My shins hurt. My legs are sore, so sore I have to crawl up the stairs on my hands and knees. While whimpering. Dramatically. (Coincidentally, not so different from my behavior on dates.) (Kidding.) (Ish.)

I’m running again. Obvs. Or at least I hope it’s obvs, lest y’all think I have scurvy.
I talked in my last post about my new views on movement, on my responsibility to push my body. The last time I remember truly pushing my body was when I was running (way back in 2007). So I run. I’m not fast, I don’t go far, and it hurts every second. I am in love.
I never told y’all about my disastrous diet crash and burn a couple months ago. It’s embarrassing, really. Betty Nebraska and I agreed to do a 30 day detox together. I chose a raw food approach. It involved not combining food groups, not having fruit after noon, and only cooking one meal in the evenings. I lasted TWO DAYS. Not even, y’all. A day and a half. Around lunchtime on Day 2, I was making Baby Girl her lunch and suddenly I *had* to have a turkey and cheese rollercoaster. Like, had to. But I wasn’t allowed, as meat and cheese are two separate groups. I gave in, immediately felt guilty, and wanted to go throw up. Literally.
Thus, my old disordered eating reared its ugly head.
I haven’t talked about my disordered eating much on the blog. It’s a little humiliating and, honestly, a much, MUCH smaller part of my life than it was 10 years ago. It wasn’t anything life-threatening; just a lot of secret eating, bingeing, fasting, etc. Over and over again. I worked hard to break the cycle and I feel I’ve mostly overcome my issues (aside from the occasional secret eating).
But in that moment, post-rollercoaster, I realized I am not immune to my issues. They can come back quickly and I have to be careful. I understood something about myself: I will never be a girl who diets. Ever. Putting rules on myself in regard to food is too slippery of a slope for me.
So I’m running. I’m moving. Because if I refuse to diet, I must exercise. It is not a choice anymore. It is required.
Yesterday, toward the end of my run, the Pink song “Just Like a Pill” began to play on my iPod. It’s the perfect running song — it has a slow build leading to a fast-paced and explosive chorus. As the song shouted the words, “So I run just as fast as I can,” I took it as a challenge and SPRINTED. It was exhilarating. Exhausting. Painful. Freeing. As I sprinted, I closed my eyes for just a second, felt the wind on my cheeks, turned my face toward the sun, and smiled. For just a moment, I wasn’t sprinting outside. I was with my sister, in a hotel, barefoot and racing down the hallway, as is our tradition whenever we stay in hotels. I was a kid running toward the Slip and Slide. I was a perfect combination of muscle and bone, lungs and heart, blood and breath. I sprinted. I cheered myself on.
I think the best part of pushing myself to see what I’m capable of will be the little discoveries, the moments of self-realization. I’m thrilled to put sprinting at the top of the list of Things I Can Do.
If you are reading this, step away from the computer today. Head outside, or to the nearest hotel hallway. Focus on the horizon, let your vision blur, and just GO.
Just as fast as you can.
ETA: Please excuse the emo-quality of the lyrics of this song. I am not angry. Or upset. I just like the sprinting.
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