"I'm Not In Love With You Anymore": To the Girl Who Feels Unlovable

Let's get straight to the grit here: Breakups absolutely suck.

There's no way around it. Even if it was all the telltale, slap in the face, red flags that basically SCREAM, "GET OUT!!!!" it does not make the process any less painful. It hurts. It stings. It feels like a punch in the gut, and a blow to your self worth. I've been there. Oh boy, have I been there. I'm sure you're sitting on the other side of your laptop screen, itching to hear some juicy details and the rated R version of this. You're in the wrong spot, if that is what you're anticipating. This isn't about who did what and when and a literary T-Swift collab (that's what my journal is for;)).  Everyone deserves grace and forgiveness...something I am learning - slowly but surely - and striving for. Don't be mistaken. This isn't about my breakup. This is about what I learned and how I was met through my breakup. And from the depths of my heart and soul - I hope and pray that this meets you, girl who feels unlovable, in a time you need it.

As I sat at the bar in my favorite LA coffee shop, a Facetime call popped up on my laptop screen. I smiled, picked up, and giggled at his shower hair and made a dumb comment about the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt yet. There was a pause. There was no smile in return. The brown eyes I always gushed as "compassionate" were stone cold, and would not look into mine. I do not remember the prelude, but what I heard were these stinging, painful, throbbing, brutally honest words:

"I think we need to stop seeing each other. I'm not in love with you anymore." 

It was as if the clamor and bustle of the coffee shop came to a standstill, and all of time just froze. I didn't know if I wanted to throw up, cry, or just get the hell out of there. Sure, this was a conversation that had been coming up in the blood, guts, and gore a couple weeks prior. In fact, I even muttered that first sentence myself - unable to fulfill it by way of my own insecurity and weakness -just a week prior. The truth is that I was prepared for a relationship, even after 2 years in the making, to end. But I was not prepared for those words. I was not prepared or ready to receive, perhaps, the coldest, most brutal mouth full of words I'd ever absorbed in my life. To go from giving all of yourself physically and emotionally to someone - sharing laughter, tears, stories, bodies, affection, life plans, allll the ridiculous portions of Dopamine - and being told over and over just how much you are loved...to 3 days later, suddenly not being loved at all...is a really hard pill to swallow. Oh yeah, and I also was all alone in Los Angeles. I had no community to uphold me. No person's house to run to and cry. No arms to run into. I had phone conversations, but at the end of the day, I just had myself and my thoughts. And it was painful. Oh my gosh...it was so painful. To be isolated with one's own thoughts for too long, we know, is dangerous. 

During many hour long, grief induced phone calls that week, I learned that some of my closest gals had experienced the same, brutal words. I was already working through the utter failure of a marathon I DNFd 3 days prior, then burying a relationship that we both assumed would be a forever kinda deal, then agonizing over 7 heartless words on top. To the girl who feels unlovable, or was told, "I don't love you anymore," or "I'm not in love with you anymore," I want you to sit your tushie down, grab a glass of your fave wine (I happen to be xtra frugal and like Trader Joe's $2.99 merlot), coffee, whatever suits your fancy, and listen to me for a second:

I too have heard those words, and I know how badly it hurts. It doesn't make sense. It hurts. It is heartless. And if you're anything like me, perhaps you found yourself in a pathetic haze for 3 weeks, barely ate, drank, slept, functioned, and could have driven into a telephone pole and honestly not cared. When you heard those words, I can imagine it shook your world a little. It made you question your worth. It made you, who thought your heart was protected and enfolded and in a safe place, feel like it was frozen, blended up, hammered to pieces, and blended all over again. It made you, the girl who was once in love, feel unlovable. I know I did. In fact, my heart was so broken, that it was as if I was starting my life from scratch, re-finding myself, and rebuilding my very essence and the pieces of me I had lost. That's the thing. I became so reliant (or, let's be honest, codependent) on my significant, that I lost every ounce of independence and self-esteem that I once had. I quite literally did not know what to do with myself. I fueled my malnourished body with more caffeine and alcohol than I ever have in my life. I felt like a dead girl walking (cue Heathers) (no; please don't). Those 7 words seemed to strip any and every word or action of kindness demonstrated towards me, and all I could feel was the weight of my imperfections. It was this metaphorical, Garden of Eden moment of "perceiving my nakedness". Instead of seeing who I had become, I only saw the version of myself that wasn't enough. My eyes were opened to what I could do more of, be more of, and fighting the harsh reality that I was not longer lovable enough for someone. 

 To the girl who feels unlovable:

First of all, I want you to know that from the depths of my soul...that is a lie.

From the pits of Hell.

Plain and simple.

You are not his words over you. 

You are not the catastrophe of your breakup or lost love.

Your are not a strand of words that were involuntarily projected onto you.

You are not what someone else thinks you are. 

And if you have been told...

I'm not in love with you anymore

...Know that it has nothing to do with your worth, value, or capability of being loved. You do not need to earn love. You do not need to perform and do more and be more to be loved. And the truth is, if this was said to you, he either never truly loved you in the first place, or did not know how to love you well enough to keep you. Love is not half hearted. Love is a sacrifice and a choice. It is not "I love you" one day and "I'm not in love with you anymore" the next.  I know your heart feels like it's been ripped out of your chest. I know that your tendency is to wallow in the words you THINK you are, and mull over that daunting, underlying question, "What if it is actually true?" Listen to me.

You are lovable. 

Even when he couldn't love you.

Even when he told you that you were not.

Even when the emptiness inside of you makes it feel as though there is no heartbeat in your chest.

Even when it feels so cold, so dark, so lonely.

Even when you remind yourself over and over and over again: "He said it himself...he's not in love with me anymore. I am not loved. I am too much. I am unlovable. I did something that will prevent me from ever being loved again."

You see...

...What we feed our mind, we start to believe, and what we believe...we start to become.

But I want to tell you that the broken pieces of your heart that were once scattered, can indeed become whole again. Do you believe that? Do you really? Because I do. I believe it with all of my heart. Why? Because I realized that I was mistaking my brokenness for being unlovable, damaged goods; and refusing to believe that I could actually become a healthy, whole person again. I tied my identity to my relationship. For 2.5 years, I felt like nothing without it. I clung to it like a scared little girl hiding behind her parent. If I let go, that meant being alone, and the very idea of loneliness was petrifying. I purged ambitions and boundaries, and in trade, made myself believe that I needed my significant in order to feel happy and fulfilled and whole. My relationship became my everything. It consumed me. It filled every piece of my heart's void. And then it ended, and I lost the person who was my happiness, and I lost myself along with it. If you had asked me in October and November and December if I was capable of believing that I - the broken, lonely, Los Angeleno girl swallowed by the city - could feel whole and be whole again...I would not have believed it. Not even for a second. Reading my Bible felt as bland as a rice cake without peanut butter (ok; still mildly bland, but you get the point). Praying felt like talking to thin air. Or a telephone call where no one picks up. I reminded myself over and over and over again that I was unlovable, worthless, and broken. And for a solid 2 months, that is exactly what I became. I fed it to myself. In the morning's haze, as I stared blankly at a wall, cup of coffee in hand. As I navigated the relentless traffic of the freeway. When I went to bed. When I had 1,2,3,4 glasses of wine. Worthless. Unlovable. Broken. Incapable. I was empty, alone, fragile, every last ounce of self esteem drained.

Our culture presents us with such warm, fuzzy, false pieces of hope. "You are more than this!" "You are beautiful just as you are!" "You are worth loving!" We're expected, in our brokenness, to suddenly believe and mask our pain with such words. While affirmations and encouragement can be healing...the truth is this: There ARE parts of us that are broken and unlovable. We are human and we are flawed and things like a nice, raw breakup - I believe - expose our weaknesses and heart's longing for something more than the finite resources of this world. It exposes the broken or "unlovable" parts of us...but those parts can be made whole. I think that when we feel unlovable, what we're really feeling, is the weight of our human nature and imperfections. A breakup is like sprinkling salt to deeper wounds. We need not cling to someone else's words as though we are enslaved to them. However, we should, in these painful moments, pay close attention to our thoughts and who we are becoming, through someone else's words that we keep replaying. So I ask you again: Do you believe that you, shattered heart and all, can become whole again?

2 paragraphs later, and I still do. Even in my mess, even in my mania, even in my utter despair and frustration and apathy that jaded my outlook on reality - I was met right there; in my least attractive, most unsexy, most ugly moments. And so, I dared to allow my clenched hands to be pried open. I realized the girl I had become, and could finally admit that I didn't like it, and that I wanted to change. So I did. When I realized that, even despite the mess I had become, I actually could become whole again? My life began to, yes, radically change.

Because I believed I could become whole, I learned that I didn't have to fake it, pretend I was a badass living the cool life in LA, and mask the pain that pierced so deeply. I could be honest and admit that I was not okay, and I desperately needed my soul to be nurtured.

Because I believed I could become whole, I learned that I equally did not have to wallow in the gory details on repeat. I could choose to move forward.

Because I believed I could become whole, I learned that I didn't have to numb my emotions or run away from them or bathe in their sting. I could feel them, yes, but I could choose to fight them. I could pack my bags and take a 20 hour road trip and submerge myself in community and people who loved me.

Because I believed I could become whole, I learned that asking for help did not make me weak. I was, instead, choosing to rise up to my weakness.

Because God desires wholeness for me, I learned that He welcomes not just the prodigal sons, but also the prodigal daughters. And I could accept the invitation for Him to mend my cut skin and bleeding heart. Even if it hurt. Even if it meant a hit to my ego. Even if it meant giving up what numbed me. Even if it meant doing the things that I thought I didn't need...but my soul was starving for.

And He can take the messy, unlovable parts of you...and make them whole again. To the girl who feels unlovable: You are loved. You are loved and valued and enough so to be made whole again. This version of yourself that feels so cripplingly broken is not permanent. You are capable. You are worth more than the pain you feel. You are more lovable than the words said to you. Your crushed spirit can be healed. You can heal. I believe you can. I really do. If God could create you and breathe life into you...He can stitch together your tattered heart.

To the girl who feels unlovable: You are heard. You are seen. You are known. You are held. Your brokenness is temporary. And you can become whole again. 

Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits,
who forgives all of your iniquity
who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
who satisfies you with good
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's. 
Psalm 103:2-5

You're Allowed To Say "No"

Can I tell you something?

You are not a doormat, and you shouldn't passively oblige to letting others wipe the muck from their feet on you, either.

Don't worry, this isn't going to be a #SelfCare, only focus on yourself, never go out of your way for others kind of post. Peer pressure is typically associated with high school and drugs and alcohol and all the nitty gritties. Quite frankly though, I believe that peer pressure's shadow haunts us into adulthood. I am strong willed and feisty; but I am equally passive and withdraw easily when someone's dominance threatens my personal bubble. I am opinionated and hold many values, but for the longest time, would also fearfully oblige and submit to someone's passive aggression, or control freak nature. I will speak up strongly for myself and for others, but I also am like a sponge...I absorb others' words and gestures and social cues, and allow my heart to be consumed by them.

Truth be told: This is something I am still working on. But the day I said "No more" to toxic situations, and left the job, the small group, the relationship...was the day I could finally retire being a walking doormat. And you can too. 

I don't like letting people down, cringe inside when someone belittles or raises their voice at me (seriously, if you yell, I'm leaving #ByeFelicia), and avoid conflict, and I feel like I have utterly failed if I say "No" and someone takes it the wrong way.

BUT, truth be told: I have also begun realizing that my capacity can only do so much. I want to help people - and I love doing so - but there are those times when it's that battle of, "Am I being selfish? Or am I setting a personal boundary?" One of my favorite teachers from school, who I affectionately dubbed "Lovely Sue", once brought up some food for thought,

"Why is someone else's time suddenly more important than yours?"

Notice that she's not saying "As important".  I believe that everyone's time is important. But. People often, without necessarily even realizing it, subtly ask more and more of you. Why? Because they did it once, and it opened the door for them to keep doing so. Again. And again. And again. Hear me out: We SHOULD go above and beyond for others. We SHOULD be selfless. We SHOULD go out of our way. We SHOULD find it joy to bless others. And, we should do so often.

...But we also should not become a doormat; allowing others to manipulate or take advantage. There is much a difference between - out of love and kindness - serving somebody; versus enabling their sabotaging behavior. If we truly believe in freedom from slavery, then WHY do we continue to enslave our very selves?! And friends - often times in the work place, friendship circles, church, sports, family life, we are dealing with a kind of toxicity that is manipulative, controlling, and simply wants to use and abuse you. The abusive party will project their emotional baggage onto you; often times to the degree of twisting their words in such a way, that suddenly you are made to believe that their behavior is suddenly your fault. See the problem here? If you too are a walking doormat, listen up:

You need to start setting boundaries. And that starts with being able to say, in truth and in love, the 2 letter word: NO. Or, No more. Let me preface by saying that this should not be to fulfill your selfish desires, manipulate others' time, and get your way, by slapping on the label "Boundary". A TRUE boundary is a dividing line. It differentiates between what is Acceptable vs. Unacceptable - and as a recovering walking doormat myself - leads to freedom from emotional, people pleasing enslavement. Has anyone ever told you that you are ALLOWED to say "No"? If not, then I'm here to reinforce that permission.

You ARE allowed to say NO! It's not the literal, verbal action that is so daunting, but rather, bracing ourselves for the emotional outcome, and someone else's feelings that we believe can "get inside of us". The truth is that when you set a boundary, there will often times be anger. Gaslighting. Manipulation. Backlash. Retaliation. Does any of this sound familiar?

"You should have been happy to do _____!"

"You're just selfish."

"I know you're not comfortable meeting up 101, but I have some things you might not know."

"If you were a good son/daughter/wife/father, then you would do _____ for me."

"Fine; do as you please. I guess I just don't matter to you!"

"After all I've done for you..."

"If you want to be successful, then do _____ as I say."

In dating.

In sports (Mary Cain, anyone?). 

In church culture/small groups.

In relationships.

In family dynamics.

In the workforce.

In situations that will only but enable someone else's toxic, belittling, manipulative behavior.

There are all sorts of situations this could look like. But let me tell you: There is power in being able to draw that dividing line, and not shrink away to over explaining/apologizing for it. There is power in taking back and upholding your own values, and with that, comes so much freedom. It's not easy, but it keeps others' feet off of you as their walking, living, breathing doormat.

So, let's shake off the dust and say "No more."  

You are Not Someone Else's Emotional Punching Bag

Last week, I left my job. On the spot. No backup plan or notice. The first 2 sentences of this note were written over the course of 2 months - in some less than great situations - and the last 2 were written 10 minutes before I walked out the door…permanently. 

I want to remind you today - you, who feel enslaved to somebody else’s chronic manipulation, guilting, gas lighting, relentless extremity of mood swings and emotions projected onto YOU - that you have permission to walk away. Get out. LEAVE. You are not owned by your current circumstance, and someone else’s emotions CANNOT “get inside of you”. Did you know that? For 23 years of my life, I did not. I allowed (keyword: “allowed”) myself to be a doormat for emotional abuse to be wiped onto, and a sponge to absorb someone else’s feelings. I didn’t know that I had the authority to say, “If you are going to yell, then we need to revisit this conversation when things are calmer,” and walk OUT. I didn’t know that I could, without having to rationalize and feel guilty (which miiiight be an indicator that you’ve been guiltED), tell a male higher power differential that I prefer to: Have co-ed boundaries and wish to NOT meet 101. I didn’t know that I could, without having to overthink and over explain, say “No” and actually mean it. I allowed myself to just suck it up in certain situations, endure, and mentally brush it off. But the thing is - the more we ALLOW ourselves to ALLOW this behavior to project onto us without doing something about it….the more we will only allow it to CONTINUE to happen. It will not stop. It will not get better. Your voice will remain unheard and unattended to. And you will become enslaved to someone else’s unacceptable behavior, stuck in the same cycle of toxicity. Over and over and over again.

It took me over a year to break the cycle. It took being in one situation that led to another situation that led to…..being in completely inappropriate, exploiting situations with one higher up, and subject to verbal and emotional abuse by another. Lofty promises and compliments would be given to me one moment (“We’ve got some BIG plans for you!” was my favorite)….and degrading words, criticism, and COMPLETELY awkward and violating situations the next. My headspace went from, "This is within our scope of practice," to "Is this really ethical? Why am I always being the one chosen? Why am I constantly touched in this way? And why does it feel like my clothes are being ripped off from my body?" My “success”, client base, and security ALL came with a price. 

…Until the day I learned to say “No more.” 

And in my circumstance, “I am not subject to someone else’s emotional abuse,” looked like walking in to work, running clothes still on and backpack with change of work clothes still on my shoulders. A situation occurred within minutes of walking through the doors, and something within my 23 year old self...felt like it finally had the strength to put an end to it. It looked like walking into the room where I see my clients, praying and frantically googling Dr. Henry Cloud articles (#confession), and finally, 23 years of being a doormat and emotional sponge and a year of putting up with the utmost of unacceptable…FULLY believing I had the power to leave. Right then and there. I was not enslaved to being someone else’s emotional punching bag, or the other's trinket to gain self gratification and pleasure by touching OUT of a scope of practice. I was not just some petty little girl with hurt feelings. I was only punishing myself by staying. I was not BOUND to my circumstance. And by staying, I would only be enabling it. I could leave. “Just 10 seconds of courage.” 

And so, I did. I took a deep breath, backpack still on shoulders, and walked right up to the front desk. I shook my head "No" as they tried to frantically silence me. I remained calm, but I wanted everyone in that building to hear what had happened to me, and the behavior I would no longer tolerate. And my voice was finally heard. And I finally said "No more." And I walked right out that door. 

And so can you. Let me say this loud and clear: ABUSE has ZERO place at the table. I think that often times, we are so dead set that “this person” or “that job” or “by putting up with that situation” is the ONLY option. I’m here to tell you that it is not. If your success in your job or sport or art or future career path comes with the price of neglect, abuse, and complete disregard to caring for you and lacking integrity, then it is not worth trading yourself as someone else’s punching bag. I’ve been dumbfounded by how many people I know who self-proclaim how horrible their job, coach, teacher, or ANY higher power differential is…and yet…they stay. It is true that when abuse is all we are used to, we tend to either get comfortable with it, OR resort back to it. And unfortunately, we don’t realize just how brainwashed we’ve been until it’s too late, and the BIG boundaries are crossed, or we’re in complete and utter turmoil and an unhealthy headspace. I think that there are even times that we KNOW we need to speak up or walk away, but the fear of someone’s response becomes far greater than fear of addressing the actual problem. We mentally shift gears to prepare for someone else’s anger, wrath, irritability, manipulation, scolding, and the feelings that can make one’s heart and soul suddenly feel like a wilted flower needing water. We prepare for and mentally rehearse and feel all the nervous stomach churning before we even speak. It’s like we assume that because the other party is freaking out, yelling, raging, etc….then we are bound to somehow “absorbing” it and letting it cripple the remaining pieces of us that are healthy, happy, and whole.

I’m here to remind you: Someone else’s anger cannot get inside of you. Someone else’s stress cannot get inside of you. Someone else’s mockery does not have power over you. You are not subject to someone else’s emotional abuse.

Ever. You have boundaries and a voice and values that are more than worth exercising. So use them. Even if it means leaving what you thought would be the ultimate dream. Even if it costs you at first. Even if your expectations were on the opposite end of the spectrum, and reality shattered it. Maybe it's within a relationship, a job, a sport, a class, a church group...you are not BOUND to your circumstance of abuse, and you are ALLOWED to leave.

“No more.” SAY IT. 

To the Girl Who Wasn't Fought For

By your husband.

By your parent.

By your boyfriend.

By your employer.

By your coach.

By anyone who you put your full faith and trust in…

I see you. 

After keeping up with the allegations of Mary Cain this week, the thread of athletes speaking out, and reflecting on my own experiences of abuse by a higher power differential, or someone I trusted, or who made lofty promises that they could not keep…I realized the deeply, silent cry of multiple women is this: FIGHT FOR ME.

And it’s not a cry in codependence or weakness. It’s the cry of: “Do you hear me? Are you empathizing with me? And please, can you help me?” It takes strength to do that. It takes strength to admit that you have been cutting yourself, trying to purge, and have been dealing with suicidal thoughts. It takes strength to tell a supervisor that you were in an uncomfortable situation, and were being touched inappropriately and felt exploited. It takes strength to tell someone else’s upper - as the female minority - that you have been subject to abuse. It takes strength to set a boundary, and say “NO.” To the loved one. To the higher power differential. To ANY person who has used manipulation, guilting, or gas-lighting in their favor; as though they are your puppeteer. 

Maybe they guaranteed your worth in your career, sport, art, passions and life aspirations, WHO you are as an individual….IF you just stuck with them. But “by their rules”. By their puppeteer mechanism, whose strings you slowly learned were but a noose around your neck. And when you realized that you were in a detrimental situation or headspace, you needed someone to back you up, support you, help you, hear your concern, roll this heavy burden onto their shoulder. Someone to fight for you. And when they saw you barely hanging onto the cliff, panicking and wallowing into survival mode - left to fend for yourself - it probably felt like a piece of you withered and died. 

…And rightfully so. Instead of taking your hand, being your shield, and picking you up in your weakness, they not only left you hanging…they shoved you off. You probably thought something was wrong with YOU - that the pain was all your fault, or you were overly dramatic, or that things would get better, or that “Maybe they still will keep their promises, and it’s all just me…”

To the girl who wasn’t fought for…I want to remind you of something: You. Have. A. Voice. You deserve to be heard. Your pain is not irrational. Your red flags that have been compiling are not all in your head. You are allowed to speak up. You have permission to walk away. You have the power to report. You can say “NO.” You are not crazy. Your success is not limited by means of your higher power differential. You deserve to be fought for.

To the girl who wasn’t fought for: Through Him, you are. I know not everyone is a believer, or can soulfully cling to this. And I know that this reminder isn't rocket science to those who do. But I want to say it, and remind you anyway, whoever you are. When you choose to do life with God, keeping him as your foundation and your truth - He fights for you. Even when you don't feel it. Even when praying feels like talking to thin air. Even when your flesh understands the pain you feel, more than the one fighting your battles for you. To the girl who wasn't fought for; hang tight:

He hears you.

He sees you.

He knows you.

He understands injustice. 

He is your sword.

He is your shield.

He delights in the good that your current pain leads to. 

He fights your battles.

And He will keep fighting for you.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or dismayed before the king of Assyria and all the horde that is with him., for there are more with us than with him. With him is an arm of flesh, but with us is the Lord our God, to help us and to fight our battles.” 2 Chronicles 32:7-8 (context) 

The Scarlet Letter(s): D.N.F.

In my perfect mind, this title would be more like: "I AM BOSTON QUALIFIED AND NOW I'M TRAINING FOR A SUB 3:00:00!!!!" 

But alas, if anything lately, I have learned that reality has quite a funny way of smashing lofty expectations. In case you're foreign to the term "DNF" it translates to: Did Not Finish. As in - you quit during the race. Your name proooobably won't be on the "Results". And you'll probably beat yourself up about it, cry more than the 3 & 4 yo. you live with, and find yourself grieving over a unit of measurement that your feet pound repeatedly on until you hit the numbers 26.2. Can I tell you a story? Great. Have a seat.

For 7 months, I basically dedicated half of my life to running. From April-June, I built up allllll the base miles - aka: Running sloooooooow and looooooong. No tempo runs. No track workouts (How DARE there be no 800s!!). Just boring, blah, building. And from July-Oct., I tackled perhaps the most challenging training of my LIFE. It really was one whopping life lesson on adversity and overcoming said adversity. A stomach ulcer. A pelvic issue. Frantically calling PTs/nurses and double checking to make sure my uterus wasn't going to fall out (more on that later) at one point. Frantically google diagnosing a hip issue that I dubbed to be my glute tearing off. Recovery. More recovery. Setbacks. Important runs skipped due to said, bodily mishaps. Going to bed early, waking up early, getting out the door early, and basically reconstructing my entire life to fit this marathon training schedule. Why? Because every time my mind was telling me, "No, no, no, AG....you can skip. You've worked hard. Just sleep in. Just skip the warmup and jump straight into the workout," I equally saw an ambitious runner crossing the FINISH line and the time chip reading: 3:25:00. I saw her crying and screaming with joy and finally being able to share that she was Boston qualified. 

 7. Flipping. Months. 

It was an entire summer learning to retrain my brain. I'm not kidding. Physically, my heart and lungs and legs will be fine. Mentally, it is a constant war zone with my brain screaming, "STOP!!!!" and combatting it with, "YOU'RE FINE! The pain is okay!!! This is normal; whoooo! Yeah? Ok? Ok!" But seriously - there were runs I genuinely would get so nervous about (enter my love/hate relationship with the infamous tempo + 18 miler with marathon pace work at the end) - questioning to myself, "Is this really possible??" "I'm a novice!" "Are you kidding me?! 8:50 pace felt hard yesterday!! And I'm supposed to finish the last 4 miles of 18 at 7:50 pace?!" "What if my body can't do it?"

I've run a bunch of races before. A full marathon, 1/2 marathons, 5Ks...but this was my first training cycle that I dedicated myself to the fullest of my potential. I even had what I ate and when and what times the day before a long run, down to a science. My last, crucial long run...the lovely 22 miler....I averaged 8:35/mile for the entire run. I finished fast on dead legs, and for the first, time in my life, I truly felt what it was like to get OUT of my head about how awful I felt, focus on the mile I was in, and just go for it. 

And then, there was race day. I had this perfect vision of what the weekend would look like, prepped as much as I could in advance, and lo and behold - it was perhaps the most stressful race weekend of my LIFE. Every race, I tell myself, "Next time will be better." It's not so much the actual races that are awful, but the sequence of events leading up to them (a car breaking down, no sleep, a ride falling through the night before...all the warm fuzzies;)). For Long Beach, I had high hopes for a super low key, chill, and just fun weekend. When I crashed at my Airbnb at 3PM the day before the race, I could tell that I had way overcommitted myself in the days prior. Between driving, work, early mornings, and scheduling myself back to back...it took a toll on my mental sanity. I had been force feeding myself all. week. long. Purely due to so many "What ifs?" and pre-race game planning and figuring out how to navigate all this...and all of them coming true. Sleep + satiating my body felt like a chore. And I carried all of the stress by myself. What I truly wanted though, was someone to be present with me. I follow so many runners and know so many personally, whose families or significants or a friend tag team it with for the race weekend for all the "festivities" - the expo, the famous "pre race pasta dinner", checking out the race site, game planning it, chillin', just....being present.

But mine was the opposite. It felt like sheer chaos, miscommunication, and carrying all of the stress and game planning by myself. Everything felt rushed. My cortisol levels felt totally maxed out, due to a circumstance earlier that day. Everyone showed up late, service was slow, and I didn't eat dinner until 8PM, and could barely stomach anything when it finally did arrive. I went to bed feeling annoyed, stressed, sad....NOT ideal things to feel the night before a big race; whilst trying to save the adrenals! 

Surprisingly though, I slept pretty well...but my appetite was totally diminished. And so, the force feeding of oatmeal + 1/2 a bagel continued. I was a little concerned that the entire week of this + the stress the day before would catch up with me, but once I got to the race site, I felt totally pumped and ready to go. While my significant went to park the car, I warmed up, found the START line, and was pinching myself that the day was finally here. I was ready to go. In my head, all of the chaos leading up to it would be a huge part of my Boston Qualifying story - to show others that a crappo beginning doesn't = a crappo ending, hard work pays off, and with a little (ok; A LOT) of tenacity, dreams can absolutely come true.

It's a freakin' marathoning dance PARTAY!  

My plan was: Start with the 3:35 pace group to warmup the first 3-4 miles, ease into marathon pace, speed up if ya got it in ya the last 10k, or just hold on if ya think ya gonna fall over. 

I doubled checked with the 3:35ers: "You're going to hold around an 8:10 pace, right?" A guy going for a sub 3:30 had a race game plan close to mine, so we stuck by each other at first. I couldn't tell if the GPS was off on my watch or if the pacers had seriously run the first mile at a 7:40 pace. "Mmmm...this feels like marathon pace. Not an easy 8:10," I thought. As I slowed down around mile 3, I found my sub 3:30 friend. 

"They went out hot!" he said. I was relieved to know that our splits had been averaging the same, and my watch wasn't off. We stuck by each other until mile 4, and then I said, "Alrighty; I'm gonna pick it up to marathon pace! Good luck to you, man!!" And off I went. I was in the 7:40s, and it felt amazing. I felt like I was flying. I passed the 3:35 pace group and their fastest "8:10 pace" I'd ever felt. Today was the day - I just knew it. I felt SO joyful, smiled all happy-go-lucky for the cameras, waved all giddily when I'd see my significant, took my first gel at mile 6, and felt on fire until mile 11.

Mile 11. Oh my gosh. Freaking mile 11. I will NEVER forget this moment. My stomach had felt a smiiiiiidge off a couple miles after taking my gel - mile 9ish? - but nothing crazy. "Hopefully this all will just settle down and not get any worse," I thought. Well, that's like expecting the stupid girl in the horror movie to say, "There's nothing to worry about!" and nobody in the entire dang group in the haunted house getting killed. Let's put it this way: All of the pasta and oatmeal I had been force feeding myself...was slowly, agonizingly coming back up. And suddenly, I was stopped on the side dry heaving. But nothing came back up. So, I kept going. It donned on me that for feeling as awful as I did, I was progressively getting faster.

"Ok; if I feel this awful and am still maintaining 7:35-40 pace, I can finish this dang thing!!" 

Because this dude's booty shorts are #thebest 

But as fate would have it - everything felt worse. I could not keep anything down. It was a mixture of praying and swearing. Even a sip of water triggered the sloshing, stomach knotting, dry heaving sensations I was trying so hard to settle down. At this point, I was begging God to "please just ease my stomach".  Had it been mile 22ish, then puking on myself or dry heaving my way to the finish would be more acceptable. But 11 miles in? Not even at the halfway point? I needed Divine intervention. I had never felt this awful during a race or training in my LIFE. My significant found me at mile 13, and could tell by my face and rounded shoulders and shriveled up stride that I was feeling awful. Originally, the plan was that he would meet me at mile 17 and pace me until the finish. He jumped in 4 miles early. 

The next 6.5 miles were a mixture of feeling a little better, dry heaving, and repeat. I had not taken a gel since mile 6 (we were around mile 15 at this point), and so I forced myself to suck down just 1/2 of it. It exacerbated everything. My pace went from a crisp 7:40 and feeling on fire, to 9:40 (yes - 2 MINUTES slower), shuffling, and slowly, painfully, watching any hope for my BQ that was left...fade away. It wasn't until I squatted down near a bush to try and throw up that it all donned on me. I saw the 4:00:00 pace group go by, and that really was what sealed the deal. I had a choice: A) Suffer and shuffle to the finish line just to say "Yeeeeee; I finished!" B) Accept that today wasn't the day, and D.N.F.

"I can't keep going." 

I broke down - literally weeping - as I stepped onto the sidelines, watching the other ambitious marathoners power through. I ripped off my bib#, said, "F*ck this," (instead of "F*ck Yeah!" -Shalane Flanagan;)) (just keepin' it real, folks) (Ok; I did apologize for my #DirtyWord afterward), and felt like a piece of me had just died. It was ridiculous and yes - a little pathetic. I went from feeling strong HERE:

Yeeeeah; feeling on top of the world! 

To here....

"Oh eff; I'm about to purge."

The next few days literally felt scarring. I felt like I was in a haze. The race and the failure I experienced were on replay. My 2.5 year relationship rather traumatically, unexpectedly, but mutually ended 3 days later. And mentally, I was in perhaps the loopiest headspace I've ever been in. My heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest, blended in my Ninja, clumped back together, frozen, and then hammered to pieces all over again. But as I sit here (sane), healing, and in a coffee shop writing this, I learned something:

Even though I didn't get the race experience I had hoped for, time I had dreamed of, and am no longer doing life with the person I thought would be my forever - it all is still a part of my story. "Did Not Finish" does not mean that I still WON'T finish. My relationship finishing does not mean that I AM "finished". I believe that hardship, reality shattering expectations, and adversity mold us in ways that in the present, dark moments, we simply do not realize. I believe that looking back on these moments will make success and aspirations becoming fruition...all the sweeter. Throughout my training, I was reminded over and over and over again: Crappy now does NOT = crappy later. There is still hope. There is still joy. There is death, but there also is resurrection.

One of my favorite bloggers, Janae @ Hungry Runner Girl posted the day everything fell a part: Sorrow prepares you for JOY. And I am clinging tightly to the graphic she shared below.

"In my head, all of the chaos leading up to it would be a huge part of my Boston Qualifying story - to show others that a crappo beginning doesn't = a crappo ending, hard work pays off, and with a little (ok; A LOT) of tenacity, dreams can absolutely come true." And although this was my intention for Long Beach...the truth is that it is STILL my intention, STILL a part of my story today. And come December, stay tuned to see what marathon/goal I am tackling. ;) Feel the suck, but then pick yo'self right back up.

(Also: Stay tuned for a whole new blog/website transition in the near future. Some dreams of mine + FUUUUN stuff coming up SOON! I'm mildly geeking out!)

When Your Expectations Are Not Your Reality

Ever seen the film, 500 Days of Summer?

I love it. Its conclusion is the kind that leaves you feeling like you've been both sucker punched in the gut, but also (if you so choose to adopt the marvelous beauty of the nitty gritty;)) thinking, "WOW. That kind of felt like real life." There is one scene in particular - I mean, just take a glance above! - that was my, "Oh my MOLY, this is the pain of reality and how life really works!" *insert surprised emojis* *and weeping emojis* moment. As a realist who has a crazy deep love/hate relationship for depressive endings of films, I made the mistake of suggesting this movie to watch with Sully and his family. "....And you said this was your favorite movie, Anna?" his dad inquired. 😂

I'm a dreamer, but like I said above, I also am a realist...and probably more so than anything. I see things how they are, say things like they are, and appreciate people who don't beat around the bush when advising something, confronting something, or suggesting something. I love dreaming, but only if I can make them attainable, something tangible, something that I could definitely see myself accomplishing in real life. If someone has bad news to share, I want the full truth of it; someone to just say it like it is. But you see - although I might be a realist, that doesn't magically equate to the pain of reality suddenly not feeling...well...painful.

These past 2 years, I have realized more than anything that life does not, in fact, shape out to be how we humanly envision. Some pieces, perhaps. But the fairytale endings, the picture perfect lifestyle, the 9-5 days consisting of green juice and the sculpted bod and the perfect sleep cycle, perfect family, perfect job, perfect, smiling "positive vibes" aura we see on Instagram...I find that they come in occasional pockets of joy to compliment life; but they are not life in its entirety. They are less like the idolized, unattainable versions that we fantasize, and more like Ecclesiastes (seriously; go read it) in its entirety. 

My life in Los Angeles is more different than I ever would have imagined.

I had a lot of things I "thought" would happen. Boy, did I have my mental timeline down to a science. My expectations were happiness, success, a strong bond with a community of people, the same sense of freedom and joy as when I visited, amazing networking opportunities, fruition in my dreams and ambitions, and looking the part of the successful, well equipped little Los Angeleno, complete in giant sunglasses, some type of weird shoe, and kombucha in hand. Livin' it up.

It's been a humbling experience. I've cried myself to sleep, walked out of auditions ripping the sheet music in half, gone through the motions of day to day survival, taking a deep breath before the hour-ish commute, and have found the mental depiction of myself that was once the savvy girl walking around town with the organic crunchy mama kombucha stuff, to have way too many days of stress under eating, living off of granola bars, cutting my own hair that LA's chemically water damaged because the salon was too expensive, and cursing the darkness, wallowing in self pity, and wallowing in a really, really deep loneliness and depression.

I think - actually, I know - many, if not most other humans have experienced this same thing. So what do you do when life sucks, you're more full from sorrow than food, and you want to run away and just say, "F*ck it," (sorry; real talk here - because *raises hand* that's been me) altogether? Do you let yourself wallow away, curse the darkness looming around you, and allow the pain to devour and suck the life out of you?

Or do you stay.

I hate to stay. It doesn't come naturally, and I am quick to flee when life presents an array of things that I cannot humanly carry. I hate enduring life when the pain and emotions are too big for me to really even describe. I want the end goal and the fruition that I know I have in me to obtain, but I often find myself getting lost in the dark. I know that the good to come is indeed possible, but the endurance and suffering portions hurt.

Suffer.

That's a word I don't like to experience, but a word that we all, indeed, experience in different forms at different times. I'd prefer to tune out the bad parts, take an essential oil bath, and call it a day. But you know what?  It is in those uncomfortable seasons of endurance that sharpen and refine us; where we indeed begin to overcome the things we once thought were sheer agony to obtain, or even impossible. I've found that the Enemy thrives off of feeding our appetites of apathy and numbness to things that once brought us joy during these times. When I feel distant from God, and it feels like I am praying to air or a spiritual realm selectively tuning me out, my human nature is to drop everything cold turkey. I stop eating. Running. Cooking. Thinking clearly. Writing. Reading. Sleeping. Creating. All of the things that spark joy and make me feel alive and close to the Creator - suddenly diminish. It feels like the weight of my anxiety or depression and the fight-or-flight mode that feels like I'm running on autopilot are consuming me.

And that's when the challenge rises: When your expectations are NOT your reality...do you curse the darkness and run away, or to press in and learn to suffer?

Maybe that means taking the initiative to clean up the mess. Maybe it is waiting and enduring the painful season, but knowing that things just need to unfold in their timing. 

 I do not think this means wallowing in the same spot where the darkness seems to encircle us. Often times, I believe that we are responsible for proactively choosing to find a way out of the mess, while also fully believing that whatever is happening to us does not own us. I think that we can press in and suffer, because while it is uncomfortable and really gritty, it also is refining. And we need not run away. For me, "running away" usually looks like numbing or occupying myself with other things in life, while equally tuning out the mess and pretending it's not there.

A few years ago, I spilled a blueberry smoothie on my white carpet. I was so taken aback by how much spilled, that I literally just threw a towel on and couldn't even look at it. It was on the floor, on the wall, all over my nightstand. It was blue, and it was...bad. The towel hid the smoothie quite well. But it was still there, nonetheless. I had 2 choices. 1) Let it sink in and begin to fester. 2) Acknowledge that it was still there, and take the beginning steps to clean it up. Even if I couldn't magically scrub out every blue stain, I could do what was next. And so, I got towel, and I did what was next.

And so can we. So can you. So can I. 

Let's press in; together. 

Embracing the Hill

Do you ever make an adrenalin filled, impulsive decision in the moment to do something, and an hour later think, "Why did I actually do that?"

I know I have. In 2016, a friend announced on Facebook that she was prepping to train for a half marathon, and reached out publicly to see if anyone wanted to join. Without hesitation, a google search on what this would even entail, and having literally never run a whopping 1 mile outside, I commented and signed myself up. I was stoked. I was ready. And I was going to flipping kill it. And on my first training run, I couldn't even run 4 laps around a track without shriveling up, hunching over, and panting like a parched mutt. It was bad. And on the day of my first long run, I didn't eat beforehand, bring water, and ran the first mile at a sub 7:00 pace. I could model political media and just stop the story here, and let ya bask in my running glory. No food or water and running the first mile sub 7:00??? WOW. BADA$$!!!  I bet you can't even guess how the last 6 miles unfolded from there.

If you guessed walk-jog-hobbling the remainder of time, wondering if cold chills in 80 degrees was normal, anatomical behavior, and my friend running far ahead, finishing long before me, and even circling back around to make sure I was still hangin' in there (Heather Crawford; I'm looking at you!!!), you would be correct. It was quite a humbling experience...as was the entire summer of training. 

From then, I continued in this newly found joy, and have since run a marathon, 2 half marathons, a handful of 5Ks, and then just miles out of my own enjoyment. As my base phase recently ended, and my first day of marathon training began today, and new goals and ambitions have been brewing, it's gotten me thinking, "Why do I actually do this and enjoy it so much???" So as I sit here, sore and still exhausted from a track workout that was supposed to be 70 degrees and overcast (newsflash: It wasn't), I have some thoughts. After all, there must be the energy behind someone's intention, in order for it to actually be driven. Right?! 

My "WHY" has varied from season to season. Sometimes it is by watching others totally kill it in a race. Sometimes it is the fact that I date an avid runner. Sometimes it is that I want to tackle something seemingly impossible. But as I got lost in thought as I ran this morning, it boiled down to this: Running makes me feel fierce, strong, free, and unstoppable. I believe that certain shadows of childhood can spur us on as we grow, because if I'm being honest: When I was a little girl, I felt none of these things. I was a scrawny, thin haired, gap toothed girl with knobby knees, shrimpy arms, and a dash of freckles across my nose. I was always known as the "skinny one" - or, more affectionately "Skinny Gray". It's not so much that I disliked my body, as I did how people described it. When I was asked if I was anorexic or why my legs were so boney or if I "ever ate" or it assumed that I couldn't do something, simply because I was skinny....it didn't exactly make me feel beautiful. Or fierce. Strong. Free. Unstoppable. Rather, it made me feel: Inferior. Weak. Confined. Limited.

"I hate how people look at me like I'm a weakling just because 'I'm thin'." -Journal entry, 2012

And as I grew and blossomed into a young little lady, I set out to prove that I was not weak and that I could do hard things. Running was a pivotal piece for me - not purely because it "proved people wrong" - but because it really became a life mantra, a source of joy, and a confidence that I never had. Though I admit, I would have loved to see a lot of faces the summer I gained 10 pounds, found out my hair was curly if I didn't touch it, and started working out. ;) 

Running became an accessory to both life and my wellbeing. It has taught me that things take time and patience, because a marathon will forever and always take 26.2 miles. It has taught me that being uncomfortable is an opportunity to press in and endure. It has taught me that hills must be climbed, but by round 10, those hills seem a little smaller and a little less painful.  And it also has taught, in that same breath, that there is immense power in rest and recovery; not JUST the workouts and the miles pounded out. It has given me the space to wake up before most of the world around me has; to bask in the early morning haze - just the Creator, open sky, and myself. Running makes me feel fierce, because it teaches me that with a little grit, I can reach those goals and miles that once seemed unreachable. It makes me feel strong, because when my brain is trying to make me stop, I press on and keep going. It makes me feel free, because it is as if I have a piece of the world and this sacred space and time to myself. And it makes me feel unstoppable, because whether I'm on the brink of suffering during a long run, or digging deeper and running fast and hard...the wind in my hair, sweat on my face, and the set of lungs and the heart that are putting in their fair share, makes it feel like I have this open room to really and fully breathe (unless it's in metropolitan L.A.), and as if nothing can stop me, catch me, or get in the way (except for dang trains).

"That’s what 'Embracing the Hill' is all about. As with anything that seems impossible often times, when you lean into it—when you learn to embrace it— you gain the power to conquer it." -Sarah Canney

Breaking the Body Image Contract

Sometimes, I wish I could go back in time, and talk some sense into my 17 year old self. I’m sure I’ll feel that way 5 years from now about my now 22 yr. old self. 😉 I’ve been drafting a blog post on why I no longer abide by my chronic, perfect, pure “Vegan diet”. And it got me thinking about just how far I’ve come from who I used to be. I can close my eyes and revisit and almost FEEL those same sensations of being a broken, body image obsessed 17 yr. old.

 The other day, a client somberly told me of her athletic, strong, beautiful 17 yo. daughter who, despite her talent in her sport and glorious, muscular frame...hated her “big legs”.

And I was immediately taken back to a time where I used to be ashamed of my body and my “big legs” too. 

I can close my eyes and remember the way I was only happy if the scale was in the double digits.. I recall spending hours working on a face that I feared letting go bare. And I recall so many gatherings, holidays, birthdav parties, or dinners out either forcing myself to just have water and a crappy salad with some balsamic, or enduring the relentless guilt and shame that accompanied if I caved in and binged. And then, finding some way to rid myself of the “toxic, polluting, imperfect” calories. 

Today, I went for a run and glanced down at those same “big legs” moving. 2 years ago, I would have cringed seeing my inner thighs flapping around. I wouldn’t have worn the tight, tush hugging shorts that I did this morning. And I certainly wouldn’t have glanced down and thought, “My legs look strong today,” like I did this morning.

I wish I could go back and tell 17 yo. AG that her giant quads on her small stature were not a bad thing; that there is beauty in strength. I would tell her to eat not 1, but 2 slices of totally *not vegan* pizza at the gathering, dip it in ranch, and enjoy the heck out of it with 0 remorse. I would tell her to wipe off the layers of foundation and let her pale skin go bare; acne scars, red undertones, and all. I would tell her to seriously ditch the scale and just enjoy the exercise and enjoy eating for health, instead of treating it like a legal contract.

I want to remind you of the same thing. Are you fighting your body? Forcing it to go above and beyond? Setting unattainable expectations on yourself and forever comparing your thigh gap to the 5’11 Insta runway model’s? I’m not here to write out a magic fix, but I want to remind you to step back and actually enjoy life. 

Enjoy that long, 12 mile run instead of doing it for the sake of losing a pound. Enjoy what you’re eating and do so for liveliness and longevity, instead of a vicious, legalistic calorie count or “diet”. And appreciate your body and what it is able to do, treat it with kindness and compassion, and remember the strength and progress you have developed, rather than slaving over who you wish you could be. 

Fighting For Change: Habits & Dreams

 I'm a huge believer in the "Divine timing" of things. Often times, I will pray for an answer or specific clarity on something, but sometimes completely miss how it is unfolding right smack in front of my face.

At first, that is...

My prayer the past 8 months has been specific in some ways, vague in others, desperate in some, but basically boiled down to this: "God, what am I supposed to do with my life??" You would think that Los Angeles, my 12 year prayer, once favorite place on the planet, and big, crazy dream would be the holy grail of the "answer" to my life. I know I did. I thought that once I moved out here, suddenly everything would fall into place, I would network and stumble upon some of the same, insane connections I did on my 2 week visits out here as a teenager, and have most of it figured out.

Newsflash: I didn't. And I still don't. Actually, I am not really sure if anyone really does, and the more life I live, the more I realize that I truly do not think that humans are destined for THAT one thing. It's like we wait for this huge Billy Graham or Oprah moment of success and influence among millions. I think, however, that we are meant to endure many different seasons of life, and sometimes? Those Billy Grahams and Oprahs are, well - the Billy Grahams and Oprahs they are for a reason - and not every individual is going to fill those shoes. And yet, I think that we often equate success and the words of a job well done by means of the quantity of work we do, quantity of lives we touch, quantity of money we make. Anyone else sense a common denominator?

This week, I had the opportunity to attend a JuicePlus+ LIVE conference in Sacramento. My friend/former teacher from NC, Alice, has THE biggest heart for helping others, and combined with her passion for this company (that was able to replace the complex burden of dragging out her juicer in a fight for her own health years ago), mentioned via phone about a conference coming to CA. I had been using the JP+ Complete Powder after my runs last summer, and so I was interested in learning more about the product. And so, I road tripped from LA to Sacramento last Wednesday. A huge theme throughout each of the speakers at the convention was obviously dreaming BIG and accomplishing those dreams - but more so - digging into being PRODUCTIVE vs. BUSY, which really honed in on identifying how each of these can either be a stumbling block in personal and professional growth..or useful in really the QUALITY of our time vs the QUANTITY. One speaker, in particular, makes the most of a whole, 1 whopping hour, and yet is able to hustle and get. stuff. done.

I had no idea that I would resonate so deeply with the heart of this conference. Yes, one ultimatum is to obviously spur on those who sell for this business and to inspire the newbies to jump on the bandwagon. But the focus was equally an intrinsic viewpoint of fighting for change, breaking habits, and slaying those demons that keep you in that never-ending cycle of going in circles, and getting (ding ding ding) nowhere.

A few weeks ago, Sully and I shared some "grieving moments" of habits we've been stuck in - those pesky little guys that tag along to feed apathy and prolong success - but what we're going to do to either A) Break them. B) Replace them. Take a look at this clip from Olympic gold medalist, Shannon Miller from this past weekend.

Hearing her words so boldly resonated with me. It wasn't Shannon Miller just "being Shannon Miller" that brought her talent, success, and a gold medal. It was the dirty work, the in betweens, the 1%s, and the behind the scenes work that nobody else sees. The work was hard, but she still showed up.

2 years ago, I would post about every. single. long run. I had for a half marathon. I would add how long I would be running to my Instagram story, and then share my story or "war story" (if it involved purging red gatorade, almost sh*tting my pants, ya know, all the goods!). And you know what I realized?

The art of posting that - writing it down, just like one might do in a journal or a dietary notebook - held me accountable, and forced me to show up and do the dirty work. And so here, right now on this little slice of cyber world, I am going to do just that. I've had goals and dreams and a few slightly insane aspirations in mind for a while now. Some I've been working on; others I want to start working on. This one, I've been working on since its building phase in October...

I want to run my little tush off and qualify for the Boston Marathon

...Which means pounding out a 3:30 marathon.
...Which really means pounding out a 3:28ish marathon, to ensure there's a spot for me to get in, since #BOS fills up fast with its qualifiers itching to run the famous course.

This one is a little more daunting, because my first marathon experience was slightly horrific. Flicks of my pace group leaving me in the dust at mile 17, a woman crying and the pacer patting her on the back, walk-running the last 6ish miles, trying not to throw up and sucking on an orange after the finish line, and trying to walk up stairs 26.2 miles + a pair of crunchy knees later, all come vividly to mind. I silently swore right then and there that I would never run a marathon again. Ever. In fact, I had no desire to run a single mile after that. The once newly obsessed gal with running and the weekend long run being the big, exciting highlight, the boxes of Clif Bars, hours spent (yes, hours) creating running playlists, signing up for a bunch of road races and tagging along with a running group and then finishing......(deep exhale) the marathon...and it all vanished.

(Cannonball Half 2016 - suffering mid-run, but circa my newly found running obsession)

(Myrtle Beach Marathon 2017)

And then, I started dating a runner. 

And this runner thrived off of the marathon. And qualified for/ran the Boston Marathon in 2018. Something funny happens when you date someone who is an enthusiast about something. It's like you blink - and wait, what the heck?! - suddenly you find yourself fixated and enthusiastic about the same, exact thing. And so, shortly after I packed up my joy for running in a little suitcase and stuffed it away, I found myself ready to train for another marathon. And so, 2 years later, after mending a few little health scares, resetting my crappy nutrition (aka being an #ExVegan and eating more than rice cakes and peanut butter. A whole entire post on THAT in the works.;)) sleep schedule, and fully trusting Sully as my built in coach, I am committed to (slowly but surely;)) training these next 6 months (including a few months of the base miles), and yes - running my little tush off - so that I can indeed run my marathon to be #BostonStrong.

(Supporting my guy at the 2018 Boston Marathon!)

(Post run in Los Angeles downpour #LikeABoss 😎)

But along with the hype and excitement of dreams and ambitions, there also comes a new array of demons to slay and habits to conquer. So, I present to you...

HABITS TO BREAK/MAKE:

-Making every run count. It's easy for me to rationalize "Why" I cut it 5 minutes short or will do it tomorrow instead or have been stressed and didn't run well. The truth is: If something is important enough to you, you WILL make time to do it, and do it well. Even if some days are crappy. Even if one night I slept a little poorly. It's all of the 1%s, all of those small things, that merge together to create good habits, and it's the good habits that merge together to provide fruition to that end goal. 

-Seeing food as fuel. As a reformed crash dieter, perfectionist, and human known to live off of nut bars and hummus, I HAVE to provide my body with good nutrition. Thankfully, I no longer diet, but when life happens and my cortisol levels are surging, it is easy for me to focus so much on what is stressing me out, that eating a good, satiating meal is at the bottom of my priority list, I forget to cook, and end up feeling super fatigued and crappy. No more just "grabbing a granola bar real quick". No more "Well, I was really stressed and didn't have time to cook." Nope. None. I will meal prep and make my time in the kitchen as important as the miles on the road. 

-Maintenance work being a must. This is also what I call those prehab, injury preventing exercises. They're the seemingly simple ones, but often neglected. It's those things such as: Foam rolling, stretching, joint mobility, core work, low body work, sleeping (not just "resting") 8-9 hours, and perhaps a massage or 2 (Raise your hand if you're a therapist and haven't even had a massage yourself in the past 6 months. *raises hand**is that just me*). And just like the importance of making time for each run, so it goes with the maintenance work to accompany it. I am typically consistent with foam rolling and stretching, but in LA without a gym membership? I've gotten pretty bad at strengthening my body. And I've wondered why my triceps are flabbier??? ;)

I want to play the piano again

And by "play the piano again", I mean I basically want to relearn everything that I was taught as a scrawny little 12 year old scheduled to practice chords and scales and somehow piecing them together to play out a song. A client of mine was taken aback when I told him that I enjoyed both the arts and athletics. And I can see why, because one hones into a more emotional side, and the other is almost purely physical. I reminisced about my days in musical theatre, vocal lessons, and piano for a short period of time.

And you know - I remember the day I decided to quit. My mom wasn't going to force me to continue, but I overheard her on the phone with my teacher, who recognized that I actually was good at piano, and really desired to see me continue. Both my mom and teacher hoped that I would try just for another year. I had already taken lessons for 1 year, but I rarely found fulfillment in this new skill. When I could successfully play a song, it sparked joy. But when it was plunking out notes and learning to read music, something inside kind of withered and died. I wanted some of the end goals, but I also loathed practicing and all of the boring, relentless exercises and playing scale. after. scale. Growing up, I would easily get bored with something if it didn't immediately grant me the fruition. I could handspring and flip and body contort in gymnastics, age 8, and then quit. I could play piano by ear and by music, age 12, and then quit. When nothing new or exciting would happen in the boring as heck trainings or lessons - more of those 1%s !! - I would feel totally uninspired, and drop it. It didn't help that I wasn't really surrounded by likeminded, passionate people about the same things. I'm guessing many of the kids participating in the same classes were forced to try it, or feeling uninspired in those 1% moments as well.

And now, a 22 year old, I've found myself digging back up some of those things of the past. During my teen years, I believed the lie that I was too old to pick those things back up. I believed that if you started as a kid, then that was the only was fruition would follow. I've now grown to believe that the statistics of learning something new as adults being "harder" or "unattainable" to really be a placebo. I've learned many things and accomplished many things that one would google and see a completely different demographic for. 

And so, 11 years later, I look forward to replaying and relearning some of the same scales and notes and all the nitty gritty goods. I will blog the progress of this, just as I do with training to be #BostonStrong. ;) 

I want to invest my money

I've realized how foolishly millennials, myself included (gonna get to that in a second), spent and invest money. I used to look at young people my age with nice cars, shoes, bags, stuff and think, "WOW! They must be rich." I've realized since that much of this is A) Covered by a pretty penny in debt and things they can't actually afford. Or B) Money they already have, but is burning holes through their pockets.

 It's certainly not this way for everyone. I know plenty of young, successful people who are really smart with their money. But after seeing several people I once thought were probably millionaires with a cushy apartment frantically posting a "GoFundMe" for help, or soberly monologue writing how they had spent all of their money on...well...stuff...I began to think a bit differently. 

I used to think that I was totally on the right track, simply because I didn't use a credit card and aimlessly swipe it for coffin shaped nails and $40 foundation. I had 2 debit cards - one for everyday use, one for online purchases, and then had my savings account for backup. I thought I was already super accomplished, until one day...

...I was taking a chunk out of my savings account because all of those coffees and fun evenings out all accumulated, and I hadn't tracked those. 

Confession time: I am an emotional spender. Bad day? I deserve this $5 cup of jo. Unexpected expenses staring square in the face and suddenly unsure how to budget? "Intuitively" spend money, don't check bank account, don't budget because it's #TooStressful, and hope for the best. 

At the JuicePlus+ conference last week, one of the speakers had us write down a financial goal. For mine, I scribbled out:

"I will no longer say, 'I don't have the money for _____.'" 

In a Robert Kiyosaki book that I read a few months back, he stated that even when he and his wife were broke, homeless, and desperate, their new replacement for this was, "What can I do to make the money for _____?"

And I want to adopt the same mantra. It's easy for others to say, "But AG! You're just getting on your feet! You're new to all of this!" But the truth is that I want to be wise with my money while I am young, build good habits early, and let those follow me on into adulthood, rather than being haunted by chronic financial habits and mistakes. And with that being said...

HABITS TO BREAK/MAKE:

-Stop emotionally spending money. Even when it "feels" like the right thing to do, or I think I "deserve" the cookie after an 8 hour client day.

-Find ways to make passive income. Seasoned adults have a history of looking at me like I'm a bit ignorant and "too young" to be thinking about this. I'm interested in several different aspects of this. Some I won't mention on here, because most of my readers are seasoned adults. ;) But I do have some ideas rolling around that I am eager to gain more information on.

-Never say, "I don't have the money for _____." again. This is a long term goal. I don't expect to cross this off the list in a year. I don't expect to become some millionaire. In LA, I either see how people have foolishly maxed their credit cards, or I've seen how their never ending cycle of, "It's not in the budget," or "I don't have the money for ____." or "Well, I'm just poor." seems to almost own them. I understand that this might be a temporary state of being, but I've realized that the more we claim these phrases, the more we begin to get caught up in their cycle. My long term goal is to break this cycle. 

So all in all? I've learned that in making dreams and ambitions attainable, there also is a fight for them. And a large part of it is quite literally fighting our own mentality, crushing habits or replacing them with something life giving, and making the seasons of suckiness, 1%s, and in betweens actually count. Because in the end, they really do.

Oh, and I want to blog at least once a week. 😊

I want to know some habits you're working to break (or make!) too. Whether your head is in the clouds with ambitions and desires, or you're in the treacherous muck of making them happen, do drop a comment below and let me know what you're up to. Oh, and I believe in you. 💛