I Was That Girl

Our Fall 2017 Girls on the Run season is coming to a close.

We held our last practice of the season yesterday.

Throughout practice, a few of the girls said they would cry at the end. That they would miss coming to practice every week. That they would miss their teammates and coaches. It was the girls you would expect. The ones that have participated every season for the last few years.

We spent the practice talking about the tools they have learned throughout the season. I'm never quite sure how much of the curriculum they are actually learning until we hit this lesson. And then these sweet, funny, powerful girls spend two hours demonstrating how much this program has impacted them.

They've learned how to work better with others; how to calm themselves down when they're upset; how to appreciate differences in others.

They've developed more confidence and empathy.

And they've bonded. Most of us remember how hard school can be. Bullying and peer pressure are very real things. But these girls found a safe space for two hours twice a week where they are supported and accepted and loved.

So, I really shouldn't have been surprised at the end of practice to see one of the quietest and most introverted girls wiping away tears. As one of the other coaches comforted her, I watched several other girls go over and put an arm around her.

It probably hit me harder than I would expect. Because I so remember being that girl. I remember never quite knowing what to do or say. Never speaking up. Never knowing how to be or even who to be. I was fully loved and supported at home, but school can be a terrifying place for the quiet ones. And I wish I'd had a program like this to help me find myself and own my power.

This is why we do this.

Saturday we will run our Celebration 5k. If you'd like to witness the pure power and joy of the girls in this program, sign up to volunteer: Click Here To Volunteer

And if you can't volunteer, then donate a few dollars to help bring this program to more girls: 2018 GOTR Chicago Marathon Campaign

I'd Like My Runner Pride Back, Please

Our Girls on the Run season is quickly coming to a close and the weather is starting to get suckier. Cold and rainy.

When it's raining, we have to practice inside. Not because we're girls, but because we'll tear up the field if we run in the rain. (And also, it makes my hair really frizzy...)

When we practice inside, we run around the gym, making our laps significantly shorter.

When our laps are significantly shorter, the girls go faster. 

When the girls go faster, they get competitive.

When they get competitive, they choose the likely targets to challenge...their coaches.

Seven.

Seven different girls challenged me to a race around the gym. 

Seven different girls beat me.

Two of those beat me twice. 

I mean, I love coaching. I do. I just...I train for this stuff, you know? Like, year round. I put time and planning and a lot of effort into trying to run faster...*sigh* No no. I'm proud of them. I don't resent them. 

...if you need me, I'll be digging through my old race t-shirts trying to find my pride...

Little Miss Sprints A Lot

As a Girls on the Run coach, I help girls develop their confidence, strength, and skills. Among those skills is the ability to develop their pace and stamina for their Celebration 5k at the end of each season.

One of the girls on my team struggles quite a bit with pacing. She’s young still and so very easily drawn into the temptation to run all out until she can’t run anymore. And then she walks until she feels like she can run again. And again, she goes all out, sprinting until she’s exhausted. These little bursts of energy are short-lived, so she does a lot of walking during practice. We’ve been working with her, trying to help her develop the strength to reign her speed in until the end of her run.

It’s work in progress.

I mean, when you feel like you can go fast, you want to go fast. I get this. I’m always that runner that goes all out at the start of a race and then gradually slows down until the Finish Line is in sight. It's very unimpressive. 

I’ve never successfully paced myself at the start of a run. Negative splits are a thing of mystery to me.

It occurs to me that I may not be the best choice to coach this girl in pacing.

Still, I understand where she is coming from. So maybe I can help her.

What’s really great about this process, though, is what I’ve gained from it. (Come on. You didn't think I was doing this just to help make the world a better place, did you?)

This weekend I ran my fastest 5k to date. Like, all three of the miles. I ran sub-eight-minute miles for all three of the miles.

I don’t do that.

Ever.

Let’s take a moment to revel in that for a moment. 

It was a fast course, yes. But I’ve run faster courses slower than that.

I truly believe that what got me through that course that fast was the training I’ve been doing with Little Miss Sprints A Lot. While I was trying to get her to go slower, she was getting me to go faster. And for longer periods of time. We are somehow starting to meet in the middle.

So, thank you to my Girls on the Run team for coaching me to be faster so I could earn this:

Photo Credit: Robert Copelan

You can sign up to be a Running Buddy at the upcoming Celebration 5k. Maybe one of our girls will help you run faster.

If you're in Bedford or Lynchburg, go to Girls on the Run Central Virginia.

If you're in Roanoke, go to Girls on the Run Roanoke Valley.

Let's Talk About Disappointment

This past weekend was supposed to be the weekend that I earned my Spartan Trifecta. The weekend that I beasted the rope climb. The weekend that I found my physical and mental limits and pushed through them.

It was also supposed to be a special weekend for my oldest son and I.

See, this kid is my always down to take on a challenge kid. He's my drop everything to help mom out kid. He's my patiently listen to me rant and rage when I'm stressed kid. And he so rarely gets the acknowledgement that he deserves.

This Trifecta weekend started as a goal he and I made together. It's a special way for us to celebrate our mother-son bond. But it's also important to me that my son see me achieve this. I want him to see how strong, determined, and powerful a woman can be. I want to strengthen the respect he has for women. I want to reinforce his understanding that women can.

Spartan has given me the opportunity to watch my son demonstrate respect for my strength by pushing me to go harder, while also maintaining his chivalry by doing every burpee with me even though he didn't have to do them.

Unfortunately, he's an adult now and bound by adult responsibilities. When he found out he would no longer be able to have off work for Trifecta weekend, I had to decide whether or not to run anyway. Without him.

Except that it wasn't really a decision. Of course I couldn't run without him. This is our thing. He's the only one willing to carry me through the monkey bars. And for real, mama ain't made of money. Race entries are expensive.

It was disappointing. I spent the weekend watching my friends post photos and send videos and update statuses while they completed their Trifecta. I was jealous. I mean, I was so excited for them and so so proud of them. But I was also completely jealous of them. But that's ok. Disappointment just serves to increase the drive for success. It just makes me hungrier for a Spartan Beast. Last week I was anxiously nervous to face a Beast. Now I'm craving it. I NEED it.

So, new plan.

We'll defer our race entries and take on the Sprint, Super, and Beast as we are able to. At this point, it looks like we'll be able to kick off our Trifecta races in November. (Or I may have to make him quit his job so it stops interfering with my extracurriculars...)

And when we crush the Beast together, it will have been totally worth the temporary disappointment.

The Race That Makes Me Question My Life Choices

The Lynchburg Half Marathon

See this? This is me trying to smile halfway through what I like to call Lynchburg's Annual Painfest.

Photo by Jay Proffitt

Half marathons are hard. I mean, not as hard as a full marathon or an ultra or childbirth, but they're hard. 

But this one? There is something about the Lynchburg Half that makes me want to question my life choices. 

I'm pretty sure that last year I said never again. And then this year's race opened up and I registered. Because that's how runners do. Or, at least, this runner. We say never again and then jump at the chance to again. I think it's faulty brain wiring.

The course for this half isn't necessarily the hardest course, physically. I mean, there IS that stupid 15-mile hill a few miles in. But once you get past that, the rest of the course isn't too terribly bad. 

The hard part of this race, for me, is the mental challenge. Of all the halves (halfs?) I do, this is the one that I have to talk myself through the most. Like, actually lecture myself to the point that I revert back to 16-year old eye-rolling me. 

It starts out fine. Fast and flat for the first four miles. There's a nice little turn-around point that gives you the opportunity to cheer and high five your friends as you pass them. 

But then you hit the hill, or as I like to call it, the place where I lose my will to live every year. There are a few problems with this hill. 

First, it's a hill. 

Second, it is misleading. Like, vastly misleading. Because halfway up, it levels out. So you think you're done. You think everything after this will be cake. And then it starts going up again. Seriously, there are few things I despise more than a liar. And this hill is a liar. 

It's also ridiculously long. It has GOT to be at least 20 miles long. Which is odd, since the race itself is only 13.1 miles. 

And then there are the cats. Every year, there are the adorable feral cats just chillin alongside the road watching us run past. Or walk. Maybe crawl. Maybe some of us are crawling. And you know they look so sweet and adorable and cuddly and they call to my inner crazy cat lady (Yes, my crazy is on the inside and not just out there for the world to see. No, it is. It really is. Inside. Not out.). I just want to sit with them and snuggle them and forget about the hill. But I know cats. I know how they do. They lure you in with their innocent adorableness and as soon as you're close, let down your guard and allowed your vulnerability to be seen by every other person in the area, they say "ummmm nope. Don't touch me, sad girl." 

Fine. So, I continue my crawl up the 30-mile hill with every single other runner swooshing past me. (Seriously. Where are all of the other normal people walking up the hill? Why is EVERYONE still running????)

And then I make it to the top where a so-called "friend" is volunteering...with his camera phone...photographing this? Really, Blake???

Whatever. 

So, you get through that hell and hit the training center campus place. (It has an official name, but I never really pay attention to what Jeff is saying pre-race. I'm sure it's all important stuff, but at that point I'm just focused on not crawling back to my car and driving to the nearest coffee shop.) You know, you'd think the hill would be the worst part, but it's not. Because you have to run not one loop around the training campus place, but two. Two 50-mile loops around that campus place that I despise. I don't know what kind of training they do there, but when I pass volunteer dude saying "If this is the first time you're seeing me, you've got another loop to go," I just want the training center place to not even exist. Plus volunteer dude. I'm sure he's a perfectly nice guy, but I kinda want to punch him in his throat. 

Now, let me say that one of my fellow educators was running right with me this entire race. (Except for the point at which he swooshed past me going up that stupid 87-mile hill.) Normally I might even refer to him as a friend. But this man was congratulating and cheering and basically happy-making with Every Single human being he passed throughout the entirety of this race. And at this point in the race, I kinda just wanted to trip him. I mean, yeah, yay for all the people out here doing a thing. But seriously, I'm just trying to make it back home to my couch without giving up on life entirely. I need you to stop the positive stuff, Gibbs. Just stop it. Still, I'm wearing my Girls on the Run Solemate shirt, so I'm thinking I probably shouldn't actually hurt anyone or start yelling obsenities. 

Ok. So, you get through your two loops and see volunteer dude saying, "If this is the second time you're seeing me, go straight." And I think I want to give volunteer dude a hug, except I can still remember the time that he told me I had to run another loop and that still hurts so nevermind. There is lingering resentment.

And then you get to your volunteering friend at the top of the 100-mile hill and he's still there with his camera phone and so you're a little happier now that you get to go back down the hill so you try to look cute and give a happy "I've totally got this" smile. (But when you see the pictures later, you realize you should probably never try to do that again.)

And then you find out that the 150-mile hill that you crawled up is really only about 3/4 of a mile when you go back down. I'm not sure how that happens. Apparently the basic laws of physics cease to exist in Lynchburg in August. 

And then you get to the last four miles. The last four flat miles. Flat should be easy, right? Except that your legs are done and your lungs are done and your mind was done three miles ago. This is the absolute worst part of this race. I spent those last four miles trying to convince myself that stopping and walking just for a half mile or so was NOT a good idea. I ran through the logic that I'm a grown woman and I can do what I want. I'm participating in this race voluntarily and if I want to stop and walk, I should be able to stop and walk. Running should be enjoyable. If I'm uncomfortable, I should just ease up a bit until it feels good again.

All of those things are true. 

But then I remembered the shirt I was wearing. Sometimes it's important to do hard things, push through the discomfort and find your inner strong (mine hides inside there with my inner crazy). So I kept running. Because when my Girls on the Run season starts in a few weeks, I want to be able to push my girls to do the same. 

And when you cross the finish line to THE most beautiful and appropriate finisher's medal you've ever earned, the pain and discomfort disappear.

Thank you to Jeff Fedorko and Riverside Runners, HUGE supporters of Girls on the Run of Central Virginia, for a race I love to hate. Truly one of my favorites every year. (But don't come at me with that reminder this time next year.) And thank you for all you do for the community.

And I'm sorry for all the bad words I called you in my head during the race...

Sometimes We Get A Little Crazy

This is Lobo.

He's my protector. My best friend. My constant companion. I'm pretty sure he loves me more than anyone else in the world. Look at that face. So full of love, adoration, loyalty...betrayal.

I mean, he won't even look at me.

So, you know when you're in the midst of some pretty intense hormone emotion? (I'm talking specifically to the ladies here. The other life-manufacturers of the world.) Like, all of the stresses of the world are weighing down on you, no one loves you, everything is falling apart, nothing will ever be good again emotions? They don't last long. And when everything is back in balance, life can once again be amazing.

But when you're smack in the middle of it...it can get pretty ugly.

It's possible that I may have had one of those ugly times recently. And when I say ugly, I mean ugly crying. I mean heart-wrenching, soul-sucking sobbing. I mean the kind of sobbing that gets to the point where you're no longer sure whether you're still crying or have actually moved over into laughter. And not normal, happy laughter, either. I'm talking maniacal laughter. Like, this is exactly what they created the word maniacal for. The kind of laughter that causes people to slowly back out of the room. And just when you start to think, "oh good, I'm laughing now. Laughing is good," you shift straight back into crying. And then you get kinda angry, because you can't hold onto the laughter, which would probably feel pretty good right then. But really, the relentless sobbing actually feels pretty good, too, so you just really get into it.

So, dogs are supposed to be these love you unconditionally, calming, nurturing, take care of you when you're sad creatures, right? Like my friend Kim pointed out as she was definitely not laughing at me during such an episode, dogs are used to help individuals with autism calm down in the midst of a meltdown. That's what they do. They see us through our drama. They can handle it. They love us more than themselves.

Yeah, so my Lobo. My sweet little rescue baby Lobo, saw me in the midst of this hormonal breakdown recently, said "Nope" and got up and walked out of the room. He said, "I can't even be bothered with your level of crazy right now," and straight up bounced. Wouldn't even make eye contact as he was leaving. And stayed in the other room for the duration of this breakdown.

In fact, every single animal in my home left. I mean, this one eventually came around once the sobbing slowed down into more of a whimper. But even she wouldn't actually look at me.

So, let's bring this all back to the purpose of this blog. Raising money for Girls on the Run. When you're in the midst of one of these cycles, it's important to have women in your life that get it and can assure you that you're not crazy. You're powerful. And sometimes you have to release some of that power in the form of crazy tears. Help us help more girls start to build their female support system by donating to Girls on the Run. They need this. We need this. (And trust me fellas, you need us to have this, too.)

In My Tribe, We Rock Scars With Our Dresses

I went kayaking at the Cove with a few of my tribe ladies Friday.

We spent several hours out on the water. Talking. Venting. Laughing. Sharing. Supporting. Understanding. (One of us may have fallen over into the water for no clear reason.)

See, this is how we repair.

We need this time not only with one another, but with nature.

We need to be out in a world bigger than us, among the trees, among the mountains, even surrounded by the water that I find fully terrifying. (Really, it scares me to death if I think about it too much. So, obviously I have to do it. Because you need to the do things that scare you.)

We know that this is not something that everyone understands. We know that there are people in our lives that don't get it. That's ok. Those that we play with get it. Those people are part of our tribe.

Our tribe is there to run with us, float with us, play with us. Our tribe will meet us on the trails so we don't have to run alone. Our tribe will load three kayaks into their truck so we can spend a day floating around the Cove. Our tribe will pull on gold lame' and take on teams of kids 20 years younger in a game of tug of war or Bubble Soccer. (Seriously. Bubble Soccer. That is my new jam.)

And then our tribe will wash their cuts and bruises, put on fancy shoes and dresses, and probably even wash their hair, to head out to dinner in celebration of each other.

Because sometimes a girl just needs to rock her scars in a little black dress to be reminded that she is both powerful and beautiful. (And also, scars...because falling over in the water for no clear reason...sometimes I'm not entirely sure how I make it through the day without breaking something.)

Our Fall season of Girls on the Run starts in a few weeks. I'm so excited to help a new group of girls start to discover their own power and beauty and maybe even start to develop their own tribe of strong, supportive girls. 

You can help support Girls on the Run by clicking here and making a donation. 

And if you feel like getting out on the trails or floating around on the water, let me know. Our tribe is always accepting new people. We'd love to have you.

The Case for Running Skirts as Formal Wear

A few weeks ago, I went to see one of my favorite local musicians perform. (For those that have known me for a while, I recognize how shocking that one small statement may be. But for real, I left the house and did a social thing. Voluntarily. I know.)

The problem was, I was also scheduled to run a 5k trail race that night.

I didn’t want to show up to one of the rare non-running social events I will ever attend in shorts and sneakers. (Seriously. If you don’t know me, this was a big deal. I was going to do a thing and I wanted to look decent.)

Both locations were an hour from home and changing in a public bathroom is never a viable option. I have precious little balance and am prone to falling over while standing on both feet. Attempting to change would have undoubtedly led to some sort of contact with a public toilet. And I make a point to never have direct contact with a public toilet.

The obvious solution: Running skirt.

Seriously. Tell me this wouldn't be the cutest skirt you owned.

I wore a running skirt with a dressy blouse and sandals. No one even knew that under that pretty, dainty, dressy blouse was an unreasonably old and decidedly unattractive sports bra. And I seemed to be the only one questioning the appropriateness of the running skirt. And when I got to the trail, I just had to switch out my shirt and throw on a hat and sneakers.

It is apparently entirely socially acceptable to wear a running skirt as though it were dressy. Am I the only one awed by this? And if so, why haven’t any of you clued me in before?

And so, this is my case for running skirts as formal wear. We should just wear them always.

• They are super comfortable.
• They are super cute (I like to twirl a lot when I’m wearing a particularly flouncy skirt).
• They have those built in spanks so you don’t even have to remember to sit like a lady (which is honestly a very real challenge for me).
• And really, every runner should be prepared to run at all times. Because you never know when the need to run will hit. Sometimes a girl just needs to run to be reminded of her power. Or to keep from hurting the people. Running serves both purposes well.

So, two things.

All skirts should be running skirts.

And donate to Girls on the Run so more girls can be reminded of their power.

It's the Final Countdown

I happened to glance at the calendar today.

One month. 

I have exactly one month before taking on my Spartan Trifecta.

I think probably the best way to describe what I felt when that realization hit was massive heart-wrenching panic. Like, death panic. Like, dear Lord where is the unregister button panic? Like, how do I undo the drastic decision to take on a freakin Spartan Trifecta panic???

And then I got it together.

I'm good.

This rope, though. This frustrating, defeating, mocking, obnoxious rope. 

I just can't master it. 

Yet.

I've been given yet another exercise to practice my form and movement. The people giving me all of these techniques are people that can actually climb the rope. I mean, they have to know what they're talking about, right? Seriously. My dad was a dang Army Ranger. If he doesn't know about ropes, then who does??? No, no. I'm still good. Just breath.

Ok. Sit on the ground, legs out straight, and pull myself up without bending my knees.

K. So, I've got that. Easy peasy. 

I should be able to climb the rope now, right? 

Except no. 

I'm close. I'm sooooo close. 

But still, no. Close doesn't work in Spartan.

Ok. So, someone else is probably going to need to be in charge of my life choices going forward.

For now, click here donate to Girls on the Run so I can know I'm not putting myself through this for nothing. Please?

Sometimes I Just Wave To My Limits

I was supposed to run 6 miles today. Mostly because that's the random mileage that someone else ran, so I felt peer pressured to do the same. Really, I probably should have run closer to 10, but forget that. 

It was after noon.

In July.

In Virginia.

It's possible that I opted for a 15 minute-turned two hour nap after work today rather than immediately heading out for a run. So, when I came out of my sleep coma around 2:00pm, I looked at my weather app. She said it was a nice 73 degrees outside. So I put on my running clothes and headed out the door.

First, let me assure you that it was most definitely NOT 73 degrees at 3:00pm today. (For those of you good with the math, it's possible that I laid in the bed catching up on my Facebook feed for an hour or so before actually getting up and going for a run...)

Weather chick lied. It was at LEAST 568 degrees. (With the humidity. The actual temperature was probably closer to 93 degrees. Still. Definitely not 73.)

Second, I think that sometimes it's ok not to push your limits. I think sometimes it's ok to see your limits coming (often in the form of dizziness, nausea, and possible hallucinations) and kind of acknowledge them from afar. Like, just a quick head nod or maybe even a little bow to let them know that you both recognize them AND respect them. And that you have no intentions of challenging them today in 568 degree weather.

My limits are safe today.

I may visit them again later in the week. And wave at them from a safe distance.

DONATE TO GIRLS ON THE RUN so girls have a chance to acknowledge and even push through their own limits...like more effectively than I did today.

Fingertip Push Ups...I Can Do Those

So, I talked to the boy today. The one that wasn't supposed to know that I hadn't been practicing my rope climb?

Yeah, him.

He lectured me.

My two-weeks overdue so I had to have pitocin during two days of childbirth first born son lectured me.

I listened.

Then, in an effort to impress him and make amends, I decided to show him the fingertip push ups that I can do now.

"Watch this."

I dropped to the kitchen floor and got one full push up in on my fingertips.

Impressive, right?

"Yeah, mom. But, um, what was up with all that clicking? You sound like a roller coaster making a climb. Down, chk chk chk. Up, chk chk chk. Is that your shoulder making those sounds? What actual part of your body is about to pop out of alignment in this process?"

....

Ok, but I think what we need to focus on here is that your 42 year old mother of two just did a fingertip push up.

I mean, I can't do anymore now because of the laughter, but still.

I'm going to be so ready for Spartan...

Donate to Girls On The Run

The Reason for the Ladder

Don't tell the eldest son this, but I haven't practiced my rope climb in over a week. I've been a little distracted by play. It's summertime and I'm grown. I've earned playtime. (But for real, don't tell him.)

After mowing today, guilt kicked in and the rope started calling to me (not very nicely, either), so I decided to get some practice in.

Unfortunately, if you slack off for a week, you start to lose the little bit of progress you've gained. After several minutes of hanging there unable to get my feet set, I remembered my dad's suggestion to climb a ladder and start from the top.

So, I got the ladder out. It took me a while to find it. I'm not one to do my own home repairs, so I've never actually used it before. I'm not even quite sure where it came from. Most likely my dad donated it hoping I would become some kind of independent woman who handles her own to-do list. Whatever. The point is, I found it and began setting it up to practice my rope climb...

Did you know that if you leave a ladder sitting unused for several years, wasps are very likely to build their home there?

So, maybe I now have a wasp-infested ladder just sitting outside of my basement door. And possibly I didn't warn the kids that are currently in the basement. But really, they should be reading my blog in support of my fundraising efforts anyway, right?

I'm hoping one of them will put the ladder away for me so I can go back to practicing my rope climb.

And I also hope that the one who does isn't allergic to stings.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my couch the rest of the day waiting to see if the pain subsides or if benadryl is in order.

Rope Climb Progress

Fingertip burpees. Foot wrap techniques. Pull-ups.

I've gotten a lot of training tips and I've been putting in work so I can finally make it up this rope.

I haven't made it up yet.

But I'm making progress. 

And by progress, I mean that instead of remaining firmly on the ground unable to lift myself even an inch or falling immediately into the holly bush, I can now lift myself up long enough to swing wildly out of control for several long seconds while trying to wrap the rope around my feet and push myself up. 

Plus, I've stopped cursing. Me neighbor with the small children appreciates this.

Today I finally got some guidance from my expert, the man that taught me how to throw a football, catch a baseball, and ride a bike.

So, here's what we've learned from this lesson.

I'm NOT carrying extra weight.

I still have no upper body strength.

I need a ladder...and someone to always hold the bottom of the rope steady for me.

And for real, pull-ups from the bottom of the deck are definitely NOT an option...because snakes.

(And also, I never actually learned to throw a football or catch a baseball...because coordination.)

What If We Believed?

I spent some time with my best friend tonight. We often end up in these intense conversations about the world or life or how we view ourselves. (We also engage in some random and ridiculous conversations, but you know balance is important.) Tonight she offered me some insight that was incredibly powerful.

I've spent most of my adult life thinking that when someone compliments you, they're doing so out of some warped social obligation rather than actual sincerity. That's what you do in civilized society, right? Trade niceties?

I don't recall being this way as a child. But somewhere along the way I learned that when someone compliments you, you're supposed to argue and negate any positive feedback. It didn't seem to matter how many times my parents told me I was special or smart or beautiful or strong. (Brilliant, actually. Brilliant is the word my mother most often uses. I'm just saying.)

Still, the world seemed to suggest that I should contradict every bit of praise I'd been given. You don't want to seem arrogant. You don't want to risk thinking you're pretty if no one else does. You don't want to look like you're trying to outshine anyone else.

It has taken me a long time to get to the point where I can simply say thank you rather than arguing with someone when they compliment me. And I'm still not quite there yet.

It took me even longer to realize that this was something I should even be trying to do.

It's not an easy thing, to accept praise. I have been making a sincere effort to do so. That's not to say, though, that I actually believe what they're saying. Or that I even think they believe what they're saying.

But what if people actually did mean what they said? What if, when they tell you you're smart or pretty or talented, they actually meant it?

And here's the insight I was given tonight. Most people actually do mean it.

I think that's true.

I mean, there will always be manipulators and liars.

But I think that most people probably are sincere when they offer you a compliment. I know I am. If I say it, I mean it.

I don't think we start out thinking we aren't supposed to believe the praise, but it seems to happen pretty quickly. Especially as girls, I think we begin to lose this belief in ourselves at a young age.

One of the most powerful things we could do for our world is to help young girls hold on to that ability to believe in themselves and one another. That must be so much easier than trying to relearn it 40 years down the road. By then, far too much damage has been done.

So, let's start there, by helping just one more girl hold on to that ability to accept the praise that is given to her as truth.

Donate to Central Virginia Girls on the Run today.

Thank you to my strong, beautiful, intelligent, loving, selfless, supportive, amazing friend who is my cheerleader and constant source of praise.

How An 8 Year Old Girl Taught Me To Push Past My Limits

I don't have a really strong history of exploring my limits. I've always been pretty aware of them and content with just leaving them right where they were. They are limits. They are there for a reason, right?

But about a year ago, I watched one little 8 year old girl push the hell out of her limits and walk away like a boss.

Like, a for real 8 year old badass girl boss.

She was the youngest and smallest girl on our Girls on the Run team. She was not a fan of running. She liked the games and she was all about socializing. But running, not so much. She would whine the entire time, drag her feet, complain of being too hot, tired, thirsty, bored. She was a struggle and finding ways to motivate her seemed impossible.

As the season goes, we practice running farther and farther, with the goal of building up to a full 5k. Towards the end of the season, we run a practice 5k so the girls can get a sense of what to expect and how to pace themselves at the big Celebration 5k.

So, the day comes for our practice 5k and I know I'm going to be the one hanging at the back of the pack trying to convince this girl to keep going. In my head, I was practicing the motivation techniques I would try. I figured at some point, I would end up just begging.

But people surprise you.

This child ran. And she ran. And she ran some more. There were a few moments where she started to question herself and we could see that she was starting to give up. But she didn't. She kept going. She found her limits and pushed right on through them.

I don't think I've ever actually witnessed a child her age voluntarily push through pain like that.

But she did. And when she crossed that finish line, sweaty and out of breath, the smile on her face was priceless. You could see it in her entire being, that she found a strength that she didn't know she had. It was one of the most magical things I'd ever seen.

So, whenever I start suffering during a race thinking that I could ease up on my pace and avoid the discomfort, I think of that powerful little 8 year old girl. And I keep going.

And because of her example, I get to run with awesome people and collect cool awards like this one...

HumanKind 5k benefitting HumanKind in Lynchburg, VA

(Photo by Felix Lopez)

Plus I get to represent while wearing my Girls on the Run tank. Because if you're gonna rock a tank like that, you better run hard.

I feel honored to have been a small part of helping this girl find her strength. You can be part of it, too. Click here to donate  and you can be part of these awesome stories.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find an ice bath so I can manage to get out of bed tomorrow.

How Two Little Girls Humbled Me At a Celebration 5k

Do you know what happens when you spend a season coaxing 9, 10, and 11 year old girls to run 3 miles? They beast you at the finish line.

No, really. I mean, I call myself a runner. I train regularly. I do hill climbs and speed work. I strength train. I ran the freakin Blue Ridge Marathon. America's Toughest Road Marathon? Yeah. I did that.

But let me tell you about the time two little girls made me question my entire running career.

Ten weeks. Two afternoons a week for ten weeks, we worked through the Girls on the Run curriculum and practiced running. And when it was finally time for our Celebration 5k, I found myself running with two of the girls that had been a little ho hum about the whole running thing. But they showed up and that's half the battle, right?

So, we started off strong. I mean, the first half mile was solid. They were smiling. I was smiling. We were joking. It was fun. We were friends.

At exactly a 1/2 mile in, the smiling stopped, but I'm pretty sure they still liked me as a person.

By then end of mile one, I think our GOTR Coach-GOTR Girl relationship was beginning to waver. But they didn't seem to be actively hostile at that point, so I was still feeling ok about things.

Mile two was pretty quiet. I kept trying to point out the beautiful scenery, the mountains, the horses. They were unimpressed. I'm pretty sure they had stopped acknowledging my actual existence about a 1/2 mile back.

By mile 2.5, one of them decided the race was over. She sat down. Literally, sat down on the side of the course. Ok, Coach. Time to coach.

We only have about 1/2 a mile to go. See that curve in the road? Once we get around that curve, you'll see the finish line and I promise it will be worth it.

It worked.

She got up.

And all three of us began jogging towards the curve in the road, me coaxing the two of them on. We can do this. We've got this. We've got girl power. You're so strong. You're stronger than you realize. Just keep going.

And then we turned the corner. There was the finish line. All of the people. The cheering. In my mind, I pictured the three of us joyfully crossing the finish line, arms raised in triumph, celebrating our accomplishment together.

What actually happened was they took off. I mean, dead sprint for the last 1/4 mile towards the finish line. I couldn't keep up. I tried. I've sprinted to finish lines before, but my 40-something year old sprint has nothing on two 9-year old I just want this to be over sprints.

The finish line pictures tell the story. Two strong, happy girls running powerfully towards the finish while their coach smiles adoringly in the background, just happy they let me tag along for the journey. (There may also be a few pictures that show my sad, desperate attempts to keep up before the resignation set in, but we don't need to search for those.)

So, all that is to say that it is worth your investment. Click here to donate to Girls on the Run and help one more girl learn how powerful she is.

And if you want that powerful experience of being awed and humbled at the same time, sign up to volunteer. Coach, Running Buddy, Race Set Up. Whatever you can do, it will be worth it.

Because It's More Than Running...

Why is Girls on the Run important?

It may not seem like much, training young girls to run a 5k. But it is so much more than running.

It really kind of hit me yesterday. I spent the morning at a picnic celebrating a trail running series I participated in. I don't know how many people were there and I don't know all of them by name. But I am connected to each of them in a special way. We've shared the most amazing experiences over the years. And here is what is truly beautiful about this.

As I watched these women that I'd run these long, hard miles with step up to the podium to accept their age group awards, I was awed by the beauty. The pure, natural, powerful beauty. Women with babies on their hips and medals around their necks. Women in running shorts and women in dresses. Women smiling  and cheering unabashedly for one another. No worries about makeup, wrinkles, or numbers on a scale. No resentful comparisons or ugly jealousies.

You don't get to feel insecure among this group. We won't allow it. In a world where women so often criticize themselves and one another, there is this micro-community where we run the criticism out of you. Because by running you are building a strength and beauty that the world can't touch.

And it's not just the women that are impacted. This group of men that run with us, they are the men we hope our sons grow up to be. They are the men around which we don't feel self-conscious or embarrassed about our appearance. We do not have to apologize for how we look, because they know what true beauty is. They are the men that recognize the value that comes from our strength and intelligence and abilities. They are the men we run with.

So that's the value I see in Girls on the Run. We are training our most vulnerable population to find strength and beauty inside themselves and each other. We are training them for what they should expect from the people they allow into their lives. And that is something they can carry with them as they grow and make this world a stronger, more beautiful place.

Please take a moment to click here and support Girls on the Run so we can help more girls learn these important lessons.

(Photos by Ron Bell)

Fingertip Burpees?

I've been told that in order to climb the rope, I need to improve my grip strength. I was further told that in order to improve my grip strength, I need to do burpees on my fingertips. No, really. Someone actually said these words to me. Like, fingertip burpees are a real thing.

I'm not sure how I've managed to collect such a sadistic group of  friends, but I was told I could start with planks on my fingertips and then progress to the fingertip burpees. Because planks on your fingertips are less painful?

No. I did 1.3 seconds last night and I wimpered the entire time. I managed 2.2 today without tears. If I keep practicing, I'll be at a full minute by the end of the month. Wait. No. Math. Two months? Whatever. It just better help me get up that rope.

Even the foster cat thinks I'm ridiculous.

I hate these. Therefore I must do them.

DONATE TO GIRLS ON THE RUN

It's the real reason I'm doing all of this.

An Easy Six Miles

"I could never do that." "I wish I could do that." "I can't believe you did that." 

If you're a runner, you've heard these phrases. Maybe you try to convince them that they CAN do it. It's hard, though, to convince people that they can. I think a lot of non-runners assume that runners were just born this way. The truth is, most of us didn't start running until well into adulthood.

I was born into a running family, sure. Both of my parents were avid runners. Most of my early memories involve sitting on a blanket at some race watching my parents cross a finish line and celebrate with friends. But I never felt a real inclination to try running until after my second child. (Kids breed a lot of stress and anxiety and I'd heard that running could help that.I believe my running is how my children survived their teen years.)

I remember the first time I decided to actually give it a go. I laced up my new running shoes, told the guy I was dating at the time that I was going out for a run, and then bounced happily out the door. 

I might have made it around the block. It took me at least 10 minutes to do that and I thought I was going to die. I literally thought my heart was just going to stop in protest. 
When I stumbled back through the front door a quick 10 minutes after I'd gone, my boyfriend said, "I thought you were going for a run." I should add that he said this while reclining on the couch with a beer and a bag of chips. 

Here's my point. That's where I was when I made the decision to become a runner. It was not a great place to be and certainly didn't feel very promising. I never thought I'd say "easy" and "6 miles" in the same sentence. But I committed to it anyway. And I never looked back. Two months ago, I ran my first marathon. Last Sunday, I ran a 25k trail run for the fourth time. Last night, I signed up for a 30 mile ultra (I'm waitlisted, but still committed if someone drops).

Running may not be for everyone. But if you've ever thought about it, try it. Just go ahead and do it and keep doing it until it makes you happy. And confident. And strong. 

Because it will make you happy. 

I mean, first it tries to kill you, but then eventually it makes you totally happy.

But with Girls on the Run, elementary and middle school girls can learn the love and power of running at a young age. And you can help.

Click Here to support Girls on the Run of Central Virginia and help girls find their strong.

Spartan Trifecta Weekend and Girls on the Run

Here's the deal. Last year my son and I took on a Spartan Sprint. It was phenomenal. BUT, the boy had to carry me through several obstacles. (Like, literally carry me...up over his head...so I could make it through the monkey bars.)

So, when I suggested that this year we race a Spartan Trifecta weekend, he readily agreed...on one condition. "Mom, you've GOT to get stronger. Please don't make me carry you through three races in one weekend."

Fair enough. I'll train hard and show him just how strong his momma can be.

But then I figured, why not blog about my process and try to raise money for an awesome cause at the same time? Enter Girls on the Run. Last year, I had the amazing opportunity to help coach a team of elementary school girls through the Central Virginia Girls on the Run program. It was a powerful experience, watching these girls grow in their strength, character, and confidence in a matter of weeks.

And that's why we're here. Over the next few months, I will share how well (or not so well) my training is going and I will occasionally remind you about my goal to raise $500 for Girls on the Run of Central Virginia.

Hopefully you'll watch me get stronger and successfully take on a Spartan Beast, Super, and Sprint in August. Orrrr, you'll watch me have some fun and then bribe my son to carry me through three Spartan races in one weekend.

Incidentally, I happen to be eating an ice cream drumstick as I write this.

Training starts tomorrow.