As my recent posts explain, the current phase of my own personal recovery from anorexia involves accepting not only my new body, but the person that lives inside it day in and day out. It's now about owning who I am, what I look like, and what I set as priorities in my life. Regardless of the size I am or how much weight I gain or lose, what's living within will remain the same. So it's time to learn to love it.
During this phase and with the help of the unconditional love and support of some key people in my life I have arrived at a place in which I am no longer apologetic for the person I truly am.
I have, many times in my life, apologized for being intense, driven, or aggressive. I have, at times, bit my tongue, held back, or downplayed my competitive nature. I felt as though these qualities somehow eclipsed other, more "positive" characteristics; that I could not be a caring, sweet, loyal person while simultaneously chasing my goals with focus and determination. Seeing these firey aspects of my personality often led me to hate who I was; why could I not just be nice and passive and content?
Well, thanks to this latter "phase" of recovery, I can now own what's actually living in this body. No more apologies. Love it or hate it, I am aggressive. Driven. Intense.
I am also loyal, genuine, and caring. I do not climb over others to get where I want to go. I respect people, and my competitiveness rarely leaves victims lying in the dust I kick up as I take off towards what I want. I'm the first to celebrate the success of others, and I get a rewarding thrill from igniting fire in others and watching them achieve despite obstacles.
So, yes, it is possible to be both.
I ran another half marathon this past weekend (not surprising). I love the half marathon distance, and have ever since I started running a little over a year ago. In fact, my first race ever was a half marathon- quite a reflection of my personality, as most runners start with shorter races and add distance over time.
I will admit that after running my first full (26.2 mile) marathon back in March (and while injured, mind you), my motivation took a nosedive. I had achieved The Goal of running a full marathon, and I no longer felt like the only runner who had yet to cut that notch into the imaginary belt some of us runners feel like we wear when asked "so...what distances have you done?". I worked through some trying running-related experiences in the months following my first marathon: horrible training runs, residual pain from injuries trying to heal, and an overall lack of motivation that, at times, actually kept me off the roads.
But as yesterday's race approached, my natural and innate passion for competition started to creep back up. I really, truly have fun when I run. However, I have also never been one to back down from an opportunity to achieve a goal. This race was no exception, and as much as I tried to push down my natural aggression and desire to kick some ass, the more that flame sparked and grew.
This inner battle between my natural inclination towards achievement and my self-imposed "put-a-lid-on-it" restraint (often self-imposed after someone has criticized me for being "too much" or "too competitive") is what confirms to me that: 1. yes, there is some kind of bizarre fire in me 2. I do not know where it comes from, and 3. I need to embrace it, feed it, and tap into it without apology.
Like so many experiences in my life as of late, I approached yesterday's half marathon using the new approach my team has taught me: be the most authentic version of myself and don't apologize for it.
I wanted to run a kick ass race. I wanted to push it and crush my goal. I wanted to experience a high at the finish line. So I f%&k-ing did.
I ran that race in a zone, and did not look around. I sprinted down the downhill portions to bag time for the inclines. I passed people left and right and sprinted straight through 13.1 miles, motivated by the kind of pure determination and aggression I can tap into when I really, really want something. And I ran those 13.1 miles in one hour, 52 minutes: a goal I didn't think I could reach until the end of this summer.
And the result was one of those great moments I draw strength from: the high I gain not from the achievement, but from knowing I was 100% myself and resisted the urge to "temper" my true self. I wanted to run an aggressive, exhilarating race. I did not care if anyone viewed me as overly competitive, overly focused, or putting energy into something relatively "meaningless". It felt right to me. So I went with it.
When I stopped trying to talk myself out of what felt right to me, I got to experience the amazing high that comes from putting everything I had into a two hour run.
When I stopped trying to talk myself out of what felt right to me... I started to recover from anorexia. From self-destruction. From self-hate.
Almost the second I crossed the line, however, the switch flipped. I had friends running the race too, and my thoughts immediately shifted to them, their successes, their celebrations. Yeah, I can be a raging, narrowly focused beast ("Badger", as my friends call it) when I want something. But I can love like hell too and the most aggressive version of my inner beast is reserved for those who mess with the people who have proved their loyalty to me and stand with me through triumphs and failures. Ultimately, sharing our successes with those we love produces the ultimate "win".
I am never going to qualify for the Olympics or put my job aside to play sports for a living. At the end of the day, competition is just a hobby, an outlet for my energy and intensity. Some may view my approach to life as too intense, and that's okay. After spending the last year learning to embrace my genuine self, I can now see that this determination can be used for good (turning dreams into realities) or bad (starving myself in pursuit of perfection).
Either way, the fire is there. It is part of me, and it's been given to me for a reason. It just took this recovery process to accept that it exists as part of my nature, to harness its power, and to use it to get what I want out of life and not destroy myself instead.
We are just not meant to "put a lid on it". Rather, we are challenged to open up, go for what we want, and put it out there for the world to see. A lot of energy exists under the pressure of that lid.
Unleashing it can help us overcome insecurities, experience memorable highs, and develop the confidence to be who we really are...not who others want us to be.
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