There’s a reason I snagged the term “Mediocre Mom,” and it isn’t because I excel in a lot of activities. Somewhere along the line about a year ago, I decided it would be a fantastic idea to train for a 5k (3.2 mile) run. There’s a program called Couch to 5k that’s for
exceptionally lazy people beginners who have never run and also think it’s a good idea to set a lofty goal when reaching for the ice cream in the back of the freezer is considered a strenuous activity.
It’s supposed to last nine weeks. I-suck-at-exercise to I-can-run-3-miles in 9 weeks.
It took me a year.
But not because the program doesn’t work. The program is fabulous. It’s because I kept procrastinating. Or getting discouraged. Or giving up. And then a couple not mediocre friends of mine were all, “We should do a 5k for charity!” And I was terrified and knew that I would have to change my ways or I would collapse in the middle of the race and that’s embarrassing.
But I did it. I signed up. I’m doing a run that raises money to help combat sex trafficking by taking rescued girls in and training them on a horse ranch. The horses provide not only therapy, but a way for them to earn life skills that can help them earn a living as trainers or caretakers or pony stylists. Love.
And two days ago, the most amazing thing happened: I did it.
I ran 3.2 miles straight. For the first time in my life. At (almost) 30 years old. After 3 kids. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but that would require climbing and ladders and I’m pretty clumsy, so I did the next best thing: I posted it on Facebook.
I came home and, beaming from ear to ear, told the Nerd of my victory. I cannot even explain how good it felt to have set a goal – a tough one, for me – and actually accomplished it.
The thing is, there are really only two things that ever keep us from doing that – from setting goals, from getting off the couch, from trying for that new job, from changing. And those two things are fear and laziness. I was lazy. I hate exercise. I’m never going to be that girl who’s like, “Best day ever! Let’s celebrate! Burpees for 20 minutes!” (A burpee is an exercise where you begin in a standing position, squat to ground level, shoot your legs out in a straight line backward, jump back to a squat, and jump straight up again. I die.) I don’t do burpees at all because I think they were made by the devil.
But I was also afraid: afraid of failing. Afraid of being the girl who tried and just couldn’t get her flabby – ahem, rear – into shape.
But I totally did. Sort of. I still have a long way to go to be able to give Jillian Michaels a run for her money, but whatevs. I feel good and I’m pretty dang proud of myself.
I realized over the past year something very profound: the only person keeping me from changing is me.
And I prayed about it. And I had a heart to heart with God about not going through life being the girl who complained about everything without doing anything about it. Who found excuses. Who blamed other people, other circumstances, other challenges.
And I ran 3.2 miles. And I’ve been soaring for the last 3 days because of it.
And then my kids created yet another epic FAIL that will be posted tomorrow. God keeps me humble.