Meeting Meb

As you may know, this weekend I was able to meet 2014 Boston Marathon winner and Olympic Silver Medalist, Meb Keflezighi at the Columbus RunFest. Tonight my fellow MITers and I were able to interact with him on a more personal level since he so graciously attended our speed workout. No worries, he did not actually run with us. That would have been terribly embarrassing. He did, however, give us a pep talk before we tortured ourselves for over an hour on the track.

In my post on Saturday I referred to him as an "awesome American" because that is what he is. Keflezighi was the first American man to win Boston since 1983. Some would disagree. Look at his name. Look at his skin. Listen to his accent. Bullsh**, whatever, etc. Some of America's residents seem to forget that this was founded as the "land of opportunity;" home of THE dream, the American Dream. I would love to communicate Meb's story because tonight he reminded us ALL of our potential as citizens in this country, as long as we are willing to give it our all.

Meb was born in war-torn Eritrea to a family of six kids. His father walked over 125 miles to Sudan where he worked multiple odd jobs until one day he made connections with the manager of a particular company. When the manager found out that his employee had a wife and six children at home, he gave him enough money to help the entire family escape. The family moved to Italy as refugees, and tried to move to Sweden first and then Canada but were rejected from both countries. Thankfully the good ol' US of A accepted them, and they made the move when Meb was 12 years old. His father made him and his siblings study the dictionary every day since none of them could speak English very well. That is some serious dedication. To the people who complain about immigrants who do not "speak our language": Have you ever studied a dictionary or made it a goal to speak your native language properly? Have you ever thought of how it may feel to witness and escape war, starvation, or genocide to get to a country only to experience discrimination? (This was not exactly part of Meb's story. I'm just throwing it out there.)

Meb began American school as a sixth grader and excelled in sports immediately. He ended up running at UCLA (holla) and won 4 NCAA titles as well as maintaining impressive academic standards. What is so beautiful about his story is how naïve he was when he moved here. His middle school gym teacher told him he would be an Olympian, and as a twelve-year-old who had just escaped a war-torn country where there was no running water, Meb had no idea what the Olympics were. Later on in his career when he did know about the Olympics, he was debating on which distance to train for, and he did not know how long a marathon was. Sometimes I really wish I could go back to the days that I was naïve. When I moved to Ohio State from my tiny hometown, I had no expectations. I was fearless. Meb reminded me of that tonight.

He also said some really bold things for a successful athlete. The first and obvious thing is that he was a Silver medalist in 2004, not Gold. He said, "Of course I wanted Gold. That's what everyone wants. But you can't always get what you want. Sometimes you just have to do your best and that is enough." I found that particularly inspiring as a self-motivated athlete. I don't have a personal trainer or a strict diet, but I am competitive. I do not aspire to win Boston, but I would like to qualify. I do not foresee the Olympics in my future, but I would love to win a 5k. If I can achieve those things, maybe that will be enough.

And finally he narrated his Boston Marathon race and win from this past April. His story is powerful enough already, but this just topped it off. He talked about his strategy to start at the front and stay there. He talked about each mile, and how he started to become injured around mile 16. He also talked about his competitors who started catching up with him around mile 20. He said that he really wanted to win Boston for AMERICA, and asked himself leading up to the race, "What can I do for the victims [of the 2013 terrorist attacks at the finish line]? What can I do to help the USA near the anniversary of that time?" He wrote the victims names on his bib. He said that around mile 22 he didn't think he could make it, and he asked God to send the spirit of the victims through him so that he could finish strong. I thought that was pretty powerful. Most athletes make everything about themselves and their own personal strength, but when you're a runner you know every other runner has a story. Every single person who has run a marathon reports of some "divine" experience around miles 20-22 once the wall has been hit. I am so glad Meb shared his selfless story because honestly, it takes guts to share personal stories. It takes guts to discuss your spirituality with a group of runners who may not share the same beliefs as you.

What I found so refreshing about Meb Keflezighi is that he is beyond grateful, and he is not afraid to share his past. If you don't know where you're going, just remember where you've been!

"Run to overcome," and that he did. Thanks, Meb!

Confessions of a Runner: Marathon Training Week 1

It was a 31-mile week. That's right. In seven days, I cranked out 31 miles. I've been studying my training schedule, but not once did I add up weekly mileage. When I passed the 25-mile mark last night I was already surprised, but this morning's trail run put the icing on the 30+ mile cake. Sorry for that metaphor. I really want cake.

That brings me to an already noticeable difference in my body. This heavy week of mileage has already messed with my metabolism. I swear I have done nothing but eat this week. I am constantly hungry!

Mostly this week was just hard because I was mentally and physically exhausted. Actually, exhausted feels like an understatement. In my new training plan, I run for four days straight, Wednesday through Saturday, with no rest. The stretch of days starts with a speed workout on Wednesday (always the toughest) with an active recovery day, a "light day," then ends with a distance day on the trail. The Wednesday workout went so well. I ran my fastest mile since I don't know when- 7:19! Sorry, I have bragging rights! But Thursday I received some unfortunate news about the health of a loved one. Honestly, that's what made the week so hard. After hearing the news on Thursday, I pushed through my run and came home and eventually went to bed with a splitting headache that I still had when I woke up four hours later.

Both Thursday and Friday I started having my doubts. Why am I even doing this? Then two very subtle events happened that changed my attitude. First, Friday morning I went to get my allergy shot. When I was in the clinic, I stopped by the hospital café to grab some breakfast. I was grouchy because I was hungry and my legs hurt so, so bad. In fact, I was feeling discouraged because my legs were so beaten up this week. Every morning I was so sore when trying to roll out of bed. But then at the café, I ran into a young man in a wheelchair. Even though I beat him to the counter I felt like I had gotten in his way. He let me go ahead, smiling at me sweetly. Then I felt like such a jerk for being whiney about my own healthy, perfectly-working legs. That night at the Actors' Theatre performance, I encountered one of our house managers who is also in a wheelchair. She does her job just as well as anyone without a wheelchair! She was wheeling around, taking up donations and giving out fliers. Yet again, I felt like a huge baby for being so hard on myself. Those people have a "disability" (FYI, I could write a novel on how I hate to use that word) but they had the greatest attitudes. Meanwhile, I'm training for a huge, exhilarating moment in my life and all I can focus on is pain. That whipped me into shape in no time. I sucked it up and rose at 6am this morning to hit the trails with my running family by 7:00am.

The second event happened this morning, post-run, at Ethan's tee ball game. This has been the first game of his I have been able to attend, and he was super thrilled to see me there. My favorite parts of the game were when he took the plate to bat and when he ran home from third, which he got to do several times. Each time he ran home, he turned to look at our family in the stands, grinning from ear to ear. I realize this is exactly how I look when I get to see my family at a race. I smile so hard because I am overjoyed with happiness at their support of me. After the game Ethan came out of the dugout, and I congratulated him on his great game. He was so pleased with himself. He jumped up in one very excited leap and exclaimed, "I did it. I did it!" He will never know just how inspiring that was to me. His happiness is my happiness. His accomplishment and pride brought me an ecstatic happiness that I could not receive from anyone else. This is what I want to do with my marathon. It is ultimately a journey that I want to share with my family. I also want them to feel proud and accomplished when I cross the finish line. It may be my journey, but I could not have started if it weren't for my family.

Week 1 of training has been strenuous already, and I know I have a long, hard road ahead. But thanks to some strangers and a three year old, I feel freshly motivated and ready to take week two. That's my plan. To take it one week at a time, but always keep the finish line in the back of my mind.

Role Model, Not a Supermodel

Since I’ve been in my twenties, I have put a lot of thought into how I interact with children, especially young girls. In the past seven years I have volunteered at Bible schools, instructed band camps, and coached a middle school track team. As scary as it is, I do realize that little girls look up to me. I am not an angel, and I don’t strive to be; however, I do want to be a good role model for kids since I know I have no choice, especially when I am instructing them. They learn by example, and I have come to learn that I need to be that example.

Which brings me to my attitude toward growing girls. There is nothing more delightful than a child who has not been tainted by the evils of the world yet, especially the body image world. Ethan, my three-year-old cousin, has helped me learn so much about myself by seeing through his innocent eyes. When I interact with young girls, instinctually I want to babble on about just how pretty they are; “Hi, pretty girl!” “Happy birthday, gorgeous!” etc. But I resist the urge. They hear that enough. And it’s not that I don’t believe in giving compliments. I find a lot of joy in letting my friends know how beautiful they are. When I compliment a little girl, I try to focus my positive energy on something other than how she looks. She has been told numerous times how cute she looks in her flouncy dress, but has anyone told her she has a unique and charming taste in fashion? I’m sure the word “darling” has been used to describe her 78978454 times, but not daring or bold or brave.

I do believe that all children should occasionally be reminded of their inner (and outer) beauty, but honestly, when you tell a child over and over that she is pretty and focus only on the physical, she is likely to grow into an adult who expects the same compliments and attention. Speaking from the adult point of view, I do enjoy a good compliment (even though I will usually argue with every word you say..it’s something I’m working on), but I don’t expect someone to bow down to me and call me stunning on a daily basis. I’m not freaking Kate Middleton. I’m Jamie Bailey. I’m much cooler.

Reflecting on my childhood, do you know what I do remember? The fact that as a six year old I aspired to be a doctor. Not only a doctor, but THE one who created the pill to make you live forever. My back-up plan was playing in the WNBA. No big deal. I also remember winning the Young Writer’s Award at my elementary school when I was in the second grade for writing a story about a girl who went to the circus. (I hadn’t even been to a circus yet!) I remember getting my award and being treated to lunch by my school principal, a woman I respected. Those are the memories that mean the most to me.  Yeah, I have vague memories of people ranting and raving about how cute I was at church and in weddings and at piano recitals. But those are vague. My memory of my writing award is vivid.

 

I am just thankful that I did not grow up (aka hit puberty) in the age of social media. What a painful time that would have been. Facebook/Instagram/Twitter are bad enough, but now we have to factor in all the special days of the week: WCW (Woman Crush Wednesday*), MCM (Man Crush Monday), Throwback Thursday (AKA the day of the week everyone posts a picture of themselves in which they look really hot. It could have been just last week or two days ago, but damn it, it’s an excuse for a “throwback").  And don’t forget the TBH (To be honest) and “Rate” posts where kids give the other a rating, typically based on physical appearance and their likelihood of dating the subject. I know several kids who are younger than the age of ten who have these accounts, and I already worry about what this does to their confidence.

So the last thing I do is rave about how pretty one of my runners is, even if she is. I don’t coo about my young flutist’s appearance, even if she is absolutely beautiful. There will come a time, when I am no longer her teacher, when I will let them know of those feelings. But now, as I am their role model, I want them to know that they are capable, strong, smart, and especially a wonderful student of whatever it is that I am teaching them.

*Woman Crush Wednesday makes absolutely no sense to me when a male posts a picture of his crush. Unfortunately we are still in the day and age that it is assumed that you are a heterosexual male; therefore posting a photo of your crush can happen any day of the week, not just Wednesdays. WCW is for presumably heterosexual females to post a photo of their crushes and not appear to be “gay.” Same goes for girls and MCMs.

Save Yourself

I am the poster child when it comes to frustration. I get frustrated with people, situations, and even myself. But I had an epiphany this evening. I get frustrated the most with people who refuse to be saved. You can take this many ways. Saved  from Satan, from an eating disorder, from an abusive relationship, from an addiction. I just get so annoyed because I have once been in a few (not all, Praise God) of the previous situations. I have been, and still am, a sinner. I have had an eating disorder, and I am in recovery despite the fact that I still have “bad” days. Being saved from all of the above is not so simple, but it all starts with one thing: a decision.

Here is a simpler analogy: I love to travel. I desire to travel everywhere, and I’m itching to get outta this country once more, or.. at least to the West Coast. I understand that’s not something that everyone wants. But when I share my stories, my adventures, people escape for a moment. For a moment, the audience, be it my grandparents or a room full of friends, are on that adventure with me. And it sounds fun to them! Soooo why don’t you want it for yourself? Do you think you’re undeserving? Not bold enough? I just want to say, “Like, what’s the issue?”

Which… Is exactly why I get so frustrated with others. For a long time, I spent my life in such a dark place of hatred and anger. At the time it was not particularly easy to see the “light.” But one day I had enough. I was tired of starving myself. I was tired of hating every part of myself. After a long road of living with my own unhappiness, I realized that I had enough, and that my confidence had literally dissolved. I was going nowhere. I actually believe that my relationship with God is what saved me from my disorders. He loved me when I hated myself. I am so thankful that long before one simple decision to save my body that I had made another simple decision that saved my soul.

That’s how I feel about aforementioned burdens. It’s such a simple decision, but certainly not an easy process. But do you know what that simple decision holds? Promise. Promise for eternal life and love if you accept Jesus Christ into your heart. A healthier, fuller future if you choose recovery from an eating disorder or an addiction. A happier, more independent road if you choose to free yourself from an abusive relationship.

I know that people of all faiths and walks of life read this blog. I’m not telling you what to do because quite frankly, I can’t save you. You can only save yourself. What I am telling you is that if you’re struggling right now, I beg you to consider these simple decisions. What do you want? Make that decision and tell someone, and the rest will fall into place.

The Perfect Diet: What will you lose when you learn how to properly stay “hungry?”

I wish that actual published magazines would advertise tips like the following that are infinitely more beneficial to our health, happiness, and quality of life. On that note, I would like to add that I would rather obsess over movies, glasses, and running shoes than food. I would rather be described as bold, fierce, hilarious or kind than skinny. If you’re with me, this diet is perfect for you!

I have the perfect diet to help you lose pounds… of burdens, fears, unhappiness, and it all boils down to staying hungry! For life that is. ;) When I say “stay hungry,” I mean, don’t ever be content; don’t settle. There is always room for a little improvement; whether that is education, experience or growth! When you stay hungry this is what you will lose: insecurities. Your growth and change will make you feel invincible. That comes in handy when you encounter those sprinkles of hardship too. Your boredom will shrink and practically melt off when you adhere by this menu! Your productivity and energy levels will rise because you are burning off all those extra doubts. However there will be TEMPTATIONS in this diet. You will be tempted by negativity, and you will want to make decisions based upon other people and not your own feelings. You will be tempted by laziness, but when you finally pull through you will realize it was all worth it. Here is the perfect recipe for staying hungry:

A lot of charity

It kills me to see perfectly capable people waste their time and talents by being indifferent about a cause they claim to “care” about. Something as simple as running (OR walking) a 5k can raise great awareness AND funds for said cause. I suggest 5Ks because I’m a runner, but there are so many other types of charity events out there: fashion shows, dances, car shows. Pick one or have one yourself!

In the past, I’ve helped to coordinate the Columbus NEDA Walk. That is a little different because I had a whole organization planning and preparing with me. More recently I’ve taken on a carwash/bake sale for the American Cancer Society, and although I have familial and local support, it’s still scary because it was my brainchild; my idea; my planning. It could be huge. It could also be a failure. And let me sum up how I feel about that in an illustration of my favorite Lana Del Rey lyric:

(exhibit A)

A burst of confidence

Speaking of trying, I love a good leap of faith. Recently, my bff beasted her graduate school applications with acceptance into many top-notch schools, but namely the good ol’ Harvard. I had no doubt that she would do well; she’s a hard worker, organized, and goal-oriented. But do you think she would have applied if she didn’t have an inkling of hope that she would succeed? I am so happy to be friends with such a deserving and brave individual. I am so glad she went for it! I hate to think of others who do not “apply” themselves because they’re afraid of failure. Again, if you experience this failure, see exhibit A. Oh and try, try again.

A pinch of contentment

Stay content long enough to long for adventure again! Contentment leads to that indifference I was speaking about earlier.

A sprinkle of hardship

I don’t actually wish you smooth sailing because then you would be spoiled and much less compassionate. I have grown to be thankful for all the bad situations I have encountered because without the struggle, there would be no victory. And the good times wouldn’t be nearly as sweet!

A spark of anger
While you shouldn't be angry all the time, I hope you have just enough anger so that a fire is lit under your rear and motivates you to take care of business! As Tina Fey says, "Bitches get stuff done." And that is correct.

Discomfort

If you don’t leave your comfort zone at least once every month-ish, then you’re not even giving yourself a chance to grow. Comfort is different for all of us; therefore being uncomfortable also has different meanings. For some, hopping on a plane and flying to Norway would make them uncomfortable. For me, that would be freaking awesome, let’s go! For others, simply approaching a stranger may cause discomfort. Maybe singing at karaoke sounds horrifying to you. Personally, wearing a bikini is kind of disconcerting, especially after my little wardrobe malfunction on vacation last year, but I do it. What am I going to do? Cover up because I’m afraid people are judging me? Am I going to wear a wetsuit for the rest of my vacations? I still have “fears” that my eating disorder tricked me into thinking I have, but I know that if I don’t face my discomforts, that I am not really healing anymore.

Silliness

Enough said.

Stay hungry, my friends!

 

I Had No Idea

I Had No Idea

that what I was doing was self destructive. I thought that it was normal to record every detail of every meal I ate into a calorie diary. I thought it was normal to eventually reduce my diet to a bagel in the morning, a smoothie in the afternoon.. I thought it was okay to calculate the number of calories I consumed so that I could go to the gym for hours to work it off.

I had no idea that I had anorexic habits until I moved to college.

My bad habits began when I was a junior in high school. I was a perfectionist. I had to be the best at everything. I had to be at the top of my class, president of everything, and queen of everything musical. My eating habits appeared to be normal because I was always on the move. I was rarely at home, and I was seventeen. I fainted in the band bleachers at a football game toward the end of my junior season, and somebody had to go get my mom so that she could take me home. The fainting at that point was from "anxiety" according to the doctor. Not that I was 5'8" and less than one hundred pounds. That year I was given a pill to take when I felt "anxious." Thankfully I thought that was a load of bull, so I never took the pill.

The next year, my senior year, I felt more pressure than ever to be perfect. I was applying to college, schools my friends were not applying to. As I received acceptance letter upon acceptance letter, I felt more pressure to make the right choice. After visiting twice, I fell in love with the architecture program at Ohio State, and accepted the invitation to attend and participate in the Architecture Scholars Program. In the meantime, I sought after first chair flute in the District 17 Honor Band while trying to choose the most outstanding solo piano piece for my final recital. I was attending practice for "The Wizard of Oz" while also participating in our high school's variety show and preparing for auditions for a summer musical. Looking back, I literally don't know how I didn't implode with stress. I had no idea. I thought that was normal.

When I got to Ohio State, my hatred for food grew to the extremes. I was in a new environment with no one to supervise my habits. I began to reduce and reduce my food intake. When I did indulge, I hated myself. My family would visit and take me to dinner, and when the damage was done I would cry about it. My self confidence was at its lowest despite my typically upbeat attitude. I owe that to the great friends that I made in the Scholars program.

I realized that my obsessive behavior was destroying me when I attended a FYE (First Year Experience) class about eating disorders. Every single characteristic applied to me. When the instructor asked the class to write down ten things I liked about myself, I could not come up with one. I was ashamed of my body. My self.

I had no idea that I was so unhealthy.

And neither do thousands of other young women and men like me. These behaviors are normalized by radical diets, unrealistic photoshopping, the ever-thinning models on the runway and in magazines. And those examples are only the beginning. We internalize the need to become smaller. To take up less space. To disappear.

That's why I am here. To raise awareness of this nasty mental illness that consumes the beautiful minds of so many women and men. Eating disorders do not discriminate. They effect people of all sexes, races, religions, socioeconomic positions. If you are struggling, I urge you to tell someone. In the beginning, I was scared. Only a few people knew. But the more I share my story, the stronger I feel. Having an eating disorder does not make you weak. You are stronger than the disorder.

I pray you find the peace that you deserve.

It's Thanksgiving, bros.

My wish with this list is to comically relieve you of the seriousness the holiday season brings. ;) I kept a list this week of things I am thankful for, but no. No, no. Not a sappy list of the people I love (I think that's pretty obvious). I wanted to provide a list of unconventional blessings; and thus this list was born. I hope you have a blessed and hopefully hilarious Thanksgiving!

I am thankful for... (in no particular order)

ice cream

sunshine (when I get to see it)

smiles- smiling is my favorite.

my goofy, hilarious and extremely vulgar co-workers. One day I randomly revealed this thought to the office: "Isn't the concept of having a pet dog really bizarre? We could choose to domesticate any animal. We could have pet squirrels. And we choose dogs only." After our regional manager stared at me for a few seconds, she responds to my epiphany, "You're f***ing f***ed in the head, man." Needless to say, I stood in her office and cried... from laughter. 

shrimp

Bailey's- Not only does it make my last name seem cooler, but it also promotes under-the-table alcoholism (i.e. Bailey's in your coffee).

kind souls- I'm a sucker for a kind soul.

little kids in glasses- also a sucker for little kids in glasses.

my cat

Harry Potter

Led Zeppelin

anger management- Even though I've never been (although it's been suggested), I can always use it in a sentence and scare the pants off of people. "I didn't go to anger management for this." It's believable and terrifying.

Tina Fey

long-sleeved t-shirts

rainy nights- Since I already cannot/do not sleep, rain on the roof ca. 12am is like an actual lullaby from God.

Les Miserables- Specifically "I Dreamed a Dream." Singing/crying to that song in my car makes for some hilarious therapy. No matter how sucky your life may be, you're still not a French prostitute.

Beastie Boys (in the morning)

David Bowie (at night)

Random dogs that come into my office.

my intense hearing- If my senses weren't always heightened, I wouldn't ever have caught my neighbor outside in his underwear, throwing a pumpkin shot-put style.

delirious laughter- There is nothing as hilarious as the feeling of laughing when you have no idea why you are (hunger, sleep deprivation. I usually experience a combination of both. Ahem... ARCHITECTURE SCHOOL).

inappropriate laughter- Okay actually there is nothing as hilarious as laughing when you know you shouldn't be. 

The British Invasion- If these artists didn't storm the US, I would have no identity.

Disney

The weirdos on High Street who cause me to run faster (to get away from them).

Chuck Taylors

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, YA'LL! <3 font="">