Saturday, September 19, 2009

Looking Back

Heather's Personal Journal
July 14, 2009

I've been avoiding writing this all day. Maybe I've been trying to keep with the positive tone my writing has been having as of late. Maybe I've been avoiding putting pen to paper because writing it down and seeing it in front of me makes it all more real. Or perhaps its because I don't know what to say and keep feeling like I don't have many words for the situation I find myself in. Perhaps.

Last night, after work, I took a nap. I chalked it up to my wanting to "catch up" on rest after my fabulous trip to Denton. Or perhaps the universe was directing my body to a bit of pre-drama rest. Perhaps. He was going to come over to chat after dinner, and I asked him to call me on his way. A perfect alarm clock, Dave Matthews singing to me via ring tone in order to assure my fiance was on his way to see me. What could be better?

He called. Dave sang. He came over. And he said he is not ready. He can't marry me. And, he understands if I never want to talk to him again.

I am as confused now as I was then.
For about five minutes I just repeated "alright. Okay." over and over again. It was my calming mantra that kept me centered while my brain was spinning.

Everything you would have expected from some sort of romantic comedy was now sworming me. Headache. Nautious waves. Feeling like I was dreaming. It was just missing the laughter.

I asked him how long he had felt this way. I asked him why he didn't tell me before my trip, when I was with my best friends and family. I asked him what all this meant to him. I asked him if we could work through this. I asked him if he still loved me. I asked him why he moved me to NY. I asked him what I did that made him change his mind. I asked him to explain himself. I asked him if he was sure.

He told me I was the person he cares most about in the world and that he never meant to hurt me. He told me I was the best friend he ever had. He told me he would help me with whatever I needed. He told me he would pay for all the lost deposits. He told me that I deserved better than this. He told me he had been crying for days. He told me this has nothing to do with who I am as a person. He told me he can't love me right now the way I need to be, the way I should be loved. And he told me he was sorry over and over and over again.

He told me he was sure.
I asked him to leave.

He did not tell me what he wants now. Together? Apart? Time? Space? Postponement? Final seperation?

Danielle emailed me today and assured me it doesn't matter what he wants- it matters what I want. It NEEDS to matter what I want.

I know it should matter most what God wants. But I'm struggling here. I was so assured that what God wanted was our union, in His name. A marriage that points to Him and spreads His love and does His work.
I thought we both thought this.
But I thought wrong.

So I refocus, unsure of what's next. Unsure of where to go from here. Unsure of what I want- other than peace and calmness and strength that surpasses all understanding. I want to go home- even lacking knowledge of where home is to my head or my heart.

I am thankful that he was brave enough to tell me. And that he told me on July 13th, not September 5th after dinner, or even years later when so much more had been invested (although, currently, my heart seems to think it invested a lot- all that there is to invest, even). I'm thankful that my friends and family have such loving souls and have said all the right things (none of which being 'I told you so'). I'm thankful that my boss has assured me that it is easier to cancel a wedding than get a divorce. I'm thankful that I am feeling.

I feel ten different emotions, all at the same time- but I rejoice that I haven't yet felt numbness. I dread the day the numbness seeps in, and I vow to myself right now to fight it from taking over with every strength I can muster. I refuse to be left in a comma of emptiness.

I'll take sad and weepy, broken hearted and hurting, humilation, sarcastic, angry, ill, shocked, and denial- even bitterness- before I take comfortable in numbness. That's a promise. I will not allow this- a broken engagement, a cancelled wedding, a lost relationship, an embarassment of being wrong and not enough- to defeat me.

I WILL get through this. I know that.
But it doesn't make it any easier.
I still feel very much alone.
And very much confused.
And I don't like it.



Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

Friday, September 18, 2009

Follow Friday

In correlation with the ever popular Twitter celebration, Follow Friday- in which people tweet their favorite twitter friends, in order that others will follow them as well, I thought I would bring the Follow Friday goodness to the blog.

Then Heather said, “Here are a few of my favorite blogs.”

Each Friday, I plan to post a review of one of my favorite blogs to read.  Nothing too complicated, just explanation, description and a campaign for your readership in a few quick sentences [ok- who I am kidding- I am long winded and I don’t mind being carried away on occasion- a few short sentences is possibly an understatement.] 

And, in the interest of sharing AND being the kind of girl that, while loving to give, also definitely likes to receive, if you have a blog of your own that you think I would enjoy reading, PLEASE share it with me.  And if you have a list of blogs of others’ you enjoy reading and think I will too, PLEASE share that with me too. 

So- without further ado…

Then Heather said, “Check this blog out!”

Name of Blog: Ministry So Fabulous
Blog Address: http://www.ministrysofabulous.com
Twitter of blogger: amybethbullard

The basics:  ABB lives in Tennessee and has more southern charm than a peach cobbler. (and let me tell you- I like my cobbler.)  Her daily peaks (short posts including a photo and a few sentences) are often relatable giggle-fests shared between her faithful readers spread across the globe.  And as for her longer blog posts – she never fails to leave me either in-stitches of true lol-age, in-awe of her kind, loving heart, or in gratitude for her vulnerable honesty in sharing her struggles and desires.  And every post I read leaves me wanting more. 

For a girl in her mid-20’s, her ministry-resume long surpasses what most would call “normal” and as a former youth pastor, I find myself nodding in agreement to so much of what she has said about her experiences.  ABB has a beautiful, bountiful soul- and I strive to be the kind of giver she has exampled (both in generosity and in the ability she has to give the most perfect themed gifts ever- one of my never-ending-goals for my life.)

Big Hair, Big Heart, Big Laughs: the variety of tone in the entries on Ministry So Fabulous has left me in lighthearted laughter, heart-warmed tears, eager for detail, especially excited and motivated to make changes in my own life.

And if I still haven’t interested you- let me tell you this:  she’s recently met a British boy with a delightful accent chronicled in videos posted on the blog. Also- she has two adorable puppies and recently noted, a friend who looks like Ryan Gosling.  Go. Now. 

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Listography

Let’s take a quick trip down memory lane, shall we?


(side note: you may want to take a second and go grab yourself a snack.  Trips down memory lane are best enjoyed with something yummy. Yes, I’m serious.  I’ll wait. Yeah, it’s not a problem. No, no. I’m fine, I just had an apple and some dark chocolate PB- Thanks though.  Just grab something for yourself and meet me back here…..


Okay? All set? Great.  Here we go.)



Christmas morning 1996.
I’m sitting with my family opening PILES of gifts.
We go in rotation, of course.  Brother. Sister. Heather. Mother. Father. Repeat. 
One gift at a time. [I am quite certain that gifts have been opened in the manner just about every Christmas morning since 1992, when my younger brother was just a few days older than four months.

I was in eighth grade, and if I remember correctly, I received my first pair of Calvins and a grey CK logo TShirt. [Topped with a spritz of CKOne – I had NEVER been cooler!]

I’m sure I also received piles and piles of presents.  I don’t REALLY remember much else of what I got. [note to my parents and also, umm, Santa: this story is not to say that I a) don’t appreciate those presents, whatever they were,  or b) that I will forget ANY of the presents I receive this Christmas ;)  Ok. Just needed to clear that up]

Christmas 2009 plea aside, I do remember one specific unveiling of that year. Dethatching the bow from the package and heaving it at the tree, peeling off the paper that hid it.  My treasure awaited: a large lined journal, about the size of a school notebook, but thicker, with a deep evergreen canvas-like cover.

In all honesty, I probably was grateful for the gift at the time, excited to write in it, for sure, but I never could have thought that it would be something I would care so much about to remember 13 years later.

In eighth grade, the book became a place for what you might expect any eighth grade girl to write.  Poems so very far from any kind of valuable literary quality (including one on the quaintness of Lodi, WI).  Short essays about what mattered most (boys and the regular drama that was middle school girls).  Lyrics to whatever songs were declared “my songs” (most definitely featuring Matchbox 20 & Jewel). 

One day, most likely in an effort to clean my room as quickly as possible, the book got buried deep into the depths of my adolescence closet and I forgot all about.

The following year, now a freshman in high school, [with an eleventh grade varsity-wrestler boyfriend: I had NEVER been cooler!], I was on a mission.  It was the day before my Winter Band Concert, and I had previously told my mother, SEVERAL times that I knew EXACTLY where all parts of my required band uniform hung (in perfect crispness, do doubt) and she need not worry about a thing.  Operation: LOCATE TUX SHIRT was in full effect! 

My closet was filled to the brim, from the floor up (hey, what are these bars across the top for?) and I was deep into my search when I came across a large lined journal with a deep evergreen canvas-like cover. 

My initial thought: HOORAY! Where have you been!? How did you get here?! Of course I didn’t FORGET about you, I have been PINING to write in you again and searching DESPERATELY for you. (I have a knack for personification in my every day life)

The journal didn’t buy it though, and to prove my devotion I stopped the search right then and there and spent some time writing frivolously on the next few pages.  A short story about finding a lucky penny, my thoughts on stars being a force of magical romantic power, and more lyrics (Faith Hill? Seriously!?) 

Time went on.  I found my tux shirt. Lodi High School won Division Two Team State for Wrestling. I was assistant Stage Manager of Guys & Dolls that spring. I received my first piece of jewelry from a boy. My first real relationship ended after 11 months of dating. And the deep evergreen covered journal sat on my bookshelf.

Spring of 1999, in the second semester of my sophomore year [dating a hott (with two t’s) senior from a neighboring school.  I had NEVER been cooler!] I rediscovered the book, which had fallen behind my shelving unit and added entries in my now defined personal writing voice.  Short, fragmented sentences and an over use of commas aided by lists as often as possible, and often side noted comments in parenthesis.  (sound familiar?)

The first list I ever entered into the book was in early fall of 1999. I had just started my junior year [with a new found desire for singlehood and not wanting to “distract myself” with romance and relationship drama.  I had NEVER been cooler!]

(side note: yes, of course, I was having mad crushes on my closest guy friends- which while warranted (these are a few of the GREATEST guys in the world, honestly) in hind sight is hilarious to think about now and at the time clearly obvious to everyone around me, but I did not care. I was determined to fake a deep desire for independence.)

The list had no title and was written with a set of metallic Crayola brand colored pencils.  Up until now, the pages I had written on had been in order, front to back, without skipping any space.  But this list was different:  Inspired by an episode of my at-the-time favorite show, Jack & Jill, (did anybody else watch this?  I LOVED it- despite it only being on for two seasons, I stand by the belief that the show had SUCH great actors whom remain some of my favorite today – hello Amanda Peet and Justin Kirk! ) I opened to a random blank page and started scribbling a light, composition in short three-four sentence paragraphs defining what I wanted, specifically in a romantic relationship. 

Apparently, when I was 16, my hearts desire was someone who would take me to the toy store and wind up all the toys at once, and someone who wanted to ride roller coasters in the summer and teach me how to ice skate in the winter.

 and hold my hand and bring me flowers (though never roses.)   [okay- so I’m still a sucker for that last one.]

And suddenly, I couldn’t get enough.  Through the previous 3 years of picking up and putting down the deep evergreen book I had written a total of no more than 20 pages of material, and suddenly, I was a list making, page filling, machine.

Things I like.
Things I don’t like.
Memories from High School.
My most favorite songs ever.
Places I would like to vacation.

And pretty soon, I couldn’t help but share the love. I started sharing my book with my friends.  If you were to flip through what is called by many of my friends as the Elusive Green Book (Elusive – hard to express or define), you would easily find over two dozen people’s handwritings, most of which in list form. 

The EGB has been used for documenting memories from specific time periods, wish lists, what to pack lists, debating the merits of staying in current relationships, and most often – creating a list of the top ten most datable guys.  (freshmen year of college, many dorm-mates and friends added their own lists of top ten datable guys throughout the school year. Debates were had late into the night often) 

In the summertime, I would make lists describing my experiences working the beautiful Wisconsin Dells.  During the school year, I would procrastinate my writing an exegesis outline by outline the scenes from my life that should be put in the movie version of my life. An ongoing list of most favorite quotes of famous people is near a list of funny things my girlfriends have said.  The list of people I have kissed is no where near as long as the list of people that make me laugh out loud. (I think this is a good thing.)  And on the eve of each birthday since 19, I have made a list of “While I was ____”: Documenting ages 18-25 (so far) in list form.

The EGB is filled. Not a blank page left. And, several years ago, I purchased EGB volume 2; slightly brighter and lighter in color, yet the listing remains.  I admit it, and embrace it; I am a lister. [And I have never been cooler?]

Several weeks ago Angela and Caitlin posted their FITNESS BUCKET LISTS on their blogs.  I thought it was SUCH a great idea. (Clearly) 

As Angela points out on ohsheglows, inspired by the movie The Bucket List with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson, “A bucket list is essentially a list of all the things you want to accomplish before you, ahem, kick the bucket.”

I agree with Angela as well, that the best part of the fitness bucket list is that it can be say ANYTHIGN you want.  It is your list and you can make ANY crazy and “out there” fitness goal you have ever dreamed up.  I promised myself that when I made my list I would think outside the box and not being confined to where I am NOW in my fitness levels- but instead look to the future and know that I CAN do the things I’ve always wanted to try, experience and complete.  No holding back.  What do I want to do in my lifetime?

I started a rough draft in my mind while running the trail last week, and I decided to make it official last night.  So I got out EGB V2.0.


Heather’s Fitness Bucket List [with slight explanations]

-Become a Strong Swimmer [I don’t really know how to swim.  So much so that I fear the deep end a bit. I would like to be able to swim to safety if I’m ever, you know, stranded in water more than 5 feet deep.]

-Take a boxing/kickboxing class [powerful, much?]
-Climb a Rock Wall [the last time I tried to climb ANY kind of rock anything it was getting dark and I was unsuccessful. I want to conquer this]

-Play on a team in an organized league [I don’t care which sport. I miss this a lot. Basketball. Soccer. Ultimate Frisbee. It matters not to me.]

-Run a race in each of the 50 states. [I think this is my favorite life goal I’ve ever made. Ever.]
-Complete the Disney Marathon [am hoping that a Disney marathon will be my first marathon – mom already promised to come cheer me on if I’m at Disney :) ]

-Coach. [Someone. Something. Somewhere.]
-Jump off a Diving Board [deep end? Eek.]
-Run the Boston Marathon COURSE [I don’t plan on ever running the Boston Marathon – but I would LOVE to do the course on my own or with friends.]

-Take a Body Pump class weekly, for at least one season [my best friend has taught me of the wonders of body pump.  She even taught me some moves and encouraged my buying my “body pump bar.” ]

-Make 10 3-pointers in a row [shooting baskets is therapeutic for me. The most I’ve ever made in a row is 4]
-Complete the round trip on my favorite local trail in sub 3 Hours [its 14 miles long]
-Do ten monkey bar Pull Ups in a row [I don’t remember the last time I tried to do a pull up- but I am certain it was unsuccessful]

-Run a few miles the morning of my wedding [there is a Weddingbee.com blogger who ran a RACE the morning of her wedding. How awesome would THAT be?]

-Participate in a fun run while pushing a stroller [ :) ]



My list is FULL.  And although some things are a little wacky, I am stoked about it all.  Every last one of them. [may go find monkey-bars tonight to verify my skill, or lack there of, of the pull up.]


Wednesday, September 16, 2009

The Facts

Two days after she received the invitation, she called me.
Two days after he sent the reply card, he regretted it.
Two days after they searched for flights, I got an email.

My former fiancĂ© has wonderful timing, and he broke the engagement not even 12 hours after the invitations had hit the post-office. 

I’ve received a few emails (well over 100) over the course of the last two months.  Everyone wants to know the story.  Some people want to know it because they care; some because they want to hear all the drama.

Sorry, Charlie: this post is going to be pretty drama free.

But I’ve gotten a few emails by way of the blog recently, asking if I was going to be sharing the story of “how it all went down.”  And, in true Heather form, I hemmed. And I hawed. 

Over all my debating I’ve decided that the best way to address the situation, remain true to my main desire for this blog (honest & open communication), and be as FAIR as possible would be to share the facts of the broken engagement. Then, I can deal with my personal emotions and opinions of the aftermath separate from anything that involved my former fiancĂ©’s actions directly. [we will see how this goes.]

A Brief Modern History:
We met at church, working in Youth Ministry.
We dated and broke up more than once in the past 5 years.
We were engaged to be married on 7/24/2008.
We set the date for 9/6/2009.
We moved to NY from TX on 8/1/2008.
We moved in with his Father and Step Mother on 8/4/2008.
We signed the lease for our marriage apartment on 6/29/2009, and I moved in 7/1/2009.
We mailed out the invitations on 7/13/2009.
He broke it off the very same day.

I can’t try to understand his thoughts, or emotions in all of it.
But I can evaluate my own.
And I can remember the words he said to me.
And I can remember my own.
And I can remember what happened following his words.

I asked for a hug.
I asked him why.
I asked him to leave.

I called my parents.
I called my 3 best friends.
I called our best man.

Had a few drinks.
Had a few shots.
Had a few tears.

My mom called.
Her best friend called.
My best friend called.

I cried, a lot.
I drank, a lot.
I thought, a lot.

I drunkenly twittered what I meant to text. (telling the world via @llbean75 that the wedding was off)
I drunkenly ate half a frozen pizza. (emotional eating taking over much?)
I drunkenly wore my wedding gown around my bedroom. (and I looked hott. With two t’s)

And then I went to bed.
And I woke up no less then 27 times.
And I threw my phone against the wall.

I went to work the next day.
My mother made “cancellation postcards” the next day.
He and I communicated the next day.

And it was still real.
And it was still painful.
And it was still off.

I contacted the people whom I had asked to participate in the wedding. 
My bridesmaids, my groomsman, the readers. 
I didn’t want any of them making plane reservations.



When friends and family started to receive their cancelation postcards, no less then 2 days after they received their handmade juniper and white invitations, I started to get bombarded by texts, emails, facebook messages, and phone calls.  Almost all of which I ignored for a week. (some of which I still haven’t responded to.)



My dad came to save me less than 72 hours later.
And he tried all he could to make everything better.
And he spoiled me.
And he helped me.
And I rested.
And I dreamt.
And I ran. 




I'm still resting.
I'm still dreaming.
I'm still running.


Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Plan C

[Disclaimer: I am currently blogging by blackberry through email- this is means not html coding and therefore, I can't add hyperlinks to my posts. So please forgive my old school referencing sites by way of full web addresses for a bit. Also, please forgive all of my grammar and spelling errors- they bug me more after I find them post-publish than they could EVER annoy you. That's a promise.]



If you follow me on twitter you know that today had a plan.
It was simple: job 1, job 2, and girlsnightout for a late night happy hour after closing.

Okay- a few things here for some new-reader back story.


1. I work a full time day job 8-5 M-F. I love it.

2. I also have a part time job at a popular shoe store in which my hours vary each week, sometimes drasticly.
3. These girls nights after closing are me and my manager from job #2 at chilis- where from 9-midnight they have 2 for 1 wine. I call these nights, nights-o-boyscouting, as the original idea of the GNO was indeed to scout boys. Guys at Chilis bar on a tuesday night usually = a) guys on dates with their girlfriends of several years, b) guys traveling for work who keep their eyes on the laptop, or c) a group of JV football couches, all of whom are married, who meet for beer and baseball after their own teams lose.

Boyscouting in itself has been a bit of a losing situation- but we always have good conversation and enjoy ourselves.


Anyway-
Back to my plan.

Work. Work. Wine. (And whine? Perhaps!)

Well, my car seems to have wanting some spa-time, because its currently in being "worked on". (Another story too unimportant to tell- unless you want to hear about the time my co-worker suggest I just drive with the air on high. All winter long. In upstate NY. We aren't in Texas anymore, toto.)

So I called into the store and told them I wouldn't be making it in tonight and also our Boyscouting adventure would need to be rain checked.


And then I started to get excited.
I made a NEW plan.
This plan involved me, pajamas, chocolate soy milk iced coffee (thanks to Tina for THAT wonderful suggestion), and some quality time with Mr. Josh Lyman.
And I was thrilled. A night of rest, relaxation, and dramatized political stories.

Several hours later, as I walked up the stairs to my apartment, I thought about what was about to happen.

And then I thought about a blog of Caitlin's I read today and I started hearing myself say her mantras to myself. Specificly "you never regret a work out" and "this is the line between..."

And I knew she was right.
This week is busy, and I already feel like I don't have enough time OR energy to get the running I want to get in- the running I NEED to get in to stay committed to my goals.
And here a completely open evening presented its self and I was going to let it pass me by?

Negetive.
Maybe the old Heather, who didn't make herself, her dreams, her desires a priority.
Maybe the old Heather, who waited around and didn't make the time for herself.
But not this Heather.
This Heather knows what she wants and she's out to get it.

And so, as I type this, waiting for my pre-run fuel snack to settle, and preparing to lace up my new running shoes, i've entered into plan C.

Run. Stretch. Dinner with Josh Lyman. Dishes. Rest. Bed.


I am commited to my health, my goals, my desires and MY life.

And I am proud to say third plans a charm.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Athlete is Not a Dirty Wood

I've debated how to go about addressing this on the blog. Truth be told, up until this weekend I didn't know how far, if at all, I was going to delve into this topic of my life. But then I remembered that if my desires for this blog where to be put into a pyramid graph, the base of the pyramid would be open, honest, communication about the process of GETTING ON WITH MY LIFE post broken engagement. And so honestity is where we find ourselves.

I first started playing organized sports in the 5th grade. It all started with a community soccer league I joined because my best friend, Josh, played and he was always raving about how awesome it was. (In hind site, his natural amazing athletic ability probably had something to do with said opinion of awesomeness)

And leave it to the natural tendencies of my life- I was not put on Josh's team after sign up- but I, probably thanks to my mother's assurance, kept on. My team was filled with kids from surrounding schools, yet none from mine, and I was one of 3 girls on the team. And if my memory is correct, I was the least best player on the field at any given moment (note my use of positive self esteem). But we won the division title that year and I took home a big trophy and a feeling of accomplishment despite never scoring a goal or really doing much of anything but take up space.

When my family moved to Wisconsin in the mid-90's my love affair with the term athlete officially began. I signed up for basketball and volleyball, both the school leagues and summer programs, and I also ran hurdles for the middle school track team. (I even had a short career as a football cheerleader, if you can believe that)

Being clumsy and slightly-lazy, my time in the lodi middle school gym led me through one season after another on the B team. I was fine with this, especially back then, and truly enjoyed myself playing both basketball and volleyball and running track. I was most obviously apart of the teams for community and enjoyment.

When I started high school, I found myself back on the soccer field. (if a love affair was had with the term athlete, soccer was my first true love: I loved playing and LOVED watching games. ) I played soccer my freshmen, sophomore and senior years and was a statstition/manager for the guys team all throughout, and even a season after graduation.

I was never a superstar, by any means. But I learned on that field. I had four years of fabulous coaching, and I still to this day remember life lessons I learned from the five WONDERFUL coaches I worked with in those years. They remain some of my most favorite people in the world, and I am so very grateful for my time with them.

I also played two years of high school basketball. And two years of high school summer ball. (So many memories!) And still to this day I enjoy time on the court.

But after my sophomore year, other activities took first priority in my life and I stopped playing sports. (I only went back for soccer my senior year after a suggestionm from a friend that I would later regret it if I didn't). 3 hour practices every day after school stopped. Running laps with my teammates stopped. Saturday tournements stopped. Early morning before school shooting practice stopped. And I found myself becoming more and more lazy. And never making time for any kind of exercise. It wasn't important.

And so, made clear to me only by looking through a timeline of photos, I gained a little bit of weight.

When college came, of course, as you've probably heard time and time again, so did late night pizza orders, all you can eat cafeteria food, and a whole dorm full of girls willing to share oreos, chocolate bars and sponge-bob shaped cheeze nips.

And although I don't remember ever weighing myself in high school, I'm sure I gained The Freshman Fifteen (and maybe even more).

I can remeber working out a handful of times at the on-campus gym at Edgewood College where I attended my first two years of college. And although I gained weight and was not at all in shape or fit in the least, I don't remember being too bothered by it.

When my family moved to Texas and I decided to transfer to Louisiana College, not much changed. Although, during my one semester at LC I did frequent the gym a lot more often and also was the QB of a flag football team.

There were times after I left school that I decided to try to be healthier. I got a gym membership in Texas and for a few months at a time I would be really dillegent about going. But I never really kept track of health or fitness goals and never gave it my all.

There were times over the last six years that I tried to lose weight for events: my best friend's wedding in order to fit into my MOH dress, for example.

But nothing stuck.

And over time I just kept gaining.

When my former fiance and I started planning our own wedding, I decided it was time to focus. And we got a couples-membership to the YMCA and I weighed myself.

And I saw a scary scary number.

A number 15+ pounds heavier than I ever remembered weighing before. And because I didn't like this number, I started to work a little harder at taking care of myself.

Overtime, I decided I wanted to DO SOMETHING again. Something organized, something I could be a part of. The decision to run a 5K came into the picture this past spring, and this summer I picked the date of when my first official "race" will be: Halloween :)

I am still in no way ready to run an entire 3.1 mile course.
And I have been embarassed by this fact.

I have found myself wanting to hide the details of my training and weight loss journey from the world and especially from the people I've known and loved over the years.
This is a pride issue I'm recently determined to get over.

I think part of my issue in the past has been that I don't want to say I am going to do something (like lose X amount of pounds, or join a soccer team) and then not be determined enough to follow through.

I am proud of my progress and I want to be confident and able to share it with the people I love- and that includes you blog readers :)

Saturday morning I ran the farthest distance without stopping since I started my training program (which started the beginning of August).

And although I am struggling with sharing this general knowledge of how I can't run very far, that I'm clearly really out of shape, and that I still have quite a way to go, I know it's time. Because I have come a long way already, and I know I will continue to make and meet my goals.

A few stats for you:
-so far, in 2009, I have lost 20 lbs.
-as of yesterday, I can run 3/4 of a mile with out stopping.
- I feel stronger and more confident than I have in a long time
- I am proud of what I am choosing to change in my life.

And I am not ashamed- because I am IMPROVING and taking steps to get to where I need to be. And these same steps will lead me to better health and a happier lifestyle. I am taking care of myself for the first time in a long time, and with each day and each step I get closer to the very best version of myself. And that's the place I long to be. The best Heather.

Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

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I believe it was Mrs. Potts who said, "It's always best to start at the beginning." If this is your first time, why not jump back to where it all started: http://thenheathersaid.blogspot.com/2009/09/day-after.html

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