I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m not lost

Looking at the date of my last blog post makes me sad. I can’t believe I just put down my pen and walked away for three long years.

I was hiking (by myself) last week, and realized that I had no idea where I was. I looked around, found the trail markers, and just kept putting one foot in front of the other until I got someplace familiar. I might not have known where I was, but I knew I wasn’t lost. That seemed like a very real description for my life right now.

Not long after that last blog post, I had a pretty significant injury that derailed running or even walking for a bit. Every time I thought I was better and ready to hit it again, that injury, or a related one hit me again. And, I’ll admit, it kind of sent me into a spiral. Couple no exercise with a busy (and sometimes stressful) life, and it’s not long before anxiety and depression come riding up on their infernal black clouds. And set up camp.

Needless to say, those black clouds brought on weight gain and lethargy, which made getting back to daily exercise seem like a hill I couldn’t climb. No movement and iffy nutrition led to thirty pounds and a Type 2 diabetic diagnosis.

2019 has been about taking back my life. Ten months in, but I finally feel like I’m making progress.I’m eating well, moving regularly, and taking care of my mental health again. Baby steps, but in the right direction. My A1C has dropped to a normal level, and my energy is back up and motivating me to move.

Regaining my mental health rests not just in the movement of my feet, but in picking that proverbial pen back up and writing again. I probably won’t be sharing this to my other social media feeds for a while, but I might after I’ve dusted off my computer and worked some of the soreness out of my writing muscles. We’ll see how it goes. This feels very raw to me, and not something I normally share, but it also feels necessary.

I don’t know where I’m headed, but I’m definitely on the right road. I hope running again lies in the not too distant future, but I’ll take walking and hiking right now. I just have to keep reminding myself that I am Here now and to be present in this moment. There’s a lot to be learned Here, and it’s time I started paying attention.

Are you an Old Broad?

You may or may not have noticed a recent name change on the blog.  For the last several years, this blog has been titled “Faith and Fitness at 50”.  I started this blog several years ago as an accountability journal when I was training for the NYC marathon, and quickly realized that writing was as much a part of me as running, so I continued after the race.

Fast forward a couple of years, and I realized that eventually Faith and Fitness would be 60, so I decided to rename the blog now, and do the upgrades required.  I’ve called myself an “old broad” since before I was actually one chronologically, so that was the obvious choice.  The new blog address is oldbroadsrun.net, but never fear, you can still get there from the old url, as well. If you’re a follower (and if you’re not, what’s wrong with you?), you followed me right on over to the new web address (thanks to an extended phone call with my friend and mentor, Steve Kozak).

I thought I would give a little characterization of who exactly qualifies as “Old Broads,” because you may be one and not even know it.

Old Broads…

… are not defined by a chronological age.  You may be a 30 year old and celebrate many of these qualities.

 don’t take themselves too seriously.  I realized a few months ago that I had truly achieved “Old Broad” status after cooking a meal of lamb chops for my family for the first time.  Lamb chops really aren’t Southern staples.  After carefully cleaning his plate, my man brought it to me in the kitchen where I was cleaning and said, “Thank you for supper, I enjoyed it.  Now, please never cook that again.”  A comment that, in my youth,  would have inspired gallons of tears, multiple slamming doors, broken dishes, and a three day sulk.  This time it just cracked me up.  And, I haven’t fixed them again. Although,  he may get them for Valentine’s Day.  😉

… don’t care if you see them without their “face” on.  I ran in the rain this drizzly morning with no hat and no make-up, then went into the bank and the grocery store unashamed.  I am who I am, and I know that when I do clean up, I clean up well.  I don’t really care if you know it or not.

… are active. Not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually, as well.  We’re always seeking our best life, for ourselves and our loved ones.

… are good listeners.  Okay, I’m working on that one.

… accept the inevitable signs of aging with grace and equanimity.  I sometimes look in the mirror in the morning and see my grandmother.  Not her 52 year old self, whose skin rivaled any 20 year old’s, but her 80 year old self.  With Medusa hair.  But, with a little work, my Fleur de vie skin care, and some imagination, I tame the beasts and go about my day.  I remind myself that all those wrinkles, sags, and bags represent a life well lived.

… use their life experiences to learn.  I pray that every trial I face, every time I stumble and fall, each triumph over loss enables me to file away a little nugget of truth.  That I use all my years of experiences to fill me with wit and wisdom, and that I’m unafraid to share that wisdom with those who need it.  I pray that God brings people in my path who can teach me and who are willing to learn from me.  People who will inspire and encourage me, and those that I can motivate, as well.

I pray that I become an Old Broad who leaves the world a little better than she found it.   I’m humbly thankful for the opportunity to become that old broad.

age of heart