1.25

This number is going to drive me crazy this week. It already has for most of last week.

Today is Sunday, so today starts week two of 5k training, and that means that all cardio must last for at least 1.25 miles. That's right. We're moving on up, and it's probably going to hurt. But hurting is ok if there's a purpose.

Which brings me to reason number two as to why 1.25 is driving me crazy. It's the amount of weight I gained last week. That's right. Gained. As in, not lost, but gained.

Which kinda makes me want to put my hand through a wall.

And no, it's not muscle.

Last week I had a bit of a breakdown wondering if I'd ever really get to a healthy weight and size (ok, really I just wondered if I'd ever be skinny and pretty enough for a boy, ANY boy, to fall in love with me, if for no other reason than so that my nieces would stop telling me how much I need to get married. But, that's probably too honest for a blog, so I just wondered if I'd ever get to a "healthy weight and size"). My conclusion was no.

Now before I start getting emails from friends yelling at me for being a pessimist, bear with me.

The idea of "not making it" is a fear I wrestle with all the time. Maybe it comes from a lifetime of thinking I had to "perform" to be loved. Maybe it's that good old fashioned "not good enough" tape that plays on repeat inside my head. I don't know. But it is most assuredly the place I go to when deep dark Kelly comes out to play.

And so I did something different this weekend. I cried. Not the, "wow, that really struck a chord in my heart" kind of crying, but the ugly cry. The snot filled, suffocation form of crying complete with potential for nervous break down kind of crying. This wasn't the "Hallmark commercial tear rolling down the cheek cry". This was the "uh oh, umm, I'm not sure what to do, but keep the sharp objects and addictive substances away from her" cry.

And it was good.

I'm not sure if I'm alone in this or not, but I'm pretty darn sure I'm not, but far too often I keep my feelings bottled up inside of me. Fear, nope, gotta be strong. Hurt, keep that to yourself Kell. No one needs to know your wounds. Anger, ooooh, that isn't polite. Mums the word. Stuff it all down inside and save it for a rainy day, or a margarita. And guess what? I've got hundreds of pounds of that B.S. Sitting inside of my body trying to make me lie down and give up.

In other words, the lies are trying to kill me.

And a lot of times I let them.

But not this weekend. This weekend I ugly cried. This weekend I talked with my best friend about my fears. And this weekend *might* have had a wee bit of rum involved (hey, I'm growing, not arrived!).

And this weekend I realized that I'm doing alright.

This weekend I decided that I've *GOT* to stop loving the future version of me, and learn that I can love Kelly just where she's at.

This weekend I realized how hard I am on me through the love of a good friend telling me to stop being mean to her best friend.

This weekend I read comments I've read a hundred times from friends who've got my back, and carry my heart.

This weekend I watched the best YouTube video ever, thanks to Carrie Breedlove, and laughed for the first time in hours.

So, tonight I asked myself that same question as I thought about the 5k in Houston this March. Am I ever going to make it? Tonight my answer is, by the grace of God, yes.

Unless the Rapture happens first.

Or that Mayan calendar thing.

In which case, I get heaven, and I've read 1st Corinthians. So I'm good with the hotness that will be Kelly.

Not to mention the Wedding Supper of the Lamb, aka the return of starchy carbs. *sigh*