0 to 300 miles

In the fall of 2011, I found myself at the heaviest weight of my life.  I wasn't proud of this fact, but I also felt too busy and confused to figure out how to really amend the issue.  I sought out a weight control program and within 4 months had dropped my weight back to a more 'ideal' place thanks to weight control bars and one 'real' meal a day for weeks on end.  The fact is that I felt good.  I looked good.  I spent a lot of money to get to this place.  I said no to tons of 'bad' foods for months.  I had earned it.   By June of 2012, I had gained a little back, but heck, what's a couple pounds?

In the fall of 2012 I moved across the country and started grad school.  It was the hardest transition of my life.  I went from being an independent adult with control over all my life decisions to what felt like a kindergartener trapped in a 27 year old body.  Away from my family, away from my friends, I quickly felt very out of control.  To get through school week by week, food was a reward.  Drinks were a reward.  Neither of which seemed very excessive, but were present nonetheless.  I had somehow earned them.

By fall of 2013, I was aware that my 'ideal' physique had seemed to wain a bit, but thanks to the daily mandatory uniform of yoga pants and t-shirts, it was easy to ignore this fact...until I realized, on a night out, that none of my jeans actually fit anymore.  How could this have happened?  I had worked so hard two years ago to get rid of the weight! (clarification: I had spent a lot of money and not really done much work at all.)  These pants used to be loose!  I attempted to adjust food throughout the winter trying food with no meat.  Food with all meat.  Food with hardly any food.  I took off a few pounds, but something wasn't working, and making food such an enemy was irritating.

Summer of 2014 rolled around and I felt gross. I also found myself super broke - thanks grad school - and on house arrest for the majority of May until I had paying gigs again starting in June.  I should have been working on my thesis, but instead I sat.  I sat and sat and sat.  I got up a couple times a week to go hang clothes at the retail job, but other than that I was chilling.  After two years of grad school, I had earned my sit time.  And then June came...

I looked in the mirror and realized I wasn't all that I could be.  My roommate was gone for the summer and I needed something to do that didn't concern a lot of money.  And then I decided to run.  Both of my sisters had been bugging me to run half marathons with them for years.  I always had an excuse.  "I don't want to."  "I can't, I have knee issues." "I'm a dancer, I don't need to run."  "Running isn't for everyone."  "I don't like it."  "no."  But I bought a pair of shoes, and I went for a run.  The first run was under a mile.  I couldn't remember the last time I had tried to run, and it was hard.  I decided I needed a plan.

I put the nike running app on my phone and chose the easiest 5k program it had, which alternated long days and short days and walking and running.  It seemed possible.  And slowly, it was possible.  In the month of June, I ran/walked 13.1 miles.  Little did I know that 7 months later, I would complete that exact same distance in a single morning.  I remember the day I ran my first 5k on June 28.  I had never run a 5k.  Ever.  It was scary.  It was hard.  It also felt awesome to call my sisters later and tell them both that I had done it.  I had earned those miles. 

July was a good month.  I was out nearly every day on either a walk or a run, with a couple days of rest per week as well.  I logged 74 miles that month.  I started to call myself a runner.  The first day I attempted 5 miles was terrifying.  I didn't run the whole thing.  I walked probably a mile and a half out of the full distance, but I completed the miles.  My sister Mayme reminded me that getting to and conquering the new mileage IS the training part...where you push farther than you think you can...because you're stronger than you think you are.

August came and I started my residency at Orlando Shakespeare Theater.  Part of my work there also includes setting personal goals for myself I wished to accomplish.  Goal one: finish my thesis and grad school.  Goal two: complete a half marathon that winter.  I remember the worry in my dear boss' face when I told her running a Half was one of my goals.  She asked if I was sure, knowing the schedule I had in store better than I, but I said yes, I was.  I wanted to prove to myself that I could.  I wanted a goal that didn't have to do with weight.  I wanted it to deal with health, and a discipline to train, and putting brain space towards something other than my actor life all the time.  I was going to run a half marathon.

All that said, the new schedule was hard.  I battled colds and tech weeks and silly schedule changes that made getting the run in all the time kind of tough.  49 miles in August.  17 miles in September.  21 miles in October and 18 miles in November.  I was also cross training at this point, so it's not that I wasn't exercising often, but it was sometimes tough to see how much work I had done in July versus what I was accomplishing in more recent months.  Not to mention, my roommate started running and quickly out-paced me.  He's a machine.

Then, a silly thing happened that was a real encouragement.  My body started to change shape.  Not drastically.  Not all at once, but I saw my body take a shape that I hadn't seen in 2 years.  I hadn't changed my eating all that much, and really for the first time, I didn't feel so 'bad' for eating something sweet or a night of pizza - because I knew I was moving my body.  I was aware of food, but I wasn't overly regulating it.  I didn't feel like I needed to diet.  I also didn't feel like I needed the reward.  Every mile was a victory that I earned and learned to celebrate.

December and January came and official half marathon training was in full force.  I was running 3 times a week and cross training twice a week at the gym.  Friends at the theatre were also working out and running.  My race pal Elizabeth ran at 5am - which was not my perfect time of day, but we would check in with each other.  We shared the injuries and doubts as well as the success and victory of a long run.  At one point, I thought I would have to quit due to alignment issues and body pain.  I felt like my body had betrayed me after months of working.  I wanted to RUN my race...not walk it, but after some soul searching, I concluded that running a mile was the same as walking a mile.  The mileage was the same - the time was different - so celebrate the mileage and slow down.  I could still earn it.  

And then it was the month of the race.  The long runs got longer and more terrifying.  6 miles.  7 miles.  8 miles.  10 miles.  I didn't like the 10 miler.  It was hard...and I definitely couldn't run the whole thing, but hey, I had earned the miles.  The weekend of race, I had shows...a few of them.  I performed a show Saturday night, when home to sleep for 3.5 hours and got up to head to Disney at 2:30am.

In full Tinkerbell green including tutu, I ran my first half marathon with my pal Elizabeth by my side the whole way.   My mantra:  "I'm stronger than I think I am" accompanied with Elizabeth's: "Keep moving forward" got us through.  We high-fived every mile.  We kept running when lots of people stopped.  We walked at mile eight when my ankle really started to suffer, ate a goo pack, bio-freezed at 8.7 mile and then started the run again at mile 9.  We ran the rest of the way: up the on-ramp, past the walkers, around the Epcot ball and through the finish line with a last bursting sprint.  Time: 2 hours, 58 minutes, 26 seconds.  Just a minute and a half short of the 3 hour mark I really wanted to beat.  Running 12 out of the 13.1 miles...I had done it.  I had accomplished my goal.

I am so grateful for everyone that's been on this journey with me: those who ran beside me, who inspired me, who answered the phone on hard days, who liked (or perhaps tolerated) my running Facebook posts, for the text messages, phone calls, net posts on race day.  I am thankful for all of you.  Thank you for running with me.

As I crossed the finish line of my first half marathon, I hit mile 300 on my running journey.  A huge milestone for me, and you know...I earned every single mile.  I kept moving forward.  I am stronger than I think I am.