What it means to “take the season off.”

The weather felt warm for January when I stepped off the bus; I thought I might go for a run. I wasn’t sure of my decision, since I hadn’t run since mid-November, but the swim season was over and I knew I had no homework.

When I stepped inside my house at 4:20, and spied the bag of Krispy Kreme crullers, I made a choice: running or donuts? I picked the donuts, and with it, an afternoon of sitting in a desk chair writing.

So what happened to the health nut—the girl who ran compulsively, drank green smoothies every morning, and Daniel-fasted to start the new year*?

*The 2011 new year, that is. I never mentioned the fast publicly—it was mostly for spiritual reasons, but, you know, there was the added benefit of losing a few pounds. I drank nothing but water and ate no meat, dairy, added sweeteners, leavened bread, and deep-fried foods for almost three weeks.

This is what happened: she stopped looking for validation in her body. Upon becoming capable of receiving love no matter what she looked like or thought she looked like, she loosened the restrictions and lightened the pressure. As evidence by my brother who doesn’t understand why I’m willing to drink a green smoothie for breakfast yet ask for a second slice of cake for dessert, she let up maybe a bit too much.

Even in my sophomore year I used track to try to control my body. After the season ended, a revelation came to me upon reading Geneen Roth’s book When You Eat at the Refrigerator, Pull Up a Chair:

I’m tired of fighting my body; wrestling with my weight, both mentally and physically. I’m tired of trying to eat in a way that manipulates my mind and body into “health.” There is a world of difference between forcing my mind and body into submission on the track and enduring hunger (which I both fear and enjoy); and loving my body, being kind to myself, and treating myself right. It’s not about tiring my body and mind; it’s about being mentally, emotionally, and physically sound.

Do you see why I I can’t do track this year?

I don’t have the right motivation. I don’t want to race people, be competitive, be fast, be first. I just want a sound mind and body.

Track is something like AP Calculus: It’s something I’m expected to do based on my past performances and achievements, but it appears to be more painful than it is enjoyable. One activity is a mental challenge, another is a physical challenge, and both involve frustration and stress. I know track and calculus require sacrifices, and the benefits don’t seem worth it now that I can’t find validation in my brains or my body.

In short, I’m taking the season off because I need to find a way to manage my exercise habits, body image, and weight in a balanced, sustainable way. I don’t want to 18-hour days involving both a track meet and a synthesis essay. I don’t want two solid months of six-days-a-week, two-hours-a-day exercise. It’s kind of ridiculous.

More than midway through the track season (April 1, 2011), I wrote about the stress:

I want to sleep. To go home, rest. Relax.

But my inner drive calls out, “You’re eating but not exercising.”
I say, “I don’t care. I want to eat… lots of chocolate.”
I hear, “You can’t do this forever. You need to balance pleasure and rest with work. Have fun, but work hard.”

Rest and sunshine: I got it 4 weeks later at the beach.

I want sunshine.
I don’t want track meets that make me feel slow and out of breath and butterflies. Pain. What’s the use of it?

“Push through the pain. It’s so temporary. This is fun; this is what you do; what you love. The blue skies and chirping birds and taste of spring in my lungs. Strong muscles and a certain pride.”

But this is not for the glory. There is no glory reserved for me in these races: for neither how I look nor how fast I am.

The only merit—my only redemption in poor races—lies in the fact that at least I am there.

I’m at that point where I think, “How can I survive two more years of this?”

Why would I do something that I have to “survive”? No, this spring, I want to make habits that I can maintain the rest of my life; habits that make me feel healthy in mind, body, and soul. It’s not that I want to lose weight; it’s that I want to focus on more important things than myself, achieved by doing my best to maintain balance.

To that end, my dream is to train for a sprint triathlon (750m swim – 20K bike – 5K run), but there are transportation and money issues involved when I try to extract my exercise habits from the demands of a school sport. We’ll see. For now, I’m just working on extracting my value and identity from the confines of my pathetic abilities, for my only dependable source of worth is my Heavenly Father.

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First Swim Meet

Sunday, mid-morning, finds me in a high school auditorium, listening to worships songs and preaching. I’ve stuck my name tag on my thigh: it seems to declare “this leg belongs to …” Not that I particularly want to claim this leg. It (and its twin) looks presentable in dark jeans, but my legs are not beautiful—not like the hundreds of legs I saw kicking at the swim meet the day before. Those were smooth and glistening, the skin tight against muscles.

Swim meets consist of many strong athletes and an equal number of victory-hungry parents. In between races, high-school students with men’s bodies stretch out on towels or curl against the wall in a hallway adjoining the natatorium. They listen to music to psych themselves up, and still others fitfully nap. In the long stretches between warm-ups and races, I read, not willing to spend 9 hours of my Saturday on the swim meet alone. Occasionally I stand by the side and watch bodies race. That’s all they seem to be: splashing bodies, masked with a cap and reflective goggles, covered with far too little fabric. Some thrash and gasp; others propel with raw power through the water.

When it is my turn to race, I wiggle out of my team sweatpants and sweatshirt, remaining in only a skimpy swimsuit. I try not to imagine what people watching might think about my legs as I walk toward the diving block. My own opinion consists of grudging acceptance and flickering confidence, so I walk with my shoulders back and head up to at least give the impression that I want to own my body. I seal my goggles to my face and confine my hair in a cap. At the beep, I dive, in what feels like a graceful arc. My body undulates underneath the surface, and when I break the water, I kick, pull, and breathe, through bubbles and silky water. My arms, legs, and lungs, join in a kinetic harmony. For a minute—for 100 yards—the lane is mine, and I remember why I signed up for this.

By the end of the sprint, my lungs are burning. I don’t win, but I would be content to stay in the water forever if they let me.

Summer 2010

During a year that changed my life, I spent the summer serving in China with Teen Missions International, a unique organization that provides short-term missions trip opportunities to teenagers all around the world. As a Christian, my reason for the seven-week trip was two-fold: to show God’s love to the world by serving others, and to experience spiritual and relational growth.

The year preceding the trip, I had hopelessly tangled the web of exercise, eating, and mental health with an insatiable obsession with perfection. I spent my freshman year of high school living behind a wall of shame and guilt about my disordered eating. Finally, two months before the trip, with violent emotion, I brought my whitewashed tomb to the light.

Upon examining my heart, I realized I was severely lacking in spiritual and emotional health. Physically, I was in the best shape of my life, but I was miserable. My relationships with my friends and parents were weak, I was relying on myself, and I had no true and fulfilling goal. Any goals I had were completely self-centered: to continue to be an A+ student, to continue setting personal records in track races, to continue to be healthy. Throughout those two months preceding the trip, I believe God stretched me, and with leaps and bounds I grew in understanding and spiritual maturity.

But He wasn’t done yet. From the first moment my team members and I stepped off the bus in Florida, we lived in a world both new and raw. At the Lord’s Boot Camp we trained and bonded in rugged conditions: sleeping in tents, bathing and doing laundry with buckets, sweating 24 hours of the day. The experience prepared us American teenagers to go out into the world, a world so unlike our comfortable homes and communities.

This became a challenge to my identity. Having shed the façade of the past year, I was vulnerable; having been taken outside of my world of “self” and placed on a team, I was even more so. I didn’t know who I was, and I grasped at the security of such identity. But in that formative time, my identity and appearance weren’t valued as much as my service and unity with the tam.

One challenge I had anticipated was that the food available while with Teen Missions was not the best fuel for my body. I believed that God controls the physical effects of food, sleep, and activity on my body, but the missions trip challenged my beliefs about God and health by forcing head knowledge to become life action.

“So He humbled you, allowed you to hunger, and fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord.” Deuteronomy 8:3 NKJV

During the trip, I and several other team members were able to teach four English lessons, each two hours long. It was my privilege as a teacher to read daily journal entries from the Chinese students and glimpse their inner lives. The tiny, painstakingly printed words told of worth based on performance (academic and otherwise), an idea implanted by a society eager to keep up with the dynamic growth of their country. As a fellow student, I saw myself reflected far too clearly. The curriculum at the camp, however, emphasizes the students’ value as a person and reinforces their uniqueness, a lesson both I and the students learned.

By depending on God and interacting with my team and my leaders, I learned discipline, humility, and the importance of honesty. After the trip, I stopped living as if my life revolved around myself or my health. Realizing the temporality of life, I put less stock in miles ran, food eaten, grades received, and more value in long-term work. I was inspired to apply discipline to spending daily time with God, managing my schedule, and running cross-country, and I was rewarded on all fronts.

A year and a half later, the pictures, marks in my Bible, and page after page of journaling and reflections all serve to remind me of what I’ve experienced. The adventures I’ve had in the first sixteen years of my life cause me to look forward to the rest: to adventures where the work is hard and the sleep is good. As a complement to books, websites, cell phones, friends, AP classes, and race-day butterflies, the missions trip taught me how to be.

Almost.

I start school tomorrow. Thursday, August 25. The anxious anticipation is killing me.

My classes for the first semester are as follows:
• AP US History (technically not AP until the second semester)
• Pre-Calculus (Honors)
• AP English III
• AP European History.

So, it’s history, math, English, and more history. I’m afraid it is too many history and AP classes for one semester, so I’m trying to change AP Euro to a different class. I like science more than history, but there’s only one science class left to take (Anatomy and Physiology) and it doesn’t fit my schedule.

Let me back up some. This is what’s been going on in the past three weeks…

Click for full-view images.

August 14-16: JAARS Youth Group Summer Retreat

Mid-Sunday through mid-Tuesday, my brother and I (that’s us bottom-right) went to our youth group’s retreat—both of us our first. We camped at Jellystone Campground in Marion, NC, and on Monday the 15th we went hiking at a place called Linville Falls. The purpose was to meet and assimilate new people: rising freshman and those who just moved to the area. Because of my position in the YG’s service team (ACTS), I was supposed to reach out to people, which was easy because I often found myself the odd one out (some of my closest friends couldn’t make it!)

On our Thursday night meeting, some of us re-enacted our cheers—one example:
“My name is David.”
“YEAH!” (shouted by the crowd)
“I ride a moped.”
“YEAH!”
“If you don’t like it,”
“YEAH!”
“You must be sto-ped.”

(I’ll tell you mine if you don’t laugh: My name’s Alisha / I like to write. / With pen in hand, / I’ll go till midnight.)

August 18: JJ!

The days in between weekends were a blur of twice-a-day cross-country practice and volunteering at JAARS, with a few exceptions. I enjoyed a mid-morning breakfast at Stack’s with my friend, the lovely and completely non-awkward JJ. I had the most delicious walnut banana waffle with butter, syrup, whipped cream, and powdered sugar.

On Friday I went to my high school’s first football game of the year. We lost 6-8 to the county’s “loser” football team. Does that make us the new worst team? Hmm… good thing I don’t care about football. The game, to me, is a purely social event.

August 20: Whitewater Center with XC Team

This past Saturday eight people from our cross-country team went to the US National Whitewater Center. We went whitewater rafting, climbed a rock wall (for like 15 minutes), and rode a 1000-something-foot zip-line. We spent a lot of time waiting in line, but it was a fun bonding time with the team! (Friends, forgive me if you don’t like the pictures. I love them because I love you.)

Keep reading for borderline-oversharing  >>

Fitness Club

Today I did a legitimate work-out for the first time in a while. (Have you heard of bleacher miles? Running around a track, you jog up and down the steps of the bleachers three times every lap. We only did 2 miles, or 8 laps.)

I am out of running shape; it was hard! After running, we went to the strength-training room, and I haven’t been there in about a year. Let me tell you, I will likely be sore for the next week!

All of this was part of “Fitness Club” – an invention by my school’s soccer coach as a way for the soccer players (mens and womens) to stay fit in between seasons. (In fact, I was the only non-soccer player!)

I came on this day because I really wanted to get moving but that morning’s swim practice was cancelled. The pool was closed and somehow our team didn’t get the memo. We spent more than an hour driving around in the dark—this was before I got on the school bus for 50 minutes. Talk about greenhouse gases.

Anyway, some of the girls commiserated with each other about skipping workouts over Christmas break. I intentionally took those two weeks to rest, and I haven’t regretted it. One girl in particular (my friend) called herself “fat” because she gained 3 pounds since Christmas Eve, and sometimes she doesn’t enjoy holidays because it gives the chance to eat from boredom or skip exercise—the lack of structure. That struck me because I had never heard anyone say that before – except myself. I used to be afraid of holidays and even long weekends because of that same reason. You know: no one to make me eat lunch at 12:30 or run at 3:30. But I haven’t felt like that this school year!

How ironic is this: to constantly doubt your value yet be wholly obsessed with yourself? It’s a vicious cycle that I have personally experienced.What changed? I like to look at it as a result of relationships with people (and God) becoming a priority over my own self-centeredness.

These torturous cycles, like the one described in the book TrueFaced:  this is what I have slowly been breaking free from. By God’s grace, I am in a really good place. One year ago, I would be looking at my body at this point and vowing to stay away from sugar and run 6 days/week. But it’s just not all-important anymore. People do not notice when I lose or gain weight. My friends do not lose respect for me when I can’t make qualifying times or if I get sick sometimes. God does not love me any less when I fail to be passionate about Him. And that brings so much freedom.

I can do better things with my time than improving myself—for all my talk and ideas about helping others, I sure spend a lot of time focused on me!

Skip the vocabulary words “bad” and “failure” when talking about skipping workouts or gaining some weight. You aren’t sinning! You are not unacceptable!

I understand that many people can’t relate to a struggle with self-worth or problems with eating habits, but everyone has problems. These problems can dominate your life or you can seek help (through reading, praying, discussion), truth, and freedom. There is no sin that is too terrible to be forgiven. When Jesus gave himself up to die, he took our sin upon himself, enabling us to be redeemed, justified, forgiven. This is the Gospel:

Brothers, listen! We are here to proclaim that through this man Jesus there is forgiveness for your sins. Everyone who believes in him is declared right with God—something the Law of Moses could never do. Acts 13:38-39 (NLT)

This verse, a record of Paul’s instruction to Israelites (“children of Abraham”) and Gentiles—basically everyone—plainly states a behest towards Christians: to share the message of forgiveness. Following the “Law”—earning and striving for our own righteousness and salvation—will never work because we are imperfect humans. But if we humbly confess this to God and believe that “through this man Jesus there is forgiveness,” we can be saved.

Thanks for reading. To all a good night.