Welcome! This Blog is run by two amazing lady runners who don't fit into a box.

I am a runner who does NOT fit into the stereotypical body type of a runner. I have hips, a bum, thighs, and breasts. I jiggle all over the place no matter how much spandex I put on, and my gut usually hangs over my shorts. I work in the mental health field, and have a passion for inciting outrage regarding the media's portrayal of women, their bodies, and their abilities. I am a beautiful woman who sometimes struggles to remember it. I am a runner who sometimes feels more like a slogger.


I have the spirit of a runner inside me that just won't let me quit- no matter how much I sometimes would like to! Physically, I certainly have many of the things Chrys mentions up there- hips, thighs, bum, boobs, tummy, all of it- and Lord knows all of it likes to jiggle around while I do just about anything, especially running! I am passionate about body image, the Health at Every Size & Size Acceptance movements, and love finding inspiration in as many places as possible. Working as a therapist, one of my personal goals is to live as in-line with my values as I possibly can- this blog is one of the ways I figure all that out.

Join us on out adventures in running and ramblings on Body Image.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Why I Run: The Blerch

One of these days, internet..... One of these days, I will manage to make this blog the priority that I WANT to make it.

Today, and over the next few days, I want to share a comic that my co-rabble runner shared with me.  It gets inside my head, and I can't believe I never found it earlier.

Part I: The Blerch

Now.  I do NOT run distances like the writer of this comic does.  As you know, my running is on-again-off-again, and the farthest distance I have done is a half marathon.  This will likely be the farthest distance I EVER do.  But this comic speaks truth to my brain.

The Blerch is a part of my life as well.  The Blerch convinces me that it is more important for me to finish watching that NCIS marathon, or to play another round (or 20) of Tetris, or to finish off that bag of chocolate, than it is to run.  The Blerch tells me it's ok if I only run one mile, even if I planned to run 4.  It's too hot.  It's too cold.  It's too rainy.  It's allergy season.  The dry is bad for your asthma.  The Blerch never runs out of reasons.  But when I give in, The Blerch is not silenced.  When I listen to the The Blerch, it also then tells me I am a terrible person and berates me for being lazy.  The Blerch, is, to put it nicely, a world-class jackass.

The Blerch may not shut up when I listen to it.  The Blerch may not be quieted when I am caught in the hands of inertia and cheese dip.  The Blerch is not all-powerful, though.  The Blerch can be outrun.  The Blerch can be silenced.  The Blerch can be outwitted with logic and knowledge. The Blerch can be quieted through self-love and acceptance.  The Blerch can kiss my pale, round, jiggly, tookus.

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