I am still high from running ten miles. I seriously, honestly do not care that I was slow. I'm sure that—baring injury—I'll get faster, eventually. (For those of you just tuning in: I was a hard-core run/walker for most of last year. Which worked just great! Now I'm trying to just run.)
I was afraid. I didn't think I could do it. I whined and moaned and came up with perfectly rational reasons why not to. I convinced my friends—and coach!—and most of you in blogland that I should NOT run this race (damn, I'm persuasive).
So what did I learn? I felt great during the run, high as a kite after, still feel good now, plus I feel so much more confident, it makes me think that I can (should) try other things that I also don't think I can do. Like run a half. Or a full marathon. Or break my 5K time. Or sprout wings and fly away ... Or grow up and be preside ...
But how about ... things like playing handbells with the Celtic Bell Ringers. I can't do that either! I don't read music, I suffer anxiety attacks, I'm terrified of making a mistake, and I could never, ever, ever perform in front of anyone.
But heh. I'm doing that too. And loving it.
Oh, I also can't, not in 100 years, do a 90-minute, 120 degree Bikram class. No way. Except ... yeah, I'm doing that, too. And liking it.
And a meditation group? Where you first share your most personal thoughts? Out Loud? Where you—dare I say it?—pray for each other? Out Loud? And then sit in silence for 30 minutes? Yep, I can do that, too.
So what did I learn on Sunday? To push myself. I can do more than I think I can. And I bet you can, too.