Angela is one of my very favorite people on the entire internet, and I’ve barely spoken to her. We met briefly at Blissdom last year, but it wasn’t until after the conference that we really connected. I’m so excited to see her at Blissdom again this month, to chat with her for real (and maybe dance?) and definitely add some color to the crowd..

Angela writes at her blog Jumping With My Fingers Crossed and her husband and her four kids (three boys and a super girl). She is hilarious and sweet and anawesome vlogger and member of MomPulse (so jealous of that…I’m totally picking your brain in Dallas, Angela!). She is NOT a Pinterest Poser. She’s also one of our regular #iPPPers, linking up last most of the time, so I hope you’re not missing her weekly “What I Know This Week” posts. She is also a fellow mama to a child with Celiac Disease.

If you don’t know Angela, I truly think you’re missing out. Thank you so much for being here today, Angela!

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I was never a runner.  I thought I would always never be runner.  Until I became a runner, but I had no idea what that really meant.

When I was a teenager someone told me I ran “funny.”  It stuck.  When I was in college someone told me I ran like Phoebe on Friends.  Do you remember that?  It’s all arms-up-in-the-air-like-you-just-don’t-care kind of running.  It stuck (but I kind of liked that comparison).
 
After the birth of my third child, I devoted myself to becoming healthier.  I ate healthier foods and started running.  But I wasn’t a runner, I still believed that.  I was embarrassed.  I didn’t want anyone to see me run.  Before my husband left for work, I would set the alarm for 5 a.m. and run in the dark.  One mile, then two, then three.
 
Finally I decided I could run in the daylight, where people might um, gasp, see me.  But I refused to run in shorts.  No one needed to see that.  So I ran and ran and ran, with my bad form and long pants.  And it felt good, but I still wasn’t a real runner in my mind.
 
Then I ran my first 5K. Every mother should run a 5K.  So much of our days as mothers is spent thanklessly cleaning up spills, wiping bottoms, breaking up fights, protecting, reminding, lecturing, scheduling, teaching, supporting, caring, hugging, cheering up, reading to, picking up toys, picking up our kids and so much more.
I never thought I'd be a runner.

I never thought I’d be a runner.

 
“The whole martyrdom of motherhood is real,” I told my husband the other day.  “Because a lot of this job sucks.”  No one cheers us on from the sidelines.  No one holds a sign up saying “Go girl!”  But they do at a 5K.  Crowds of strangers clap for you and yell “you can do it” as you run by.  When you cross the finish line you just might get your name announced and your picture taken.  And a medal.
 
After the 5K, I started thinking maybe I am a runner.
 
Running became my lifeline.  I ate up the praise, but I also enjoyed the peace and solitude that came with running.  Not to mention, I was and still am a firm believer in the runner’s high and how it acts as a real anti-depressant. Just like Forrest Gump, I ran and ran and ran.  I ended up running more 5Ks, 10Ks, half-marathons and eventually a marathon.
 
Running was my part-time job and I was being paid in confidence and self-assuredness, not to mention good health.
 
After my marathon, I finally considered myself a runner.  I put the 26.2 sticker on my minivan and even included “I’m a runner” in the  description of myself on Twitter.  I was legit.
 
I expected to be a runner forever.  Maybe even go on the lecture circuit inspiring other women with funny looking strides to get running.  Not only was I a mother runner, I was like an expert mother runner.
 

I'm a Mother Runner.

I’m a Mother Runner.

But then life happened.  My kids’ schedules made it harder to get long runs in, one of us always seemed to be sick with something, I was staying up later trying to get alone time which made getting up early to run difficult.  I started gaining weight and losing confidence.  Life got stressful because of financial worries and I drank more wine because it was cheap and a quick fix.
 
My body was aching in places it hadn’t before.  I wasn’t stretching.  I was pushing myself.  Running, my lifeline, was becoming more difficult and unmanaged, just like my life.  Yup, I went there, the whole running is a metaphor for life.  Because it is.
 
Running is about control and lack of it.  Running is about being patient and kind to yourself.  Running is about sticking with goals and hard work.  Running is sometimes the best thing you’ll ever do and sometimes the most painful.
 
I consider running more like a metaphor for mothering.  Just when you think you have a race figured out you pull a muscle; like when you puff your chest out with pride because you conquered your toddler’s tantrums then they suddenly start this weird separation anxiety you did not see coming.  Or when your tween is rolling their eyes with annoyance like you are the stupidest person in the whole entire world, you may not be so in love with the job of mothering.  But deep down, you know if you stick with this kid and believe in them they’ll thank you in 15 years.  It’s a long process this whole motherhood, sort of like a marathon.  Just like running, if you don’t stretch and listen to your body and take a break when you need it, you will burn out and maybe injure yourself (or a relationship).
Being a runner isn’t exactly what I thought it would be. Being a runner is about ups and downs and getting through and crossing multiple finish lines. It’s taught me more than just to accept my funky stride, it’s helped me become a better, more forgiving and accepting parent/mother/person.
Now I get to run races with my kids, which is pretty amazing.

Now I get to run races with my kids, which is pretty amazing.

 

Jumping with my Fingers Crossed 1

Find Angela at her blog, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, and of course, Pinterest.

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