Taking Advantage

Four is my favorite number. Today is the fourth day of the fourth month. It's only fitting that it's been a pretty kick butt day.

The snow that teases Rochester on a regular basis seems to have found somewhere else to torment - the sun is actually out. What a mood booster.

I decided to go for a run outdoors today and it was oddly peaceful.

Usually when I run I'm mentally coaching myself to stretch my legs father, get my knees up higher, move faster. I can't run more than a few miles at a time and I usually have to stop to take a few breaks. One time I was running and got so "into" it that I tripped and fell over my own two feet. I had to walk the remaining mile home, blood dripping from my knees to my sneakers.

Maybe that's why Jordan calls me a NARP (non-athletic regular person).

I'm by no means a "runner" but in more ways than one I think running has saved me. Let me tell you about one of those ways.

When I first decided to start running, I was convinced that within six months I could run anywhere. I was sure that I would run marathons (yes, that's plural) and maybe even run to work every day. My goal for the end of that summer was to run to the ice cream shop - 10 miles.

So I ran every day. Or at least tried to. Sometimes I'd run twice a day - but that usually wasn't too successful. I ran as construction workers repaired the main road I'd use, often yelling out to me, "Isn't it a little hot to be running out here today?"

"No, no, I'm fine!" I'd breathlessly say. Although in my head I was screaming this effing sucks.

I ran roughly the same route, set goals, and thought "crossing off" a run each day in my work-out journal would bring an instant feeling of success.

I forced myself to run on a family vacation to Rehoboth Beach, hoping maybe the ocean would soothe my eating worries.

No such luck.

That summer, I began hating running.

I wasn't fast enough, I couldn't go far enough, and really - who trips over their own feet badly enough to leave scars?

Oh - and if I couldn't run, how the hell was I supposed to lose weight?

Soon came a mega increase in my bulimic behavior. It was a rough summer, to say the least.

Towards the end of the summer, I developed a pretty nasty shin splint. I visited a friend in the Adirondacks and could barely keep up on our rather easy hike. I was miserable.

I eventually went to my doctor, only to have her stare blankly at me.

"Just stop running," she said. "Duh."

Okay she actually didn't say the "duh" part, but she might as well have.

Left with no other choice ... I stopped running. Taking "days off" had been a foreign concept to me until then, but I somehow forced myself to only run once a week. As the days grew cold and dreary in typical Rochester fall fashion, I moved indoors. Treadmills became my new best friend.

My shin splint eventually disappeared and I was allowed to return to running as much as I wanted.

The only problem was that I didn't want to.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to take advantage of something - how once you achieve the "advantage," you no longer want it.

I definitely never had the "advantage" in my relationship with running - but I was obsessed enough to eventually cringe at the thought of it.

A couple of months ago, my therapist encouraged me to try and imagine how I take advantage of the foods I binge on - how it eventually makes me hate them. Is that what I really want? I couldn't understand what she was saying at the time, but now I think I do.

I took advantage of running, as I have with so many different things. I begged running to be my savior, to be the cure, to help me get out of the horribleness of bulimia.

When running didn't deliver, when it failed me, I learned to find ways to hate it. Except the only "thing" I really hated - was myself.

You can't run away from life's problems. If you don't believe me, please give me a call - I'll tell you how I tried to ... and failed. Running wasn't my answer.

I was my answer.

I needed to accept myself. I needed to love that I was a clumsy runner, I needed to be okay with the fact that maybe it took me an hour to run three miles.

Once I allowed myself to see me as good enough, my feelings for running completely changed. It was one of the first steps in my recovery, one of the first things I allowed myself to be happy with - even if I wasn't perfect at it.

Today I went running simply because I wanted to. I ran because it was nice out (hello, that's rare here) and I wanted to enjoy the sun. I ran because I hadn't retraced my old steps on my old route in quite some time - and every once in awhile, that's important.

Something bizarre happened earlier this week.

I had a cookie - you know one of those famous chocolate-chip ones from Wegmans? AND I survived!

Normally a cookie would set me off. It'd lead to a binge and who knows what else. But no no, not this time. I ate it, after thinking about it for a good five minutes (which is progress ... cough cough read my previous post ... cough cough) and then chose to have it because I was actually hungry. Plus who doesn't need a little treat every now and then?

That's what normal people think .... right?

After I finished the cookie, I did instantly think about having another. However, something stopped me. If I kept eating the cookies, I'd eventually be taking advantage of them - and soon enough I'd hate them.

I already despise food enough as it is, there's no need to add those poor cookies to my "Foods I Dread" list. Instead, I enjoyed one. In the moment.

Ah, success.

To take advantage of something, someone, leads to hate. I encourage you to learn to appreciate the little details in life - one at a time.

You probably won't feel the need for more of them ...

You'll instead  be happy with what you have.