I’m looking at 10 impressive medals laid out in a row on my desk.  They mean nothing and everything, all at the same time.  Hunks of metal and ribbons I essentially paid for with my race-entry fees, but each one holds a story of courage and determination and, so far, the pride of a new personal record that took me by surprise every time. 

What am I capable of?

While I still care too much about what people think of me, my self-worth is no longer defined by anyone outside of myself.  I appreciate compliments.  I can process constructive criticism (sometimes).  But the only opinion that really matters is mine.  I’m the one who has to lie down at the end of the day and run through the mental checklist.  If I know I haven’t done my very best, then it just wasn’t good enough.

And this running thing is presenting a whole new measuring stick.  I never knew I could do that.  I didn’t. 

What else can I do if I can let go of the Fear?

One stubborn issue I can’t seem to resolve is about my body.  I’m so nervous about getting down to my ideal weight.  I think I have some decent-looking muscles hiding under a layer of protective ick that just doesn’t want to go away.  Or maybe I don’t want it to go away.  I don’t mind the number on the scale, but seeing myself in the mirror every morning with the ick is like trying to read fine print in a dimly lit room without my reading glasses.  The fuzzy stuff gets in the way of the basic black and white.  I’m still not looking clearly at me.  

Why can’t I let go?

I’m going to begin to apply the same open-to-Love principle that I’m experiencing with other parts of my life to my weight issue.  Well, I’m going to try.  Fear less.  Love more.  Let go.  Be… Lisa.

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