In Gratitude

I mentioned several posts back that I've been going to counseling. I went through another bad depressive bout this past winter, and it seemed to be really hanging on. I was becoming unable to suppress my self-harming compulsions, and I was just plain sick of it. I was, and am, tired of being broken. I decided that if there was a way to fix myself, it was time. Not that I've been unwilling in the past. I've been quite frustrated with my previous experiences with therapists, counselors and psychiatrists. I always felt like a project, or a text book, or some nameless face pinned with a Freudian template. My Ohio psychiatrist, while offering some good tools, clearly thought my believe in God to be quaint, and even alluded to it contributing to my irrational thinking. Professional help has never felt very helpful.

But I had to try something. Antidepressants are not any sort of magic fix. There is no guarantee to their effectiveness. What is guaranteed is a host of ill side effects, which manifest both mentally and physically. I will take antidepressants when the going gets rough, but I try to avoid them as much as possible.

Anyway, I grudgingly met with my bishop and grudgingly accepted his offer to contact LDS family services. I was apprehensive and skeptical. I had to wait nearly six weeks for my first appointment, and by that time I had mostly emerged from the fog on my own. But I still went, hoping for tools to help in my interminable fight against this disease.

The good news is I really liked my counselor right off the bat. She spoke to me like a person, a friend even. I never felt like a specimen.

Yesterday was my fourth session with her, and I had told her previously that I was going to postpone any further sessions because I'm doing pretty well right now. I wasn't expecting any big breakthroughs, just a nice, supportive chat.

But I got a breakthrough, and today, I feel like the grime has been cleaned from the glass, and the sunlight is finally showing through.

The greatest thing about my counselor is the way she has led me to uncover my own answers. With subtle questions and gentle guidance, I have discovered truths that she has immediately validated, and it really has been a spiritual experience. The spirit has whispered the truth of it to me, which is significant considering that part of my frustrations have been a result of being unable to feel the spirit of God.

So what was my breakthrough? A fact that is so central, such a part of me, that I couldn't really see it before. The fact that I have a core belief about myself that I am not worth as much as everyone else. I have truly believed, all my life, that I am inferior to almost every other person I come in contact with. When we delved into childhood memories, it was clear that I developed this belief when I was a very young child. It has been the lens through which I've always seen myself, and it has colored every relationship and every decision I have ever made. This seems simple, but it is monumental. I didn't realize that not everyone feels this way. It's not humility; it's not truth. It's false. And though it fuels my depression, it isn't because of my depression. This is something I have always believed about myself, depressive or not.

Did you know that if you were to come up to me, randomly, and give me a hug and say, "Hey, you are really great!" my immediate thought would be, "Why? Why are you saying this? What bad thought did you just have about me that made you feel guilty enough that you must now come compensate for it with a kind one?"

Twisted, right? Yet the thought of just taking that show of love at face value makes me very, very uncomfortable. I just don't know how to do that. I am always aware that I am being judged, found wanting, and that everyone is still trying really hard to love me anyway. Bless their hearts.

My rational brain knows this is wrong. My rational brain knows that on the grand scale where the worth of souls is measured, we each one of us is infinitely valuable.

And I believe that. Except that I must somehow be the exception. That if God were to line us all up and give us all the hugs and thumbs up we deserve, I would be the one in the line that he scans over, shakes his head, and moves on. And not only that, that that would be just, how it is meant to be. If ANYONE else were to tell me they felt this way, I would tell them it was preposterous, that God loves them more than they can possibly comprehend.

Seems a bit incongruent, no? Still, it's how I've lived my whole life.

Imagine my surprise and relief when all through my life I continue to be blessed with amazing friends and family. I have spent years waking up, looking at DH and wondering if one day he would finally come to see the ugliness that he married and just walk away. Like I had duped him in some way. I have felt sad and sorry for my children, my family, my friends, that they are forced to endure the trial of having relationships with me.

This is a core belief about myself that has existed for as long as I can remember.

And yet.

There has always been an opposing force, nestled somewhere deep that longs for, and even shouts that I am incredible. And awesome. And beautiful. And powerful. That I am valuable. That I am loveable. This is the force that anchored me to DH, that fights for my kids, that keeps trying mistake after miserable mistake. This is the force that pulls me out of that dark, ugly fog, time and time again and says, "This is not who you are."

Today that is the only force I feel, and I know that it is truth. Today I am grateful. And today is enough.

Red Rock Relay

Get ready. This is the mother of posts.

As you are most likely aware, I, professed non-runner Joni, got it in my mind that I was going to train for and complete the Red Rock Relay, an all day race covering a little under 70 miles. The real training and anxiety began in January. In March of 2011 I could run for 60 seconds at a time. When I started training in earnest in January, my first session was 2.5 miles.

Last Saturday I ran 10.5 miles, covering, on my own, over 1000 feet of elevation.

But this journey was not alone, and the greatest reason the race is such a cherished memory is because of those who shared it with me. We had a running team of six, with T-Lee along to drive, document, and cheer.

As team captain, I wanted to do all I could to ensure a smooth process, foster solidarity, and create a fun atmosphere, so when the team arrived at my house, I handed out swag bags, complete with personalized tee-shirts (nicknames chosen by DH and myself). Clearly, they were a hit. (Name reveal forthcoming.)

Our team was comprised of me, DH, two of his brothers, his little sister, and the new SIL. From our house we made the four-ish hour drive to red rock country. After checking into the hotel, and then checking in for the race, we found a nice spot for our last supper.

It was lights out pretty early as we all tried to get some good rest before the big day. Of course, my nerves were so shot at this point that even with chemical assistance, I was in and out all night.

Oh, yes, but before sleep, we had to pimp the ride.

RACE DAY! The Road Hawgs are ready. Look at that intensity!

Just kidding, the only thing intense about this crew is my thighs.

The Team: Hambone, Brisket Britches, Notorious P.I.G., Captain Lardy Cakes, J-Sizzle, Pork Chop, and our photog, Honey-Glazed. (Give 'em a break, they've been married 3 weeks.)

(You know what they say, "April's socialite brings May's cellulite." I was disappointed to find how un-ironic my nickname was in these photos. Oh well.)

We got to the starting line, and Brisket Britches, our first runner, was ready for duty. She kicked it off with a 7.36 run into the canyon.

Once Brisket Britches was on her way, the nerves, which had already been in overdrive, started to flood. I was runner #2, so the reality was hitting me hard. These are my actual anxiety-induced sweaty pits.

Our race start was 9 AM and it didn't take long to determine the day was going to be a hot one. Here is the first of many support stations we set up along the way. Brisket! Britches! Brisket! Britches!

BB said she was nervous because of how little she'd trained, but having been a distance runner in the past, she was pretty chipper through most of the run, even giving herself a little butt smack for our benefit.

Waiting at the first exchange, scared, but ready.

And off I go, with a butt smack for luck.

My first leg was 7.2 miles, purported to be "flat and fast," which was not entirely accurate on either count. The farthest I had ever run up to this point was just over 7 miles, so I knew I could do it, but my biggest fear leading up to the race was that it would be very hot with no shade. My fear was confirmed.

I found a steady pace that I knew I could maintain and just kept chugging. I was passed, or "killed" several times, but I felt pretty good, aside from the dizzying heat. 

Butt smack. (Hey, do me a favor and stare at the hint of muscle in my calf instead of the expanse under those grey pants, will you? Thanks.)

My route wound its way through a gorgeous canyon, and as I neared each bend I would tell myself that I would find shade on the other side. I never did find that shade.

Not flat. But very beautiful. 

82 minutes after setting out, I made it to the exchange. I only walked a precious few times, just enough to relieve those moments when I though blackout was imminent. My mood varied from happy to determined to ticked off to hopeful to exultant. DH made the mistake of asking me which flavor of Chapstick I wanted during my ticked off phase. I'm still apologizing to him for my response.

I love Pork Chop's face as she receives the wrist baton. Road Hawg Warrior! I only cried a little bit at the end of this leg. And then I drank a lot of water.

This was Pork Chop's first big race as well, and I felt a lot of camaraderie with her before and during the race. This was a big deal for us. Her first leg was shorter, 3.4 miles.

One of many support bridges. Pork Chop, Pork Chop, Greasy Greasy! You can run the Red Rock, Easy Easy!

Passing the baton with the same intensity that she received it. Consistency!

With all the ladies having run their first legs, it was the mens' turn. This is where the ascent began in earnest. J-Sizzle booked it through this 5.4 mile leg. Please take note of this landmark and our relation to it during his run.

Looking good, despite the heat.

Everybody doing the "Hambone" stretch in the hot hot heat.

Next runner: Hambone, who ran his 3 mile leg so fast that he got to the exchange before we did! Those porta-potty lines were just too darn long.

Notorious P.I.G. jumped out of the car and began his short but very fast (and very hard) leg. (That's my man!) We all drove behind him and marveled at his chiseled calves.

I'm so supportive!

 Everyone had completed their first leg by 1:48 PM.

When Brisket Britches received the wrist baton from Notorious P.I.G she was sure to comment on how gross it was before heading off.

BB's 2nd leg was fairly short, but brutal. The incline was steep and unforgiving, but she powered through amidst blazing sun and relentless switchbacks. That girl was an animal.

Meanwhile, my nerves were back. Seeing the terrain on the leg just before mine was making me seriously scared, especially since my legs were already aching from my first run. Please note the landmark previously mentioned and our new relation to it!

Brisket Britches put on a good face, but she was clearly hurting. The girl kept up a speedy pace, though, and Hambone, in all his newlywed tenderness, ran the last 1/4 mile with her in flip-flops, holding her hand.

Before I knew it. the baton was on my wrist and I was jogging away. Thankfully the first 3/4 mile or so of my over 3 mile leg was on a slight decline. I needed it. My legs were stiff and aching from the first run, so it was a blessed moment to be able to let them warm up before the real climb began.

 Once the climb began, however, it was serious. I ran until my hamstrings could run no more, then alternated between speed-hiking and jogging the rest of the way. These 45 minutes were some of the most grueling of my life. I went as fast as my body could possibly go. I'm grateful for the girl who passed me and encouraged me to start running with her when all I wanted to do was walk.

I want to interject a few of my thoughts during this leg. Although I'd been preparing for months, it was difficult not to compare myself to some of those other runners out there. I knew I wasn't as fast as they were. I knew I wasn't as thin as they were. I knew that I could train and train and that my body would never look and perform like theirs. There is something to the fact that I have spent the majority of my life assured that my body couldn't run. I'm just not built for anything that requires speed, or flexibility, or taut, lithe glutes. (I've had junk in the trunk since I was 12 years old.) I have always been severely intimidated and shamed by athletic types. Being in this race was so out of my comfort zone. It was sometimes discouraging.

But then I turned that thought process on its head. On my right I saw a tiny, muscular woman, abs ablaze in glory, pass me and course ahead. And in that moment I thought, I'm doing it. I'm doing the same thing she's doing. Yeah, she's doing it better, but I'M HERE. I'm participating in the same physical challenges as that Greek goddess. So what if I'm the slow, chubby one? I'm doing this. I AM DOING THIS! And then I sprinted to the exchange, a fire in my legs like I'd never known.

DH was waiting for me with open arms, and I fell into them and broke into sobs. I was so tired, and proud, and in pain, and relieved. Moses himself couldn't have held back the tide of emotions that swelled up within me.

After a good cry, DH pulled me to the scenic side of the road where T-Lee positioned me with my finger on my starting point. The camera couldn't focus on the minuscule cars on the minuscule road where my leg had begun, but my finger is touching it. It was so gratifying to be able to see the beginning of my leg from its end. DH turned on the video camera and asked how I felt. I believe my response was, "I'm so glad I did this, and I'm never doing it again."

And there's the landmark.

BB and I, so happy to have our routes done.

This was Pork Chop's long leg, 7 miles, and we were all so proud of they way she pushed through those ups and downs. She was always smiling when the camera was out, but I'm pretty sure she had a few grim moments on her own.

Butt smack.

Hurts so good, right Pork Chop?

In a merciless twist, Pork Chop's last 1/4 mile was a significant incline, but dang if she didn't sprint right to the exchange. J-Sizzle was so cute, hugging her tightly before resuming his leg.

I was in tears once again. (And, thankfully, the elevation was so great by this time that I was happier in a jacket. At least we got a few minutes reprieve from the repressive heat.)

Funny thing about races: Bodily functions become a public affair. Knowledge of your teammates recent and impending bladder and bowel movements seems almost necessary, and loses any taboo. Running makes you poo. The end. (Only complaint about the race: Not enough portas.)

J-Sizzle got the only leg dubbed "Very Hard" by the race organizers and it wasn't difficult to see why. These 7.3 miles covered a huge chunk of the downhill that we'd worked so hard all day to climb. Siz fairly FLEW down that mountain. It was a thing of wonder to see him descend so fast.

T-Lee is to be commended. How do you butt smack a missile?

Hambone was nervous about his upcoming 8 mile leg. He wasn't feeling great.

And the heat was back.

I know he was hurting, but that Hambone ran 8 miles in less than 1 hour. Goodness gracious.

Notorious was out for the final leg of the race. I think he might have been feeling some pressure to live up to his super speedy brothers.

He had nothing to worry about though. He killed it. Fast.

When he reached the park, we all joined Notorious P.I.G. to cross the finish line. I love this shot of my man hitting the sign. Victory, baby.

 7: 19 pm. Official Time: 10 hours, 19 minutes. GO ROAD HAWGS. Oh, How I love you.

Stinky (like, really stinky) and achy, hunger trumped it all and we got some food. The adrenaline withdrawals left me so tired, it was all I could do gulp down my food and lay my head on the table.

When it was suggested that I be allowed the first shower, my gratitude, mixed with my relief and fatigue, was more than I could bear, and I started to cry, again. Man, did I need a nap.

Shower, bedtime, drive home, the end. Lots of laughing, running, sweating, crying, cheering and butt smacking in between. I am so grateful that I did this race. I am grateful to know that I may never be the fastest, or the sveltest, or the whatever-est, but I am A RUNNER. And that is powerful, because if I can be that, then I can be anything.

And special thanks to Honey-Glazed, for all these beautiful photos so that I could share my experience with you in detail. Thanks, T-Lee, you amazing woman you.