The Celebration

It rained today. Of course, it started about five minutes into my run and ended about five minutes before I stopped. Pushed through it. Felt like a champion. Moved on with my life. However, the one thing that did change for me (and I noticed this yesterday on Kelly Drive) was that I was much more aware and in-tune with my body. I was watching where I stepped to avoid puddles, or on Kelly Drive I was out of Center City, which equals no looking at my reflection in store windows.

You're probably thinking that sounds a bit silly, but apparently it's enough of a distraction to be able to look at myself that I lose track of everything else. I'm not vain; it's something called body checking. Because, you know, something might change magically between this window and the next one- better check! And I am just so fed up with that mentality. I gain nothing from it, in fact, I only focus on the negatives that I see, and I'm about 99.7% sure that it feeds into my eating disorder.

And that got me thinking about how much of a hold my eating disorder still has on me. I mean for starters, I'm using running as a crutch. If I want to run, I need to feed my body- it's incentive. I still don't do it out of self love; case in point: days that I can't run, my first thought revolves around how much less I should eat. I don't necessarily always act on these thoughts, but the dialogue is still there, none the less. And then there's the issue that the only reason I'm not blowing up like a balloon is because I'm running so much, or so goes the dialogue in my head.

I want to be able to embrace myself. I fed myself and ran 9 miles. That calls for celebration. I fed myself after it instead of gloating about the calories burned, and then I fed myself some more to run 5 miles today. That calls for celebration. How am I going to celebrate? I'm going to take a moment, give myself a pat on the back, and allow myself to love myself for a minute or two.

I'm going to smile for the camera. And I'm going to look at this picture, appreciate the positives, accept that my cheeks will probably always be round, and call it a day. I may not believe it, but I'm going to say it anyways. Because it really doesn't make sense to hate yourself as much as I do. I'm going to tell myself that this girl is worthy of self-respect, love, and yes, even food. And maybe, maybe, if I say it enough, one day I'll believe it.