Distance: 3.28 miles
(I will be posting daily stats from my walks (competing with myself for better time etc...the data comes from the Nike+ app on my iPod.)
When I awoke this morning to the soft gurgling and chirping of my "nature" alarm, I began defeating myself.
My head hurts, there is no way I can make it around the loop.
I'm too tired, I need rest.
Emma is really still too little to make that long trip.
My feet hurt.
My knees hurt.
There is too much for me to do around here to take off walking...
And then, that familiar feeling of captivity overtook me and I had a choice to make. Do I stay here and make excuses, or do I get my butt up, put on my tennis shoes and hit the pavement...I mean the dirt? My mental struggle was much more painful than the physical act of getting out and doing the thing. I've always been told that the hardest part of any job is just getting started. Once I was out and walking, all was fine. By the by, Emma made the whole loop, except for the last quarter mile when she started putting on the brakes and looking up at me with those pleading eyes as if to say "mommy, I can walk anymore. My feet hurt. I'm just a baby for crying out loud". So, I carried her the last little bit. I may need to get one of those baby carrier things, you know the kind mothers carry their newborns in. But, I may risk institutionalization.
While on my walk I thought about a lot of things. I am re-listening to Beth Moore's Breaking Free bible study which is very helpful in supporting my thought process as I begin to break myself free. I started thinking what captivity has meant to me, how I really don't have a thing in the world to complain about so why am I being such a baby. What would a person who has to loose 130 pounds think of my 32 pounds? They would want to choke me unconscious. What would a hoarder think of my plight to clean out my underwear drawer and organize my kitchen cabinets? They would probably think I was a snotty little do-gooder. What would a prostitute think of my guilt over not reading my bible daily? Probably that I have no idea what guilt really is. Or, what would an alcoholic think of me setting down my wine glass in the evenings to help with my weight loss? Bi%*ch!!
Then it occurred to me. Prison is prison. Captivity is captivity. Whether your prison cell is a dungeon or a room with a view, if you're stuck, you're stuck. Chains can be heavy or light but they are still chains and you still ain't going nowhere sister. You can wallpaper your pit and dress it up to look like the Ritz Carlton but, in the light of day, your still in a pit. I figured all my doubt about what level of captive I was, was just another way into self-defeatism. So I quit thinking about what others might think. I have to remind myself to do that often.
This is my struggle, it is my journey. While I may have less road to travel than others, I've still got to travel it. If I sit and think, "it's not so bad, I can keep living this way" then I'll never go anywhere, I'll never be what God wants me to be. My heart almost bursts when I hear a story of someone overcoming insurmountable circumstances. Those stories of people who have lost hundreds of pounds. The ones who have become sober after a life-long dependancy on alcohol. People who were prisoners in their own homes because of hoarding and have freed themselves from that bondage. The stories of drug addicted teens getting clean and becoming a voice and a mentor to save others from the same fate. Those people born with deformed and mangled bodies who do miraculous things, never letting their limits stop them from unparalleled triumphs. I must choose to be thankful that my limits are minimal and my pit is shallow. Even those little victories can be life-changing. Even my journey is significant, because I'm the one who must walk it. I'll throw off these shackles and dance before God and praise him for the glorious chance to be what He needs me to be.