What I Learned All Inclusive

So, this past week DH and I packed up and went to Mexico for our first ever take-a-plane vacation together, house hunting trips not withstanding.

And if you follow on Facebook, (which you should, if you don’t.  It’s all kinds of fun) you saw that.  I’m sure you were absolutely spellbound by my instagram pictures of feet at the beach.

There was sand, sun and a wedding.  Actually, there were about 2 weddings a day at the resort, but the one I was there for was to stand with my new sister and brother on their big day. 

And it was lovely.

Dh and I were honoured to be a part and blessed to have just been there.

And my new sister?  Ah-mazing.

While there, Dh and I got some time to just… talk.  And share things that we think about during our days and then forget in the homework, lunches, dances classes, MMA sessions and bedtimes.  And they never actually get expressed to each other.  Even though we really, really intended to say them.

I got to try and verbalize my hope for Dh these next few years at this job.  And he got to really hear it.  And that?  That’s a whole other post that may never be written.

But also got to do the same for me,  and my tears came as soon as the first words left his mouth (current time of the month not withstanding).

“You’re 31.  And I’ve known you almost 2 decades.  I want you to finally realize who you are and care as much about her as I do.”

I mean…. who SAYS that outside of a romantic comedy?

So I did what any sane person would do. 
I argued. 
And said I knew exactly who I was, I’m a big girl darn it! 
And he sighed. 
And I moved on to much more important things, like finished telling him MY insights on HIS life.  Because I’m a frickin’ genius, so he should listen up…..

And vacation went on.

We were in Mexico 7 days. 

6 of those days, I ran.

I ran 2km or 6km, on the beach or on the treadmill. 
But almost every day on vacation…..  I ran.

I’ve been running now almost 5 years.  Reluctantly, than begrudgingly, than eventually, with acceptance.  Until I started running because I wanted to instead of because I knew I should.

I’ve woken up at 4:30 to lace up my sneakers before Dh had to go to work. 
I’ve ran in snow, ice, rain, life sucking humidity and snot dripping cold.

I’ve ran in the mountains in BC.  I’ve ran the trails in my old hometown.  I’ve ran sidewalks and highways and river valleys.  I’ve ran on hotel treadmills everywhere from here to our last post 4000km away.  And now, I’ve ran on beaches in foreign countries.

I’ve ran because I was training and knew I should.
I’ve ran because I wanted to lose weight. 
I’ve ran because I wanted more ribs.
I’ve ran because my friends have pressured me into it.
I’ve ran because I pressured my friends into it. 
I’ve ran because I needed to get out of the house.

I’ve ran because I couldn’t think anywhere else.

And I’d tell you

“I attempt to run”

“I kind of run”

“Sometimes I run”

But I would never, never say I am a runner.

If you asked, if you said to me ‘so…. you’re a runner?’

I’d say ‘well….. I run I guess.But I’m not really a runner’

Because runners run farther than me.


Because runners run faster than me.


Because runners are thinner than me.

Because runners have better form and better shoes and win races (or at least run them…..) and look like runners.

Because if I called myself a runner I would be setting myself up for someone to tell me I’m not good enough to be one.

Apparently…. Dh might have been on to something. (Shhhh…. )

I am a lot of things that I can admit because they don’t require me to prove anything.

I am a wife.  A mother.  A daugter.  A sister.

But admitting I am things that others might scoff at?  That others might cut down or tell me I am not good enough to be?  

I can’t seem to do that.

My last day of vacation, I got up at 5:30 am and went down to the beach and I ran.  

In my running shorts and sports bra.  Because it was hot.  And it wasn’t about who could see me in my imperfection.

It was about letting myself admit something.

5 years ago when my Jesus Freak dragged me out the door every week, when I cried my way across the finish line of my first 5k at over 45 minutes, sure I might throw up….

I was already a runner.

This past spring when my Jesus Freak held my hand across a half marathon in under 2 hours.

I was a runner.

And this past weekend, when I  signed up for a 5k race at the last minute and came in with a PR of 25 min and even got a bronze medal…

I was a runner.

Thing is, I don’t have to be the fastest or the thinnest.  I don’t have to run
the farthest or own all the right gear.   I don’t even have to totally
understand what running a negative split means.

I just have to run.


I am a runner.

Regardless of how I look or how far I go or what stage in training I am, or even if I’m not training for anything at all. 

The weeks I run every single day and just as much as the first day I walked out the door with my running shoes on. 

I am a runner.

And if I want to run on the beach concerned about what will be most comfortable to run in regardless of what jiggles or what doesn’t…

I am a runner.

And that right there, at sunrise in short shorts on a beach near Cancun, is the first step of my journey.

photo from pinterest

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