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.