Intolerable Rudeness

I recently read a blog post about how people will tolerate bad behavior in the person they love because they love them, and that a true test of a healthy relationship is to say, "would I tolerate this language from my friend?"  I'm very fortunate to be in a loving relationship with a person who treats me with respect, and I never have to ask this question, however, I caught myself listening to a voice in my life the other day and wondering why I tolerate that negative language.

I ran a Half Marathon in just a sports bra and skirt last week.  It was 96% humidity and 88 degrees.  Needless to say, I wasn't the only person out on the course who was only half dressed, and I figured it was OK.  As I crossed the finish line, however, there were photographers snapping photos as we were draped in our medals, and I laughed and said, "Oh Lord, I won't be buying THAT photo.  That is a lot of squish for a finishers pic!"

Of course, I was laughing.  I actually think I look Ok.

But later I thought back and wondered why it was OK for me to be so rude to myself.  If someone - a friend - had said that to me, I would have been very sad.  When I realized that, it made me want to buy the picture and save it, knowing that there may be a time in my life when I will look back and think, "Hey, when I was 38, I was very fit."

So women, and men, reading this - please be kind to yourselves.  Appreciate that life is a process, and that just because we are so often always striving toward a bigger goal, it doesn't mean we should dismiss our current greatness.

I know I'm going to try harder to celebrate my current self.

Also, next to me happens to be one of
my favorite Nursing School professors.
We didn't run together, but she caught
me in the last mile.  Great job Prof W.

Scaling Back

It started innocently.

I brought Garmin into my life to help track how far I was running at any given time and to help me learn to pace.  I told myself, “If I wasn’t going out too fast, I would have better running experiences.”

Garmin The First - circa 2010

What happened next was that I started racing myself, and Garmin was the means to track my races.  I know I’m not the only one.  “Hellz to the Yeah!  My best 5K split ever!” or “I just ran 20 miles with an average pace of what?!  That’s amazing!”  Garmin became my buddy.  She told me to push harder, faster, and to go longer (that’s what she said).

But at some point, the charm of my training partner started wearing thin.

“You used to be faster.”

“Wow.  That’s all we’re doing?  A X minute mile?  This feels really hard.”

“I know you think you’re pushing it, but you are capable of so much more than this.”

"You can't maintain this pace."

I realized recently that bringing Garmin on my run is like bringing my bathroom scale to a restaurant.  They’re both only focused on the numbers, and not at all able to see past them to evaluate the circumstances.  

They are metric based, and I’m more than a number.

Also, they're both bitches.

It doesn’t matter how fast I am today in relation to how fast I want to be on race day.  There’s no comparing Scranton PA in October to Richmond VA in July.  The weather is going to be different.

God willing, the air quality will be better.

But Garmin doesn’t care.  Just like Scale doesn’t care if I’m on steroids, or if I've eaten recently, or how much salt was in my dinner.

Scale has no mercy.  

And Scale will call me out for being fat in a hot minute, even though I think there are a lot of people who would pay to be as Obese as me.  

All Scale sees is a number.  Just like Garmin.

Garmin The Second

So right now, Garmin doesn’t get to come running with me very often.  If I’m on a mapped route... or running with pals who will help me pace...  or running at MTT, Scale, er, I mean Garmin stays home.  And I'm loving my run lately.  It's blissful again, even when it's hard.  Even when I want to lay down in the street in a puddle of sweat because my legs are so tired they want to quit, I still love it.  

I'm back to enjoying my run just like the good old days.  SpeeDee, Ninja, T and I are out on the streets laying down mile after mile of awesome.  So while there is a small part of me that wants to put the watch on to record my progress, the other part says, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?  JUST GO RUN.

So, that's what I do.  I just go run.

Garmin and Scale focus too much on the metrics, and not enough on the joy of the moment, and if I'm not having fun, then why am I doing this?

Right?

Exactly.

~savor the run~

An Open Letter to 22 Year Old Girls Everywhere

Dear 22 year old Girls,

Don’t try so hard.

You are beautiful no matter what you are wearing. You are 22. By definition, 22 year olds are beautiful to pretty much everyone.

And before you get on your, “she’s just jealous because I’m young” box, you can #STFU. 

I’m still young enough. I still get asked out by men almost every day. Seriously. And despite that “ask out” statistic, it may surprise you to learn that I never go out in public wearing only a sports bra and shorts unless I am going to log 6 or more miles and it’s 80 degrees with high humidity.

I was at a theme park this weekend, and a concert a few weeks ago, and at those two venues I saw many beautiful women in their late teens and early twenties dressed like back-up dancers in a music video for an up and coming artist.

I suppose there are times when that attire is appropriate.

For example, it's ok to wear this when you are actually working as a back-up dancer in a music video for an up and coming artist. Otherwise, that outfit isn’t going to fly as socially appropriate for 364 days of the year.

I’ll be the first to admit, many of the women sporting the “leopard print sports bra, denim shorts and high-top sneakers” look had rocking figures. They pulled off the look with toned bodies you could bounce a quarter off of, and yes, the men noticed too.

Men from every age group were staring at the beautiful exposed skin of these girls.

But all I kept thinking when I saw them was this: Girls, if you want to attract a man with whom you will share a meaningful and emotionally fulfilling relationship, maybe don’t start by dressing like a hooker.

Also, if your shorts are so short that the "crease" of your cheek isn't covered, your shorts are too short to wear out of the bedroom. Fo' Shizzle. Unless you're a prostitute, and you need to make rent. In that case, probably they're Ok.

While on the topic, don’t look around and think the girls who are dressed like hookers are getting boyfriends you would want. They might have boys who linger in their presence for a blink of time, but they are just boys.

Yes, I am saying it flat out: The men women attract while dressed-up as prostitutes are not quality men.

A woman who understands “understated sexy” attire for 364 days of the year is far sexier than the one who’s always dressing like it’s Halloween. On Halloween it’s socially acceptable to pull out the leopard print and feel free to dress like a back up dancer in a music video.

The other days of the year, I suggest that clothing should be treated like gift-wrap. The gift inside is a mystery, and it is worth waiting till Christmas to untie the bow.

Most men will even tell you, the anticipation of unwrapping this particular “present” is is almost as fun as any “gift” it contains.

Of course, the men who are picking up the girls wearing skimpy socially inappropriate clothing are just looking for something quick and easy. They like to celebrate Christmas Year Round. They’re the ones who tore through the wrapping paper in a frenzy as kids.

You know what else they were?

They were the ones who finished opening the gift, saw what it was, and set it aside to tear into the next gift without appreciating what they’d received.

Forget a Thank You note, they had no idea who had given them what.

I’m not saying to save yourself for Mr Right. I’m not preaching Abstinence. I’m preaching Self Respect.

There are a whole crew of blogs out there screaming the whole “Why buy the Cow when you can get the Milk free” theory... Cow? Free..? No, I never liked that analogy.

We aren’t cows. This isn’t milk. We are women, and these are our bodies.  And they’re worth a hell of a lot more than $3.80 a gallon.

Regards,

A Mom who’s Not Really a Prude, Just Concerned