny little brow, until finally, with one great pull, she yanked out the rock of her dreams. Just then, a little old lady was walking by the house. Right as the woman was passing the driveway, Andie decided to express her delight by screaming at the top of her lungs, a pitch that could probably break glass. The poor woman must have jumped right out of her Depends. I apologized, and the lady straightened her wig and kept pushing her walker right on by, as if Andie had just completely disrupted her entire life by screaming about rocks. Or a rock, I should say. Andie stared at her treasure completely mesmerized. She looked up at me, gripping the rock in her hand. This was one treasure she was not handing over. Apparently, Andie had accomplished what she had come outside to do, because she got up, and startled waddling toward the door. I couldn’t help but stand there and laugh. She continued to waddle along, her treasure in hand, a days work completed. Andie had found her treasure.
I’ve been through 12 years in the general education system. I’m currently enrolled in college. I’ve met dozens and dozens of people who could be considered geniuses. I’ve met doctors, and theologians, philosophers, and scientists. I’ve spoken with some of the smartest people you could imagine. You would never think that the most valuable lessons I’ve ever learned are the ones I learned from people under the age of 12.
That day, Andie found a rock. She found a dirty, nasty, smelly rock. It was the same rock that dozens of people had walked past every day, that had gone completely unnoticed. But to Andie, that rock was the most beautiful, interesting thing she could possibly have found.
The truth is, there are some people, a lot of people who look pretty dirty at first glance – at least the situations in their lives do. People pass them on the street, take a look at all the dirtiness, and moss-covering all over them, scowl, and keep walking. Nobody wants to take the time to just dig a little. That day, Andie found a rock – a dirty, nasty, disgusting rock. A rock that her mother would be horrified to know Andie held if I hadn’t washed her hands before letting her touch anything. But Andie didn’t see a rock.
Andie saw a marvelous and sparkling treasure – one that stood out from all the other rocks. Andie dug and scraped and dug some more, all for that one little, nasty looking rock. I could say here that it was because Andie saw past the dirt…I don’t think that’s true – I personally believe that Andie loved the rock because of the dirt.
And maybe that’s a little too far-fetched still. I think Andie just fell in love with the whole rock, just as it was.
If the whole world saw each other exactly as Andie saw her rock that morning, there wouldn’t be any war, or racism, or hate. Everyone would love each other. And even if they didn’t quite accomplish the childish glee Andie found in finding that rock – even if they had to work on it…even if their love for the person who carried some gunk along with them was imperfect, I still say our world would be bright, it would be sweeter.
What would happen if the whole world woke up tomorrow morning, found a “rock” and loved it, just loved the whole thing, all of it, no matter how dirty it was?
You see, I think we take things, and people for granted. We have flashy ads by the thousands thrown at us every day, all colorful and loud and trying desperately to get our attention. Sometimes, I think we forget that if we just stopped for a second, just for one second, we might find that the greatest things in life, like rocks, or hugs from a friend, or kisses from a 20 month old (which Andie LOVES to give), they’re all free, and they’re just sitting there, waiting for us to stop listening for the thunder or wind, and start hearing the gentle whisper…just sometimes, you have to dig a little.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
If I had a nickle for every person who has ever called me Audrey...
I've been thinking in the past few days about my name. My full name, and yes, I am going to use it on the internet, is Aubree Ellyn Redmond. My parents are creative individuals, and I have been told that it is derived from very many sources. Specifically, my first name is after a song by Bread, called Aubrey. It isn't spelled Aubrey, obviously. The reason for that is that my dad is a super big Lord of the Rings freak, and read my mom the trilogy while she was on bedrest when she was pregnant with my brother and I who are twins. The "bree" part of my name is after the town of Bree in Lord of the Rings. My middle name, is Ellyn, with a Y, and is specifically after my great aunt Helen, who was a writer. My parents, however, felt that Aubree Helen sounded funny, so they had the brilliant idea of changing it to Ellen. Again, that is not how it's spelled. I live close to a town called Glen Ellyn, and my parents thought it would be fun to name me after the town. I still have yet to find out exactly what did or didn't happen in that town that caused my parents to name me after it, nevertheless, that is my name. Aubree Ellyn Redmond.
When I was little, a hated my name. It was different, and people always accidently called me Audrey instead of Aubree. If they managed to actually call me by the right name, they would spell it wrong, as Aubrey rather than Aubree. It drove me insane. I also felt that it wasn't pretty. I wanted a name like my friends had. I wanted to be named Cathy, like the girl from Barney, then after I went through that phase, I wanted to change my name to Abigail. Soon, it became Rose, then Lily, then Melissa, and then I started to express myself creatively in the names Fern (like the girl in Charlotte's Web) and even, yes, believe it or not, Emerald (this one I came up with on my own...I don't know why). To make a long story short, which I guess I don't really know how to do, I just really didn't like my name. It wasn't until I was older that I began to appreciate it. I started to realize how nice it is to not have a common name, like Sarah, or Lauren, or Katie. I also started realizing how much I like it that my parents put thought into my name, because I started to see how much my name has shaped who I am. In the past years, having an uncommon name has challenged me to be an uncommon person, I think. If I were a Sarah or a Katie, I think it would've been easy for me to conform (as silly as that sounds) to what the entire world was doing. Being an Aubree automatically makes me different, and I've learned that this isn't a bad thing. Being an Aubree has also taught me about confrontation, and how to correct people with grace and how to be forgiving. As mentioned earlier, I'm often refered to as "Audrey" and my name has been mis-spelled more times than it has been spelled correctly. I have found that I've had to correct those around me more times than not when it comes to my name, and I've had to learn to do it in a way that efficiently gets my point across, yet offers grace and forgiveness on the front end. It's also helped me to learn how to stand up for myself, because there was a time when I would've just let the mistake slide.
There are also a few places in my life where I've completely been thrilled to see my name. When I was in the 5th grade, I had a pretty big part in the dinner theater play that my previous church had put on. I was Officer Hanson, a dispatch officer that worked for the NYPD (I believe), and had I think about 17 lines. One of the times I was proudest of the name I held, was when I saw the program read... Officer Hanson ............................ Aubree Redmond. Another time, when I was probably about 10, I entered a raffle to win the new Millenium Beanie Baby. They pulled the name out of the bin, and yelled "AUBREE REDMOND!" I was in pure shock. The next thing I knew, my brother was saying "Hey! That's my sister! Right here!" as he tugged me by the arm. I believe I cried as I accepted my prize. That beanie baby is worth all of $4.99 (I check periodically on Ebay) now. Still, it sits in my room, enclosed in the plastic case it came in, just to remind me how happy that day was. I also once called into a Christian radio station, trying to be the 6th caller or something, and won a gift certificate to a pancake house. They replayed my phone call about ten minutes later, and hearing them introduce me..."Aubree Redmond" as the winner, was possibly one of the more exciting days in my life. Having my name on the acceptance letter to the college I'm going to in the fall, or on the schedule for the church worship team, seeing someone I love call me "Aub" in a message on Facebook or an email, they're all completely wonderful ways to see my name. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've learned to love my name.
Mainly though, the point I'm trying to make of all of this confusion, is that the very best thing about my name, the thing that will never ever be beaten by the lists of ways I can see my name in positive lights, is that God, the maker of the universe, the creator of the earth, the author of every story of every person and every place, knows my name. He never calls me Audrey, or spells it with a y. In fact, God, the lover of my soul, knows every single hair on my head, every particle in my body and adam that I'm made up of. God, all powerful, ultimate, all-mighty ruler over the entire earth, knows me. He knows my name. In fact, He has my name written in the Book of Life, and yours can be there, too. See, that's what's amazing about God, He doesn't just know my name, He knows yours, whether you seek Him or you don't, and He loves you, and calls you His own. And that, my friends, is the greatest peice of knowledge I will ever have to share.
When I was little, a hated my name. It was different, and people always accidently called me Audrey instead of Aubree. If they managed to actually call me by the right name, they would spell it wrong, as Aubrey rather than Aubree. It drove me insane. I also felt that it wasn't pretty. I wanted a name like my friends had. I wanted to be named Cathy, like the girl from Barney, then after I went through that phase, I wanted to change my name to Abigail. Soon, it became Rose, then Lily, then Melissa, and then I started to express myself creatively in the names Fern (like the girl in Charlotte's Web) and even, yes, believe it or not, Emerald (this one I came up with on my own...I don't know why). To make a long story short, which I guess I don't really know how to do, I just really didn't like my name. It wasn't until I was older that I began to appreciate it. I started to realize how nice it is to not have a common name, like Sarah, or Lauren, or Katie. I also started realizing how much I like it that my parents put thought into my name, because I started to see how much my name has shaped who I am. In the past years, having an uncommon name has challenged me to be an uncommon person, I think. If I were a Sarah or a Katie, I think it would've been easy for me to conform (as silly as that sounds) to what the entire world was doing. Being an Aubree automatically makes me different, and I've learned that this isn't a bad thing. Being an Aubree has also taught me about confrontation, and how to correct people with grace and how to be forgiving. As mentioned earlier, I'm often refered to as "Audrey" and my name has been mis-spelled more times than it has been spelled correctly. I have found that I've had to correct those around me more times than not when it comes to my name, and I've had to learn to do it in a way that efficiently gets my point across, yet offers grace and forgiveness on the front end. It's also helped me to learn how to stand up for myself, because there was a time when I would've just let the mistake slide.
There are also a few places in my life where I've completely been thrilled to see my name. When I was in the 5th grade, I had a pretty big part in the dinner theater play that my previous church had put on. I was Officer Hanson, a dispatch officer that worked for the NYPD (I believe), and had I think about 17 lines. One of the times I was proudest of the name I held, was when I saw the program read... Officer Hanson ............................ Aubree Redmond. Another time, when I was probably about 10, I entered a raffle to win the new Millenium Beanie Baby. They pulled the name out of the bin, and yelled "AUBREE REDMOND!" I was in pure shock. The next thing I knew, my brother was saying "Hey! That's my sister! Right here!" as he tugged me by the arm. I believe I cried as I accepted my prize. That beanie baby is worth all of $4.99 (I check periodically on Ebay) now. Still, it sits in my room, enclosed in the plastic case it came in, just to remind me how happy that day was. I also once called into a Christian radio station, trying to be the 6th caller or something, and won a gift certificate to a pancake house. They replayed my phone call about ten minutes later, and hearing them introduce me..."Aubree Redmond" as the winner, was possibly one of the more exciting days in my life. Having my name on the acceptance letter to the college I'm going to in the fall, or on the schedule for the church worship team, seeing someone I love call me "Aub" in a message on Facebook or an email, they're all completely wonderful ways to see my name. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've learned to love my name.
Mainly though, the point I'm trying to make of all of this confusion, is that the very best thing about my name, the thing that will never ever be beaten by the lists of ways I can see my name in positive lights, is that God, the maker of the universe, the creator of the earth, the author of every story of every person and every place, knows my name. He never calls me Audrey, or spells it with a y. In fact, God, the lover of my soul, knows every single hair on my head, every particle in my body and adam that I'm made up of. God, all powerful, ultimate, all-mighty ruler over the entire earth, knows me. He knows my name. In fact, He has my name written in the Book of Life, and yours can be there, too. See, that's what's amazing about God, He doesn't just know my name, He knows yours, whether you seek Him or you don't, and He loves you, and calls you His own. And that, my friends, is the greatest peice of knowledge I will ever have to share.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Only Person I Want to Be
Soooo...
I realize that the majority of my blogs have been like these super serious like life reflecting things for the past few weeks, but suck it up, that's how it's going to be. (haha)
Anyway
As cliché as this totally is, I just want to say that I've spent a large majority of the past four or five years trying to create this persona about myself, trying to control who I am and who I want to be. Which is a fancy way I guess of saying I've spent a lot of my conscious and developmental life trying to become something I was never going to be.
Like I've said before, I really sincerely like to plan things, and in the past, I've made attempts at planning out my entire life as a whole. I think that included who I was. I painted these personas of myself which adhered according to whatever I felt would benefit the most at the time. For a while, I was Aubree the rock-star, and then I met my first boyfriend and I was Aubree the active sporty person who enjoyed healthy eating and was trying (try being the key word here) as hard as I could to be thin and dripping with energy. I've also been Aubree the artist, Aubree the super ultra Christian, Aubree the questioning the institutionalized church because that's what was cool to do at the time Christian. I've also been Aubree the mis-understand genius who somehow knew something that nobody else did. Aubree the scholar, the angsty teen poet, and the actress. You name it, I've tried to paint myself as it pretty much. Unfortunately, no matter how many coats of paint you put on the concret wall, it's never going to turn it into dry wall, or a log cabin. Changing the outside was something I was good at, but this definitely didn't do anything but make the inside even more lost and confused. I guess somewhere along the line of being the person mixture of all people, or a certain person who I had deemed ideal, I lost the really kind of awesome person that I was. And as a disclaimer, I'm totally not meaning for this to sound like one of those self discovery stupid cheesy blogs but I think it definitely is heading that way. So, I guess if you like that keep going, and if not, I don't blame you for stopping here. Anyway, all this junk, which you can find out about if you read a little farther back in my blog happened in my life, which pretty stripped all of the paint which I had taken such care to maticulously craft and design off the wall. I was like this totally empty, hurting and broken person who on top of all of that was realizing she had no idea who she was.
And then something marvelous and miraculous happened. God showed up.
Ok - so maybe he didn't show up, maybe He had always been there, I was just stupid and blind and wasn't really paying attention. Maybe the colors which I painted were really like neon disgusting and the fumes from the paint were causing me to have like strange hallucinations which caused me not to see God the entire time. See, God did this amazing thing and took me by the hand and started to show me that all those silly images I had painted on the walls of my life were pointless...I didn't need to worry about being a certain thing or a certain person. God showed me something beautiful, and that beautiful thing is that I am HIS.
And that's where all of this figuring out started. God took me by the hand, and instead of painting on my walls, God stripped off the wall-paper and the paint which I had plastered onto myself and washed my walls clean. Then, he pointed out the beauty of the wood-work instead. He showed me how beautiful the natural coloring was, and that the grain was simply perfect, exactly as it was intended to be created. He showed me the beauty of my walls in only the way the architect of those walls could. Soon, slowely and painfully I began to discover who I was. Who God created me to be, rather, and then after that, after it became extremely clear that God was in control, I began to fall in love with that person - the person who God MADE, who God CREATED, and who God loves.
So the other day, I went to the gym, and I ran a little on the track and biked on exercise bike. Then afterwards, while I was stretching, I turned and saw this girl on one of the machines. She looked like she was probably a little younger than me, but she was thin. She was really thin, and she was beautiful and tall. She looked like a model, and walking out to my car the only thing that I could think was that I was never ever going to look like that girl. No matter how many calories I didn't consume, no matter how many miles I ran or crunches I did, or anything, I was never going to be able to look like her. I spent the rest of the night thinking about how I wish my thighs weren't as large, and my calves more defined. I wished that my stomach were flatter and my hips smaller. I wanted to be taller. I wanted to be a completely different person who I was never going to be.
And then today, I went to work, and all of the kids were playing outside. I decided to quickly run down to this restaurant right next door to grab some lunch and then run back. Walking back, I was in clear vision of the playground on which the kids in my class were playing. One of the kids spotted me, then screamed at the top of her lungs "HI MS. AUBREE!!!!" I went to wave, but before I could even get my arm up high enough for them to see me do it, I began to hear the chorus resound. "HEY!!! MS. AUBREE!!!", "LOOK! MS. AUBREE IS BACK!" "MS. AUBREE! MS. AUBREE! HI!!!".
And I realized in that moment exactly what I had failed to realize through all of highschool, and the other night at the gym. I realized that the only person in the world that I wanted to be was "Ms. Aubree". The only person I want to be is me. It's not my friends from high school. It's not someone who may or may not be more desirable to the person I may be crushing on at that current time. It isn't that girl I saw at the gym, or any girl I ever see in the halls at school, or on TV or anywhere else.
It's me. The only person I want to be is me. And yes. Sometimes I'm kind of obnoxious and I laugh at silly things, including myself, but I happen to think that's a good thing since I'd rather laugh than cry, and a life spent in laughter is better than a life spent not. It's true that I'm not a genius. I get good grades in school, but I normally work my butt off for them. Yeah, my thighs touch in the middle when I stand up, and sometimes when I eat a lot or am wearing particularly tight pants my stomach sticks out. I also have a teeny bit of cellulite (GASP!) and get a zit now and then, but that's who I am, and that's ok, and if my goal in life is to find someone who loves me for only the ways that I'm perfect, then I think I should re-assess those goals since if I succeed, I will find that I'm extremely miserable one day.
AND SO
I've concluded that life is too short to count every morsel of food that enters your mouth, to abide only by lists, and follow only schedules. Life is too short to walk around with your nose stuck in a rule book, or devising your next strategic move. God invented these amazing things called smiles and laughter. He created eyes to see and ears to hear, and so I propose that we use them. I propose that we smile more and laugh louder. I propose that laughs never be stifled, in fact, and always be allowed. Mainly, I propose that we become more concerned with how we live than how we die, because how we die is not going to be what we're remembered for, it's how we live that will get people talking.
In conclusion, I'd suggest that you let God show you exactly how beautiful your woodwork is, without the paint, without the wallpaper or stain, just exactly as is. I think you will be delightfully surprised.
I realize that the majority of my blogs have been like these super serious like life reflecting things for the past few weeks, but suck it up, that's how it's going to be. (haha)
Anyway
As cliché as this totally is, I just want to say that I've spent a large majority of the past four or five years trying to create this persona about myself, trying to control who I am and who I want to be. Which is a fancy way I guess of saying I've spent a lot of my conscious and developmental life trying to become something I was never going to be.
Like I've said before, I really sincerely like to plan things, and in the past, I've made attempts at planning out my entire life as a whole. I think that included who I was. I painted these personas of myself which adhered according to whatever I felt would benefit the most at the time. For a while, I was Aubree the rock-star, and then I met my first boyfriend and I was Aubree the active sporty person who enjoyed healthy eating and was trying (try being the key word here) as hard as I could to be thin and dripping with energy. I've also been Aubree the artist, Aubree the super ultra Christian, Aubree the questioning the institutionalized church because that's what was cool to do at the time Christian. I've also been Aubree the mis-understand genius who somehow knew something that nobody else did. Aubree the scholar, the angsty teen poet, and the actress. You name it, I've tried to paint myself as it pretty much. Unfortunately, no matter how many coats of paint you put on the concret wall, it's never going to turn it into dry wall, or a log cabin. Changing the outside was something I was good at, but this definitely didn't do anything but make the inside even more lost and confused. I guess somewhere along the line of being the person mixture of all people, or a certain person who I had deemed ideal, I lost the really kind of awesome person that I was. And as a disclaimer, I'm totally not meaning for this to sound like one of those self discovery stupid cheesy blogs but I think it definitely is heading that way. So, I guess if you like that keep going, and if not, I don't blame you for stopping here. Anyway, all this junk, which you can find out about if you read a little farther back in my blog happened in my life, which pretty stripped all of the paint which I had taken such care to maticulously craft and design off the wall. I was like this totally empty, hurting and broken person who on top of all of that was realizing she had no idea who she was.
And then something marvelous and miraculous happened. God showed up.
Ok - so maybe he didn't show up, maybe He had always been there, I was just stupid and blind and wasn't really paying attention. Maybe the colors which I painted were really like neon disgusting and the fumes from the paint were causing me to have like strange hallucinations which caused me not to see God the entire time. See, God did this amazing thing and took me by the hand and started to show me that all those silly images I had painted on the walls of my life were pointless...I didn't need to worry about being a certain thing or a certain person. God showed me something beautiful, and that beautiful thing is that I am HIS.
And that's where all of this figuring out started. God took me by the hand, and instead of painting on my walls, God stripped off the wall-paper and the paint which I had plastered onto myself and washed my walls clean. Then, he pointed out the beauty of the wood-work instead. He showed me how beautiful the natural coloring was, and that the grain was simply perfect, exactly as it was intended to be created. He showed me the beauty of my walls in only the way the architect of those walls could. Soon, slowely and painfully I began to discover who I was. Who God created me to be, rather, and then after that, after it became extremely clear that God was in control, I began to fall in love with that person - the person who God MADE, who God CREATED, and who God loves.
So the other day, I went to the gym, and I ran a little on the track and biked on exercise bike. Then afterwards, while I was stretching, I turned and saw this girl on one of the machines. She looked like she was probably a little younger than me, but she was thin. She was really thin, and she was beautiful and tall. She looked like a model, and walking out to my car the only thing that I could think was that I was never ever going to look like that girl. No matter how many calories I didn't consume, no matter how many miles I ran or crunches I did, or anything, I was never going to be able to look like her. I spent the rest of the night thinking about how I wish my thighs weren't as large, and my calves more defined. I wished that my stomach were flatter and my hips smaller. I wanted to be taller. I wanted to be a completely different person who I was never going to be.
And then today, I went to work, and all of the kids were playing outside. I decided to quickly run down to this restaurant right next door to grab some lunch and then run back. Walking back, I was in clear vision of the playground on which the kids in my class were playing. One of the kids spotted me, then screamed at the top of her lungs "HI MS. AUBREE!!!!" I went to wave, but before I could even get my arm up high enough for them to see me do it, I began to hear the chorus resound. "HEY!!! MS. AUBREE!!!", "LOOK! MS. AUBREE IS BACK!" "MS. AUBREE! MS. AUBREE! HI!!!".
And I realized in that moment exactly what I had failed to realize through all of highschool, and the other night at the gym. I realized that the only person in the world that I wanted to be was "Ms. Aubree". The only person I want to be is me. It's not my friends from high school. It's not someone who may or may not be more desirable to the person I may be crushing on at that current time. It isn't that girl I saw at the gym, or any girl I ever see in the halls at school, or on TV or anywhere else.
It's me. The only person I want to be is me. And yes. Sometimes I'm kind of obnoxious and I laugh at silly things, including myself, but I happen to think that's a good thing since I'd rather laugh than cry, and a life spent in laughter is better than a life spent not. It's true that I'm not a genius. I get good grades in school, but I normally work my butt off for them. Yeah, my thighs touch in the middle when I stand up, and sometimes when I eat a lot or am wearing particularly tight pants my stomach sticks out. I also have a teeny bit of cellulite (GASP!) and get a zit now and then, but that's who I am, and that's ok, and if my goal in life is to find someone who loves me for only the ways that I'm perfect, then I think I should re-assess those goals since if I succeed, I will find that I'm extremely miserable one day.
AND SO
I've concluded that life is too short to count every morsel of food that enters your mouth, to abide only by lists, and follow only schedules. Life is too short to walk around with your nose stuck in a rule book, or devising your next strategic move. God invented these amazing things called smiles and laughter. He created eyes to see and ears to hear, and so I propose that we use them. I propose that we smile more and laugh louder. I propose that laughs never be stifled, in fact, and always be allowed. Mainly, I propose that we become more concerned with how we live than how we die, because how we die is not going to be what we're remembered for, it's how we live that will get people talking.
In conclusion, I'd suggest that you let God show you exactly how beautiful your woodwork is, without the paint, without the wallpaper or stain, just exactly as is. I think you will be delightfully surprised.
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