Have you ever sat on your couch for hours or lay in bed way longer than you should because your task list was a mile long? The more you thought of all the things you should be doing, the less motivated you felt to tackle any one of them.  Instead of working on what felt like an insurmountable list, you shut down and take a nap instead.

This is the closest I can come to describing how I’ve felt lately.  Not just with the monotony of my day to day tasks and errands, but with life overall.  I have felt stuck.  Unable to move forward.  I’ve had a major loss of motivation.  I’ve felt uninspired to write. Unable to do.  My future and the vision I have for myself has become this mammoth undertaking and the more I think about it, the scarier it is and the less motivated I’ve become.

Today I sat down and made a list of what I feel is holding me back.  Sometimes making lists and writing things down on paper can take the handcuffs off and the weight seem a little lighter.  But today as I looked down at my handwriting in my journal, I realize these issues are a little bigger than I had anticipated. 

When I think of what I want to be when I grow up and then what is keeping me from moving forward this is what lay as a roadblock in front of me.

• Fear of REJECTION – what if I put everything I am into accomplishing what I dream of and I am rejected???
• Fear of NOT BEING GOOD ENOUGH – what if that rejection confirms the fear in me I am and never will be worthy of acceptance and therefore love?
• Fear of discovering I AM A FRAUD – what if I make it and in time the truth reflects I really have no expertise, talent or knowledge?
• Fear of REACHING MY END GOAL – what if I cross the finish line and I feel unfulfilled or unhappy?
• Fear of FAILURE.

These are not small things.  They are not items I can cross off in a days’ time and move onto the next.  They are ideas programmed into my mainframe that may take years to unwind.  But never saying them or admitting to myself these thoughts hold me back, they could keep me from ever moving forward. 

Someone once told me…just because you think it doesn’t mean it’s true.  JUST BECAUSE YOU THINK IT DOESN’T MEAN IT’S TRUE.

Today I will get off the couch and out from under the covers, try to shut off the self-sabotaging voices and begin facing my fears one by one.

About 15 years ago I watched my sister run the Seattle Half Marathon.  As she approached the finish line she looked like she had fought a battle out there on the road.   There was sweat everywhere, her face was flushed and her hair was in disarray.  But what I remember most…was the look of jubilation reflected on her face as she ran by. 

I stood in my 245 pound body and thought to myself, I’m going to do that one day. 

Mind you, I thought I hated running. I skipped gym class the days we were supposed to run the mile, but the expression on the faces of the racers stuck with me.  Whatever feeling they had, I wanted.

That same week I bought the book ‘Running for Women.’  As I slowly made my way through the pages I started to walk in the evenings after work.  I started out slow.  I checked out murder mystery audio tapes from the library and would only allow myself to listen to them while I walked.  Some days I walked longer than I had planned because I was invested in the story.  Some days the story was my motivation to get me out the door. 

‘Running for Women’ taught me to start my running slow.  Anyone who hasn’t ran for a long while and then tries to run 30 minutes or even five minutes straight can vouch for how much they hated every single second of that run.  The idea is to take running slow enough you don’t hate it and you begin to love it. 

Every time I worked my way through a 30 minutes session I pictured myself crossing the finish line with that same look of joy I saw on my sister’s face.  It took me ten weeks of walking/running until I built up enough stamina to run 30 minutes straight.  Eventually I ran a half marathon, then two, then three.  A few years into running, I participated in a few triathlons including a half ironman. 

When I think back to those races (and it’s been a while) I don’t necessarily think about the race.  I think about the journey it took to get there.  There were many days I hated my runs.  With every footstep that hit the pavement I couldn't wait to get back home.  I also remember the days I felt incredible and strong.  Regardless of how I felt during the run, I ALWAYS felt amazing afterwards.  I felt proud of myself.  I felt a sense of accomplishment like no other.

At 39 years old I have stopped using exercise as a way to change the way I look.  I exercise because of the way it makes me feel. 

Exercise is a drug.  It fills you with endorphins that make you feel as though you can do anything.  It releases happy hormones that brighten the color of your day.  It helps you sleep at night.  It changes the way you look at yourself.    

From the moment I started exercising 15 years ago until today, I still believe all these things to be true.  And yet.…yet….sometimes I don’t do it.

Call it laziness.  Call it lack of motivation.  I call it setbacks.  Life loves to deliver us those sometimes.  Over the last four years I’ve been knocked down and knocked out over and over again by setback after setback. But as my mom taught me, we pull up our bootstraps and we carry on.

Success isn’t crossing the finish line.  It’s about lining up at the start.  Success is picking ourselves up and trying again. 

I thought about this today as I was out on my walk/run. I thought about how as adults we are quick to label ourselves as failures if we don’t reach our end goal.  We question whether we are good enough.  And yet, when our children sit at the kitchen table working through their math homework we don’t tell them to give up and quit when they get the math problem wrong. We don’t tell them maybe they aren’t cut out for math.  We don’t put away their bike when they fall off the first time.  We keep pulling their bike out of the garage.  We encourage them over and over again telling them “One day you can do it!  Just keep trying!” 

And when they figure out that math problem or ride their bike all alone for the first time their faces reflect pure pride and a sense of accomplishment.  You can see in their eyes.  They begin to believe they can do anything. 

The harder we have to work for something, the more pride we feel when we reach our goal.

Sometimes we don’t reach the finish line.  Sometimes we need to start over….again and again.

I’ve had to start over so many times I’ve lost count.  I’ve picked up that ‘Running for Women’ book and began that 10 week challenge a few different times.  Sometimes I don’t make it through the 10 weeks.  But sometimes after the 10 weeks are over I tack on another 10 weeks and find myself crossing a half marathon finish line. 

This week I started over…again.  Only this time, I am working through an app on my iPhone called ‘5k Runner’.  It follows the same concept taught in ‘Running for Women’, but it’s more hi tech.  It’s a 10 week program in which you walk/run for 25-30 minutes, 3 to 4 times a week.  Once you launch the program a nice lady takes you through your daily workout telling you when to walk and run all the while you can listen to your music, podcast or audio book. 

As it is every time I get my heart rate up and sweat a little bit, I feel awesome.  I feel empowered.  I want to share this drug with everyone I know.

The goal doesn’t need to be about running.  It’s about doing something that makes you feel proud.  Something that makes your heart beat and your face smile when you picture yourself reaching your objective. 

And if you fall down….if you have a setback….just try again.  Keep trying…over and over again.  It’s not always about the finish line.  It’s about the joy and sense of pride you feel during the journey.

My stomach was grumbling as I left work today.  I stayed later than I normally do to help with an office project.  This meant my lunch hour was well overdue and my stomach was not happy. On my drive home all I could think about was the turkey, avocado, bacon sandwich I was planning on picking up from my favorite sandwich shop.  The closer I was to my sandwich, the louder my hunger pains growled and the less patient I became.  Cars and parking were becoming a stronger annoyance.

When I attempted to pull into what I had already mentally claimed as my parking spot, it wasn’t available.   I irritably rounded the corner to circle the block one more time.  As I turned onto the next block I came upon an older Nissan Passport sitting halfway in a parking spot and halfway in the street.  

“What is this car doing??” I thought.  “I’m already half past hungry and my patience tank is running on empty.”  Anxious to park so I could make a mad dash for the deli, I pulled into the closest spot I saw.  I decided I’d rather walk to the deli than try and finagle my way around this car.  But as I was pulling into the lot, I saw an older lady step outside the driver’s side door, walk to the front of her car and attempt to open the hood.

It was at that very moment I thought of my friend, Michelle.  A few days ago she posted on Facebook an experience she had earlier in the day.  The story brought tears to my eyes moved me in ways I thought about for hours following her post. 

While driving home from work she came upon a broken down car on the side of the road.  When she pulled over she met the driver who was hearing impaired.  He had been sitting in his car for over an hour waiting for someone to stop and help.  He was shaken from the experience, not able to call anyone because of his hearing impairment, and running low on blood sugar due to diabetes.  She called AAA, bought him a cheeseburger and talked with him for over an hour until AAA arrived. She wrote the story (which I did not do justice) not because she wanted to boast, but because she was inspired by this man who, despite his own disability and needs, drove from Idaho to help a friend in need.  She wrote the story as a testament to God’s blessings who saved her from immobilizing depression a few weeks earlier and used her on that day to help that man on that road.  Her story exemplified to me how helping someone else can heal two broken spirits.  The spirit of the person being helped and our own.

I cried when I read her post.  I cried for the helplessness that man must have felt while waiting for help. I cried for the beautiful and generous soul of my friend.  I cried because her story inspired me to be a better person.  I cried when I asked myself if I would have stopped. 

So today as I came upon the broken down Nissan and the older lady standing at the hood of the car I was no longer listening to my stomach, but to Michelle’s story.

As I offered the older lady my help and my phone to call someone, I commented on the cute little dog she had bouncing around in the front seat.  She told me with a broken voice, he was all she had.  The dog… was all she had.

Her husband of 50 years had just passed away two months ago after a seven year battle with Alzheimer’s and dementia.  She took care of him by herself in their home the entire time… until the final days when she needed hospice assistance.  She cried.  I cried.  And I hugged this complete stranger standing in front of her broken down Nissan.

After wiggling a few wires (which I doubt did anything but make us feel like we were doing something) her car started back up.  I followed her a few miles back to her home to ensure she got home safely. Her kids live on the Peninsula so she is essentially living all alone in this area.  I gave her my phone number, and the number for AAA.

I cried all the way home thinking of this lady who took care of her husband for years, but is now all alone to take care of herself.  I thought of my mom and the loss she felt after losing my dad.  I thought of Michelle’s kind gesture.  I thought of how thankful I was I had to work late today.  I thought of how not getting my parking spot and driving around the block led to a important moment in time.

Our behavior is contagious.  If we yawn in a meeting, we will notice within seconds two or three others have caught the bug.  A crabby driver honks at us in irritation which causes our crappy mood, which transfers to a shortness of patience with our kids and hangs over the dinner table like a dark cloud.   A complete stranger smiles at us on the street corner, and while smiling back we feel our mood lighten.  We, in turn, smile at someone else in the grocery story which may negate the irritable driver who honked at them earlier in the day.  One kind gesture can change the course of someone’s day and inspire kinder hearts all over.

Be kind.  Be open.  Be willing.