Pictures from Kerrie

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Blog~ Who I am

 "What would the child you were, think of the adult you have become?"

I have come back to this question over and over since I read it several weeks ago, not quite able to define a clear answer, yet unable to let the question go.  It prompted me to look back at some pictures of myself as a little girl and remind myself of what exactly I wanted to become back then.
As I looked back over the pictures I remembered hopes and dreams. I felt the memories in my body and my heart and I looked at the picture. 
I was reminded that the stubborness I have is not something I have developed over time, you can see that from the red nose and surly expression in the first picture.  Having my picture taken was not on my agenda that day and nothing anyone did could change that.

 I was also reminded that although I spent a number of  years in my late teens and early twenties being a history of poor choices, I was not always that person.  I was not only stubborn but very active early on and even then hated to wear shoes.  Turns out running on blacktop and stubbing your toe is dangerous.  I am amused by the look on my face more than anything.  As I looked at this picture I realized I have never noticed the sardonic "so what" look on my face before. 

And yes that is me, half naked and yes barefoot,  running around regardless of the fact that our backyard was a typical southern yard.  Snakes, spiders and fire ants were common.  Although I have seen this picture hundreds of times I have never quite noticed before this the all out gallop. 

These are just a few of the pictures I looked at and although I have seen them so many times before, looking at them with this question in mind changed the way I saw them.  I saw them differently and my reality was challenged by the question. 

In my adult life  I have really seen myself as someone who was a "before" and an "after".  A jagged edged and chaotic childhood, followed by early life choices, a failed marriage at a young age, self destruction in a number of ways and then the progression of realizing I wanted more and working toward it.

What I realized in my recent reflection was that maybe I have been wrong all along?  What if I wasn't a before and after but had never been given a chance to figure out the real me? Our beliefs are shaped by the beliefs of our parents, our families and our exposure.  We know what we live and we know only what we have experienced.

 I grew up in a time and a region where one of the worst words we have in our cultural  history was accepted.  I am not proud of it, but growing up in my familes circles the "n" word was used regularly.  I didn't know this was a hurtful word until my kindergarten teacher, who happened to be black informed me in a stern and loving way that it was not a word to be used ever. I remember the hot waves of shame when she told me why and even at that age was overwhelmed by the thought of hurting someone with my words.  I have never used the word again.  I often think of that example when I am challenging myself to see things in a new way. I inherited my world view from my family and from those who I spent time with.  That view included myself and when you come from a family whose culture includes drinking, smoking, swearing, basic education, and ultimately a rough type of life survival, there is not a lot of room to see yourself grabbing the higher level achievments.  And yet it doesn't mean that I keep the inheritance or accept it for myself.

When I look at the pictures I can feel the dreams I had then.  I feel them in my body with the intensity of the emotion I breathed, longing for something else.  I remember vividly the passion I had for the ways I was going to be the woman I wanted to be and the person I knew was in me.

There are chapters of my life when I lost that and somewhere along the way I came to believe that I was a "before" and now have become the strong, stubborn, and dedicated woman I am living this crazy and amazing life.  Yet when I look at the pictures I wonder if rather than a before I am more of a "getting back to"......

I started to look at other pictures too and I am amazed and grateful when I see the adult I have become.  Or perhaps always have been.  I have so many fulfilling roles, from personal to professional.  I am now a business owner, I am blessed to have so many people in my life that I love.  I get to do things I never really thought I would and when I replay the last 10 years of my life I am actually a bit awestruck.

I remember the image of the woman I thought I would become and I am stunned by how close to that I am.  The short answer is she would think she had done pretty damn well. The longer answer I will save for another article....For now if I had to pick one picture that sums it up.....my first solo jump.  True to me, I wanted to skydive by the time I was 30.  Which I did and of course fell in love with it, progressing through training until I physically couldn't anymore.  What strikes me as I looked at this was the smile on my face.  120 mph in free fall checking my altimeter and I am smiling.  No fear present just loving the moment.  A significant footnote is this happens to be the first jump after I had a terrible solo jump. It was a bad experience which luckily turned out well because of the amazing skill of the man on my right who pulled my cord and literally saved my life. 

She would think she was pretty damn lucky and living quite a life.  She would also remind me that who you think you are is often an accumulation of experiences and chapters that really are your history not you.  And that when you go back and look you might find the you that you always have been. 

To be continued....

Pictures from kerrie~70.3, 5k, DC & 50k

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Blog post: Strong Enough to Cry~50k

My life changed radically in 2008 when I began training for my first marathon.  It is hard to believe it has only been 4 short years since I set out to do what “runners” do and grappled with the doubt and insecurity of entering a world in which I didn’t belong.   I have struggled with uncertainty and fear, doubting myself most of the way.  It is my default setting, whispering in my ear in the moments I am anxious and unsure of myself.

I have found purpose in my running and feel unbelievably blessed to be able to combine it with writing.  I am always incredibly touched when something I have written encourages someone else.  One comment I have never found a way to be comfortable with, is that I am an inspiration.  I squirm every time I hear this and although I try to accept the comment with grace, I fall short most times.

It is a similar discomfort I have with the challenge to be vulnerable. Being uncomfortable with it  is not the same as not being vulnerable.  I am vulnerable, sensitive, often easily hurt and exposed more often than I would like.

Running a 50 k yesterday, the hours on the trail  gave me time to think as always.   I found myself thinking about my tendency to wait just until the race to register.  I thought about my physical reaction, a tug in the pit of my stomach the night before as I was pulling in for packet pick up.  Driving into the campground of tents and athletic looking people all wearing the trademark brands of competent runners, I wanted to turn around and go home.  It is the same thought I have every time, which actually seems to be more of a feeling.  “These people belong and I don’t. “  I wait, holding my breath for the group to collectively turn and look at me, the one person who doesn’t belong there. It doesn’t happen of course, and each time I go through this I talk myself back into reality.  But the pattern is predictable, and stays with me through the start line the next morning.

I had plenty of time to analyze it yesterday.  Was I afraid I wouldn’t finish the race?  Was I afraid I couldn’t do it?  Was I afraid my body would shut down or that I would be injured? Was I afraid of being so  slow that the course closed before I got to the finish line? Was I afraid every person there would see me as an imposter, figuring out I wasn’t a real runner? Answering no to all the questions, meant I really didn’t have a good reason for doubting myself, yet I do every time. I am afraid of signing up and I am afraid of all of the things I know are not true.  I am afraid of quitting, even though I know I won’t.  I am afraid of failing even though I know finishing is good enough.  I am afraid of falling short and being judged even though it would be unjust.

In my mind I call it fearful courage.  It is as paradoxical as it sounds and I can’t explain it, because it is as emotive as it sounds.  The best I can do  is this:  It is feeling

Womens Adventure Magazine ~article published

Here is the second article in the series for Womens Adventure Magazine. 

http://www.womensadventuremagazine.com/blog/reader-stories/face-your-barracuda/