Anna Rae Gwarjanski Portfolio |
Some people really enjoy running and are naturally good at it, and if that’s you, congratulations, but this blog post is not for y’all.
This is for the people who struggle to maintain an 11-minute mile, whose technique looks like a parody, whose bodies give them zero advantage, and who finish every run with a prayer and a sigh of relief -- aka me. It’s no secret that I am a terrible runner, almost to a comical degree. Yet, ya girl is running a marathon in less than two weeks. Training has been brutal, but I did it, thanks to in no small part my grit and determination, yes, but also to some really incredible gear I discovered through research, recommendations, and trial and error. And, I’d like to share it with you. *In this day and age, I feel like I should point out for the record that this post is NOT sponsored in any way (I have less than 1,200 followers on Instagram LOL).* 1. Without a doubt, my most precious piece of running gear is my Hoka One One shoes. I’ve written about my issues before, but I have horrible feet. My arches collapsed a few years ago, which means the others bones in my feet take more pressure than they're supposed to. I used to never be able to run more than 2 or 3 miles before I'd get stress fractures (I've fractured my right foot 4 times and my left foot 6 times). However, after my grandmother had her hip replaced, her doctor recommended Hokas, and since I have the bones of a 60-year-old, I figured I would try them too. Long story short, I will never wear another shoe. They're definitely not cute and a little pricey, but to me they're worth every penny, and I'll take clown shoes if it means I never have to wear a cast again. I have worn the Arahi, Arahi 2, and the Gaviota 2 (my current shoe) and if I had to rank them, it would be 1) Gaviota 2, 2) Arahi, 3) Arahi 2 (but each one blows all the other brands I have worn out the water).
2. I’ve found sock type to be less important than shoes, but still probably the second-most important gear I run with. If you’re running outside during a North Dakota winter, you have to have merino wool socks. Brand isn’t important, but making sure they are real merino wool is crucial. Especially since I don’t wear snow-specific running shoes or crampons (I told you, I literally can’t run without my Hokas), I need something that doesn’t absorb moisture, or else I get gnarly blisters. If windchill is below 10°F, I’ll wear two pairs, and as long as they’re wool, my feet stay happy. Now that it’s warmer, I’ve been running in my Balega Hidden Comfort socks. I also recently ordered some Enduro No Show Running Socks and Blister Resist Quarter Running Socks but they haven’t come in, so I can’t give an opinion on those yet.
3. Especially if it’s cold outside, my next most important piece of equipment is my merino wool half-zip pullover (can you tell I love merino wool?). Both of the pullovers I have are from Patagonia -- I’m a big fan of their business model and how they give back -- but I gave my husband one from SmartWool, and he really likes his, so once again, brand is not near as important as what it’s made of. The reason merino is so much better than any other material is its warmth relative to its weight. When we would run together, Craig would always be so confused as to how I could wear so little and still be comfortable. For example, we ran the Minot Turkey Trot 5K in November, and while it was about 12°F, I was only wearing leggings, a dri-fit top, and my merino pullover, but I was sweating. However, when I bought him his SmartWool pullover, he understood -- it really does make THAT much of a difference. Bonus: Because it doesn’t hold onto moisture, you can wear it multiple times before it starts to stink, making it ideal for multi-day backpacking trips as well.
4. Oh how I (and my bank account) wish there was a more affordable option, but there is really no other legging brand that compares to Lululemon. When the mercury drops and the frostbite risk is real, the only pants I’ll reach for are my Speed Up Tight with Warp Tech Fleece. When it’s not so cold, brand is not quite as important, but my favorite is still Lululemon’s Fast and Free Tight II 25". However, if Lululemon is completely out of budget, Nike is probably my second favorite brand, and I also have a couple of leggings from Aerie and Old Navy that will do. The main thing for me is that they have to have a drawstring -- I have thick thighs and a booty, and if I don’t tie them, I’ll be constantly pulling up my pants while running.
5. I finally got boobs last year (at 25 years old ? better late than never I guess?), so I had to learn to navigate the world of sports bras -- and holy smokes, I never realized how many overwhelming options there were. So far, I’ve tried Nike, Under Armour, Victoria’s Secret, Aerie, Old Navy, and Target. To be honest I’m still not completely satisfied (so if any of y’all have recommendations, I will take them!) but my favorite has been the basic Nike Pro Classic Swoosh Bra.
6. Whether it’s warm or cold, I pretty much always wear a dri-fit top as my base layer. Thankfully, this is probably the item of clothing I wear where brand matters the least. I have a ton of Nike dri-fits from my college swimming days that I still wear, and I can’t tell the difference between those and ones I’ve bought from T.J. Maxx. Dri-fit material is like wool in that it wicks away moisture (great for people who sweat a lot, like me), but it feels a little lighter.
7. For my half-marathon, my longest training run was 10 miles, so I didn’t really need a way to carry water or gels with me; I’d just stick my phone in my sports bra and I’d be good to go. However, because my marathon runs have been significantly longer, I needed a way to bring water, and I knew I didn’t want to wear a backpack or carry a bottle the whole time. After a little research, I ordered a SPI H2O Venture Series from SPIbelt. I can’t speak to how it compares to other brands since this is the only belt I’ve tried, but I have been completely satisfied. My main concern was how well it would stay up and if it would bounce; if I was going to be running for 4+ hours, I knew something constantly jostling my hips would get old real fast. Thankfully, it stays put. The version I bought is big enough to hold my Galaxy S9+ and chapstick in the pocket, it has loops for two gels, and it came with two 8 oz. water bottles that hook anywhere on the elastic, as well as reflective trim for low light and race bib toggles.
8. Strenuous exercise makes my blood sugar drop more than it should, so I have to eat -- not a problem when I lift weights, but running makes my stomach super sensitive. Energy gels are generally a good solution to both of those issues, and I tried most of the big brands -- Gu, Clif Shot, Gatorade, and Powerbar, to name a few -- but they didn’t work for me. I do not have a sweet tooth, and most gels taste too cloying to me. Enter Hüma, an all-natural, chia seed-based gel. First of all, it tastes great, is easy to get down, and doesn’t upset my stomach. Secondly, as an Air Force wife, I obviously love that it’s a veteran-owned company.
9. The more I age, the worse my eyesight becomes. Part of that is probably due to how much I hate eyewear; everything I’ve worn in the past has either squeezed my head or kept falling down my nose. I rarely wear my glasses (only when I have a headache or drive at night), and I literally never wear sunglasses. This winter, I started to notice my eyes would feel a lot more sensitive after running in the snow, and I realized it’s probably about time to suck it up and look for some eye protection. I discovered Goodr online, and now I’m obsessed with them. They’re fun, fashionable, and affordable, but most importantly, they’re polarized, lightweight and they stay on. I’ve worn them running and skiing, and they’ve been equally awesome during both activities.
10. I take my dogs with me on most of my runs, and I wouldn’t be able to do that without my ThinkPet Hands Free Dog Leash Kit. I ordered it off Amazon, and it came with a belt, two clips, and two 6-foot bungee leashes. Same situation as my SPIbelt -- I have not tried any other brands so I can’t compare, but I have been satisfied with my purchase. I did replace the bungee leashes with 2-foot leashes (I wanted to teach my dogs to run right at my side and not get ahead or veer off), but that was just a personal preference, not a quality issue.
11. Last but not least, entertainment. Some people use running as a type of meditation, but I need something to keep my mind occupied -- Like Queen Lizzo said, "I need tempo." I know this isn't technically gear, but it's a necessity ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ When I run indoors, I listen to two main podcasts, Marathon Training Academy and The Vanished. MTA gives listeners training motivation and tips in a relatable way, and after every episode, you’re left with a positive, can-do vibe. The Vanished is a podcast that covers missing persons cases, most of which were never solved. It’s so fascinating that the miles really fly by. It can definitely get a little dark, which is the main reason I only listen to this one at the gym -- I have an active imagination, and I’m constantly looking over shoulder and thinking there’s a serial killer around every turn if I’m listening to this while running outside. So, I listen to music. I prefer Spotify Premium over any other streaming service, and I made a playlist called Run Forrest Run. Just a heads up, some of the songs are explicit, so be aware of that if you play it without headphones.
So there you have it: running gear recommendations for people who suck at running! What is your must-have product? Comment and let me know; I’m always looking for suggestions!
Note: Some of this gear is expensive, and there’s no way around that. However, I’ve tried to note where I think brand is important versus where you can look for deals. Also, as one of the thriftiest (read: cheapest) people I know, I am confident that all of these items are well-worth the price.
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“I have become the woman I hardly dared imagine I could be. There are parts I don’t love — until a few years ago, I had no idea that you could have cellulite on your stomach — but not only do I get along with me most of the time now, I am militantly and maternally on my own side. Left to my own devices, would I trade this for firm thighs, fewer wrinkles, a better memory? You bet I would. That is why it’s such a blessing that I’m not left to my own devices.” It’s April 5th, which means our marathon is exactly one month away (*gulp*). In honor of that, I have a confession to make: Despite my work in the mental health community, despite my constant preaching about being body-positive and loving/accepting yourself as you are, despite the fact that I am literally running 26.2 miles for the National Eating Disorders Association… there may have been a teeny, tiny part of me that wanted to train for a marathon so I could look like I ran marathons. You know the stereotypical body type: Super thin with sleek, lean muscles, or to use the very non-politically-correct term we called it back in college, crack skinny. Ya girl has always been thick. Even when my body fat percentage was in the teens, I looked more linebacker than lithe. I used to joke that had I been born a boy, I would have been HOT STUFF. I always felt too muscular, too masculine, too big to be an attractive female. I wanted to be small. I learned to cock out my hip, hunch over so I’d look shorter. I would play down how strong I was. I was constantly sucking in my stomach. I pretended I wasn’t hungry when I was. I wore sleeves that covered my biceps (arm muscles were NOT cool for girls when I was younger). I tried SO HARD to shrink myself, to take up less space. Nothing worked. What can I say, genetics are a bitch. Anyway, eventually I learned to love my natural build (thanks in a large part to rugby, which I’ve written about here), but I was curious to see if it was even possible for my body to look like the one I pushed for so many years ago. If anything could make me twiggy, surely it was marathon training. Well, I ran 20 miles on Saturday, and I’m still sitting squarely at 170 pounds (the weight I’ve been, give or take 5 pounds, since I recovered from my eating disorder six years ago). The petty part of me wants to shove that in some former coaches’ faces: “Look at this, asshole. This body was never going to be or do what you wanted it to -- it was going to be and do MORE!” Yes, I’m still a little bitter. Yes, I’m working on it. But that’s a blog post for another time.
In any case, I’ve spent most of my life obsessing over my size. Even now, despite loving the way I look 99.9% of the time, I’m still hyper-aware that I’m a sturdy girl. However, I’m learning that being a bigger athlete is not a bad thing. Yes, I am a large runner. No, I am never going to be a size zero (not that there's anything wrong with that -- skinny-shaming is not ok either). But I can be a role model for my young female athletes. I can demonstrate that your capabilities are not determined by what you look like. I can take up space without apology. I can show people that you can be big and muscular and still feel feminine and sexy. There’s a quote I try to live by: “Be who you needed when you were younger.” I needed someone who looked like me to stand up and say, “My body is flawless.” I needed someone to say, “Be loud, girl. Be bossy. You don’t have to be cheerful all the time. You can get angry.” I needed someone to say, “Compassion does not make you weak. Being sensitive does not make you a pansy.” So now, this is what I’m saying: My body is almost 6 feet tall, I wear a size 12 in jeans, and I freaking love it. My tree-trunk legs are about to carry all 170 pounds of me to a marathon finish line. I have a powerful voice and I will roar as loud as I need to to further the causes I believe in. I am emotional and I have a lot of feelings, but being able to put myself in other people’s shoes makes me an excellent leader. When I look in the mirror, I see someone who is tough, capable, adventurous, hard-working, strong. I see someone with calloused hands, a soft heart, and a steel spine. I see someone who stopped asking for permission to love herself and just grabbed it and refused to let go. I see someone who knows her worth. I see someone who’s been through the ringer and came out a fighter. I see someone who I am radically proud to be. And somehow, that has both everything and nothing to do with my size. Oh, hello, it’s NEDAwareness Week, which means it’s that time when I start oversharing again! This year’s theme is “Come As You Are,” and a lot of the posts I’ve seen have been dedicated to raising awareness that, despite what people might think, eating disorders come in all shapes and sizes. Here’s the deal: Eating disorders are mental disorders with physical side effects, and believe it or not, most people with eating disorders don’t look like they have them. For example, even when I was at my sickest, my weight never dropped below 155 pounds, and despite having clinically diagnosed bulimia, on most BMI charts, I was still considered overweight. It took me too damn long to get the help I knew I needed because I didn’t think anyone would believe that I had a problem. I was scared people would think I was overreacting, or worse, just seeking attention. I want to help create a space where people feel comfortable and validated coming forward with any issues they might have. I believe everyone is worthy of recovery. No matter what you look like, you deserve to feel at home in your body. You deserve to feed yourself. You deserve to think about things other than calories. You deserve LIFE. And, if you’re not in a place where you believe you deserve those things, I can promise that you DO deserve to know that you’re not alone, and there is a better life waiting for you. Come as You Are sends a message to individuals at all stages of body acceptance and eating disorders recovery that their stories are valid. I invite everyone, especially those whose stories have not been widely recognized, to speak out, share your experiences, and connect with others. Even if you’re not ready to speak out publicly, I would encourage you to talk to someone -- it can be me, but it doesn’t have to be.
If you take anything away from this post, let it be this: Your pain is valid, your story is important, you are not alone, and recovery is worth it because YOU are worth it, no matter your size. “No relationship is perfect, ever. There are always some ways you have to bend, to compromise, to give something up in order to gain something greater... The love we have for each other is bigger than these small differences. And that's the key. It's like a big pie chart, and the love in a relationship has to be the biggest piece. Love can make up for a lot.” Warning: This blog post is gross, gory, and more than a little TMI. It is mortifying, and it describes me at one of my worst moments.
However, I’m sharing it anyway because, yesterday being Valentine’s Day, I’ve had romance on my brain, and I’ve been trying to figure out what my definition of love is. I know there’s a girl out there who thinks love is in the grand gestures -- the huge bouquet of flowers, the surprise trip to Paris, the pulling up at your door in a horse and carriage. You know, your basic Hollywood teen movie ending. I know I used to think that. I thought love was constant butterflies, wild chemistry, a barrage of roses, and riding off into the sunset together. Don’t get me wrong, those things are nice, but I don’t think I knew what real, true love looked like until this summer. Backing up: As y’all know, Craig and I eloped in May 2017. I wanted to move to North Dakota, he was about to deploy, we had decided we wanted to be married, and neither of us wanted to throw together a wedding at the last minute. However, when he returned home from his deployment, we wanted to have a “We Still Do” party to celebrate our love with our family and friends. We chose to do this in Las Vegas, because it was an easy place for our guests to fly into, and we thought it would be a fun vacation where everyone would get to know one another. I spent almost a year planning this celebration, and I was so excited leading up to it. I’d finally be meeting most of Craig’s family, and I’d get to see my best friends for the first time in months. In my head, I thought this week would be filled with mornings hiking in Las Vegas’s overlooked nature scene, afternoons by the pool tanning and sipping margaritas, evenings indulging in the best buffets, and nights out on the strip dancing. I reserved a luxurious hotel suite for Craig and me. I tried to painstakingly choose every detail. I’m typically a very spontaneous person, so all this planning was a big deal for me, but I just knew this week was going to be perfect. Except it wasn’t. We got to Las Vegas on a Wednesday, and on Thursday afternoon, I got food poisoning. And not just a little case of food poisoning -- I have never been so sick in my entire life. I started throwing up during the dinner we planned for our immediate family, tried to put on a brave face and push through, but after the sixth time excusing myself from the table (and not even making it to the bathroom), I had to call it a night. Las Vegas parking is not the best, so we had a 20 minute walk through casinos, crosswalks, and parking garages to get back to our car. I had my head in a plastic bag, puking my guts out, during the entire walk, making those 20 minutes seem like an endless parade of humiliation. Once we got back to the hotel, I spent the entire night and next morning in the bathroom with nastiness coming out of me from both ends. I was miserable and so weak I could barely stand up. Our rehearsal and wedding party dinner were that afternoon, and our wedding was the next day (Saturday). My dad made a not-very-funny-at-the-time joke about one of my sisters standing in for me during the ceremony. I was panicking -- what was I going to do? Thankfully, at around 11 a.m. on Friday, I began to be able to keep things down. So Craig, my sweet groom, force fed me nausea medicine, saltine crackers, and pedialyte. I still did not feel good, but my guests had flown thousands of miles to be with us, so I’d be damned if I was going to let them down. Long story short, I made it through rehearsal and only almost passed out once. I didn’t eat anything, but I made it through dinner without any major incidents. I thought maybe things would be ok. The day of our celebration dawned, and I still felt weak, but more like myself. Craig and I said our farewells because, after the morning, we wouldn’t see each other until our “wedding.” I was well enough to run some last minute errands, while unbeknownst to me, Craig was cleaning our hotel room (my food poisoning did a number on our fancy suite). My bridal party was meeting me there so we could all get ready together, and Craig was going to hang out and get ready with his best man. Again, to make a long story story short, our wedding day went according to schedule, and it was a blast. I was too exhausted to go out afterward like I had originally planned, but other than that, I really could not have asked for a more perfect day. And here’s the deal -- that would not have been possible without my husband. He let me have that perfect day while he dealt with the mess. (FYI, here comes the grossest, most embarrassing part of this story). I don’t remember how he told me, but the day after our wedding, he said when he was picking up the room, he noticed what he thought was a bit of makeup on my robe. But then when he looked closer, he saw that it wasn’t makeup. Nope, it was feces. Apparently, at some point during those awful 24 hours where I thought about dying more than once, at 26 years old, I had shit myself and not even noticed it. And instead of dropping it in disgust and running for the hills, my man calmly cleaned it and the rest of the room for my bridesmaids and me. Furthermore, he didn’t even tell me about what he had done so I could enjoy our day without being embarrassed. You guys. Your wedding day is supposed to be the most romantic, most beautiful day of your life. You want your groom to look at you like you’re the sexiest, most gorgeous woman he has ever seen. My groom literally picked up my shit the morning of our wedding. And I think that’s what true love is. Yes, Craig is my dreamy prince charming who brings me flowers for no reason, writes me love notes, and tells me I’m beautiful. But he’s also my partner who is strong when I’m weak, who takes care of me even when I stubbornly refuse help, and who holds my hand when I have anxiety and/or panic attacks. He is the only person I’ve ever been able to picture forever with. Obviously, I would have preferred our wedding week to go the way I had originally planned. But, being a silver linings kind of gal, I think Jesus used what I thought was catastrophe to show me what “in sickness and in health” really means. Is it humiliating? Absolutely. But it also absolutely shows how much Craig really does love me. Social media on Valentine’s Day is a highlight reel of the big stuff. It can really distort our view of what a relationship looks like day by day, and let me tell ya -- it’s not always roses and chocolates and teddy bears. Roses wilt, chocolates get eaten, and your dogs will chew up teddy bears (I may or may not know this from experience), so if a relationship is going to last, it has to go through the times where love can seem more like sacrifice than romance. Craig and I are only two years into our marriage, but I think we’re off to a good start because we’re realistic about what love looks like. Love is doing the dishes because you know that’s the chore your partner hates. Love is forgiving your partner when they’ve hurt you. Love is sitting in comfortable silence. Love is having the hard conversations. Love is seeing each other at your worst. Love isn't just accepting the other person's baggage, it's carrying it every now and then. Love is also in the grand gestures, sure, but in my experience, I think true love is in dealing with people’s shit (both literally and figuratively). You find someone who does that, and you’ve got a keeper. My 2018 resolution was to try things I have zero natural talent for. Normally I purposefully don’t make New Years Resolutions. That, I guess, is a resolution in and of itself, but it has/had to do with loving myself as is, no changes necessary, blah blah blah. As my self-worth has healed over the years, it may have also been a teensy, tiny bit because I just plain didn’t want to. Especially as you get older, trying hard or scary things becomes harder and scarier. But last fall, I was in a little bit of a rut. My husband of three months had just deployed, I hadn’t found my place in North Dakota yet, and facing the below-zero temperatures of an upper Midwest winter for the first time had me more than a little apprehensive. All that’s not to say I wasn’t happy -- because, holy moly, I was -- but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being aimless, unmoored. If we’re scheduling amateur psychology hour, I’m sure that particular resolution -- my first in more than five years -- culminated from a need to know that I had the ability to do things I’ve always considered myself bad at. That I was brave enough to try things I really didn’t know if I could complete, let alone be good at. That, even if I couldn’t complete them, I’d be ok. Idk. But anyway, that resolution resulted in me signing up for my first half-marathon. I am THE WORST runner. Not only am I slow, I look like Phoebe from that Friends episode where Rachel is too embarrassed to be seen with her. You know the one: I had three goals:
1) To finish (truly did not know if that would happen); 2) To run the first 10 miles without walking; 3) If Goal 1 and Goal 2 were going well, I wanted to finish under 2.5 hours. I had done 10 miles without walking in a training run, so I knew I could do that, but it had taken me right at 2 hours (I told you I was slow). So 13.1 miles under 2.5 hours was going to be iffy. Since we’re almost 10 paragraphs into this blog post and I still haven’t gotten to the point, I’ll finish this intro up. I finished, I managed to run 13.1 miles without walking, and I made it in 2 hours and 21 minutes. Boom. (Also, praise Jesus 🙌) My main takeaway from this experience was that the hardest things really do give you a whole lot of satisfaction. I hate that. I wish it were the easy stuff that gave you the most satisfaction. But unfortunately, that’s just not true. So, I guess what I’m saying is I’m continuing my 2018 resolution into 2019. And, as you may know, I’m upping the ante with a full marathon. Once again, I have no idea if I’ll be able to make it to the finish line, except this time, I REALLY have no idea if I’ll be able to make it to the finish line. A full marathon is like two half-marathons in a row. Gulp. And my training runs, even though so far they haven’t even exceeded six miles, have been HARD. Again, gulp. But, I said I wanted a challenge, so I guess I can’t complain. However, because I probably will complain, I gave myself a little extra motivation: Through this marathon, I am raising money for the National Eating Disorders Association. (Click here for my fundraiser link). And, I am happy to say, thanks to your generosity, we have almost hit the $200 mark! In sum, finishing a marathon and raising $1,500 for NEDA are my main goals for 2019. But, because I felt more than a little feckless after I finished my half-marathon at the beginning of last year, those aren’t my only two goals. Others include completing a triathlon, visiting more national and state parks, traveling to Scotland, finishing the book I’ve been writing for almost four years (oops), brewing my own kombucha, and being more confident in conflict. As I mentioned above, I really don’t like making goals, mostly because I’m scared I won’t accomplish them, and I hate the feeling that accompanies that. So maybe that’s something that’s also carrying over from my 2018 “do more things I’m bad at” resolution -- not being afraid of making resolutions. In 2019, I might not meet some -- or any -- of my goals, and that’s something I’m trying to be ok with. We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. Until then, you can bet your bottom dollar I’m going to give it my best shot. "Girls and women were hungry then, and are hungry now, for women role models who have courageously peered into the shadow within, brought it to the light and, like alchemists, transformed their suffering into a garden blooming with gifts of the spirit." When I was in college, I ran so much and so often that my feet broke. Not once, not twice, not even three times, but five separate times. At the end of my freshman year, the bones in my feet and ankles were so fragile I wasn’t even allowed to push off the walls in the pool. I had to water jog for the entire month of May, and I only escaped being in a wheelchair by telling my doctors I didn’t think my mental health could handle it. You’d think I would have learned my lesson after the first time, but that’s not how bulimia works. In high school, I learned that running helped keep my weight down. When I first started, it really helped my swimming career -- naturally, my cardiovascular endurance increased, and that carried over in the water. I also got a lot of positive feedback from people whose opinions I really cared about. In my addictive-prone and one-track mind, that improvement drove me -- if a little running was good for me, surely a lot of running would be great? Not-so-fun fact: At the end of my junior year, I got my first stress fracture, was laid up, gained weight, and had a terrible senior season. For some people, that experience would have served as a lesson in moderation. For me, it only served to show how much I *needed* running. Hence, all the miles I logged in college. I know now that I had suffered from disordered-eating symptoms for a long time, possibly since I was a small child. But running was the first time I ever really learned to “purge,” even though I didn’t think of it like that at the time. Even after I started the recovery process and stopped the more traditional forms of purging, I kept running, using it as a way to control my calories without having to confess anything to my therapist. It took a major relapse for me to admit I never truly recovered from my eating disorder. After I came to terms with that, I took a hard look at my daily habits and inner voice. I made a conscious effort to stop thinking about what I wanted my body to look like and start thinking about what I wanted it to do. I started seeing a nutritionist again. I stopped running and started lifting weights. I starting eating enough. Injuries still plagued me throughout my college swim career (and still do, to a degree), but I began to recover mentally. I started running again last year. My 2018 resolution was to do things I’m bad at, and distance running presented a three-fold challenge: 1) Despite how often I used to do it, I’ve never been fast. And, since I hadn’t run in years, I truly didn’t know if I’d be able to complete the half-marathon I signed up for. 2) I (and everyone who knows me) was worried about my injury history. Could I really complete a training program without any stress fractures? 3) The word “trigger” has become somewhat overused, but would this goal bring back any bad habits? I’d been healthy for years, but could I trust all the mental work I’d done? Despite these doubts, I signed up for the Run to the Pub half-marathon in Bozeman, Montana. And, long story short, I did it. I certainly wasn’t the fastest, but I kept my mile pace at 10-10:30 the entire 13.1 miles. I didn’t get hurt, and the pride I felt at knowing I was taking care of my body underscored how strong my mental health had become. I write all this to say that my 2019 goal is to run a full marathon (the Eau Claire Marathon on May 5, 2019, to be exact), and my training schedule starts today. And because every step I take feels like a prayer in gratitude, I feel like I am called to give back in some way. It’s hard to put into words how good it feels to use running as a celebration of what my body can do instead of for weight loss. So instead of putting it into words, I’m putting it into action. That’s why, for this race, I am raising money for the National Eating Disorders Association. NEDA is the leading non-profit supporting families affected by eating disorders. Even though most people struggling with these mental illnesses do so in secret and it is common to feel completely alone, there are an estimated 30 million people who will deal with something like this at some point in their lives. Perhaps more relatable to my experience and my friends and family reading this, a staggering one third of NCAA D1 athletes have reported eating disorder-related symptoms. NEDA shines a light on this issue by raising awareness, working on destigmatization, conducting an early intervention program, and offering support through its many initiatives. That’s something I want to be a part of.
I’m asking you to be a part of it, too (to give, please click here). Your donations -- along with, you know, my incredibly resilient, strong body -- will propel me all 26.2 miles and across the finish line. Please spread the word to your family and friends. Thank you in advance for your kindness and support. Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, I recently got a new tattoo, a quote from the above poem, taken from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. I first read Whitman in college, and right away, he lit me up. There’s something about those words, “That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse,” that is so striking. No matter how futile we feel our lives are, and whether or not we’re doing anything about it, the world keeps turning. Millions of years have gone by and will continue to go by, but in the grand tapestry of history, we have the chance to contribute a verse. We don’t have to, but the opportunity is open if we choose to take advantage of it.
Most of you know my struggle with existential depression. I’ve written about it here, but basically, since I can remember, I’ve obsessively searched for the meaning of my life, of why I’m here, of why I’ve gone through what I’ve gone through. From a very young age, I’ve felt like I needed to do something, to be something, in order to for my existence to have value. It’s why I’ve always had lofty goals -- I want to be president! I want to be an Olympian! Maybe even both! LOL. In any case, since clearly I am neither president nor an Olympic athlete, I had to find my worth elsewhere. I used to look for it in swimming, in relationships, in journalism -- basically, in anything I could put down on a resume and say, “Look! Look at all these things I’ve done! Look at all these people I’ve pleased! Am I good enough now? Should I do more? I need to do more.” It took me a very, very long time to find my worth in myself. For almost a decade, I’ve been working really hard at accepting that I have value just as I am, no accomplishments necessary. Some days that’s still hard to wrap my head around, but those days are getting fewer and farther between. I do still want to contribute something, to make my mark on the world -- I just want to do it with what sets my soul on fire rather than what I think would what look best on a resume. Figuring out what that is is still a work in progress, but I feel like I’m closer than I’ve ever been. I really and truly feel that my new career as a head swimming coach could be a big part of my verse. At the end of our summer season, we had a banquet that included a surprise retirement ceremony for Minot’s longtime head coach. Even though I’ve only known/worked for Nancy a little over a year, it’s easy to see what a special person she is and how much she cared for every single child. She’s been a North Dakota swimming fixture for decades, so seeing her say goodbye made for an emotional night. It’s difficult to describe how special it was to see people she coached 30 years ago come up and say how influential she was in their life, and how much she helped them grow not just as an athlete, but as a human being. By encouraging these kids and showing them that they were valued, she created a ripple that affected their whole lives. I’ve swam under coaches who cared about my times, and I’ve swam under coaches who cared about me. Both of those have been beneficial, because they've helped me figure out what kind of coach I want to be. While times may seem like the end-all-be-all and it’s easy to get caught up in them, the amount that they really don’t matter is staggering. Competing is such a small fraction of a life. Ribbons and trophies fade, but the lessons and growth that happens during those years is deep-rooted. As I get older, one lesson in particular keeps getting underscored: It’s the little moments that influence you the most. The races I swam really fast weren’t the defining moments in my swim career; it was when I had a coach look me in the eye and say, “I believe in you,” and mean it. When another coach could tell I was having a hard year and asked, “Are you ok? No, really, are you ok?” When I was discouraged and giving up on myself and a coach gave me a hard talk, saying “You’re better than this.” It’s not the accolades; it’s those moments, given to me by my teachers, my coaches, my family members and mentors -- the people who showed me kindness and rooted for me unconditionally -- that made the biggest mark on me. My hope is that I can be that person for someone else. Tangent (it will connect later, I promise): In May, I wrote a blog post about how much my dreams have changed, especially over the past six years, and how full-circle my life has come, particularly when it comes to swimming. A conversation my husband and I had a few months ago about my old swim career keeps running around my head. I don’t remember the specifics or even how it came up, but I do remember him asking me a simple question that has stuck with me: “Was it worth it?” It’s a heavy question for me. I don’t remember what I answered, but I’m pretty sure I said something along the lines of, “I don’t know.” But, I can’t get away from it. So I think that tells me my answer. An eating disorder, a hip surgery, arthritis, lots of chronic pain, and, if I’m being honest, some psychological scars later… and I’m sure I’d do it all over again. Logically, that is absolutely insane. Hindsight is 20/20, so I know the consequences. I know how hard it was. I know where I’ll end up in the grand scheme of things -- certainly not even close to the best. Maybe if I was, I could rationalize this way of thinking. But, I think the highest I ever finished in college was 18th at SEC’s, in the 200 IM. Nobody’s going to remember my name. I watched a documentary on NHL enforcers, “Ice Guardians,” the other day, and in an emotional ending, one of the retired players was asked, “If you could, would you do it all over again?” He teared up and looked away from the camera, speechless for a minute. Finally, he looked back, nodding. “With a little more fire.” I’ve come to the conclusion that swimming was worth it for me because of the growth opportunities it gave me. And like that NHL player, I think, given the chance, I’d do it all again, but with a little more fire. In a few early drafts, I wanted to title this blog post “Volenti Non Fit Injuria” -- injury is not done to he who consents. I had many opportunities to walk away from this sport, and I said no to every single one -- and I thought I might regret it, but I don't. Swimming taught me so much. It made me tough and hard-working. It helped me find a steely inner strength that I didn’t know I had. It gave me some of my best friends and helped me graduate college without debt. The list goes on. I’m starting to go a little long-winded here, so I’ll try to cut to how that tangent connects to the meaning of my tattoo, the original purpose of this post. For a long time, I thought being an athlete was “my verse.” I thought by enduring so many setbacks, I could be the “comeback story” that inspired MILLIONS (what can I say, I might be a little bit of a drama queen). Long story short, I discovered that part of my life might contribute to my verse, but it certainly wasn’t the whole thing. However, when I began this blog in 2015 and started using social media to be more open about my struggles than showing off my successes, that’s when the beginning of my real verse was written. Through that and now coaching, I’m starting to see how and where my athletic career fits in. In a nutshell, I think my verse is showing people that life is mixed bag of happiness and sadness and triumph and defeat and learning throughout it all. My verse will show that you can work your ass off and give your dreams everything you’ve got, and sometimes they still won’t work out. When that happens and your heart is broken, my verse says that life doesn’t screech to a halt; instead, another door appears and, even though it’s terrifyingly different, you have the choice to open it. And if/when you do, it’s more beautiful than you ever could have imagined. I guess what I’m saying is, my verse shows that sometimes the breakdown leads to the breakthrough. And I really want that to give people hope. It’s so easy to feel like what we do doesn’t matter. That unless we’re living that power-hungry, white-picket-fence American dream, we’re not making a difference. But that’s a lie. And I’ve got “you may contribute a verse” tattooed on my bicep to help me remember my truth, what I stand for, and that it is indeed an important contribution. Now that I’ve spent a full quarter-century around the Sun, I thought I’d impart some of the ancient wisdom that has been gifted to me at the ripe old age of 26. You’re welcome, world.
And there you have it: a few words of wisdom for every year I've been alive (plus a bonus one from Craig). Cheers to future birthdays and all the love, laughter, and lessons they'll (hopefully) bring. “When I grow up, I would like to have a lot of jobs. First, I would like to be Miss Alabama. Then, Miss U.S.A. After that, I’m going to be Miss Universe. I would like to go to Auburn University and be a cheerleader there. My favorite subject is H.A.S.P., so I will probably take chemistry. The other subjects are math, geography, and law. The reason I want to take a law course is because I am going to be the first female president. First, though, I’ll probably have to be some other political person.” “What’s your real job?”
There’s a question I’ve been getting a lot lately. “I’m a photographer!” “I’m writing a book!” or “This is my real job!” I never know how to answer it. I’ve written about this a few times now, but I’m 25 years old and I don’t know what I want to do in life. I worked my ass off for a masters degree in journalism... and then I discovered the cutthroat ways of a newsroom weren’t for me. So, I traded Anna Rae Gwarjanski, managing editor, for Anna Rae Clark, swim coach. Do I kind of feel like I’m wasting my masters degree? My potential? Yup. But here’s the deal: I LOVE coaching. Truly. Working with my young athletes is the best part of my day. I have no idea where that will lead me, but even if I do find some sort journalism position again, I know I want to continue coaching because it makes me so happy. And honestly, fuck potential. I spent 22 years chasing after my “potential,” and all I got from it was an eating disorder, terrible self-esteem, and a constant feeling of never being good enough. Yeah, I’m definitely done with all that. The fact that swimming brings me so much joy now is kind of odd. I was so mad at this sport for so long. It just goes to show how winding — full-circle, in my case — the path to healing can be. I know people say this a lot and it can get frustrating for people who, like me, have a few teeny tiny patience and control issues, but Jesus has a plan and MAN is it so much better than any blueprint I could have dreamed up. He gave me a hope and future better than any I could have asked for. God’s timing is never convenient, but it’s always right. I met Craig as I was finishing up grad school, about to finally embark on the path I’d spent six years of my life planning for and working toward. After my swim career tanked, I put everything I had toward journalism. I was one of only 12 people chosen to work for UA’s award-winning student-produced travel magazine. I earned a full ride to grad school. I wrote my thesis and got it published. I graduated summa cum laude. I was offered and accepted an editor position at a small but well-established newspaper. I was good — really good — at my job, and I got a promotion after only six months. On paper, I was in position to run a really successful rat race… ...But it didn’t make me happy. I was stressed out of my mind, I was 2.5 hours away from the love of my life and 12 hours away from my family. I cried myself to sleep more often than I’d like to admit. So I walked away from it. I eloped with my now-husband and moved to North Dakota. When I first got up here, I started coaching and teaching swim lessons just as a way to fill my time. In my head, I was only taking a break from journalism, and I’d go back to it as soon as I rested up a little bit. But then, for the second time in my life, I fell in love with the water, and, more than that, I fell in love with coaching. Perhaps most surprisingly, I fell in love with the town of Minot, North Dakota. And, lucky for me, Minot Swim Club offered me a full-time position. So here I am. And I’m just so grateful to be sitting here writing this, not as Anna Rae the smartypants journalist or Anna Rae the swimmer with potential, but as Anna Rae, the blogger. Anna Rae, the Air Force wife. Anna Rae, the small town swim coach. Just Anna Rae. Letting go of all the things I thought I should want and who I should be helped me find out what I REALLY want and who I REALLY am. I never thought being “just Anna Rae” would be enough for me, but it is. It’s much, much more than enough. 5-year-old Anna Rae wanted to have 20 kids and name them all after Disney princesses. 10-year-old Anna Rae wanted to be president. 15-year-old Anna Rae wanted to be an Olympic swimmer. 21-year-old Anna Rae wanted to change the world with her writing. 25-year-old Anna Rae just wants to live a simple life she’s proud of. Dreams change. And, sweet baby Jesus, am I thankful for it. Lindsey Vonn won the PyeongChang bronze last night in Alpine downhill. For those who haven’t heard of her, Vonn is the best female skier in American history, and possibly world history. She’s dominated the slopes for more than a decade and has won more World Cup titles than all but one person on the planet. Alpine downhill was her best shot at gold this Olympics, probably her last, and so to many, that bronze medal could be considered a failure.
But if you watch her post-race interviews, you’ll see an emotional athlete who gave it everything she had, and who is finding a way to let that be more than enough: “I wanted to win so much because of him [her grandfather, who passed away in November],” she said through tears, “but I still think I made him proud. Our family never gives up and I never gave up. I kept working hard and I am really proud of this medal and I know he is, too.” Man, that interview got to me. As the Washington Post wrote, “this isn’t the Vonn of 2010 in Vancouver. This Lindsey Vonn is 33 and has been battered, her bones broken, her ligaments torn by the crashes and wear and tear of her sport.” She has a steel rod in one arm. She has a reconstructed ACL (the reason she missed the 2014 Olympics). She’s had to work through back injuries and other assorted wear and tear. And you know what? She freaking did it. She came back and got on the podium in the biggest sporting event in the world. Vonn is now the oldest woman to ever win an alpine skiing medal at the Winter Games, and she’s also now the only female skier to win more than one downhill Olympic medal. I’m a sucker for a good comeback story, and Vonn’s bronze was eight years in the making -- if that’s not a heck of a comeback, I don’t know what is. Obviously I can’t compare my athletic career to Vonn’s, but I know on a personal level how much injuries suck. Especially for an athlete, injuries are the deepest kind of betrayal. Your own body, the powerful vessel you rely on and work so hard to strengthen and temper, bows out of the game, and there’s nothing you can do about it except wait it out. It can be devastating, especially when it’s a severe injury that puts your entire career at stake. It takes an insane amount of both mental and physical fortitude to push through it. I’ve been thinking about my swimming career a lot recently. Partly because this time of year -- the SEC championships -- always makes me nostalgic, but also for other personal reasons. The last race I ever competed in was the 200 backstroke at the 2014 SEC’s. The second I touched the wall, before I even looked up at my time, I started bawling. It was because I was sad that era of my life was coming to a close, sure, but the tears were mostly falling out of happiness and relief. I touched the wall in 1:59.28, coming in 38th place, a completely forgettable time and ranking. But that time was a three-second best, and that 38th place felt like gold to me. Just the fact that I finished -- I FINISHED -- meant so much to me, when so many people said I couldn’t do it. My college swimming career did not go the way I expected, to say the least. I had a breakout freshman year, and then it pretty much went downhill from there. While training for nationals that following summer, I pulled my quadratus lumborum, one of the main muscles in the back. I still competed, but it was terrible. And, because I didn’t give myself time off to heal, I ended up pulling all the muscles on the right side of my back, which led to a muscle imbalance, which led to scoliosis, which led to a dislocated sacrum. My doctors told me I’d probably never be able to train again without severe pain, and my coach wanted me to take a medical release. After a lot of questioning and prayers, I decided I wasn’t ready to give up this sport. It took me two years to rebuild my back, but I was finally healthy coming into my senior year… and then I found out I had torn my hip labrum. After a lot of back and forth, my doctors decided I couldn’t mess my hip up anymore than I already had, so (after a lot of begging on my part) they gave me the green light to keep competing if I thought I could handle the pain. Long story short, I could and I did, and that’s why I couldn’t stop crying at the end of my last race. Despite everything I had been through and everyone who had told me “no,” I was still capable of going a best time, and all that pressure I had put on myself had finally lifted. The era of two-a-days, of physical therapy, of cortisone shots, of wondering if my body was going to make it another week, was coming to an end. I left everything -- and I mean everything -- in the pool, so I couldn’t have been happier with that swim. Truly, I am more proud of that 38th place than I am of being part of our high school relay national record. Again, I want to stress that I’m not in any way comparing my athletic career to Vonn’s, but when she said her bronze medal feels like gold, I understood what she meant. That bronze medal represents all of the doubt, the sacrifices, the perseverance, the work and the pain and the straight up guts it took to make it through the last few years. She should be damn proud of it. Every now and then, a once-in-a-generation athlete comes along who piques your interest in a new sport. Vonn was that athlete for me. I still know very, very little about skiing, but I have followed her career for a while now, and her grit through her injuries inspired me through a lot of my own. Vonn may have missed the gold medal, but she’s still the gold standard in women’s skiing, and I hope she’s holding her head up high. |
About the AuthorConfessions of a failed southern lady. I've got messy hair and a thirsty heart. Writer, photographer, career wanderer. Archives
May 2023
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