Archive | February, 2016

Bitches and Running

10 Feb

imageSo the other day I ran across something shitty in my Facebook feed that kind of miffed me for a moment. It was something that felt like it was pointing a red target at me, however for all I know it had nothing to do with me. (After all I am nowhere near the center of the universe). It may not have been directly about me and if it was who gives a rat’s ass, but it was definitely about the kind of me I currently am.  I am aware that social media is mostly just a facade of what life is like for people. “Friends” may not even really be “friends” and it’s the place where lots of people flaunt and  keep up the happy faces and the amazing life they live. I think what miffed me when I sat back to think is how people (women in particular) seem to treat each other like total crap sometimes.

I have been the butt of the jokes for a long time. I was quite possibly the most awful person to myself. Fifty pounds ago, if there was a fat joke or huge ass comment to be made, I beat people to the punch. People were always willing to join in and crack on me too. I was always able to hide behind the fat jokes. I mean, seriously, who doesn’t love a pudgy pal with a great sense of humor and a huge rack and fat ass, right? It’s always easier to be the one to say it first so you don’t have to hear it from your friends or even strangers! Until one day, a friend walked behind me and made sound effects when I was walking. She probably didn’t even mean anything horrible by it, but my heart sank. And that was probably the time I knew there was no more hiding behind the fat.  We live in a world of judges where everyone is judging others and not their own actions. Hey, you…stop being a f*cking asshole!!!  Try celebrating the people around you, and take that pretty designer stick out of your ass. You aren’t so perfect either. How does this relate to running? How are bitches and running related?

They aren’t…that’s my point. As I near my next half marathon this Sunday, I realize this is one of the reasons why running is so appealing to me. Because lets face it, the chaffing and port-o-johns definitely are not the reason. But the positivity and support is definitely huge. Real runners don’t judge others by their speed, outfits, running style or even their reasons for running.  Runners don’t care whether you do it for fitness or medals or both. They just cheer you on and tell you that you’re awesome. And the thing is, they actually mean it. They don’t just say it as a half assed attempt to shut you up. Other runners are your biggest fans. And who doesn’t love people that make you feel bad ass?

If bitches ran races, then the girl with the see through running pants that ripped during the last race, would have gotten snickered at. Instead, real runners everywhere were probably like “Damn, poor chick! That sucks mad donkey balls. But look at her go anyways!.”   Or how about the girl with the fat ass who runs all jiggly (raises hand because that’s me) just keeps running no matter what she looks like because real runners just give her a high five as they pass instead of sneering and talking under their breath. And the chicks without thigh gaps could easily outnumber those who run with thigh gaps these days. Hell yeah, thighs may be smokin’ but we’re still goin’!  And most of us chicks run in spandex even if its not our best outfit…because 13 miles without thunder and lightening tucked away tight is worse than what you look like in them (Raises hand again proudly!)

Races are the place where I found a home. Where I’ve paced strangers just to keep my head straight. Where strangers have paced me and told me how thankful they were. Where people I have never met before run beside me and joke and laugh or people pass with a thumbs up and “get it, girl!” People are so happy and everyone hugs and celebrates each other.  I may say I do it for the medals hanging on my wall. But the truth is, that’s not why.  I do it for the fat girl who unfortunately lives inside, the one who never knew she would run a half marathon let alone be training for the New York City Marathon. I do it because I feel accomplished and overwhelmed all at the same time.  I do for every damn person who thinks they can’t…because that was me. I was the one who couldn’t or wouldn’t.  I do it for my kids. My daughter who now stares at those said medals on my wall and tells their stories. “I ran that 4 mile race with Mommy.” or my 5 year old son who repeatedly asks if I can take him running everyday.  I’m not showing off…the two hundred and something pound girl I used to be just needs a reminder sometimes.  If I can help one person avoid how I felt not so long ago, then that’s my goal. I tell you I owe no one an explanation for why I run. There are plenty of people I know who don’t get it, and its fine with me.  There are people who actually have shit to say about it.  It’s my peace and my struggle all at the same time. But as I get ready for the next 13.1 on Sunday, I can’t wait to find a little more of myself in that race. 13.1 miles of quiet time and reflecting, pain and pushing to the end. That’s my mountain to climb, and no one’s to judge. But if you want to judge me and what does or doesn’t make me a real runner, please feel free to have at it.    You see, we are really only competing against our own selves, not each other. When you realize that, you get to become a real runner…whatever that means…

So, thank you to all of those who cheer me on quietly or loudly.  I don’t need a parade, I don’t even need to know you cheer me on.  I may have lost touch with some of my favorite people, but I would imagine that they are cheering me on the same way I am cheering on their victories. And if not that’s ok too.  There will be some amazing people at the race on Sunday. They come in the form of runners, volunteers, police officers (Thank you, thank you!!!), paramedics (thank you!!!!!!) and cheering sections complete with signs and cowbells.

I’m still going to be the chick who makes ass jokes about myself, the difference is I’ll be wearing a medal around my neck when I crack them!

Wish me luck. May I beat the damn pants off myself!!!!!

Always, DP Babbles