I was never voted “Most Likely to Never Ever Ever Run a Marathon” in high school, only because there never was such a category. If there were, I am sure I would’ve received the honour, even beating out Paul, the boy in the wheelchair and Lisa, the girl who lost her left leg to cancer. I was just never good at athletics; I enjoyed lunch too much!
But when I took up running in 2008, I came upon something I could really sink my teeth into, and not just for the physical benefits. I am someone who loves to learn and grow. I’ve come to realize that sometimes the greatest changes happen when I learn about myself; this small internal shift can change my entire outlook on everything!
In fact, I’ve come to believe that a commitment to any difficult process will challenge a person in ways that can enhance all aspects of their life. Here are a few of the lessons I’ve learned along the way… or perhaps, around the track.
The first thing I discovered about myself is that I can use rationalization to my benefit. When I first began running, I was obese and unfit. Something compelled me to try to run a mile. The first morning, I could only jog for about 30 seconds. I checked - I was far from a mile. But by the second morning, my stamina (or perhaps just my determination) had increased and before I realized what was going on, I had jogged the first half of the mile! My rational brain then decided for me that if I could complete one half, I could certainly complete the other. This somewhat skewed thinking got me through my first ever mile of nonstop jogging, or rather, shuffling.
The second discovery I quickly made was that I can use rationalization to my detriment. After all, I know I can make it the other half of this 30 minute run, so I can just walk now, right? Luckily, I paired up with a very strong partner, both physically, but more so mentally. My running buddy Ajae taught me to “finish strong,” while I just wanted to take it easy and “cool down” on the last legs of our workouts. (It turns out the “cool down” is for after the workout.) This idea of ‘finishing strong’ really resonated with me on a few levels, as I came to recognize a pattern I had held in other areas of my life.
When I think back to my early twenties, I remember thinking of myself as an ‘ideas’ person. I was always coming up brilliant ideas and hair-brained schemes. I’m pretty sure I invented sliced bread, however with my lack of follow through, someone else got there first. I didn’t realize that this quality of being a great starter and not a finisher was something I could change… until I started running with Ajae.
She got me trained to love finishing strong. I remember sprinting to the finish line of both of the half-marathons I completed last year, and this after having run for nearly three hours!
My learning to finish strong didn’t end at running; I learned to be a great task-finisher at work, and to have entire days filled with tying up loose ends and completing projects. Until I made finishing well a priority, I never realized how fulfilling it was! I’ve made that habit a part of my everyday life now, and the sense of accomplishment I feel far outweighs any brilliant idea that never went anywhere.
Surprisingly, the third discovery I made involved getting very angry at the running buddy for whom I had professed so much respect. She had probably set the pace too fast for my liking and / or challenged me to yet another task I thought I couldn’t do (but really could) or something of the like. Before I knew it, I was really boiling up at her. Instead of lashing out (I couldn’t anyway; she was too far ahead) I asked myself why I was so angry. I realized that in running, as in life, I expect a certain level of fairness. There was nothing fair about her setting such a fast pace, or being able to perform so much better than me, or pushing me as hard as she was.
It was that day I accepted that life isn’t always fair. Somebody’s always going to be a faster runner than me. Somebody will lose weight more easily. Somebody will be better at this or at that. And it’s never fair. But when you have a goal, a vision you’re working towards, and a plan to get there, fair doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is you and your goal.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
“Memories Make Me Want to Go Back There”
As I travel the highway to work, I hear on my beloved Sonic 1029 the newest Weezer song “Memories,” a song reminiscent of the band’s early days. It brought to mind some of my memories, times when I thought I was poor; times when I’d lived on EI; times when I literally had $0.38 in the bank. Maybe it was the song’s upbeat tempo or the catchy melody, but oddly enough, I remembered those times fondly, almost with longing!
This must seem strange. Ours is not a society that takes pride in being poor or particularly welcomes hardship. (Although there have been such societies. Take the Kwakwaka'wakw people of Northern Vancouver Island for example, whose status in society was increased as they gave, personally, all they had.)
Instead of all of the frustration, the bitterness and the envy I’m sure I experienced at the time, the legacy that stays with me from my poorer days has become something much more inspiring. Certainly, the journey I’ve taken over the years has helped, and that journey begins with a visit to Alward Place, a residence for seniors in Prince George, B.C.
Alward place had been the home of my Great Grandmother. Grandma probably moved into the apartment-style residence so she could still be completely independent yet live simply and affordably.
As with many ‘young folk,’ I didn’t always appreciate my Great Grandmother, and often wondered why she was so surly sometimes. I’m very glad that I formed a new opinion of her and spent a considerable amount of time getting to know her over the last six or seven years, before she passed away this year at the age of 93.
The wisdom I’ve gleaned over that time and over many phone calls has led to a major turning point in my life. The stories I heard, true stories of survival and hardship, have certainly shed new light on my perceived trials and tribulations. My favourite example is how, during the depression, her dad moved the family to a new town to find work. He was a single father, raising four kids. When they moved in late fall, they didn’t have the money to find a proper home. My Great Grandmother lived with her family of five (and sometimes the town’s prostitute, a friend of her father’s) in a tent for three months in the harsh BC winter. In a tent! When I consider the possibility of being poor, it never enters my mind that I could be that poor.
From my Great Grandma, I also acquired an entirely new relationship with food. I learned that tomatoes weren’t always as abundant as they are now. Grandma first tasted one when she was 13. Because it more resembled a fruit than a vegetable, she remembers sprinkling sugar on the tomato to make it more appealing, a common practice in that day. I also learned that folks in that day did not live with pantries full of hamburger helper, chips and Kraft Dinner (a shock, I know), but they made do with much less. Portion control was not a problem. Also, foods weren’t nearly as heavy or calorie-concentrated. Grandma told me about a party she had been to, where she indulged in a single pig-in-a-blanket (a small sausage wrapped in pastry). And that, she almost found too rich to finish!
I won’t go into detail about the types of foods I ate that brought me to my once-heaviest weight of just over 300 pounds, but I will say that I was definitely in awe of the difference four short generations could make. I am also in awe of the resourceful nature displayed by previous generations, and the thrift with which they accomplished many great feats.
That is the new legacy, the new view I have on my harder days; no matter how poor, I always made do. Often times, I was able to experience truly incredible things on a shoestring budget. (I once spent a week in Hawaii for my church conference, but had very little spending money. I had saved for my flight, and the accommodations were donated, but by the last two days of the trip, I had exhausted all of my funds and was forced to lie on the beach all day. Can you even imagine? Lying on the beach in Hawaii was my ‘consolation prize’!)
As I participate in a small church plant in downtown Edmonton, I can see this legacy at work now. We are a very small congregation, and yet we have built an incredibly classy café, we have grown and survived much adversity, and we continue to strive forward. Hopefully, I will remember my appreciation the next time hardship hits.
This must seem strange. Ours is not a society that takes pride in being poor or particularly welcomes hardship. (Although there have been such societies. Take the Kwakwaka'wakw people of Northern Vancouver Island for example, whose status in society was increased as they gave, personally, all they had.)
Instead of all of the frustration, the bitterness and the envy I’m sure I experienced at the time, the legacy that stays with me from my poorer days has become something much more inspiring. Certainly, the journey I’ve taken over the years has helped, and that journey begins with a visit to Alward Place, a residence for seniors in Prince George, B.C.
Alward place had been the home of my Great Grandmother. Grandma probably moved into the apartment-style residence so she could still be completely independent yet live simply and affordably.
As with many ‘young folk,’ I didn’t always appreciate my Great Grandmother, and often wondered why she was so surly sometimes. I’m very glad that I formed a new opinion of her and spent a considerable amount of time getting to know her over the last six or seven years, before she passed away this year at the age of 93.
The wisdom I’ve gleaned over that time and over many phone calls has led to a major turning point in my life. The stories I heard, true stories of survival and hardship, have certainly shed new light on my perceived trials and tribulations. My favourite example is how, during the depression, her dad moved the family to a new town to find work. He was a single father, raising four kids. When they moved in late fall, they didn’t have the money to find a proper home. My Great Grandmother lived with her family of five (and sometimes the town’s prostitute, a friend of her father’s) in a tent for three months in the harsh BC winter. In a tent! When I consider the possibility of being poor, it never enters my mind that I could be that poor.
From my Great Grandma, I also acquired an entirely new relationship with food. I learned that tomatoes weren’t always as abundant as they are now. Grandma first tasted one when she was 13. Because it more resembled a fruit than a vegetable, she remembers sprinkling sugar on the tomato to make it more appealing, a common practice in that day. I also learned that folks in that day did not live with pantries full of hamburger helper, chips and Kraft Dinner (a shock, I know), but they made do with much less. Portion control was not a problem. Also, foods weren’t nearly as heavy or calorie-concentrated. Grandma told me about a party she had been to, where she indulged in a single pig-in-a-blanket (a small sausage wrapped in pastry). And that, she almost found too rich to finish!
I won’t go into detail about the types of foods I ate that brought me to my once-heaviest weight of just over 300 pounds, but I will say that I was definitely in awe of the difference four short generations could make. I am also in awe of the resourceful nature displayed by previous generations, and the thrift with which they accomplished many great feats.
That is the new legacy, the new view I have on my harder days; no matter how poor, I always made do. Often times, I was able to experience truly incredible things on a shoestring budget. (I once spent a week in Hawaii for my church conference, but had very little spending money. I had saved for my flight, and the accommodations were donated, but by the last two days of the trip, I had exhausted all of my funds and was forced to lie on the beach all day. Can you even imagine? Lying on the beach in Hawaii was my ‘consolation prize’!)
As I participate in a small church plant in downtown Edmonton, I can see this legacy at work now. We are a very small congregation, and yet we have built an incredibly classy café, we have grown and survived much adversity, and we continue to strive forward. Hopefully, I will remember my appreciation the next time hardship hits.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Speaking of Being Wrong
I don’t know about you, but I quite enjoy being right. I grew up with the tenacious (read ‘stubborn’) habit of arguing my way to the bitter end. Needless to say, I wasn’t very popular. But I was right!
It all started in school. I don’t think I was necessarily any smarter than my peers, but I was blessed with a great memory. For the most part, that resulted in a great amount of positive reinforcement. I remember the feeling of praise as I correctly answered the teacher’s questions. I also remember the collateral benefits of having such a talent. My popularity received a boost as I traded insider answers for the affections of Wayne, the dreamiest kid in our grade 1 class. He promised some hot and heavy hand-holding while I provided the homework answers. The arrangement, and the relationship, lasted an entire day.
Another man whose example has greatly influenced my need to be right is my dad. He has a keen mind: very scientific and very logical. In school, he excelled in subjects with one correct answer, like math and physics, and has worked as an auto and R.V. tech for many years. When there is a problem, he finds the solution.
Even when a problem had multiple solutions, Dad’s critical thinking would drive him to find the best one. He would always pursue the cheapest, easiest, most efficient route (even if that meant spending more money, time and resources than he saved.)
I quickly learned that being right mattered most of all, not only in my problem-solving, but also in my thoughts, views, beliefs, and opinions about the world around me. And why shouldn’t it? In an uncertain world, it’s refreshing to meet someone who is sure of themselves and their values. I’ve never met anyone who was wowed or wooed by a fickle person. I vowed to be solid, to know myself and to be strong in my convictions.
While I was completely baffled about many important things in life, like what I wanted to be when I grew up, I was fairly certain about four things: I do not run; Jesus was merely an inspiring, yet fictional character in a really long book called the Bible; I would never work as a server or in a café; and I love Alberta beef.
Thank God for being wrong! Fortunately for me, I inherited not only a spirit of scientific discovery from my father, but with it a curiosity that allowed me to test out different viewpoints. I reasoned that as long as I was experimenting with my opinions and beliefs, I couldn’t be wrong. After all, I hadn’t yet drawn my conclusion; I was experimenting!
This process began as I attended a series of personal development courses called the Excellence Series in Edmonton. I was amazed what happened when I suspended my beliefs and simply pretended to be wrong.
One of the first things I discovered that I was very wrong about was my view on Christianity. The husband of a friend of mine invited me to attend their small church plant in Edmonton. As I mentioned, I am naturally curious, but I still cannot say why I agreed to the invitation; nothing about the way I viewed Christianity appealed to me. But I went none-the-less, and had such a strong emotional reaction during the worship service that I decided to return the following Sunday. Weeks turned into months, and I soon gave my life over to God, to the complete bewilderment of my closest friends and family.
This one step opened doors I had never thought possible. I tackled my obesity with long-distance running (a miracle, I’m convinced). I even became a vegetarian. Don’t worry, I still love Alberta beef, though now I just love it from the side of the pasture, and not on my plate. And about that serving job? Yep, I now run a café in downtown Edmonton. My pastors founded it as a means to remain relevant in the community. Despite the utter lack of glamour this role entails, it’s been by far the most fulfilling job I’ve ever done. The connections I make with people and the impact I have on their day-to-day lives is incredible.
I would have missed all of this had I decided to be ‘Right’ above all else. Sometimes our views and opinions get to be so strong, we just refer to them as The Truth, never pausing to reflect on their current validity. Unfortunately, that attitude can so often block us from taking hold of a whole new joy, opportunity or passion in life. This is why I highly advocate being wrong. As for what I plan to do when I grow up, I’m still experimenting.
It all started in school. I don’t think I was necessarily any smarter than my peers, but I was blessed with a great memory. For the most part, that resulted in a great amount of positive reinforcement. I remember the feeling of praise as I correctly answered the teacher’s questions. I also remember the collateral benefits of having such a talent. My popularity received a boost as I traded insider answers for the affections of Wayne, the dreamiest kid in our grade 1 class. He promised some hot and heavy hand-holding while I provided the homework answers. The arrangement, and the relationship, lasted an entire day.
Another man whose example has greatly influenced my need to be right is my dad. He has a keen mind: very scientific and very logical. In school, he excelled in subjects with one correct answer, like math and physics, and has worked as an auto and R.V. tech for many years. When there is a problem, he finds the solution.
Even when a problem had multiple solutions, Dad’s critical thinking would drive him to find the best one. He would always pursue the cheapest, easiest, most efficient route (even if that meant spending more money, time and resources than he saved.)
I quickly learned that being right mattered most of all, not only in my problem-solving, but also in my thoughts, views, beliefs, and opinions about the world around me. And why shouldn’t it? In an uncertain world, it’s refreshing to meet someone who is sure of themselves and their values. I’ve never met anyone who was wowed or wooed by a fickle person. I vowed to be solid, to know myself and to be strong in my convictions.
While I was completely baffled about many important things in life, like what I wanted to be when I grew up, I was fairly certain about four things: I do not run; Jesus was merely an inspiring, yet fictional character in a really long book called the Bible; I would never work as a server or in a café; and I love Alberta beef.
Thank God for being wrong! Fortunately for me, I inherited not only a spirit of scientific discovery from my father, but with it a curiosity that allowed me to test out different viewpoints. I reasoned that as long as I was experimenting with my opinions and beliefs, I couldn’t be wrong. After all, I hadn’t yet drawn my conclusion; I was experimenting!
This process began as I attended a series of personal development courses called the Excellence Series in Edmonton. I was amazed what happened when I suspended my beliefs and simply pretended to be wrong.
One of the first things I discovered that I was very wrong about was my view on Christianity. The husband of a friend of mine invited me to attend their small church plant in Edmonton. As I mentioned, I am naturally curious, but I still cannot say why I agreed to the invitation; nothing about the way I viewed Christianity appealed to me. But I went none-the-less, and had such a strong emotional reaction during the worship service that I decided to return the following Sunday. Weeks turned into months, and I soon gave my life over to God, to the complete bewilderment of my closest friends and family.
This one step opened doors I had never thought possible. I tackled my obesity with long-distance running (a miracle, I’m convinced). I even became a vegetarian. Don’t worry, I still love Alberta beef, though now I just love it from the side of the pasture, and not on my plate. And about that serving job? Yep, I now run a café in downtown Edmonton. My pastors founded it as a means to remain relevant in the community. Despite the utter lack of glamour this role entails, it’s been by far the most fulfilling job I’ve ever done. The connections I make with people and the impact I have on their day-to-day lives is incredible.
I would have missed all of this had I decided to be ‘Right’ above all else. Sometimes our views and opinions get to be so strong, we just refer to them as The Truth, never pausing to reflect on their current validity. Unfortunately, that attitude can so often block us from taking hold of a whole new joy, opportunity or passion in life. This is why I highly advocate being wrong. As for what I plan to do when I grow up, I’m still experimenting.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Run Fat Girl... Run!
When I started running two years ago, I tipped the scales close to 300lbs and daily life was enough exertion for me. There was no excitement in my life, nothing I was working towards and no challenge or discipline. But in two short years, much has changed. When I decided to start losing weight and getting fit, I accidentally came upon the epic adventure of my lifetime.
It all started with the friend who called me fat. We were enjoying a nice lunch after church when I felt the need to break in with a chorus of “whoa is me, I don’t have a boyfriend.” I had sung this tune once or twice before, I think. But my gracious friend let me finish, and then called me fat. Well, that’s not exactly how it happened. At first, she asked why I thought I didn’t have a boyfriend. I mentioned my weight. Then she said one of the riskiest things one friend can say to another: “You made you fat. The good news is that you can make you un-fat.” It could have been a disastrous ending to lunch, but instead, I acknowledged the truth in the statement. I made me fat. And so my journey began.
I started working out that weekend. I got some videos, did a little jazzersize in my basement, looked ridiculous, but starting feeling in control! At my weight, it didn’t take long to notice the pounds being shed.
Then one day, I was walking along a route with some friends. We were going to do the route daily for some exercise before work. I was told it was a mile in length. I don’t know how I got the idea in my head, but I decided that by week’s end, I would run the entire mile. Some of you are probably thinking ‘small potatoes’ while others are probably convinced this is the epic journey I referred to earlier. It definitely was an epic journey for me, at the time.
The first morning, I summoned all my energy and jogged… for all of about 30 seconds. Then I walked for 3 minutes, jogged again, and walked for longer, continuing this pattern for the entire mile. This was tough work!
But my endurance had already increased by the second morning, and before I knew it, I had jogged the first half of the mile! Without stopping! I was slow, and it was more like a shuffle, but I did it! And when I realized I was half-way through, I decided that I could do the other half as well; I might as well get it over and done with. That way, I could just relax and walk the next day. The second half of this mile was tough slugging, but I did indeed jog (shuffle) the entire mile on my second morning as a ‘jogger.’
That one act of bravery opened a whole new doorway for me in life. That was in May of 2008. In one year’s time, I would run my first half-marathon. I came in dead last, but I completed all 21.1 kilometers. I knew I’d need to continue motivating myself if I wanted the 70 pounds I had lost to stay off for good, so I also completed the Intact half-marathon in August of that year. (I like to tell people that I actually completed a full marathon, with a three-month break in the middle.)
With those behind me, my next goal seemed far away: a full marathon – yes, all 42.2 kilometers of it - in 2010. Not only did it seem far enough away that I could sit back and relax awhile (which I did) but the idea of completing a full marathon, for a woman with my, ahem, ‘athletic prowess’, still seemed an impossible task, even with the accomplishments behind me.
None-the-less, I kept my goal in mind, and this past May I signed on with the Leukemia Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training. The group chooses marathons held throughout the world, and assembles teams to fundraise for the cure, while training for a marathon. I was so focused on just doing a marathon that I forgot I could actually have fun and help others! I’ve been in training now for four months, and am preparing for the Nike Women’s Marathon in San Francisco. I’ve run more kilometers than I can count, I’ve run more hills than I’d like to remember, and I’ve raised over $4600 for the cause. I’ve been encouraged by my neighours on the trails around Wetaskiwin (Thank you! Feel free to wave or honk if you see me; I’ll be the sweaty one wearing a “Team in Training” t-shirt.) And my entire perspective on what is possible has been forever altered.
I always said ‘I don’t run.’ I guess I was wrong. Sometimes it’s nice to be wrong.
If you’d like to contribute to Ashley’s fundraising goals for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society of Canada, please visit http://tiny.cc/6zg2n. (It’s not a shameless plug if it’s for charity, right?)
It all started with the friend who called me fat. We were enjoying a nice lunch after church when I felt the need to break in with a chorus of “whoa is me, I don’t have a boyfriend.” I had sung this tune once or twice before, I think. But my gracious friend let me finish, and then called me fat. Well, that’s not exactly how it happened. At first, she asked why I thought I didn’t have a boyfriend. I mentioned my weight. Then she said one of the riskiest things one friend can say to another: “You made you fat. The good news is that you can make you un-fat.” It could have been a disastrous ending to lunch, but instead, I acknowledged the truth in the statement. I made me fat. And so my journey began.
I started working out that weekend. I got some videos, did a little jazzersize in my basement, looked ridiculous, but starting feeling in control! At my weight, it didn’t take long to notice the pounds being shed.
Then one day, I was walking along a route with some friends. We were going to do the route daily for some exercise before work. I was told it was a mile in length. I don’t know how I got the idea in my head, but I decided that by week’s end, I would run the entire mile. Some of you are probably thinking ‘small potatoes’ while others are probably convinced this is the epic journey I referred to earlier. It definitely was an epic journey for me, at the time.
The first morning, I summoned all my energy and jogged… for all of about 30 seconds. Then I walked for 3 minutes, jogged again, and walked for longer, continuing this pattern for the entire mile. This was tough work!
But my endurance had already increased by the second morning, and before I knew it, I had jogged the first half of the mile! Without stopping! I was slow, and it was more like a shuffle, but I did it! And when I realized I was half-way through, I decided that I could do the other half as well; I might as well get it over and done with. That way, I could just relax and walk the next day. The second half of this mile was tough slugging, but I did indeed jog (shuffle) the entire mile on my second morning as a ‘jogger.’
That one act of bravery opened a whole new doorway for me in life. That was in May of 2008. In one year’s time, I would run my first half-marathon. I came in dead last, but I completed all 21.1 kilometers. I knew I’d need to continue motivating myself if I wanted the 70 pounds I had lost to stay off for good, so I also completed the Intact half-marathon in August of that year. (I like to tell people that I actually completed a full marathon, with a three-month break in the middle.)
With those behind me, my next goal seemed far away: a full marathon – yes, all 42.2 kilometers of it - in 2010. Not only did it seem far enough away that I could sit back and relax awhile (which I did) but the idea of completing a full marathon, for a woman with my, ahem, ‘athletic prowess’, still seemed an impossible task, even with the accomplishments behind me.
None-the-less, I kept my goal in mind, and this past May I signed on with the Leukemia Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training. The group chooses marathons held throughout the world, and assembles teams to fundraise for the cure, while training for a marathon. I was so focused on just doing a marathon that I forgot I could actually have fun and help others! I’ve been in training now for four months, and am preparing for the Nike Women’s Marathon in San Francisco. I’ve run more kilometers than I can count, I’ve run more hills than I’d like to remember, and I’ve raised over $4600 for the cause. I’ve been encouraged by my neighours on the trails around Wetaskiwin (Thank you! Feel free to wave or honk if you see me; I’ll be the sweaty one wearing a “Team in Training” t-shirt.) And my entire perspective on what is possible has been forever altered.
I always said ‘I don’t run.’ I guess I was wrong. Sometimes it’s nice to be wrong.
If you’d like to contribute to Ashley’s fundraising goals for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society of Canada, please visit http://tiny.cc/6zg2n. (It’s not a shameless plug if it’s for charity, right?)
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