Permission

Today, I'm giving myself permission to love my body.

You see, I have way too many days, way too many moments, where I quietly judge myself for the loose skin, the bits of fat here and there, the flaws that only I seem to see. Flaws that make many people roll their eyes because I've lost 90 pounds and I routinely do awesome things at the gym, or out running.

Today, I set out with the intention of running four-and-a-half miles as I steadily increase my mileage towards a 10K race I'm running in April. I mapped out a route on Daily Mile before I left, but I missed a turn at one point and had to improvise. I figured I might come in short of 4.5 miles...but in the end, I added enough to make my whole run five miles.

So I accidentally ran five miles today, without stopping, without walking. My legs are tired, and I was certainly not fast, but I did it, and it feels amazing to smash my former perceptions of what I'm capable of.

When I got home, I immediately jumped in the shower, and as I undressed, I noticed the lose skin, the bits of fat here and there, and the flaws that only I seem to see. And I thought to myself that maybe it's time to just embrace them, because what can really be wrong with a body that can get out there on a Sunday morning and accidentally run five miles? I have a strong, healthy body and I treat it well. Isn't that what beauty is supposed to be?

It's an act of love, in fact, to take care of my body, to run, to go to the gym, to eat the foods I eat (and I eat...a lot. Running makes you hungry).

I'm tired of feeling like my body isn't good enough, just because I don't have six-pack abs (actually, I probably do, they're just under loose skin, a bit of fat here and there, and flaws only I seem to see). So today, I'm giving myself permission to love what I see in the mirror--every stretch mark, every scar, every so-called flaw that decorates the thirty-five year old body of a woman who fought her way from bad health to good. A woman who never ran a mile without stopping in her life before she turned thirty-one, who know routinely gets out there and runs three miles, four miles. Five miles.

What's not to love?