the torture below

I have this theory.

We talk big.  “My worth is MORE than my appearance”.  But society tells us that IS NOT TRUE.  Appearance and worth are sadly tied, and until society changes the rules and the collective media comes to its senses, we have to live with it.

My Identity is tied so firmly to My Run, that when I'm run-less, I start to question everything.
Even things that are unquestionable.

I think that many many women are blind and only see what they think they see.  And they’re deaf, and can only hear what they think they know.   And sometimes they’re surrounded by thick dark impenetrable evil that cloaks the world.  The view from behind the darkness is distorted and false. 

For example, one of my friends is particularly stunning.  She has a laugh that’s like champagne and a smile that’s lovely.  But the reason that men stop what they’re doing to stare “inconspicuously” as she walks through a room is probably not champagne and smile related.  She seems to have no idea that her legs are the kind of legs people dream about, and yeah, I mean that how it sounded.

Another friend is so pretty that the first time I saw her photo I had to draw her.  Her beauty is classic.   Fresh, blond, fair, and tall, it's no wonder my son has a crush on her.  She’s athletic and strong.  Sometimes I hear doubt from her.  DOUBT?  WTF?  Why does someone who looks like you doubt her beauty?

Come to think of it, most of my friends seem to have no idea what they look like.  One or two realize they’re beautiful and either don’t seem to care (“I’m worth more than my looks”) or just roll with it (“I consider it a public service”). 

The rest see the worst, the flaws, the imaginary fat, the thick thighs, and the childhood scars.  They see what I never even notice, or what doesn’t exist.  They have no clue what they really look like. 

I wonder:  Do I have any idea what I look like?

Probably. Not. 

I caught myself in the mirror the other day and thought, “I’m ugly.”  It was a passing thought, but I didn’t bother to banish it.  For some reason, it rang of truth. 

I pulled a fleece over my head, put my hood up and went to the gym where I destroyed myself in the pool. 

Ragged breathing was all I could hear as I churned in the dark water.  Then when I could scarcely breathe, I ripped the gay purple visor off my head, abruptly breaking the bubble gum Britney and Fergalious feed,  I snapped a pair of black goggles into place.  I raked my body down the pool and back again for a few hundred meters, punishing myself with brutal speed.  My arms ached, crying for mercy, but I had none.

I kept thinking about how ugly I am.  That I am unwanted.  I am impossible. 

I don’t know; it was just a thought that wouldn’t go away.  Nothing could break through the shadows.  The lifeguard sat witness, blessedly unaware of the torture below the surface.

I soaked in the pain, ignoring the fire in my lungs and swallowed back the iron I tasted as I sucked in the chlorine laced air.   Recover, breathe, catch, kick, pull.  The rhythm served as punctuation.

I might be ugly, but at least I. can. f*cking. swim.

An hour later I could barely pull my weary body over the side onto the cold floor.  Clutching my towel to my chest, I stumbled toward the locker room.  Pink hands that were too tired to adjust the nozzle of the shower turned a knob, and my skin was pricked by water that quickly grew too hot.

Ah, the torture continued.

It was when I went to dry myself that I realized I must be possessed.  The still trembling leg I was drying was not fat.  It was muscular and curvy.  A quick inspection of myself revealed what I was beginning to suspect. 

I am not a Victoria’s Secret model.  Thank f*ck.  Imagine the stress that goes with that gig.

I am real.  I will never get fired for aging.  And not one part of me should be berated or punished the way I punished myself because I am real.

I have seen photos.  I know on film that I am not completely unfortunate looking.  WHY did I suddenly look in the mirror and NOT BELIEVE? 

The answer is simple. 

I am blind.  I only see what I EXPECT to see.

I AM DEAF, and only hear what I think I already know.

And when I say women are surrounded in evil, tell me friends, what would make my beautiful friends think they are anything less than exquisite? 

The darkness needs to go.

Next time that your friend tells you “you are the hottest mom ever”, see the honesty in the message and believe that you are THE HOTTEST MOM EVER.  When your husband , wife, brother, sister, guy or girlfriend says, “You are stunning”, I hope you will listen with your mind open to hear the truth of the message.

And I hope you will pay it forward.  Share the message with the beautiful people in your life.

You never know if the message you send, or comment you make, will be the light that breaks through and illuminates a path for someone who’s drowning in the darkness.

exclusive, we're not.

I admit.

I will invite almost anyone to run with my group.  almost.  If I sense even a hint of GBA potential, you'll be invited.  That's just how I roll.

That's not to say that EVERYONE fits in lock & key.  Sometimes people are just "there" at the runs.  They're part of the group, but I don't spend every run for those first few weeks wondering how we'd ever gotten along without them.

Some people, however, join the posse on Monday, and on Tuesday I'm thinking about all the opportunities we've missed by not finding each other sooner.

Kc is a great example of this, because I'd seen Kc running for months leading up to the actual INVITE. 


And Mer, who I've known for years, but never had the privilege to "play" with until recently and I am kicking myself for the lost time ~ that girl's got heart ~.

There is something great about having good chemistry in a group, true?

Well we have a new posse member, Mustang Sally.

She fit into the group like.... like.... well, like she's a GBA**.  I sensed something in her the day we met.  Something that I am certain now that I identified correctly.

As I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep after putting B'nut back to bed at 4am, I thought about how perfectly she not only fits into the group, but how completely she seems to intuitively understand the GBA principle.  

GBA isn't about cute socks ~ though they might help you feel GBA.

GBA isn't about runningskirts and pigtails ~ though they're fun, and we're fun.

AND being Galactically Bada** isn't about speed.

In what part of the world is someone's worth or amazingness judged on pace?

Nowhere I want to be, that's for sure.

Are we a stellar group of runners?  Sure we are - Illusive placed 3rd in his AG at a 21K trail race on Saturday, and Kc was 4th in her AG at the same race.

But what makes us GBA isn't about running fast.

GBA is about heart, fun, running for the love of the sport...  none of us are getting paid to run.  
We run because we love it.  We love the challenge.  We love the company.  We love what the conditioning does for the shape of our a**s.

All this really comes back to Mustang Sally.  She gets GBA.  She understands that worth is not based on pace.  She spreads the GBAness through encouragement, laughter, marginally inappropriate stories at completely appropriate times, and, most of all, love of sport.

I am waiting for the day that Mustang Sally realizes that she, too, "... can do anything."

Believe it, Mustang Sally, because it's true.  


~ savor the run ~