August | 2017 | MissyRambles

As a writer, sometimes I see words from others that are so much more powerful than anything I could’ve come up with myself. This is one of those times. Read Naomi Johnson’s words below, and ask yourself: what will you do today to change the world?

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“Did you ever think as a child that you would have helped Jesus carry his cross? Did you ever pretend you would have taken in a Jewish family and shelter them at your own peril? When I read “The Diary of Ann Frank” as a child, I fantasized I would do just that. I was young during the Civil Rights era. I saw my mom and dad stand up to racism in the 50’s and 60’s, but I was too young to register to vote or stand in solidarity. But I was certain I would have.

The ensuing years were spent rearing a family, working, and being caught up in life. There wasn’t much opportunity to be brave. But now we are here, and a defining moral decision is facing us, each and every one.

As a financial advisor, you are ill-advised to discuss religion and politics and many other personal topics with clients and prospects. In the Spring of 2016, I made a decision. I was going to become as authentic as I could be in my life, and share my journey and my truth.

I decided to speak out about my past sexual abuse, in the context of Donald Trump and his mis-treatment of women. I began up speak openly about my struggle to rebuild my life after being filled with guilt, fear and shame as a result. I shared my struggle with using food to stuff emotions and hide my damaged sexuality under a layer of fat. No one is more invisible in society than a fat woman.

I spoke honestly about the effects of my issues on my children, and how I was trying to be a better mother to my adult children than I was when they were young. When it seemed appropriate, I would ask clients about their tender spots, their struggles, what kept them up at night, their regrets, their hopes and dreams.

Here is the truth, it was the bravest thing I have ever done. I began to speak out about what I saw happening. Those who have been my Facebook friends know that all to well! I shared my feelings of horror about many of the evangelical leaders supporting Donald Trump. I shared how disheartened I was when Franklin Graham got behind Donald Trump, and that is not a popular stance here in Boone, North Carolina, the home of Samaritan’s Purse.

I shared how my family was so split over the election and the pain that caused. I talked about racism, and other hot button issues, including gender issues. When a client ridiculed Caitlin Jenner, I asked him point blank, “Have you ever thought about how much emotional pain a man would have to be in to have the gender reassignment surgery? (Truth alert, I was a bit cruder than that). He flinched, but there was a long pause as he admitted that he had not thought about that.

I lost some clients. I knew I would when I made the decision. I will probably lose more. And I am okay with that. Because doing the hard thing is worth it. To be open and not have to hide what I believe is worth it. To integrate my work and my life is worth it. And I have learned so much more about my clients’ hopes and fears, for when I became more open, so did they.

I do not have the answers to the divisive issues of our day. But I know this, the issues are hard and the solutions are complex. I know this: There is no “secret plan to defeat ISIS in 30 days”; I know that health care is complex; I know that normalizing racism is wrong; I know that name calling and mocking people is unworthy of a president; I know that a lie is a lie; I know that The Bible says that even the very elect will be deceived.

When I decided to embrace a more authentic life, I believe that, in some mystical way, I am helping Jesus carry the cross, I am housing the refugees, I am more openly standing against racism. These blessings more than make up for some lost revenue. And I believe that there are people who will find me and my partner Seth because we will take a stand.

I know this. It may get much worse, much faster than we can imagine. There are Nazis marching openly in the street. My dad and mom served in WWII to stop this evil. There are white supremacists marching openly with assault rifles, in front of the police, beating and kicking those in the resistance. Imagine if those young men were black, carrying assault rifles and jostling the police? Resisting the rising tyranny will be the defining moral issue of this time.

Here is my challenge to each of you: do what is right. It is as simple as that. You intuitively knew as a child what that was. You know you dreamed of being brave. You know how hard it is to stand against a bully. You have the chance today to take a morally courageous stand against what is being normalized in America. Become the adult your child dreamed you would be. Be brave. Like my mom, who left Ashe County, North Carolina, to fight Hitler. Like my dad, who left high school in Vermont to enlist and fight Hitler.

Welcome to the resistance!”

– Naomi Johnson

Naomi Johnson’s brave and courageous mother who served her country in WWII.

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“Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights.

Get up, stand up, don’t give up the fight.”

– Bob Marley

“You know, you don’t have the body of a typical runner.”

I heard those words a few days ago from an acquaintance I bumped into at a grocery store. There was no preamble – no previous talk of running or anything of that nature. He’s just someone on my facebook who sees my running posts and I guess it was fresh on his mind so he decided to let me know his thoughts.

Alrighty then.

So…I don’t have the body of a typical runner. Got it.

When I later mentioned this to my husband, he insisted that the guy couldn’t have meant it *that* way. You know: that way. As in, the way I took it. And how did I take it? He was saying that I was too fat to fit the stereotypical mold of a runner.

And as hard as I try, I can’t think of anything else he could’ve meant. But you know what? That’s okay.

Because he’s right.

In fact, if we want to go with stereotypes, I don’t have the body of a “typical” woman either. I’m not a size zero with monstrous boobs and a tiny waist. (Okay, I might have one of those but without the other two, it doesn’t really count.)

But, back to the point. Let’s just go ahead and get this out there. I’m a fat runner.

Finishing The Bear. A 5 mile climb up Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina.

Now, I’m not obese by any means. Sometimes not even considered “overweight” on some charts. I’m 5’6″ and I weigh 152 as of the writing of this blog. But as far as runners go? Yep. I’m a chubster.

If you’re not a runner, you may not be familiar with the fact that some races have what they call a “Clydesdale division.” Yes, you read that right. Clydesdale. As in a big, fat horse. One local race I run annually has this very division. And guess what? I qualify. Yep. A 5’6″ and 152 pound woman falls into the big and fat category. I’ve always been terrified to sign up for it though. I don’t know why – it”s almost a guaranteed trophy because no one else ever signs up for it either. Last year, I watched the “winning” (only) woman in the category walk up to get her award and she looked even smaller than me. I couldn’t help but wonder how she felt walking up there. “And the chubby runner award goes to…!”

But you know what? After this random comment in the grocery store from this guy, I’ve given this a lot of thought. And I wonder if maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way.

Let me tell you what it’s like to not be a tiny runner.

First, my legs are strong as crap. No joke. These things have to lug 152 pounds around – not 110. They have had to work hard for these past five running years and, therefore, I have massive muscles. In fact, one day last week I had to put down a new rug that needed to be scooted under a couch. Rather than waiting for help, I put out the foot stools on the recliner end of the sofa, lied down on the floor, positioned my feet under the reclined foot stool, and used the strength in my legs to lift the couch while I scooted the rug underneath.

How about that?

I’m sure it wasn’t pretty, but by granny, it got done.

1995 – my first hospitalization for lymphoma treatment. (That’s my adorable little brother)

Also, fitness does not come naturally to me. I’ve never been an especially “active” person. In fact, I was pretty sick my senior year of high school and that left me weak and lazy for years after. Before my lymphoma diagnosis, I weighed over 200 pounds. Of course, I lost some weight during the treatments but it didn’t stay away long after I started improving. I’ve always been a “bigger” girl. After I started running five years ago, I dropped a bit of weight but not a ton. It wasn’t a quick weight loss, and it wasn’t a total weight loss. But it did happen. And the funny thing about it?

I didn’t even care.

I had attempted running sooo many times in the past for that very purpose – I just had to lose weight. But it never worked, because I didn’t stick with it. And I didn’t stick with it because my heart was not in it. Once I made the decision to run to strengthen myself – body and mind – that’s when I started noticing changes.

Another thing about being a not-so-small runner? I’m pretty slow. Now, I know – “slow” is relative. To some people, my 11/12:00ish mile pace might seem fast. But trust me, in the racing community (especially the smaller races I do locally), that’s not fast. In fact I finished last in a local race once. Dead last. (Which kinda sucked at the time, but now is just a funny memory. And now that it’s happened, I’m not scared of it happening again. I finished last. So what?)

So, yeah, I’m a chubby runner. But should I have been offended by what that guy said to me in the grocery store?

Hell, no.

You know why? Because I still do it. Knowing that some days, I’d rather sit on the couch and drink Coke and eat ice cream instead of running, I still get my fat ass up and go do it. Knowing that my “stats” that show up on Facebook when I post my runs could be laughable to the more fit runners that see them, I just go on and post them anyway. Knowing that I have fat rolls that show up in running pics from races, I post the hell out of them anyway.

I am not trying to be skinny. I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m trying to be strong. I’m trying to be a motivator, both to others and to myself. I’m trying to show others that finding something you love as much as I love running can change you. And you don’t have to fit a certain mold or look a certain way or be a certain speed to get out there and do it anyway.

This morning, I lost a running friend. She was the brightest ray of sunshine you’d ever meet in your life. In February of this year Tammy was still running half marathons and signing up for full marathons later in the year. And then today, August 14, six short months later, she’s just gone. Just like that. She lost her battle to a cancer she hadn’t even known she’d had until just recently.

I keep thinking about her. I keep thinking about her spunk. Her smile. Her laugh. I keep thinking about how much she adored running. I keep thinking about the last race we ran together. It was an unseasonably hot half marathon at the end of October. She was well ahead of me for most of the race, as usual. But with only about two miles to go, my heart just gave up. I couldn’t run a step longer. I stopped and started walking. And, to my surprise, I saw Tammy just ahead of me as I rounded a corner. She was walking too. Once she saw that I was behind her, she stopped dead still in the road, not caring about her time, and waited for me to catch up. We walked the last two miles together. She smiled and laughed and chatted the whole way, knowing that neither of us would have any kind of finishing time to brag about, yet not letting it bother her a bit. We were going to finish and that’s all that mattered to her.

That is what I’m going to carry forward with me. That determination and strength and knowledge that I may not be the best, but I am there. I am moving forward. Every step I take is taking me closer to the person I want to be. Like Tammy, I am learning to be happy to just be there. To just be a part of the process. To be a participant in this game of life and to enjoy every single second of it so that I leave behind a legacy like she did.

Am I going to let a snarky comment from some guy in a grocery store change that? No, sir, I am NOT. And I hope you won’t either. Don’t ever – EVER – let someone else determine who or what you should be. Get out there and do whatever you want to do and do it proudly. Live your life out loud. Do what you think you can’t do and shout it out from the mountaintops.

And when you run into the grocery store acquaintances of the world? Just tell them to get back on the sidelines of life and continue to watch you shine.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my 9th half and second full marathons to train for.

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“Go fast enough to get there, but slow enough to see.”
– Jimmy Buffet