Recently my friends and I have been itching to get back into exercising and eating healthy but have seemed to lack the necessary motivation to make this a regular practice in our daily lives. For myself, I fluctuate having a healthy lifestyle and being a lazy good-for-nothing alternatively four times a year. This of course isn’t ideal for my body as I will gain and lose weight constantly with no attainable goal in sight. Currently as it is summer and I have no gym to attend, all the free time possible, and a fully stocked fridge, with little self control, my fluctuating weight is at its peak. And then something wonderful happened, something that added fuel to my dim fire.
A challenge: sixty miles, four friends and one month to finish it all. A friend of mine suggested that our group of four compete in a race of sorts on the Nike+ Running app. Whoever completes sixty miles first in the span of one month wins. What exactly do we win? I would assume bragging rights. As we were figuring out the finer details of when and how to start, everyone in the chat agreed that I would most likely win. I humbly agreed to having this “in the bag,” but I remember it hasn’t always been this easy for me to accept my body’s potential, and I’ve come a long way to be able to say I could win this race.
One of my very few good qualities as a functioning adult is that I love to run. Outside, inside, on a treadmill, on the street, here, there and anywhere, for me running is bliss. The first few steps are always the best. Once I’ve got my gear on, especially if I’ve put in a little extra effort into my outfit, and the perfect playlist is waiting just for me, I know that this is going to be an amazing run. Of course, halfway into my second mile I immediately regret all my decisions and question my sanity. (Who could ever love such a tiring hobby?) Then again, once I sprint my last mile and pause the upbeat music, with a red face and breathing almost unbearable, that’s one of the best feelings in the world: accomplishment.
I started running for enjoyment around my junior year of high school. It was at that time that I had enough with hating my appearance and flushing my meals down the toilet. I can remember the first day I felt insecure. I was late to class and had to catch up to everyone else, and while I was running down the hallway I felt my body moving. As I turned my head to glance at the glass cases lining the walls filled with artwork, the only thing I saw was the reflection of my imperfections. A stomach too large, thighs too jiggly, and a frame too wide. I was in kindergarten.
It wasn’t until ninth grade where I started doing the wrong thing to fix what I thought was an ugly body. Instead of practicing good eating habits and being active, I wanted to be skinny as soon as possible. I believed I would be happy if I had a flat stomach and a gap between my thighs. But I didn’t expect the emptiness I felt from food, or how the absence of it made me feel proud like I was doing a good job. I don’t quite know how I came to the conclusion that me having fat on my body was the reason I was painfully shy and not good at math. In reality I had a lot more problems than my weight at the time, but to my fifteen-year-old self, my appearance is what defined me the most.
One morning my mother asked me if I had thrown up the night before because she heard noises in my bathroom and I remember panicking and lying to her face. And I felt an uneasy guilt at the pit of my empty stomach, a feeling that I had let her down. At that point I was terrified of my obsession with food and not wanting to have any in my body. I was so angry at myself and how I still didn’t like how I looked. But I was exhausted, I didn’t want to get up for school, and I didn’t want to have to fight my natural desire for food anymore. It was the summer of tenth grade that I finally decided to do things right. I was going to be healthy.
I still have difficult times with my weight. I compare myself to everyone else and construct my ideal body in my head at times. I eat unhealthily, I skip workouts and I relapse into moments of wanting an easy fix. What’s different now is that I have a challenge. I have a goal to complete these sixty miles as soon as I can to beat my friends in this race. But it’s not all about winning, it’s proving to myself that I can complete this challenge for myself and for my body that I’ve taken for granted.
Four days into this challenge and I’ve ran 12.87 miles so far. I’m on a better sleeping and eating schedule and have more energy. Overall, I feel better about myself and my behavior towards my goal. I proudly take the lead for now and am determined to keep it, cause as much as I claim It's not about beating everyone else... I want to win really bad. I am not my ninth grade self anymore, and I am not perfect. As much as I would like to truthfully accept myself fully, I do have things I want to change. I believe that that is okay too. If I’m going to be my best self I have to work for it, and therefore take care of my body and mind. And as beautiful as bodies are, taking care of them is honestly one of the most beautiful things you can do.
