FeELinG FuNnY

I think I'm having my mid-life crisis early.

And no, I don't want to go out and buy a fancy sports car or leave my family to travel the world. But I do think I have an idea of where it's coming from: really thinking about who the heck I am.

Nearing 30 has me stopping to think how did I even get here? Married, 2 kids, 3 dogs, home owner, successful business - sure, all good things to be grateful for. But who was the person inside who lead me to those decisions and, am I still that same person today?

So much of my life could be defined as trying to be like someone else, or impress someone else.

I remember being in middle school, and was so insecure about fitting in and who liked me, that I made my parents buy this one girl a load of gifts for her birthday simply because I was convinced she was having a birthday party and not inviting me. Manipulation seemed like a solid choice. I never found out whether or not she had that party, because if she did, I wasn't on the guest list.

I remember being in high school and spending 2 hours straightening my hair because everyone seemed to have this perfectly shiny, amazing straight hair. Even though my outcome was more like a burnt-to-a-crisp, static-ridden flat mess, I still killed myself over that hair style. I also remember spending nearly $100 on Abercrombie and Fitch jeans that were so tight I could barely breath in them, but hey, being a size 00 was a thing, too.

I remember visits from my brother, my one sibling who is 13 years older than me, who I looked up to like a God. I hated being like an only child when he was away, but I loved having this cool, musician, smart as hell older brother to brag to my friends about. I remember him asking me for shoulder rubs and him telling me how good I was at them, and, I remember this being a big part of my decision to apply to massage therapy school after high school.

I remember an 18 year old relationship that I stayed in longer than I should have just because other girls were interested. I remember the drama and the fabrications created to keep us together for as long as it lasted.

I remember the choices I had when I found out I was pregnant at 19, and how I cared more about what others would think rather than what this meant for my life and my future.

I remember being a great mom, sometimes even too great with my helicopter parenting and my homemade organic baby foods, because I had to prove that getting pregnant young and becoming a mother at 20 didn't mean I had to suck at parenting.
*I remember not wanting to relive parts of my childhood where there was endless screen time and distracted parents, and to this day am still overbearing about TV and devices.

I remember meeting Eric, and how quickly we fell in love and got married. I remember everyone telling me to slow down, take a step back, and think. I remember promising we would prove them all wrong.

I remember getting pregnant with Hannah on our honeymoon, and how nervous we were to tell people because we knew we wouldn't get the reactions we wanted. I remember a friend asking "is this a good thing?" and needing to tell an in-law after a comment about waiting for more children. I remember, once again, being determined to prove everyone wrong.

I remember signing up for my first marathon, because my parents had run 70+ combined marathons, and why not follow in their footsteps?

So, when I look back and remember all of these things, it makes me question my motives in a lot of very big decisions.
Could I have had friendships with a better foundation had my insecurities not gotten in the way?
Could I have learned that I looked way better with my wild, wavy hair and embraced a part of who I was?
Would I have been a stronger partner in relationships if I was in them for the right reasons?
Would I even have applied to massage school if my brother didn't make me think it was cool?
Could I be a more relaxed parent had I not made it such a habit to over-involve myself in my kids lives?
Would I have been able to enjoy my first pregnancy, planned or not, if I could have let go of what others were saying behind my back?
I know for a fact that Eric and I would have had a very different wedding with very different guests had we been a bit more established and further along in our lives together before walking down the isle.
I know I would have loved to announce our pregnancy with Hannah and received hugs and excitement.
And maybe I would have run a marathon, but who knows.

These unknowns drive me bananas. There's so much I would go back and change. So many questions I would ask my younger self. I feel like I really had no idea who I was growing up because being like others or doing things based on what others think mattered more at the time.

And now, months away from turning 30, I want to know who I am, what choices I could and would make for myself with only me driving those decisions, what clothes I would wear or what hobbies I would take up, which books I would like or places I'd want to travel. I want to rediscover myself as myself.

So yeah, when you question your motives behind each and every decision that got you here today, the person you've identified yourself to be all this time, it gives you quite the shake. Quite the "crisis" feeling; like living with someone all this time and realizing you don't know a thing about who they really are.

And now there's nothing to do but become my own blank canvas. A clean slate. Start with the basics, like loving my husband and our marriage, my children and the relationship we have, and our 3 crazy dogs, and the rest will be an endless journey of discovery. I feel all "hey, Lauren, nice to meet ya!"

And maybe a new sports car would help a little.

Born To Run, Built To Break

My parents have raced over 70 combined marathons in their lives. Because of this, growing up, my pantry was packed with power bars. Banana halves and orange slices were the highlight of my weekends. Dinners were perfectly portioned protein-carb-veggie plates. And, I kicked off my own running at the age of 6 with an adorable half mile race around our local park. I guess you could say that running is in my blood; if only my body could get the memo.

As I always like to say, I am not put together well. My knees buckle in and face each other when my feet are together, causing a windmill looking stride when I run. This is a nicer way of saying that I look like the scarecrow from the Wizard Of Oz while running, which my high school cross country coach actually said. Despite my awkward stride, I was naturally fast. I could place fairly easily in our team's 5k races without much effort, but was endlessly injured. At the age of 14 during a meet in Boston, I fractured the growth plate in my hip - without falling. Four years later, after experiencing constant knee pain, an MRI revealed a tear in my left meniscus, even though the pain was in my right. After the left was repaired, they humored my complaints about the right side by agreeing to go in and "clean it up", where they found another meniscus tear so severe it had twisted itself around several times. All I remember from that experience was waking up from the anesthesia and telling the surgeon "told ya so". And, finally, a non-running related injury (aka idiotic teenage trampoline shenanigans) totally wrecked my ankle, wiping out what would have been my senior year on the cross country team. So, that was my (lack of) running career up to that point. And to be honest, I didn't care much. I didn't have any true running goals at the time, and I wasn't a reliable team member since I could practically sneeze and injure something else, taking any responsibility or pressure off the table. 

Motherhood gave me a reason to run again: lose baby weight, gain freedom - yes please! This was all good and fun until I decided to train for my first half marathon where the shitty body mechanics decided to strike again. Enter metatarsal and Achilles tendinitis, and I had to drop out. This was a particular bummer because my dad had also trained for this race, and it would be his last long distance race in his running career. The following year, I did make it to that 13.1 mile finish line injury free. So what does this smarty do? Decide doubling that mileage would be a fantastic idea. Marathon training, here I come! And what do you know? I did it. I did it 4 times, and decided to add a few more miles to my running resume and toughed out a 50 mile trail race too. 

Now, I may have made it to each of those races, performed well, and thanked my lucky stars for that running blood coursing through my veins...but my body constantly reminded me that I was not built for this nonsense. In order for me to train to this capacity, it takes so much work. It's exhausting, frustrating, and yet exhilarating and rewarding all at once. I limp around for hours after long runs, submerge myself in ice baths, endure painful deep tissue massage treatments, and worry about every little ache or pain. On the other hand, I feel a world of accomplishment, thankful for my wobbly body's abilities, and enjoy overcoming the challenges poor mechanics throws my way. But, man, this being-an-athlete stuff takes a lot of work, especially when you're as injury prone as I am.

My daughters have a pretty rough understanding of "no pain no gain" when it comes to running recovery as they watch me foam roll and perform cupping therapy with a harsh grimace on my face and watering eyes. They are my biggest supporters. Every day when I come back from a long run, they love to guess how far I ran, followed by rounds of high-fives. The best part is the fact that they never ask me why I keep doing this to myself, despite old lingering injuries or those new ones that pop up; they always tell me how proud they are of me, and take note of just how hard I have to work my body to keep it up. You'd think that seeing their mom head out for a 3 hour training run and come home to what seems like torturous ice and stretching routines would scare them away from running, but it's done quite the opposite - they love it. Our 5 year old will hop on our treadmill and follow it up with some foam rolling. Our 8 year old loves to run the local 5k's, and is a speedy little thing already. Instead of getting discouraged when they feel tired or the burn of their little muscles working hard, they always end their runs feeling proud of themselves. The littlest people in my life are my biggest motivators.

Distance running is a constant struggle. What makes it more tough is the mental games it plays along the way; I feel a twinge of pain and then start worrying about whether or not I should continue, followed by the frustration of that choice, which can make every step of every mile seem eternal. Motivational research has been one of the few things to keep me going. I am endlessly inspired by elite runners and am constantly trying to better myself as an athlete through their guidance; whether it's Shalane Flannagan's cookbook Run Fast Eat Slow, Meb Keflezighi's book Meb For Mortals, Eric Orton's book The Cool Impossible, or Matt Fitzgerald's book How Bad Do You Want It, I've been able to take something from each and every one of these reads and apply it to my own training, meals, and mentality. I've since been able to turn each injury into a learning experience (which subsequently helps my profession as a Sports Massage Therapist), inherit new breathing and form techniques that have improved my gate and cadence, use food as fuel on a daily basis, and when the miles get tough, remind myself that it's "mind over muscle".

I may not be built for what I do, but I have to work damn hard every single day to stay in one piece and accomplish the goals I set for myself. And, as long as my poorly-put-together body allows, I'll keep setting new goals and push myself toward further achievement. After all, thanks to my marathon-crushing parents, I was born to do this.