Run, Marla, Run

So, here's the deal. What I'm going to write about tonight is embarrassing. The pictures I'm posting are embarrassing. So why am I putting it all out there for the world to see? Because I need a reminder and maybe someone reading this needs a reminder as well.

This is a picture of our son John (and Jesus) running my very first 5k with me, at the finish line. John is a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy. He eats 5ks for breakfast and spits out a 10k for lunch. I, on the other hand, never ran anything in my entire life other than my mouth. When I told John and Amy I was going to do this 4 years ago, they both immediately signed up to support me. Truth be told, I was overwhelmed thinking they would do such a wonderful thing but not surprised because, they're wonderful. 

Anyway, I trained for several months, running miles a day on our farm. Our grandkids would sit on their porch and cheer for me when I ran by. It made me cry happy tears and it made me really scared. What if I failed? What if I let everyone down? The first few weeks were much harder than I ever imagined. Not the running part. I actually really liked the way I felt when I ran. It was the mental part. The voice that has lived in my head forever, telling me I will fail and worse. I realized after several weeks of running, that I had never really fought back. I not only accepted the negative words that ran through my brain on the daily, I agreed with them. I actually fed them. So, I made a decision to intentionally tell myself I could do this 5k and not only complete it but enjoy it. I became my own best cheerleader. I sang as I ran, I danced as I ran, I told myself positive affirmations and then laughed at myself for being so weird. Then I told myself how great I was because I was so weird. Me and myself became pretty good friends for probably the first time in a really long time. Maybe the first time in forever. Then race day happened.

John insisted on staying with me the entire time. We ran/walked the 3.1 miles together every step. It was hard and exciting and really fun, other than the few times I thought I was going to barf. Less than an hour into it, there was the finish line. When I saw it, I can't really explain what happened. People were cheering and yelling, saying my name, and the voice in my head was cheering and yelling and saying my name. Every step I took said, I can do hard things. I can succeed. I am better and stronger and tougher than I ever realized but, I am all those things. The last 20 feet was all slow motion to me and the ugly cry started to happen but this time, I didn't care. Because I was crossing that finish line.

My first medal of four that year.

I could not have done this without John and Jesus and the Real Jesus.

Amy and John with the fruit of their labor. That would be me.

2017 and 2018 were amazing years for me. I ran and traveled and got a tattoo. I started to think better of myself and started planning and dreaming again. Then 2019 came and things started to go dark in my head once more. 2020 did not help. At. All. 

Here's what I want you to know. It's never too late to start again. Failure isn't the end. Quitting is. Don't quit. Keep going. Keep planning and dreaming. Be your own, damn cheerleader. You are going to lose relationships. People are not going to like you because you're too fat, or too loud, or too (political party of your choice) along with a host of other dumbass reasons. Fork them all. Yeah, I said it. Tell those liars in your head to go to hell and invite new voices in. You're needed here, more than you know, so get back in the game.

Ok, that last paragraph was for me but please, use it for yourself if it helps. Just don't quit.