You know what I think is really cool about language (English in this case)? It’s the way you can express “I don’t know” without opening your mouth. All you have to do is hum a low note, a high note, then another lower note. The same goes for yes and no. Does anyone know what this is called?
I remember being 8 years old and asking my mom to have my ears pierced. She told me that I would have to wait until I was 13. I remember counting up the five years and wondering how much things would have changed by then- After all five years is a lifetime to an 8 year old. The five years passed. I pierced my lobes. Throughout those five years I was constantly looking forward to the day I turned 13, and the number became my favorite.
This past April, almost exactly a month before my 22nd birthday, -another milestone I’ve been anticipating since I was 8 for a completely different reason- I ran just over 13 miles. 13.1 to be exact. On April 30th 2017 I ran the OKC Memorial Half Marathon. I decided to go for it almost on a whim after my first 5k distance in September 2016. I realized that a 10k would certainly be doable. Upon asking a friend over the phone to join me, she mentioned, rather cavalierly, that a half marathon isn’t too much more and that I might as well give it a shot. Not knowing that a half is twice that of a 10k, I raised an eyebrow and thought why not. Funnily enough she later forgot having made the claim and was proud of what for me was an ambitious attempt.
The impact that running 13.1 miles had on me was a surprise; I experienced food in an entirely new way. Like many young women, I have often felt guilty for the frequency of my alimentary indulgences. Although my personal interest in nutrition and my subsequent studies offered me tools to feed my body well, guilt continued to lurk behind every slice of lemon meringue pie nonetheless.
The change began when I realized, after my first 7 mile run, that running was significantly less enjoyable on mornings that I didn’t have something to eat. I began experimenting with different snacks before runs, hoping to fuel myself well for the upcoming mileage.
The Lesson hit home the day of the race. For the first time, I experienced what it meant to fuel my body. I experienced the food I ate propelling me forward mile after mile.
On any average day, I don’t notice my food becoming my energy. I don’t notice my lunch helping me walk from class to class or my dinner helping me sleep. I don’t notice my afternoon snack allowing my heart to pump blood or my breakfast permitting my mind to keep its focus. After all, why would I? My body has been doing those things my entire life.
I had heard the mantra “food as fuel” previously, but until the point of the race it felt like a cold way of thinking about the beautiful culinary options that surround us. The word “fuel” brings to mind chalky energy bars at best and crude oil at worst.
In running 13.1 miles, I experienced food in a positive way. For the first time, it was blatantly obvious that my food was energy. Food allowed my body to carry itself 13.1 miles over a period of two and a half hours. For two and a half hours straight, I was aware of how every step was made possible by the energy I received from what I ate. I couldn’t help but be thankful for what I had eaten.
I was thankful to food.
I hadn’t realized that was possible. I hadn’t realized my unhealthy mindset.
Since April 30th 2017, it’s easier for me to think of food as a way to take care of my body. I feel less guilt after treating myself, and more enjoyment out of my meals. I don’t feel like I need to be so cautious with what I eat.
Food is something good to enjoy without guilt because my body needs it, and it allows me to propel myself forward.
