running

The Truth

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

I went to bed last night with the burning desire to go for a run in the morning. “I’m going to do it” I told myself. I will get up in the morning and go for a run before Joe has to leave. Visions of the “before time” when I would run miles and miles for fun and alone time danced in my head as I listened to the office and fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was still determined. While I did linger in bed for a bit, I got up, got myself dressed found my headphones and set off. I was just going to start Couch to 5K back up, knowing that I was no where near where I had been. I started off with my five minute warm up walk and was feeling great. It was still dark out, and honestly, this is my favorite time to run, before the whole world wakes up. Suddenly the Couch to 5K shouted out “Let’s jog” and I was ready…

Until I absolutely wasn’t. My right knee hurt. My left foot hurt. my gait was all wrong. Everything was off. It was only a minute but it felt like an eternity. After the second or third time I decided to just walk for the rest of the 30 minutes.

Now, you may think this makes me a quitter. And up until last night around 10 pm. I would have one hundred percent agreed with you. But I was proud of myself. I stopped when something was painful (not uncomfortable, but actually painful) but I still finished out the exercise in some way instead of feeling intensely defeated and just heading home and throwing myself a pity party all day.

For the rest of my walk I forced myself to face some fast and hard truths about this situation. It has been MONTHS since I have run at all and YEARS since I have really run (as in not Couch to 5K with stops built in). The separation and divorce years were not good to me, both mentally and physically. If I am being completely honest, they broke me. It has literally taken me this long to try and attempt to put myself back together, and I’m not only to lie it is extremely hard. I feel like I lost all of myself, including the parts that I loved and I am just now feeling strong enough to try and get them back.

But it’s going to be an incredibly hard road. Just because you’ve done it once, doesn’t mean it’s easier the second time. I am almost the same weight as I was at my heaviest in 2013…a number I swore to myself I would never see again. When I really started running I was almost 40 pounds lighter than I am now. And when I was training for half marathons and marathons I was 60-70 pounds lighter. As much as I want to rush and skip steps just to try to be where I once was, I know this is not the answer. I need to take my time. I need to relearn the basics. I need to find the correct path, the one where it may be hard and treacherous, but I’ll come out stronger in the end.

I really feel that girl I once was is still in there, just waiting for the opportunity to come out and shine.

She is. I know she is. She’s just going to take a little while to do it. And that’s ok.

…Then it will change you.

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

I logged onto WordPress to find that today is my WordPress “anniversary”. Ten years ago I created my first blog and tried to quiet the ramblings inside by writing them down for all to see. I’ve had this particular blog since April or 2013. This was two months before my world became unrecognizable. Two months before my dad died. Two months before I entered into a completely unrecognizable relationship. Four months before I would begin running.

There are a few pivotal moments that I can say defined me and completely changed my entire existence of being. Becoming a mother for the first time. My dad dying. Falling in love with running. And this entire divorce process. I’ve been feeling my own mortality lately. Not in the bad way, but in the good way. The “you only live once” and “you can’t take it with you” kind of way. I know it’s time to start making some pivotal changes in my life. But while I know what some of them are, I haven’t a clue where to even begin looking for the direction and motivation of the others.

This divorce has changed me in ways I didn’t even know were imaginable. I’ve gained 30 pounds (boo), become a better mother (yay), lost some friends (boo), and discovered some new found loves I never knew I had (I’m looking at you, camping).

But the true change has come in who I am. I listened to this TED Talk today at the recommendation of a friend (I can now officially say I listen to TED Talks) and while it focused on success and completion in the workplace, I can definitely say I see so many of these qualities in my every day life. Before my divorce I was an “agreeable giver”. I did whatever anyone else wanted, no questions asked. Now, to be fair, I like giving. I like doing things for other people. I like helping. But I realize now that sometimes it went too far. I changed my entire personality for friends and boys. I was a coward. I shied away from any confrontation. The only thing in the world I wanted was to be well liked (cue the absolutely abysmal low self esteem). I had no idea at all who I was. I didn’t know what music I liked. Or what books I liked. Or even what causes I liked. I was a follower…because I felt that made people happy.

But now…I’m different. I still love to give and help out. But I will challenge things that are blatantly wrong and I will fight for the causes I now KNOW I believe in. I don’t like fake (which is what I used to be). I’m not just going to roll over and take it anymore. Not from anyone. If you don’t like me, I don’t care. I will listen to my music and sing it loudly and I don’t care how embarrassing my Fleetwood Mac is! It’s freeing. It’s refreshing. And it’s also completely and utterly sad that it took me 38 years to get to this point. It makes me want to cry. But it also makes me want to rage against that girl that was so passive and complacent that she let her self almost pass her by.

I’m excited for the next few months. I’m excited to try and get back to running. I’m excited to try and lose the weight I gained back when I was in an abusive and manipulative relationship. I’m excited to see where I’m going to go professionally. But most of all I’m elated that there has been a reason for all this pain and suffering, and that reason is me. The caterpillar can’t just change into the butterfly because it’s his destiny. He has to work for it. He has to put in effort. He has to want it.

First it will challenge you…then it will change you.

Quiet Contemplation

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I know it has been a moment since I posted anything on my blog. It’s not that I don’t know what to say, (a million thoughts run through my head every single second) it’s just that I never give myself the time to sit down and write. So, on our last day at the beach, I am giving myself a few minutes while the children are happily ensconsed in their technology.

If you’ve seen me on Facebook or Instagram at any time in the last four weeks you know that I am completing a run streak. I have completed it a few times before, when I first got into running, to challenge myself and see how far I could go. And now I’m attempting it again in the hopes that I can find that self that I lost.

It’s been a few years since I have been able to finish it, always attempting, but usually giving up somewhere in the teens when I decide “It’s just too hard”, or “I can’t do it”, or “I’ll try again next year.” But for some reason I decided that this year is going to be different. I was going to finish. I was going to complete all 39 days and somehow all my problems in life would be solved.

And yet, here I am at day 33, with only one week to go, and I am contemplating not finishing.

There are a variety of reasons that I sit here and try to decide if I’m going to fit a mile into my life somehow today, and really, if it’s even worth it.

Parts of my body are hurting…like really hurting. And I know it’s probably because I’ve done too much, too soon. The run streak was designed to challenge you. And it definitely has done that, but its has also taken it’s toll.

It’s really hard to get this done on vacation. Running around after the kids at the beach and the pool all day, in the hot hot heat is exhausting. And then, to pile a run on before or after that is awful. The humidity here also makes it tough. I’m running a lot slower and a lot shorter distances than I was at home and it’s starting to take a mental toll on me, constantly wondering why I am even running in the first place if I’m going to get worse instead of better.

And I am getting worse, I know that. Because I am NOT taking breaks, I’m running all the time so I am NOT cross training like I should. I’m just going through the motions of getting it done. While this streak started as a motivator, it has turned into a chore. And it is stressing me out. Making sure this gets done every day is causing me anxiety. Being tired and in pain every day is causing me a anxiety. And I know all these things are not making me the best mom I can be.

The best part about the run streak is that after finishing day 32 I know it accomplished what I wanted it to. I am getting back to my life. I am going to keep running.

I just have to decide if I’m going to do it every day for the next seven days. I just have to decide if it’s worth it.

Appeasing the Universe

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The other day when it was snowing I made a deal with the universe. If we had a snow day I would run a 5K and clean the house.

I got my snow day. And I cleaned my house.

And then I went to the gym, fully invested in running this 5K today. And I made it about half way. And even that half way was tough.

As someone who ran a half marathon and trained for a marathon (yes, before quitting), not being able to really finish a 5K was beyond humbling. It may have even been a little humiliating.

But at the same time, I’m glad I stopped. I’m just getting back into running and I know if I would have kept going I would have been in pain tomorrow and then yet another workout would not get completed.

So I thought of a better way to appease the universe. Maybe I didn’t have to actually run the 5K today. Maybe I just had to commit to one…really commit.

So I did.

I registered for the Kelly Shamrock 5K in Baltimore. This will be the first race I’ve completed since the Turkey Trot when I was pregnant with Charlotte. Oh, I’ve signed up for a bunch since then, but I haven’t completed a single one.

This is also the first 5K I ever ran the entire race. Granted it was in 2014, but I’m seeing that as a sign.

I’m ready to do this all again.

The Resolute Quitter

/ Cassie / 1 Comment

Someone once told me that to write I need to write about what I know. Luckily that’s all I know how to write about anyway.

In the past four years I’ve quit every thing I’ve started. You name it, I’ve attempted it…and then quit. Run streaks? I quit by week two. Running? I used to run 25 – 30 miles a week, and now I’m lucky if I even walk two. I’ve signed up (and wasted a LOT of money) on countless 5Ks, half marathons, and marathons only to quit about half way through…when I had decided that it got too hard. Being more environmental? I’m pretty sure I threw away a pile of paper yesterday instead of recycling it because the recycling was full and I just needed it out of my house. Hell, I’ve even quit my marriage. At this point the only thing I haven’t quit is my job, but I did switch schools so maybe that counts?

I wasn’t always this way. As a matter of fact, I used to be exactly the opposite. I would make a plan and resolutely stick with it, no matter the consequence or if it was the best decision in the long run. I was just that stubborn. I would see it through to the end even if it killed me. I used to think this was one of my biggest character flaws, but now I’m not so sure. The tenacity that would once push me over the finish line has now been replaced with apathy and indifference. I would do anything to get it back.

Maybe I’ve spent so much time quitting lately that it’s just what seems normal and comfortable now. I’m used to it. It’s familiar. It’s has the feeling of that soft, comfy shirt that is completely stained and threadbare. You need to throw it away. You want to throw it away. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to do it. As if parting with that one thing is going to increase your sadness even more than it already is.

Fear has become such a major part of my life over the past few years that it is literally ingrained in my soul. The fear of failure keeps me from making the big leaps. The fear of judgment keeps me from making the choices I know I need to make, the choices that are the best for me. Fear of retribution keeps me on my feet at all times…constantly looking over my shoulder and waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’ve spent so much of the last few years of my life being scared that I have barely lived at all. I’ve made so many goals and had so many things I want to accomplish which have all been brushed aside because of fear. And I don’t want to do that anymore.

If you know me at all, you know I love New Year’s. The blank slate, the new beginnings, the chance to start again all resonate with me on a deeply pure and spiritual level. I tend to make resolutions, grandiose goals, and big decisions all to have me eventually quit. I just can’t keep living my life like that anymore. I think this year I’m going to dump the resolutions. The changes I want to make within myself are big. Every single thing I want to change about myself I can control. And I don’t need resolutions or a New Year to do that. I can just do it. Plain and simple. It’s really that easy.

Of course, coming up with the idea to do something is the easy part. The hard part is the follow through…and that’s exactly what I plan to work on first.

The other day, as we were driving through the city on the way home, two runners crossed in front of our car. Joe’s immediate response was about how it was cold and they were outside running and that they were wearing shorts. It’s true, it was about 25 degrees…it was cold. But all I felt was the formidable tug of nostalgia. I remember thinking that I wish I was a runner. Or more clearly, I wish I was still a runner.

So you know what? I’m going to become one again.

Confidence and marriage and running.

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We met in college.  We were in the same biology class and lab.  It was an 8 am class and I clearly wasn’t interested in impressing anybody since I showed up almost every day in my pajamas.  We became late partners (or rather a group of three) out of basic convenience…we sat near each other and it was easier than seeking out others.  I actually had a crush on the other guy in our group, but alas, he had a girlfriend.  We started studying together outside of class.  One thing led to another, and Poof!  Three years later we were married.  Now 13 years after that we are separated and headed towards divorce.

I was a mess when I was in college, even more so than I am now (for those who know me in “real life”).  I battled depression and manic episodes.  I was unhealthy.  I was “in love” with a boy from high school who was dating another girl.  I transferred schools every year or so and my debt was out of control (hi credit cards).  Because of all this, and I’m sure so much more,  I had the confidence of…well, I don’t know.  Let’s just say I had really low confidence.  And it took me a  long time (16 years to be exact) to realize this is the main contributor of me getting married and the age of 24 to my first “real” boyfriend.

In the beginning, I think I was just trying things out and having fun and then it became a dependency.  Here was a boy was was relatively normal and seemed to like me.  I’m lucky, I would think.  I don’t have to be alone anymore.  Did I love him?  I’m sure I did.  But I don’t think it was a life changing, earth shattering love.  And I know (especially now) that it wasn’t a love that could sustain a marriage.  I thought so little of my self and my self-worth that I  reveled in the attention. Someone likes me and I owe it to him to be with him.  It saddens me now thinking about how much my low self confidence contributed to this MAJOR aspect of my life.

There were times I felt that I should leave.  That I should break up with him because I knew I didn’t have what it takes to be his girlfriend and then his wife.  He deserved someone better, someone that was completely over the moon for him.  But instead I stayed.  I convinced myself I belonged there.  Someone loved me so much and I should stay with them because of this.  I worried I would hurt him and I didn’t want the guilt of hurting anyone.

In reality now, I realize I also stayed because I didn’t think anyone else would ever want me.  How horrible is that?  It took me a very long time to admit that to myself.

Our marriage was so tumultuous; up and down constantly that I couldn’t keep up.  I always wanted to leave, but never wanted to leave at the same time.  I didn’t want to be alone.  I didn’t want to have to start over.  I was safe here in this place.  Unhappy.  But safe.

I wish I knew what it was that finally made me realize it was OK to leave and that I deserved to be happy.  I know a small part of it was finding someone else who really did love me for me.  Another part was the kids and realizing that they shouldn’t be growing up in an unhappy home.

In all honesty, I think the biggest thing was that my confidence was improving and I know it had a lot to do with running.  Running made me happier and helped me become healthier, which of course led me to be more confident.  It was an outlet for my anger and frustration and gave me time to think and decide.

I loved myself during those times.

I haven’t run consistently since I began dating Joe.  I guess when I found another source of happiness running just fell to the side until it was almost non-existent.  While I am happier now than I have ever been, I miss the confidence.  I think that’s why I’m chasing running again after two years, and why I’m chasing this marathon.

I need to get that feeling back again…and I’ll make myself run until I do.

Shit’s about to get real.

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

*I’m writing this post for both of my blogs because it is equally pertinent to both.*

It’s gotten to that point again…the point I never thought I would be at again.  The weight is slowly creeping up and has been for the last few years, ever since Charlie was born.

It comes so slowly that you don’t even notice it.  A pound here, a pound there.  Then you realize that you are tired all the time and you just don’t have the energy to do much.  Just thinking about doing something *anything* makes you feel more tired.  You’ll do anything to NOT step on the scale (I just ate, I just showered, I’m wearing too many clothes it won’t be accurate), but when you finally do the number staring back at you takes your breath away.  And not in a good way.  Not in a John Cusack holding a boombox outside of your window way.  A sickening way.

Your clothes start to get tighter.  It must have shrunk in the dryer. Then there is no denying it.  They just don’t fit.  You need new ones.  You promise yourself you’ll just get one or two things until the weight comes off again and then you’ll reward yourself with brand new clothes to celebrate your hard work and perseverance.  Waking up is a drag because you have no idea what to wear.  Nothing really fits and nothing really looks good.  Every outfit becomes a best effort, one that your throw an over-sized cardigan over and hope for the best.

Things hurt.  Your body that you worked do hard to get healthy is now betraying you and groaning under the extra snacks and libations.  Your knees hurt.  Your hips hurt.  It is hard to get comfortable and sleep well at night.  You used to run miles after mile each week, now you loathe walking down the block when you don’t get a close parking spot.

You make promise after promise to yourself.  You will get healthier.  You will have energy again.  You will stop hurting.  You are two young to feel this way.  37 is too young to be falling apart.

But you’ll do it tomorrow.  It’s always tomorrow.  Because we always feel like we will have tomorrow.

I’m supposed to run the NYC marathon in 177 days.  Fate, destiny, a higher power, luck, whatever you want to call it, has landed me this opportunity and I told myself this is what I needed to get back again.  This would be my comeback.  I would DO THIS.

But I have 177 days until this marathon and I haven’t run in weeks.  And even though I used to run 10 miles at a time (albeit slow, but I did it), I know I can’t even run one anymore.

It breaks my heart.  More than leaving my husband.  More than my impending divorce.  More than anything, this is what breaks my heart.  That idea that I’m not who I used to be anymore.  The idea that I am not who I am SUPPOSED to be anymore.  The idea that I’m not who I was MEANT to be anymore.

It’s sobering and humiliating that I let it get this bad.  That I crashed to the bottom once again only to feel that there is no way up at all this time.  That I’ll tell myself I WILL get up and run tomorrow.  And I WILL be healthier and happier for it.

And I don’t.

I want to but I don’t do it.

Even though I know I need to.  I truly need to.  To save myself before I’m swallowed up whole again.

Nostalgia

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Nostalgia is a funny thing.  I usually try and shy away from it as it tends to make me sad.  I sugar coat the past at times, putting the shiny crystal sheen on things making me think I had it better when, in actuality, I probably didn’t. Charleston, kid free times, college – all things I think back on fondly, wishing I was still there in those moments, never really remembering the times that weren’t so good.

Today, though, was different.

I’ve been contemplating the idea of accepting my guaranteed entry to the NYC marathon since I dropped out last year.  I told myself that maybe this was the year I would *actually* do it if I could just take the first step and get out the door to exercise.  Today made three days in a row and I’m pretty damn proud of myself for that.

Today is cold.  And snowy.  But I managed to get the workout clothes on and out the front door to run/walk/jog/slide for 30 minutes.

As I began navigating the neighbor streets where I now live, the neighborhood streets where I lived years ago when I first began running, the nostalgia was overpowering.  This is where it all began…my love for running.  The shiny beacon in an otherwise tumultuous time in my life where I could barely stay afloat.  And then out of the blue “Summertime Sadness” by Lana Del Rey came on and my heart stopped.

This could be the fall of 2013 when I first started running.  That song took me right back to those moments so many years ago.  The early mornings and sore legs.  The darkness of running pre-dawn.  The excitement I felt when I ran down certain streets and crested certain hills and the annoyance I felt with others.

Not only did I fall in love with running on these streets and sidewalks, for the first time I actually fell in love with myself.

This girl.

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And this one.

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The girl who completed her first Runner’s World Run Streak.

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And her first half marathon.

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The girl who was happiest and had the biggest smile when completely covered in sweat.

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This wasn’t the same kind of nostalgia that I was used to.  It wasn’t so much remembering what I had as discovering what I can absolutely have again.

With this short 30 minutes this morning I began to realize that maybe I never lost my love of running or even myself.  Maybe it’s always been here.  In this neighborhood.  On these streets, waiting for me to return.  Because this is where I belong.

Lost and Found

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I seem to have lost myself.  And my will.  And my motivation.  And I can’t seem to find any of them.

I think back to last summer.  Training for the NYC marathon.  Running almost every day, even in the heat. 50 pounds lighter than I am now (the shame).  Happier kids.  Happier life.  Happier marriage.  I sit here and I wonder…what the fuck happened?

When I think about it, I tend to place the blame on other people and situations.  This person came into my life.  This person left.  Work became harder.  A third baby was added.  Time and money were short, as were tempers and understanding.  All of this things can take the blame for my unhappiness, the lack of motivation, the weigh gain, the drinking gain, the indiscretions.

And none of that blame is actually working to fix the problem.  It’s making me a victim.  And I hate being the victim.

Maybe, instead of placing the blame and over analyzing the past year I can suck it up and move on.  Who cares how I got to this place?  Does it really even matter?  The point is, I’m here.  And I need to find my way out.  I know no one can do this for me.  I have to find my way on my own.  But it’s HARD.

I can say, things seem to be headed in the right direction and my support system, though smaller by a few people, is incredibly mighty.  I’m learning to ask for help.  I’m learning to accept help when it’s offered.  Homelife is becoming more concrete, and sound, and loving.

And now to work on the rest.

I’m not used to baby steps.  I’m not used to slow progress.  I’m not  patient person.  When I want something, I want it now.  But with that, my life seems to be a bunch of random “One step forward, two steps back” mishaps.  So maybe now, I go slow.  Take each day and change at a snails pace. Work to strengthen everything instead of just fixing is for a minute.

Maybe going slow isn’t so bad.  Maybe it’s just what need to find where I’m hiding.

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I’m not me. But I will be soon.

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I started the post awhile ago and then stopped.  There are so many truths within it that I just didn’t know if I was willing to face them.  By admitting these things, I feel like my life course, my life as I know it, essentially all that I am, will be different.  And I’m literally writing this after I had a mental breakdown on the side of the road at 5:30 in the morning.

I started running when my dad died.  Ok.  That’s not entirely accurate, but that’s the truth that I tend to tell people because it seems more acceptable than the real story.  More acceptable and less ugly. But really, what have I got to lose at this point?  Nothing.  They say the truth will set you free.  Well, maybe that’s just what I need.  Freedom from who I think I am so I can become the real me.

After my dad died I fell apart.  Which was odd to me because we hadn’t spoken in 5 years.  But I had often seen myself in him.  He was angry a lot and tended to push those who were closest to him away.  As I watched him die sick and alone I worried that this is what my life was destined for.  And I tried to run away from everything.  During that time I got caught up in a relationship that I shouldn’t have.  I thought it was healing me when in reality it was slowly dismantling me.  When it ended, leaving me heartbroken and empty, I had no idea how to handle two losses in such a short amount of time.  So I went for a run.  And it truly saved me. I had found something that could put me back together, slowly and piece by piece.

And it worked…for a time.

I loved being able to say I was a runner.  It helped me feel accomplished, like I could do anything.  It made me feel more confident and pretty bad ass. But it also gave me an escape from my life, the escape I thought I had needed before; a way to “run away” so to speak.  In reality, it didn’t save me from myself.  It simply gave me the outlet to gloss over my problems; to bury them deep down and save them for another day.

Cut to me crying on the side of the road because I couldn’t run.  I have so much going on in my life that I had begun to use running as that escape again.  Now I have an injury and can’t run.  What am I supposed to do?  Without the running, I’m actually going to have to face the demons in my life.  I’m actually going to have to figure out what’s wrong and get to the root of my problems.

And I don’t know if I can do that.  I’ve been putting them in the background for so long that I don’t how to face my problems without running away.  I don’t know if I’m entirely ready to make these hard decisions that I know have to be made.  I don’t think I’m disciplined enough to make the changes that I need to make in order to actually survive.

But maybe that’s why this happened.  Maybe this injury is the universe’s way of telling me to grow a pair and handle my shit.  Because life is short.  And time is not guaranteed.

I need to say good-bye to running for awhile.  I need to learn how to cope without it. I need to learn how to love myself completely without the label of being a runner.  Once I’m whole again, we can start our journey all over, when running is something in my life and not the only thing.

Here goes nothing.

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