Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

women

The things that keep me going

I was lying on the table as my massage therapist worked her hands and arms across the pain points all over my body, the tension releasing as she held a spot for just the right amount of time. The idea of massage used to freak me out, but now I go for one monthly. It’s a forced kind of rest. I have trouble relaxing on my own. And I’ve been going long enough now that my massage therapist feels more like a friend than a stranger. She probably knows my body better than I do. It’s an appointment I look forward to each month.

Here I am, right after my massage. You can still see the line on my forehead from where my face was pressed into the pillow.

A monthly massage sounds like a luxury, and maybe it is for some, but it’s become a necessity. It, combined, with chiropractic, keeps my back pain mostly at bay, giving me the kind of mobile and active lifestyle I want. (Someday, this might not be the case, so I’m trying to cherish it as a gift.)

These two appointments don’t come without a monetary price, but it’s a price I can’t afford not to pay.

As I lay there I thought about how a guy I once dated implied that I was high-maintenance. I was young and he said it in a way that felt negative so I was offended. (This should have been a red flag for our relationship. There were lots of red flags for both of us, but that’s another story.) At the time, I considered myself pretty low-maintenance. I didn’t take a lot of time to put on makeup or obsess over my clothes. I’m still not exactly sure what qualified as “high maintenance” in his mind, but I must have made a subconscious decision to be anything but high-maintenance from then on.

That manifested as suppressing my needs and wants, going along with whatever my friends, family, or spouse wanted. “High maintenance” meant to me that I was A LOT to deal with, always causing problems or conflict. I tried to be easy-breezy by never having an opinion, by throwing all my energy into caring for other people–first my husband, then my children. It was a lot of years before I realized that I needed to take care of myself, too, and that it wasn’t selfish.Two decades after hearing the words “high maintenance” in relation to myself, I accept and celebrate that I am, indeed, high-maintenance. Honestly, I’m a little suspicious of anyone who might claim otherwise.

Because anything of value is worth taking care of and that includes me (and you). Anyone who lives this life even a little bit is going to need more than a little maintenance to keep going.

Here are some of the things it takes to keep me going: the aforementioned monthly massage and chiropractic care, daily meds (for physical health), occasional meds (for mental health), daily exercise, occasional yoga, time in nature, fruits and vegetables, books (so many books). It’s not an exhaustive list. And maybe your list has other things on it that you need to keep you going. 

Whatever it is you need, don’t let anyone–not yourself or a partner or parents or children or society or random strangers on the Internet (especially not them)–make you feel bad about it.

High-maintenance? Hell yes, we are, because we’re worth it! (After posting these thoughts on Facebook and Instagram, a friend suggested that we change the phrase from “high maintenance” to “maintenance worthy.” I’m in.)

For the ones who try

It was 80 degrees on a Thursday afternoon when the adults began to gather outside the school. We walked and stretched and chatted as we waited for the girls to emerge. Star-shaped balloons danced in the wind, and when the girls walked out of the school, we cheered and clapped like they were red-carpet royalty.

Each one found her running buddy. I slapped a high-five with my daughter and when we lined up, we put ourselves in the middle of the pack–the “walk some, run most” section. We are realistic about our efforts these days.

This was the practice 5k. In two weeks, we would run the real race.

Weeks of laps around the field led up to this moment. Three miles is intimidating, and I could sense the anxiety from some of the girls early on.

But before we could let our doubts and fears take over, it was time to run.

—

We learn our deficiencies early. 

We are not enough this or too much that, and those thoughts burrow deep until we don’t remember ever feeling anything different.

It’s gradual, at least it was for me. Like an erosion. Slow. Steady. Almost unnoticeable, at least in the day-to-day. 

When I am in the company of elementary-aged or middle-school girls, I can’t help but think of myself at that age. About all the ways I didn’t think I measured up to whatever the perceived standard was. How I didn’t attempt difficult things because I was sure I would fail. I played my life safe for a very long time.

I wondered about these young girls, if they had any of these thoughts as they set out on the neighborhood course. Did any of them wonder if they weren’t cut out for this? Were they comparing themselves to the other girls on the course?

Because I still do–wonder if I’m cut out for this, compare myself to others.

—

Sometimes we catch a glimpse of who we can be.

While the heat is bearing down as we struggle to catch our breath, to take one more step. When we’re not sure we’re going to make it. We begin to believe other people have it better or different, and we doubt ourselves. Our efforts. Should we have even bothered trying?

But just when we thought we might give up, something happens.

Someone in the crowd calls our name. A sign encourages us to “tap here for an energy boost” and we do it, just for fun. We hear words that sound like “You got this!” and “Keep going!” And as we near the end of the race the cheering intensifies. Something clicks and we remember something true about ourselves.

I don’t quite know what to call it, but I know it when I see it.

My daughter sprints to the finish line with a smile on her face that grabs the attention of those around her. (I’m not bragging here. More than one person made mention of her smile as she finished.)

She wasn’t the only one, though. As we watched her teammates finish, it was the same every time. A girl and her buddy crossed the street to the school and when they hit the sidewalk that was the final stretch, we all started cheering and calling her name.

And the girl’s face would shine like she’s alive for the first time, a smile taking up her whole countenance. It was almost tangible, the belief that she could do the impossible.

It is my favorite part of this particular race. The confidence I see practically dripping off the girls when they finish. Because so many people believed in them. And maybe they believe in themselves just a little bit more.

Photo by Lance Grandahl on Unsplash

—

I know it doesn’t always last, this confidence. At least, not in the same measure as after a race. But it also doesn’t disappear. A hint of it remains for the next time, and each time, it grows.

—

Here’s what I’m learning about what it means to be strong: it’s not always about how fast or how much or how hard. Sometimes to be strong is to not give up, to do it in spite of how you’re feeling, to keep going.

When it comes to running some days, it’s easier to stay at my house, to take a breather between work and when the kids get home from school, to enjoy the weather without sweating.

Some days, time is not on my side and the window I have to get my run in for the day is squeezed almost shut. On those days, instead of giving up, I switch it up. Instead of throwing in the towel because I can’t run two miles or more, I see how fast I can run one mile. Sometimes I fall short of my goal. One time, though, I surprised myself and clocked the fastest one-mile time I’ve ever run.

When I think I can’t, I try to remember what I’ve already done and what I know I can do.

—

This isn’t just about running. Not in the least.

Some of us are giving all the effort we have to something or someone and coming up short. At least that’s how it seems. We’re trying and trying and trying, and we don’t feel like we’re getting anywhere. Other people are fast on our heels or blowing right past us. We’re panting, with heads throbbing and faces tomato red from the exertion. We don’t know if we can take one.more.step.

If I could wish anything for all of us it would be to have a cheering squad on the course and at the finish line, calling our name. A crowd cheering us on, reminding us, “You can do it!”

We can.

You can.

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash

It’s this small boost of belief that spurs us toward the finish line with an inexplicable energy, like we haven’t been running for the better part of an hour.

We need to cheer each other on because we’re all in this together.

That sounds vague and idealistic, I know, but I’m convinced more and more that I will cheer you on whether you’ve just started running or you finished a marathon. Whether you’re taking the first steps toward something you’re not sure you can do or you’re out there living your life fully with passion.

I want you to cross your finish line looking like you’re alive for the first time.

—

We finished our practice 5k in 41:25. I timed us, just for my own knowledge, and maybe to give us something to compare to. Our last 5K a month ago was 42:00 even, with quite a bit of walking, and while I’m personally hoping to log a better 5K time on my own, this particular run isn’t about winning. We’re all winning, just by being there.

We were as hot and sweaty as we look after the race.

I want to say that again: Winning is equal to showing up.

I know this isn’t a popular concept, and I’ll admit it doesn’t apply to every situation, but for so many things, if you’re on the field or the course, if you’re showing up, doing your best, and trying, then you’ve already won. (So many of my students want to know what the prize is when they’re playing a review game and I’ve turned into that teacher who is always like “knowledge is the prize.” That’s a story for another day, perhaps.)

My daughter didn’t seem upset with our time or performance. She has such a positive attitude most of the time, and she pushes herself pretty hard when she wants to. Even though we walked a lot of the course, we ran our first half-mile faster than I usually run it, and every time we ran for a stretch, she outpaced me. When I mentioned she might want to pace herself, she said, “My legs just fly under me.” Who can argue with that?

At the end, I reminded her (and myself and anyone who could hear) that there are people who are not even thinking about walking three miles much less trying to run any portion of them. Every girl on the course, even the one who is the last to cross, has already won because she decided to show up. Bonus points for finishing the course.

Showing up and doing it anyway and not giving up. If there’s one thing I hear the girls praise each other for, week after week, it’s that they didn’t give up.

These amazing girls recognize the try in each other.

We would be wise to follow their lead.