I ran again today.  It’s hard to make something a habit when it feels like a sadistic way to make yourself healthy.  But, alas, I ran anyway and that’s what counts.  Something new occurred to me today though.  I am my own cheerleader.  I HAVE to be my own cheerleader.  Because I don’t want to let myself down?  Because I don’t want to be the chubby chick anymore?  Yes to both.  But there’s more.  I have to be my own cheerleader because I want to be strong.  And therefore, my mantra as I was running on my treadmill was “Strong is the new sexy”.  Not new or unique, I realize, but it was a way for me to remind myself what I was working toward during the times I wanted to die during that run.

For instance, when I started my warm up, and I was all “I totally have this in the bag”, there was no mantra needed.  I was awesome.  And then the running began.  And that’s when I got, shall we say, unawesome.  And suddenly this out-of-shape southern belle started to notice her muscles aching.  So I reminded myself “Strong is the new sexy”.

And five minutes later, when my lungs started to burn, I thought: “Gee…the word SUCK applies right now.”  My lungs were on fire.  Seriously.  On fire.  But I remembered my mantra.  “Strong is the new sexy”, I told myself.  So I dug deeper, and kept going.

At the 20 minute mark, I started to hate my life.  I hated running.  My legs hurt.  I had sweat in my eyes.  My deodorant had given out about 10 minutes ago, and now I was starting to smell.  Lord knows I probably looked like a Shar Pei chasing a squirrel at high noon.  But “Strong is the new sexy”, right?!  And I want to be strong, right?  Okay, who the heck am I kidding – I want to be SEXY!  So I sucked it up, and somehow managed to finish the run.  And ya know what?  I felt good.  Great, even!!  And as I drug myself through my bedroom, I caught a glimpse of me in the mirror, covered in sweat.  Had it running down my neck and my arms and my face.  And I thought “Strong IS the new sexy”!  And a few minutes later, when I got stuck in my sports bra because it wouldn’t come off over those sweaty arms, I thought….”Yeah, Cayce, you’re sexy alright.  You’re just awesome.”  I still think I sacrificed a layer of skin getting that thing off.

But ya know what?  Later, when I was laying in the floor of my shower trying to convince myself to turn off the water and start my day, I reminded myself that I had survived my workout.  And that meant I was one day stronger.  Which means I am one day sexier too.  And that sounds pretty awesome.  : )