After the treading class, I thought maybe I had finally figured it all out—that maybe after struggling with my weight most of my life, I had had the “breakthrough” I had been hoping for. But apparently, there was one more thing I needed to learn before I went back to my life and attempted this journey on my own.
I had felt a deep connection with the trainer from my Treading experience and I was impressed to set up a personal training session with her.
The day of the session, my morning hike had been really difficult.
And the class right after that had pushed my limits.
It was mountain class (increase incline every 3 minutes 12 times...no joke), and I hurt, and had increased too much too early and by the last two increases, I was just spent. I heard my trainer tell us to increase for the eleventh time and I noticed my head was shaking "no".
It wasn't a conscious action.
That's just what I was doing.
I increased, but not without a little fight with myself.
The same thing happened for the last increase.
My head shook "no" when she told us to do it.
And I found myself crying the last three minutes, in part, because it was really really hard but also because I had proof I was still fighting myself. It was frustrating and confusing and discouraging. I thought I had had a breakthrough and that kind of behavior was behind me.
The class ended and I was so very tempted to cancel my private session. But, I think a part of me knew I was so close to figuring this thing out once and for all. I had to do it. I had to.
And so we started our session.
She asked me what I was thinking.
There were so many thoughts racing in my head but I didn't want to talk about them. So I copped out and said, "I just have a hard time running for long periods of time and I want to be a runner."
We talked about the process of running and my trainer told me that when she runs, it helps to think about what she's running towards or what she's running away from.
"What are you running towards?" she asked.
"I have no idea," came my empty reply. "I don't know what's waiting for me.” I realized I was filled with fear with no idea what I could possibly be running towards.
"Then let's figure out what you need to run away from. You're going to get on this treadmill and run until you know."
She put it on the "treading speed" and I started to run. Within a few minutes, I knew and the tears came. Again.
Behind me was disappointment—the disappointment of not having the life I thought I'd have by this point in my life.
Behind me was anger, though it was hard to admit—anger at myself, mostly.
Behind me was regret—the regret that, if I'm really capable of making this dramatic change in my life, I didn't do it sooner.
Behind me was fear (fear of failure...AND fear of success)—fear that too much would change. And fear that not enough would.
We talked about all of that and she gave me the chance to say everything I needed to give voice to. I shared what was in my head...and my heart. I shared so many things I had just been afraid to say out loud.
And then she asked the next important question:
"So, what's in front of you?"
I almost didn't miss a beat.
"Me,” I said. It was like I had been waiting to admit it.
The problem was that I wasn't in front of me as a believing girl who was leading the way. I was in front of me, facing me, questioning me, fearing me and what I was about to do. I had proven I could do things I couldn’t do. The problem was, learning that seemed to scare me.
"You've been fighting yourself long enough. You have to choose which army is going to win. So what do you want, Laurel?"
"I want to be the girl I was born to be. I want to know I'm living life at my optimum. I want to do this."
"Then let's do this," she said quietly but sternly.
She told me I was going to run until I saw the girl who was standing in my way take her rightful place behind me where she could push me forward. And I was going to run...at a speed I'd never run before.
When she told me the speed, I wanted to say, "I can't run that fast."
But, I knew I couldn't say it.
And I also knew I had to run.
And I ran.
Behind me was regret—the regret that, if I'm really capable of making this dramatic change in my life, I didn't do it sooner.
Behind me was fear (fear of failure...AND fear of success)—fear that too much would change. And fear that not enough would.
We talked about all of that and she gave me the chance to say everything I needed to give voice to. I shared what was in my head...and my heart. I shared so many things I had just been afraid to say out loud.
And then she asked the next important question:
"So, what's in front of you?"
I almost didn't miss a beat.
"Me,” I said. It was like I had been waiting to admit it.
The problem was that I wasn't in front of me as a believing girl who was leading the way. I was in front of me, facing me, questioning me, fearing me and what I was about to do. I had proven I could do things I couldn’t do. The problem was, learning that seemed to scare me.
"You've been fighting yourself long enough. You have to choose which army is going to win. So what do you want, Laurel?"
"I want to be the girl I was born to be. I want to know I'm living life at my optimum. I want to do this."
"Then let's do this," she said quietly but sternly.
She told me I was going to run until I saw the girl who was standing in my way take her rightful place behind me where she could push me forward. And I was going to run...at a speed I'd never run before.
When she told me the speed, I wanted to say, "I can't run that fast."
But, I knew I couldn't say it.
And I also knew I had to run.
And I ran.
It wasn't even a full minute.
But I was going at a speed I'd never gone before and it transformed me.
The fight inside my head was quiet.
I felt like I was being pushed from behind.
And I knew...I KNEW...my body and spirit were truly one.
I cried some more (the ugly kind of crying).
"Let it all out," she said.
And I did.
All of it.
Then she said, "What do you want to do now?"
Out of my mouth came, "I want to do it again."
And I ran again at the same speed.
And it was the most freeing experience of my life.
I could feel my feet.
But I was going at a speed I'd never gone before and it transformed me.
The fight inside my head was quiet.
I felt like I was being pushed from behind.
And I knew...I KNEW...my body and spirit were truly one.
I cried some more (the ugly kind of crying).
"Let it all out," she said.
And I did.
All of it.
Then she said, "What do you want to do now?"
Out of my mouth came, "I want to do it again."
And I ran again at the same speed.
And it was the most freeing experience of my life.
I could feel my feet.
I was in the present and I was running.
No longer worried about the future and what might (or might not be) waiting for me—no longer worried about the past and the "should haves" or "could haves".
I was just running.
And I felt free.
Free to run.
When I was done, I took in a breath deeper than I ever remember breathing before.
I couldn't believe how good it felt to breathe.
The fear was gone.
And in its place was an excitement I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
And light. I felt so much light.
No longer worried about the future and what might (or might not be) waiting for me—no longer worried about the past and the "should haves" or "could haves".
I was just running.
And I felt free.
Free to run.
When I was done, I took in a breath deeper than I ever remember breathing before.
I couldn't believe how good it felt to breathe.
The fear was gone.
And in its place was an excitement I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
And light. I felt so much light.
I looked at my trainer—this woman who had been an answer to my prayers.
"You look completely different," she said.
I didn't even need a mirror to verify the truth of what she said.
I knew I looked different because I felt different.
I was a runner. Not a runner for running’s sake—but a runner who had a life up ahead waiting for her.
And I was anxious to get to it.
"You look completely different," she said.
I didn't even need a mirror to verify the truth of what she said.
I knew I looked different because I felt different.
I was a runner. Not a runner for running’s sake—but a runner who had a life up ahead waiting for her.
And I was anxious to get to it.
Laurel Christensen grew up in California, Kentucky and Missouri. She has a Bachelor of Science degree from Brigham Young University which she received after serving in the Riverside California Mission. She has spent most of her career at Deseret Book Company where she worked for several years as the Director of Entertainment, producing shows like The Forgotten Carols and launching and managing Jericho Road, among other artists. She is currently the Vice President of Product Development and also oversees the Time Out for Women program, spending many weekends on the road producing Time Out events. Laurel has a Masters degree in Communications Management and thinks it would be fun to someday be called “Professor”. She is the author of several talk CDs and books for young women.