Who are You Going to Listen To?

Here’s a quick recap for those of you who don’t really know me or have lost touch. I got hurt badly in a fall just before law school. Already significantly overweight before law school, the injury, horrible diet (can you say free pizza?) and hours and hours of studying coupled with a completely sedentary lifestyle added up to a middle-aged woman who was not just morbidly obese – I was “super obese.”

Some years later, through changes in diet, DDP Yoga (check it out – it’s amazing) and putting on a pair of running shoes for the first time in my life, I lost over 100 pounds.

My Facebook feed was full of photos of the meals I prepared and notifications from Nike Running Club that I was going for a run. When people “liked” my post, the app would cheer. It was really motivating! I attempted a half marathon in 2015 and was “swept” at mile 8 (I couldn’t maintain the minimum pace). I didn’t give up. I was training for a “rematch” with the same half marathon course when I read a Facebook post written by a law school classmate who I considered a close friend.

I don’t remember the exact words, but the gist of the post was that people who aren’t serious athletes shouldn’t post about their workouts – that we just are attention seekers and our “friends” don’t really care about our workouts. Especially guilty were those of us who enter a competition and fail to complete it. I was devastated. He didn’t write my name, but I was all of those things. I did manage to finish the 2016 half marathon attempt (just barely), but afterward, I lost my mojo. I would run a few times a month, but I never got back into a predictable schedule.

I stopped posting, so I lost the “cheers.” I stopped running, so I lost the endorphins that exercise releases. I started eating potato chips again. Life took some really tough turns, and instead of going for a run to ease the anxiety, I turned back to food. Over time, I packed on nearly 50 pounds of weight.

As a self-employed person, my health insurance premiums became really expensive. I switched from traditional health insurance to a health share plan, and in order to be approved, I had to agree to work with a health coach. He doesn’t tell me what to do. He helps me to set goals, and when we check in every week or so, he asks me how I did. With his help, I’ve dropped 30 pounds.

I’ve missed running. I’m very slow, so running any distance requires a significant time commitment for me. My “homework” from my coach a couple of months ago was to sign up for a race. I signed up for the Cleveland Rite-Aid Marathon Weekend 5K / 10K Challenge which was held this weekend (May 19-20, 2018). The “overachiever” in me couldn’t just sign up for the 5K. I had earned 3 medals in 2016 for completing a challenge, so registered for both the 5K and 10K and I set out to repeat that feat.

Here in Ohio, the weather has been miserable. To top it off, my left foot has decided to grow some benign, but uncomfortable “lumps.” These two factors combined to make a very serviceable excuse to skip training runs. I skipped lots of them. Basically, I didn’t train – I just ran a couple of times when the weather was nice.

I checked the weather forecast mid-week. Saturday and Sunday were supposed to be stormy. I ran the 5K / 10K in 2016 when Cleveland had sleet, hail and thundersnow (yes, that’s a real thing) in mid-May. I nearly didn’t pick up my race packet.

By Friday morning, the forecast had improved. The forecast showed clear windows for both races. I posted about not being ready and about my food hurting, and a running friend (an ultramarathoner, no less) encouraged me to join the ranks of the injured and undertrained and do it anyway – so I did.

Saturday was the 5K. I did really well. I ran the fastest 5K I’ve run since I started running again. I was stoked. Sunday, I arrived at the start and it started raining. I very nearly turned back, got on the train and made my way back to my car. The voice of my “friend” was back in my head. I was going to finish near the very back of the pack. I hadn’t made it to anywhere near 6 miles in my training runs, and to be honest, other than yesterday’s 5K, I had only run once or twice in the past month.

I was just about to allow my “friend’s” imaginary voice that was telling me that I did not belong on the course to persuade me to return to the car when another law school classmate saw me and talked to me for quite some time. He was running his first race. That brief conversation gave me a minute to chase the other classmate out of my head.

I was sore from the 5K. I held back the first half of the race because I knew that I was under-trained and I was virtually certain to run out of steam. I was fine until about mile 4.5 when we had to climb a really steep hill. I was really tired. I wasn’t in pain, but it was hard to make my feet go faster than a slow walk. My pace had dropped, and that guy’s voice in my head was working on me again – “You didn’t train for this. Nobody cares about your posts. Nobody cares about your run. You’re a fake!”

I was discouraged. I felt like crying when a voice cried, “Betty!” Yet another law school classmate stopped in the middle of her own race to grab me and wrap me in a hug. Take that, “mean guy.” People do care.

The last mile and a half was slow, but I didn’t care. I was soaked to the skin (the rain never did completely stop) and out of energy, but I had a grin on my face that nobody could erase. I crossed the bridge over the Cuyahoga River that was just before the finisher’s chute. I collected my medal. I found my way to the tent where I received another medal for the completing two races in one weekend, and ran into yet another law school classmate. She cared, too.

This is a long, long story. The moral of the story is be careful who you allow as a “tenant” in your head. Nearly every time I post on social media about a run or a race, I receive a whole bunch of “likes,” which I translate as a positive thing. Maybe it *is* attention seeking, but if that little reward keeps me on the track or trail, I think it’s worth it. Anyone who is not interested has the power to block, unfollow or simply “mute” me on social media.

I allowed one post by someone who was probably going through his own issues YEARS ago to be an excuse not to do things that are good for me. Even sadder, that same guy wrote a post a couple of months ago apologizing to his social media friends for basically being a jerk a couple of years ago. Months later, I was still allowing his years-old post to be my excuse for not trying.

I ran more than 9.3 miles this weekend, most of them in a cold, miserable rain. I didn’t use an app that “cheered” me, but I received live, in person love from people I haven’t seen in person in years. I collected 3 medals to hang from the cane that I used to need to hobble around my law school. Most importantly, I’ve issued an eviction notice to the imaginary “friend” in my head because I don’t want to renew his lease. It’s time for him to go.

The announcer at the race said that 15,000 people were registered for today’s events. The fact that I found three people I knew, some at just the right moment to keep me from “throwing in the towel,” and one to share my joy in having finished went beyond coincidence. I believe in miracles, friendship and a bit ‘o luck. Today I experienced all three.

To all of the people who have told me that I am an inspiration and the reason they started doing something hard – whether it was going back to school or exercising – even running: I’m back. Being told that you’re an inspiration can be uncomfortable. I wonder why people say that sometimes because I am so imperfect. Perhaps it is that very imperfection that inspires. I get back up time and time again. It’s okay to stumble. It’s okay to lose your way from time to time. Finding your way back to the path is what matters. Thank you for believing in me when I stopped believing in myself.

To the friend who accidentally found his way into my head: I didn’t write this to call you out. It looks like your life today is going in a fantastic direction. I miss you and I’m proud of you….I just don’t want you in my head anymore. Okay?

The moral of the story is: when you have to choose between listening to people who love you and want you to succeed and people who are going through a hard time and complaining about something they don’t like on social media, choose wisely!

Peace out, I’m going to go hang up my medals!

~Be~

We’re All Winners!

Posted by BecomingBetty

There was a time in the not-so-distant past when I believed that “participant” trophies and awards for every child on a little league team or bowling team were silly. After all, we need to teach these kids that we don’t all win, right?

I believed in my own misguided way that it was okay for just the “winners” to get trophies. Sure, the coach should take everyone for ice cream, but they don’t all need sprinkle – “Sprinkles are for WINNERS!” You get the drift…

I believed that – I really did. Then something unexpected happened: I discovered running.

Now my wall in my workout area is adorned with bling from races in Ohio, Florida and Nevada. I’m signed up for three more in the upcoming months, each with its own medal (or at least a shirt!). I’ve never won a race. Several times I’ve been dead last, but I won that medal fair and square. Sprinkles may be for winners, but medals are for finishers, and I want mine!

A lamp for my feet – a light on my path

Posted by BecomingBetty

I just came home from vacation this week. It was a wonderful week of activity, people watching, and enjoying nature. I’ve been running for about a year and a half now. I run mostly in Ohio, and mostly in an area that is very flat. We have a few hills, but you really need to go out of your way to get to most of them. As a result, my runs have very little elevation change. I also tend to run in the early evening, while it’s still quite light out (and the bugs aren’t too bad). Although summer just ended, as summers go it wasn’t terribly hot in Ohio. All in all, it’s been a mild, pleasant summer for a novice runner.

As we were planning our vacation, I scouted for running events that would fit our timeline. I discovered the Twilight Lake Las Vegas run and signed up for the 10K distance (they had 5k, 10k and half marathon available).

I took a very bad fall a few years back that left me with a leg broken in 4 places with a full complement of hardware installed to keep my skeleton together. Although my balance has improved significantly since I began running and doing #DDPYoga, it still isn’t one of the strengths.

The day of the race, we started walking from our hotel of the Vegas Strip to the Avis office a mile or so away. I stepped off a curb and landed on my knees and elbows. While I wasn’t badly injured, it hurt. My knees and hands were scuffed up, and I had fallen on the knees that has the worst arthritis of the pair. We kept going and picked up the rental car. We left Las Vegas and drove to Hoover Dam where our hotel was located. We did some sightseeing and checked into our room. It was 108 degrees. I’ve heard it said that “dry heat” is cooler than the humid heat we have in Ohio, but no matter how you look at it, 108 degrees is HOT.

I spent the time leading up to the race hydrating and fueling. My training plan fell apart in the weeks leading up to the race, and although I wasn’t concerned about being able to cover the distance, I knew I wasn’t going to be fast. I grabbed a cooling towel and we headed to packet pickup. We drove through the Lake Mead area and enjoyed the views, stopping at multiple scenic overlooks. The red rocks and landscape seemed so alien compared to the lush Lake Erie landscape that I’m so accustomed to.

My husband dropped me off at the start line and drove back to enjoy Lake Mead some more. The half marathon runners lined up first. Their race began at 6:30 p.m. I listened to the directions – make sure you have a flashlight or a head lamp. The course is unlit. I checked the lights in my trusty ball cap with “head lights.” They functioned. I decided I was good to go.

The half marathoners were off, and the 10K runners lined up. The run was just starting to dim. It was still quite hot, but not as hot as it had been moments before. I tested the injured knee – no bad pain. I re-tied my shoes and took a last chug out of my water bottle before recycling it. The horn sounded and we began.

The course was paved and pretty wide. As it wound through the desert landscape, I saw succulent plants. I wondered if there were snakes, scorpions, or other critters out there. I’m a “back of the pack” runner, and this race was no exception. As I neared the 1.5 mile mark, some of the fastest 5K participants passed me. Soon, I was all alone. The 5K runners had turned around, and most of the 10K runners were ahead of me.

I watched the sun set, and I turned on my “high beams.” I was dismayed. Although that hat was great for letting people know that I’m out there on the road, it really wasn’t a great light source. I ran off the edge of the path once and resolved to stay closer to the middle to avoid matching hardware in the other ankle. As the course progressed, my eyes became accustomed to the dark. Although I couldn’t see well, I could at least see the path.

A volunteer told me to turn left “Everyone goes up the hill.” Wow. What a hill. I wasn’t prepared for this. I made it up the hill, huffing and puffing. I went back down the other side and soon found myself running near a freeway. The oncoming headlights, while a safe distance away, destroyed my night vision, and I was soon stumbling along the edge of the path again.

My cooling towel began to dry out. I got hot. Then, I heard something I couldn’t identify and I got scared. I began to question the wisdom of signing up for this hilly race in the desert with no lights. I began to question my ability to run the distance. What if there were a rattlesnake on the path enjoying the warmth? I wouldn’t be able to see it. What if I fell and nobody found me?

An aid station was in the distance. I stopped for water and a volunteer asked if I would like my cooling towel re-soaked. Gratefully, I said “yes.” I finished the water. I wrapped the cold towel around my neck, and I took a few deep breaths.

As I began to run again, I felt a sense of calm. As my overheated body began to cool down, the words of a praise chorus I used to sing while playing the piano came to mind.

Although the sky didn’t get brighter (and neither did the lights on my cap), I felt a sense of calm wash over me as I sang the words quietly. I looked out at the horizon and saw the lights of Las Vegas. As the trail turned away from the freeway again, the quiet desert greeted me again. The course turned downhill. The going was easier. There was a lightness in my step.

As I passed the 5K turnaround again, I saw a woman who was laboring heavily to get to that mark. She had a wonderful team of supporters there to encourage her. I remembered my first tentative running steps at over 300 pounds. I remembered the difficulty and the fear. I tried my best to encourage her as I passed her on my way back to the finish. Soon thereafter I encountered another struggling runner with a walker. She, too, was accompanied by friends. Although I was running unaccompanied, I wasn’t alone. There in the dark, all I had to do was cry out for comfort. My “support team” was there, guiding my steps.

I crossed the finish and collected my medal. I grabbed some snacks and a cool water while I waited for my husband to collect me. I don’t know if I’ll do another night time run, but if I do, I’ll have a brighter headlamp, and I’ll remember that although I may be the only runner in sight, I am never truly alone.

The Destructive Power of Anger

Posted by BecomingBetty

I try very hard not to hold a grudge. I know how much energy it wastes. Worse yet, while I’m wasting energy and feeling miserable, the person on the other end of the grudge is blissfully unaware of it. Someone dear to me once told me, “don’t let someone take up space in your head without paying the rent.” I’ve remembered that and try to live by it.

Last year, someone who I had to deal with on a regular basis did some things that made me angry, then they said some things that hurt my feelings. The result wasn’t pretty. To his great credit, he has extended an olive branch and tried to mend fences on several occasions. Although I said the words, “I accept your apology,” the truth is that I never really let go of the incident.

I went to the gym this morning to run a couple of miles on the indoor track. I set my app to remind me to run for two minutes then walk for 60 seconds. My favorite playlist was playing, I felt “fast” (for me), and I was having a great run. The first half of the 2 mile run was great. I thought about what I would do when I finished my workout. I thought about the fun I had over the weekend. I could feel the grin on my face. People were smiling and waving.

Then, at 1.27 miles in (I happened to look at my running app), last year’s “incident” popped into my head. As soon as I thought about that person and what had happened, I got frustrated. I mentally told myself, “you must forgive him.” I tried to just say the words, “I forgive,” and I couldn’t do it. I felt I wasn’t ready to forgive him. I somehow NEEDED to continue to be angry with this person. I felt my mood continue to darken, and realized that I had begun to scowl instead of smiling.

I continued to argue mentally with myself for a few more minutes, and grudgingly thought, “I forgive you.” I continued to run/walk and soon I began to think of possible ways to not mend fences with this person (fences keep people out), but instead to build bridges. I felt the bounce return to my step and the smile come back to my face.

I finished my run, got back home, and I got curious. I pulled up the chart of today’s run and scrolled the bar to 1.27 miles. While I was filled with anger, I was slower. You can see it clearly. I went from “green” peaks to only “yellow” peaks as soon as I began harboring resentment. Stewing on old hurts slowed me down. I was 37 second slower on mile 2 than on mile 1.

I couldn’t ask for a clearer demonstration of the power that negativity / anger has over me. It kills our joy, saps our strength and robs us what we are working to achieve.

Thankfully, I feel much better. It’s my turn to extend the olive branch. I will never again underestimate the destructive power of internalized anger.

A Subtle Sunrise

Posted by BecomingBetty

Easters were special growing up. We colored dozens of eggs. Mom made homemade candies and molded bunnies. I wore a new dress every year. Some years Mom made the dress for me. The white shoes came out of storage (forget Memorial Day!) and we posed for pictures in the back yard in our finest.

My Aunt would buy bags and bags of the left-over Easter candy and a week or so after Easter, we would have a big candy hunt with all of the cousins. Life was simple.

We didn’t always attend sunrise service, but I remember being excited to go. Some years, it would be very cold, and I would insist on wearing my thin Spring dress (often sleeveless) no matter how loudly my teeth chattered. Although I can vividly remember some of those dresses (and the hand-crocheted shawls Mom made to go with them), I cannot remember the sunrises. In my imagination, they were vivid – as we sang hymns, the bright ball of the sun peeked over the horizon and the angels sang. In my imagination, it was quite a spectacle – worthy of motion picture awards.

This morning, My dear sister-in-law and I decided to go to sunrise service. It was cold (low 40s), and the service was being held on the shores of Lake Erie, where ice covered the water mere days ago. I had no Easter dress, and as an adult, common sense ruled and I wore my heaviest wool pants, two sweaters, a winter jacket and woolen socks under my winter boots. I carried a travel mug of steaming coffee. I was prepared.

The rest of the early morning worshipers dressed like me. Nary a light spring dress with bare arms was to be found. In the pitch black darkness, we sat on rough wooden benches, our backs to the frigid lake. As the service began at 6:45 a.m., the sky began to lighten just enough to read the prayer on the bulletins we were handed.

Our Pastor shared the scripture from Mark 16 – “…trembling and bewildered, the women found the empty tomb and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.”

This account lacks the drama from the Passion Play. Mark doesn’t tell us about Jesus’ appearance to his followers. There are no vivid beams of light streaming from the empty tomb. No heavenly chorus – no trumpets – only frightened women fleeing.

As we said the closing prayer and sang the remaining hymns, the sky continued to brighten. There was no startling contrast, no brilliant colors. The lake didn’t sparkle. It was quite dreary (and still very cold). Pastor told us how some evenings when vespers is held at the same location, the sunset is stunning. Other times, like this morning’s sunrise, it is just a subtle transition from one day to another.

I wish that I had more time this morning to sit and contemplate that subtle sunrise. Instead, I came home, downed a cup of coffee and cooked breakfast for seven. After breakfast, I boiled eggs to color with one of the grandchildren who had spent the night. As my daughter helped him dye the eggs, I began preparation for the family celebration as we came together to enjoy fellowship (and food!)

After lunch, the children scampered through the yard looking for brightly-colored plastic eggs filled with candy. While I was inside the house being busy, the day had transformed completely. The cold had disappeared and the sun shone brightly. It was too nice to go back into the house, so we visited on the front porch. It was a wonderful time.

With the last of the family guests gone, I took my opportunity for that quite contemplation that I missed earlier. I donned my running tights and shoes and headed for the high school track. I reflected on the cross, and the excruciating pain that would be involved in crucifixion. I remembered Christ’s pleas for forgiveness for the people who were torturing and killing him. I imagined the empty tomb, and this time my mental movie included this morning’s subtle sunrise, as the black night gave way to the soft gray of a cloudy morning.

My own life has changed a lot in the past year or so. It’s been a slow process. Some days I am disappointed that the changes aren’t mind-blowingly vibrant. Other times, like today, I am grateful for the calm that fills me when I’m alone with the only sounds being those of nature around me and my feet striking the pavement. As I took my final lap around the track, the sun began it’s gentle descent toward evening. The bright ball in the sky was too bright for me to capture with my iPhone camera. It was the kind of light that chases away any kind of sadness left in the corners of your mind.

I sat in the car and watched the light. It was the kind of brightness that would be perfectly accompanied by angels’ voices and trumpets. It filled me with awe, and calm.

Last week was difficult. My mind was occupied with current events and political thoughts. I spent energy uselessly pondering issues that are beyond my control and problems that aren’t even mine to solve. While I was alone, in that moment, none of it mattered.

My subtle sunrise brought me calm. The light that ensued brought me joy – and peace.

The emotions today brought with it may be lost in translation, but the message for me came loud and clear – even a dreary, subtle sunrise can become a breathtaking day.

As the Easter hymns of my childhood echo in my mind, I am filled with joy.

He is risen [He is risen indeed!]

Can’t We All Just Get Along?

Posted by BecomingBetty

I took back my life a little over a year ago. I began exercising regularly, I improved my diet, I made a vow to try to focus on the positive instead of the negative, and my life has improved drastically as a result. Although I am still quite overweight, my health and fitness have improved to the point that most of my limitations are gone. It’s a great feeling.

As a part of the changes I joined a number of facebook groups filled with others who are facing or have faced similar challenges. As a result, I see a lot of articles about “fat shaming,” “fit shaming,” and “fat acceptance.”

I’m not sure why we need all of these labels. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all just get along? No amount of fat shaming could make me lose weight. It made me feel even worse about myself, which led to poor self esteem and misusing food as a comfort device. fat acceptance isn’t terribly helpful either. Someone telling me that they love me “just the way I am/was” still made me feel like a fat slob. We don’t tell slim people “I love you despite your fitness.”

I’m encountering a new phenomenon online (not in my personal life yet) in which a once unhealthy individual is being shunned by friends after adopting a healthy lifestyle. That’s “fit shaming.” I don’t know whether the shunning is due to the individuals’ unpreparedness to face their own health issues or whether it’s because the newly fit person talks a lot about her new lifestyle (I know I’m certainly guilty) and the old friends can’t relate.

We’re all people. We all have strengths and weaknesses. There are people in my life who are suffering from lifestyle-induced illnesses just as I was. I accept them as people – not “fat” people. There are people in my life who get tired of hearing about my runs and races and my new shoes, I’m sure. I’m fortunate that they still talk to me anyway.

I feel accepted. Most of the time I felt loved and accepted at 300+ pounds. I don’t think people like me more or less because I’ve lost weight. I’m not ashamed of where I am. I’m not ashamed of where I was. Every step of this journey teaches me more about myself and about others.

Fat or fit, gay or straight, black or white, we are worthy of love and acceptance. Meet people where they’re at. Leave the judgment for God. Let’s all get along.

~Be~

It’s Not All About the Numbers

Posted by BecomingBetty

Today I rediscovered the joy of running.

One year ago today I bought my first “real” running shoes. I was painfully slow, and filled with pain – both emotional and physical. With each mile I ran, I found freedom. For the first several months,all of my running was inside on the treadmill. there I could run in the safety of home, with my television for entertainment, the air conditioning and ceiling fan for comfort, the bathroom mere steps away, and an unlimited supply of ice water whenever I wanted it. I could run in shorts or pajamas. I couldn’t imagine running outside. That soon changed.

As the weather became nicer, I decided to venture out to the local high school track. I couldn’t believe how different it felt. I hated every step that first trip. The wind made it harder to run. There were people there who might secretly (or not so secretly) make fun of me. They were all faster than me. They had nicer running clothes, too.

I posted on Facebook that I didn’t think I would ever really like running outside. A friend commented that she wouldn’t be surprised if I changed my mind. She was right. I loved watching the scenery pass, and I loved the feeling of actually moving forward. I enjoyed the sights and the sounds and the sensations. Sometimes I ran with music, and sometimes I listened to the wind and the birds.

Soon I was running at the track on a regular basis. I “branched” out and began running around town and on local trails. As winter fell, I found I hated the treadmill. I had fallen in love with running.

Although I tracked my pace and was delighted to watch it improve, I didn’t focus much on my pace. That all changed when I signed up for my first half marathon. I knew it was an ambitious undertaking. I had started as a person who needed to lose fully one half of her body weight. I couldn’t walk a mile without stopping. The race I signed up for had a time limit. I was slow (I still am). Not only was I asking my body to move much farther than it ever had before, I was demanding that it do so at a particular rate of speed.

I began tracking my pace on every run. I tend to get a little obsessive about certain things. Soon I was running with three different apps open, each with a particular feature the others didn’t have. The joy of running turned into anxiety about a slower than average day, or the fact that I hadn’t improved over the previous week. I pushed my body harder and faster, and when the race came, I still couldn’t keep up with the pace. I got swept. It was terribly disappointing.

Upon my return to the gym, I downloaded more apps that did more things. I put a sensor on my shoe and obsessed about whether or not the apps were properly calibrated for the indoor track. I lost sight of the joy I had found and focused on the numbers as a measure of success.

It’s been a long, cold winter. When the sun came out today, I went back to the high school track where I took that first outdoor run. I turned on an app to track my pace, but I turned off the feedback about pace and distance. I listened to music. I ran “faster” for one minute, then “slower” for the next minute. I didn’t stress about my pace.

When my run was finished, I looked at the stats. My pace wasn’t half bad, but that wasn’t what was important. I got out there. I ran. I burned calories. I sang. I had fun. I remembered why I started this running business in the first place.

Celebrating Life – The Anniversary of My Decision to LIVE

Posted by BecomingBetty

Tomorrow is an important anniversary for me. I will celebrate one year of learning to love life again.

Sometimes depression creeps in unnoticed. We keep on doing the things we need to do, but we stop caring about the things that used to matter to us. We may continue to care about others, but we stop caring about ourselves. For me, it was like that. I can’t point to an event that triggered it. I don’t know why things changed. I just know that in the days and weeks leading up to March 9, 2014, I was in a dangerous place. I didn’t think anybody really cared.

You see, at over 300 pounds I was having a lot of health issues. Daily life was difficult. Losing half of my body weight seemed like an impossible task to contemplate. I was having “heart palpitations” and began to feel as if I was about to lose consciousness on more than one occasion. I came to believe that I was dying. Rather than seek medical help, I decided to let nature take its course. I wasn’t about to take steps to actively end my life, but I didn’t want to make the effort to save it. I guess you’d call it passive suicide. My overeating and inactivity were robbing me of life in a very real way, and I didn’t care enough to stop it.

I wish I could tell you what, exactly, flipped the switch in my head. On March 9, 2014, I made up my mind to call my doctor and ask him to prescribe an antidepressant medication. It was a Sunday. The office was closed, but I made up my mind.

I called first thing on Monday morning. My doctor was out of the office for the week, but I had a prescription bottle and an appointment for the next week before noon that day. Opening the bottle and putting the first pill in my mouth, I felt both a sense of failure for not being strong enough and a sense of relief that maybe, just maybe I could feel better.

I have a group of online friends who I have “talked” with in various places for 7-8 years. They are my invisible (not imaginary) friends. I have plants they sent to my dad’s funeral to prove they exist. I confessed to them my feelings of failure over needing medicine.

I confided in them about the tremendous loneliness and the feelings of isolation I was experiencing. One of them suggested I try running. I chuckled at the thought. I tried going to the gym the next day. I had a panic attack. I couldn’t do it. I was afraid of judgment. I made my husband turn around and take me home.

A fellow attorney practicing in another part of the state (not one of the previously mentioned group of invisible friends) who I have never met in real life sent me a message suggesting we virtually work out / run together and sign up for a race.

The “Arthur” video began showing up in my facebook feed over and over. I’d watched it dozens of times before. I’d even purchased the DDP Yoga videos in 2012, shed quite a few pounds, and did a great job of learning to get off the floor (a skill I’d retained) before eventually giving up and going back to my old ways and regaining nearly every pound I had lost.

I watched the video again. This time, when Arthur began running, the tears streamed down my face.

I’ve learned in my life that when I start getting the same message over and over from different sources, God is trying to tell me something. I listened. I decided that if I wanted to live badly enough to put medicine in my body, then I wanted to live badly enough to take back my life. If Arthur could learn to walk again, and learn to run, then so could I.

Those of you who have followed me the past year know how the rest of the story goes. I started walking, and then I began running slowly on the treadmill. I got over the fear of the gym and added weights to my workout. I hit the yoga mat and did some DDPYoga. I swam laps. I posted on Facebook (a lot).

Soon the weather warmed and the outdoors called. I ran on the high school track. I ran through town. I ran on trails. I ran on the beach. Although I sometimes took Jimi the Wonder Dood with me, usually this was time to myself. I started seeing the wonder in nature- in leaves and waves and birds. I talked to God. He talked back in rustling leaves and wind on my face. He talked to me through “cheers” when friends “liked” my runs on Facebook.

It wasn’t quick or easy. I still had days when sadness pressed on my heart and made it difficult to do anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Slowly, though, I returned to the land of the living. I stopped just going through the motions. I devoted more time to getting my soul back in order through prayer, meditation and lots and lots of sweat.

The popular adage says that when life hands you lemons, make lemonade. I’m making lemonade and trying to give it away. One year ago I really didn’t care if I lived or died. One year ago, I thought that nobody cared. One year ago I couldn’t have dreamed how wonderful life is today.

I still take those pills. I take another for my thyroid and one for my blood pressure. It’s part of my daily routine. The pills didn’t fix me. I had to do that myself with a lot of help from God and my friends and family. I still run. I still get sad once in a while. It’s no longer overwhelming.

I’m a little frightened to post this, but I feel it is necessary. It’s scary to admit that you struggle with depression. I worry that it could hurt me professionally. I fear that people will think less of me if they know that I have problems just like anyone else. I believe that we need to move beyond the stigma that mental health issues hold. I believe that if people in pain knew how many people suffer with them, people would be more inclined to seek help before it becomes easier to think about dying than to think about living.

Writing this blog post is me making lemonade. It’s not the “koolaid,” if it’s not your thing – move on.

I don’t believe that God tests us like Job in the Old Testament, but I do think that he gives us opportunities to understand and help others when we face trials. I think that he gives us the grace to move through our challenges if we ask. I think that when we are taught lessons paid for with blood, sweat and tears, it is only right to share the lessons that we have learned.

Please don’t give up. Don’t passively wait for your vices and problems to kill you. If you are depressed, there is hope. Medicine is not shameful. Therapy is not shameful.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Don’t be afraid of failure. Don’t be afraid of judgment. Never, ever give up.

Today, I celebrate the life I have been given. I am excited to see what the next 365 days holds. I am a work in progress. Next year you will see another brand new me. I can’t wait.

To those of you who have “liked,” “commented,” or “shared” my writing in the past, thank you for encouraging me. To those of you who are new to this page, welcome. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to share with you.

Today, I am celebrating life. Welcome to the party.

~Be~

Ditch the Witch!

Posted by BecomingBetty

I wrote this several years ago (2012) at the beginning of one of my “practice starts” to my healthier lifestyle.

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There is this woman in my life – she makes things so hard

she never leaves me alone
she goes everywhere with me
she sleeps with my husband (that’s awkward!)
she makes me carry her up the stairs
she makes me carry her down the stairs
she shares my clothes
she eats my meals

She’s mean, too:

she won’t let me ice skate with my kids
she won’t let me ride a roller coaster at Cedar Point
she won’t let me do fun things with my husband

Every step I take, I carry her with me.

Letting the other woman into my life made sense at the time. She helped me hide from the people who might want to get too close. She protected me from attention I couldn’t handle. She helped me come up with excuses for why I couldn’t go for a walk or dance at a wedding. She was my partner and co-conspirator (and made a wicked hot-fudge sundae, too!)

I weigh as much as two of the *real* me.

Every step I take is twice the work.

I’m going to ditch the witch!

She won’t go away all at once. I’ll have to push her away ounce by ounce. She knows she’s on her way out. I’ve started packing her suitcase. Most of the size 26 clothes are already in it. She can have them. I don’t need them.

I won’t send her away hungry. The cupboard is full of processed foods with gluten and refined sugars. She loves that stuff, so I’ll pack her a care package.

I’m going to ditch the witch.

I’m going to run on the beach, ride roller coasters and chase kids and grandchildren.

I’m going to ditch the witch.

I’m going to buy skinny clothes made for one person – not two.

I’m going to ditch the witch.

I don’t need her anymore.

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Update: her suitcase is getting pretty full. She’s been given the eviction notice and she knows her time is limited.

I’ve added to the things I’m going to do when I ditch the witch

I’m going to run (and FINISH!) a half marathon.

I’m going to run up and down the stairs at the high school stadium

I’m going to zumba and kickbox and yoga and RUN her right out of my life.

I’m going to ditch the witch (3/4/2015)

The Bus of Shame (or, The Saddest Ride at Walt Disney World!)

Posted by BecomingBetty

Last Sunday, I had the great pleasure of participating in RunDisney’s Princess Half Marathon at Walt Disney World Resort. I lined up at 4:30 a.m. in a parking lot at Epcot Center with about 15,000 of my fellow runners for the happiest half marathon on the plant.

On the long walk to Corral “N,” we passed a large truck with the label “mass casualty response unit.” This was more than a little disconcerting. Still, although the air was chilly and I hadn’t had my coffee, I lined up and excitedly waited for the first group to be released at 5:30 a.m. As you may have gathered, it takes some time to release nearly 15,000 runners on a course. Consequently, I was still waiting to begin my run for another hour. I spent that time reflecting on the journey that had brought me to where I was.

I thought back to the day in March 2014 when I took my first steps in several years on the treadmill. I was elated when I finished my first mile. Soon I traveled to a running store and purchased “real” running shoes and downloaded an handful of running apps. Although I often felt slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter, I kept going.

A few months later my lovely “bonus daughter” (also a runner), told me she was planning to run the Princess Half Marathon. Although I knew it was a lofty goal for me, I registered and began training. Over the course of 2014 and early 2015, I logged over 400 miles. Sometimes life got in the way, and between unexpected life events and illnesses, I missed out on several significant blocks of training. As the race date approached, I knew that I could go the distance, but my times were still slow, and I knew it was questionable whether I would be able to maintain the required minimum pace, although I was doing well on my training runs on the nice flat, climate-controlled indoor track.

I obsessively checked my training times, read blogs about the wicked “balloon ladies,” (the pace group for the 16 minute/mile). I crafted my tutu, packed my bags and felt moderately confident that I wouldn’t be “swept” and have to ride the “bus of shame” back to the finish line instead of running through the happiest finish line on earth.

By the time my corral was called, I was cold and my feet hurt from standing in one place. My timing app wasn’t working right, my glasses were fogged and smeared so I couldn’t read the screen anyhow, my earbuds were malfunctioning, and I had absolutely no clue what my pace was. I just knew it felt slow.

I had a blast running among other “princesses” (and a few princes) wearing tutus (the princes, too!). I pumped my fist as I ran by the speakers playing the theme from Rocky. I sang along to “Don’t Stop Believing” and I smiled my way into the Magic Kingdom. As I passed through the park, I remembered the long, long lines at the porta potties I’d passed, and I popped into a “real” bathroom. Still blissfully unaware of my pace, I readjusted my tutu, washed and dried my hands and popped open a packet of caffeinated jelly beans.

As I joined the pack of princesses, I heard the news – the balloon ladies had passed by. My trip to the bathroom had cost me precious minutes, and now I had to try to fight my way through the pack of princesses to catch up. I flew through Cinderella’s castle and as I exited the park again, I spotted the balloons waaaaay up ahead of me.

I tried my hardest to pick up the pace. The news filtered through the pack that we had until Mile 8 to catch up, or we would be swept – transported to the finish. I tried hard to weave through the other back of the pack princesses. I could see the balloons getting closer. We passed by several security people and I overheard one tell the other, “the race is over for these ones, whether they like it or not.” I passed by a woman sobbing loudly. I asked if she was okay, and she answered through tears that she was okay, just devastated that she wasn’t finishing.

I pushed harder even though I knew I was wearing myself out with 5 miles left to go. I could see Milepost 8, and I could see the balloons. As the balloons passed the mile marker, two large buses pulled across the road. Medics were there to help those who needed assistance, and we were asked to board the bus.

The driver told us each, “great job.” The ride back to Epcot seemed to take a very long time. There wasn’t a smile to be seen. We had been swept. We were on the vehicle that had been dubbed “The Bus of Shame” by numerous bloggers. My heart sunk. My Facebook was broadcasting my splits to my friends. I really thought I could do it. I had failed to reach my goal. I was sad.

As we exited the vehicle, some of the wonderful volunteers staffing the event met us with high fives and medals. Although we had not finished the 13.1 miles, they draped a shining medal around each of our necks. They showed us where to get our bananas, our drinks and our snack boxes.

I wandered over to the “real” finish line for a few minutes and watched the crowd cheer for those who were finishing. My heart sunk into my shoes, and I moped my way back to the bus that would return me to my hotel for a much needed shower.

I called my husband, and told him I’d only made it 8 miles. I posted on Facebook that I’d only made it 8 miles. I waited for my bonus daughter (who finished! Yay for her!!!) Then, I took a nap.

Naps fix almost everything – especially attitudes.

My high school friend, Lyle, posted one of my statuses from early 2014 on my wall – one where I was overjoyed that I was able to run for a handful of minutes without stopping. It was at that moment that I realized there was absolutely no shame in having been swept after 8 miles.

I thought back to my first 10K race in September. I finished dead last, but I was thrilled to have finished. That race was only 6.2 miles. My Disney run was 2 miles longer (more if you count the long hike to the corrals before it even began!)

Since I started running in March 2014, I’ve completed four 5K races and a 10K. Yesterday I finished my 500th mile. I’ve run on trails and tracks and through parking lots. I’ve had scores of wonderful experiences and only a handful of negatives. Best of all, I’ve lost over 70 pounds, I’ve regained the ability to physically do many things that I couldn’t dream of for a number of years, and I’ve made new friends and reconnected with old ones.

Although that bus ride was still the saddest ride at Walt Disney World, there is no “Bus of Shame.” Every back of the pack princess on that bus was someone who set a lofty goal and spent many hours training getting to mile 8. While I apologize to the runners who had to fight their way through the pack in order to pass me, I’m so glad that I tried. I’ll be back next year, and I may even wear a tiara.