The Peanut Farm

As of the moment that I am writing this post, I am 14 weeks away from running 26.2 miles at the Donna Marathon in Jacksonville. That is, by far, the greatest distance I have yet to conquer on this running journey of self-discovery. 

Elijah ran ahead of chariots and fled from Jezebel. The father of the prodigal son ran to embrace his beloved child. What am I running from or running towards? I think back a lot to the early days of my fitness journey, concerned eyes, careful tongues, uttering their concerns for the consistent and seemingly increasing numbers on my scale. College 15 turned to college 30. I was unhappy, the man I loved expressing his concerns suddenly felt like daggers intended to hurt and ridicule me. Where there was good intent, I perceived judgement. 

I had been diagnosed with various mood disorders at a young age and was medicated but college took a toll on my mind and spirit, the medications were not strong enough to contain my constant questioning of what I was doing here in the first place. I found comfort and security in consistency; the gym became my church. Seven days a week I was at Planet Fitness, first thing in the morning, then I would attend my college classes, and then go back to the gym at night. 

I remember experimenting with speeds on the treadmills and times on the Stairmaster. For once an increasing number seemed appealing to me. I could SEE progress in my time and effort. I toyed with the idea of actually attempting a RUN at the gym. Would people make fun of me? Would everyone hear the treadmill creaking under my weight and stop to watch the big girl cosplaying as someone in shape? At that time, I had failed to even realize that as my numbers at the gym increased, the scale decreased, I was still unhappy with myself and avoiding church at all costs because I knew where my convictions would lie. 

The moment I fell in love with running, I wasn’t even running. I was treading through four inches of snow in Anchorage Alaska, practically doing high-knees at a 4 Kilometer race in -1-degree Fahrenheit. I was slow and steady and freezing my butt off while making my poor mom and sister watch from some pub window called ‘The Peanut Farm’, saving me a cup of hot chocolate. I don't know if it was the snow, the hot Gatorade aid stations, or the smiles on the faces of all participating but I was hooked to the activity and the execution. I was not running to be a certain size under the four layers of clothes I had on in the snow, I was running because it was fun, a new experience, and hot chocolate waiting for me at the finish line. I had found my niche and unknowingly changed the trajectory of my life as I knew it.