Pushing.

Just over three years ago, I was in the throes of childbirth pain. I had been a relaxing champ for several long hours, breathing, visualizing, drooping, and focusing. Finally the urge to push started to rise. And I followed.
But my body wouldn't.
I was too tired. I tried willing my body to push and focus and end this, but I just couldn't. Everyone was cheering for me, pushing me, but I felt weak and completely helpless. I looked in Daman's eyes and told him I just couldn't do it. I wanted them to cut me open, reach in and pull her out, do anything to make it all stop.
The nurse told me the baby wasn't "happy." Oddly, that didn't help. Did she think I was "happy"? Then, a bolder nurse came in, looked at the monitor, put her hand firmly on my knee and said, "This baby needs out. Right now."
 That flipped my switch. My baby was in trouble, and suddenly I realized that I was the only one who was going to get her safe. So I summoned whatever I had left in me and I pushed. I screamed. I groaned. But in two pushes, little Emma was safe. She was weak and bluer than she should have been. The cord was wrapped around her neck and had been tightening throughout the pushing process. They had lost her heartbeat briefly--the moment when the firm nurse stepped in and clarified the moment.
  In those moments before I summoned the strength to do so, I did not believe I had anything left in me to give. I was trying to will my body to work, but it was frozen, weak, worn, and uncooperative. And somehow, I believe that something else could surely make this happen. Couldn't they just pull her? Couldn't someone just get her out for me? But they couldn't. I was the only person that could deliver that baby safely. If I had quit, our Emma could have had a very different start.
  Today, my body felt that way again. I wanted to push through. I wanted to exercise. I wanted to do the power jumps, the insane push-ups, and cheer along with Shaun-T barking at me to dig deeper. But my muscles just wouldn't. I felt weak, tired, and beaten. I wept through the entire workout, stumbling my way through a sad impression of the hard bodies on the television screen. 
  And my mind went back three years. I remembered that feeling of weakness. I remembered that feeling of helplessness. My mind began to wonder if this is really possible. . really worth it. . . really doable. Can I really change? Is this plan really right? Isn't there another way?? And suddenly, I realized that there is not.
  There is simply no other way than for me to push. There are methods, but they all require the pushing. And the common denominator in all of them is Me, doing what I think I cannot do. If I want to break through this barrier and feel free, honest, and strong. I have to do it. If I want to radically change the way I eat, feel lean and healthy in 4 months, and end the obsession with dieting for the rest of my life, I have to do it. There is not a soul on God's green earth that can do this for me. Not even God can do this for me. I can pray, plead, and ask. And He will support, edify, and magnify. But I have to put in the sweat. I have to say no to the food. I have to say yes to the change. I have to do the pushing. If I want my life to change. I have to change it. And just like my precious Emma. . . the rewards of this push will be so sweetly worth it.

Cooked

(Editor's Note: This was robbed from the internet and not actually taken in my actual kitchen. I'm not saying this never happens in my kitchen, but at this moment I am innocent. Thank you. . . you may continue reading)

So, if the last two days were the Raw Olympics and I were team USA, let's just say I was more along the lines of Michael Phelps than the women's gymnastic team. Just a little short of my lofty ambitions.

But, shall I quit? No.

I'd kind of like to. I'd kind of like to roll over and say that this is incredibly too hard and impossibly too extreme and I'm crazy for trying it. But, as the Avett Brothers say: "When your dreams start sayin' they can't come true, you'd better off without them, don't let 'em go."

So I won't. Tomorrow I rise to juice again. I will make pulp crackers. I will eat broccoli. I will look at chicken and rice and laugh. I will mock the oreos as they call my name. Because I have decided to go raw. And go raw I shall.  Tomorrow, I shall stand on the raw podium and claim my medal. Even if it is only a bronze. 

Ouch.

Tonight was a real test of my resolve. We had an open house at a friend's home and there was a royal dessert spread. . . peanut butter cookies, chocolate chip cookies, assorted cupcakes---my own crack buffet. And there were other yummy non-sweet but (gasp!) cooked treats as well. It is a little humiliating how hard it was for me to pass them by. I honestly almost cried. I felt like I was in mourning, letting go of some things that I really enjoy. But, I never enjoy how they make me feel. My heart was racing and I felt anxious. I sent the kids with my husband into the den of dessert demons and signaled to him that I just couldn't go in there. It might seem silly to any non-food addict, but it would be like a recovering alcoholic at a free wet bar. Sure, there were mini cupcakes that I could have had in one bite. But something in me knew that one bite of that stuff would have led to a binge. And that would have led to shame.

To sum up: This is really really hard.

But, I believe that one day it will get easier. Each time I say no, my brain will reset. Every time I breathe and walk away, I will grow stronger. I will remember how good this lifestyle makes me feel. Slip-ups will grow farther and farther apart. And someday (?) I will go to one of these buffet events and nothing on that table will look good to me but the watermelon.

It will get easy. . . but not until I push through the hard.

Encouraging

Weight is coming off! I knew it would, even though I've been trying to focus on what I'm gaining not what I'm losing. But, watching my body come back after a year of mindless eating is really fantastic. I feel like I'm shedding layers. . . the real, raw Mo is emerging.

My Why.

So many thoughts/post ideas scramble in my brain sometimes, especially when I am out on a run. I have thought about this being a "running raw" sort of blog. I am training for a half marathon in November, using that as a platform for my raw transition as well. And there will be a smattering of that.

If I had a better camera I'd take stellar shots of my delicious juices (um. . pure orange and strawberry juice? Fantastic) and yummy salads. But, I don't. So, it won't be a recipe blog, and there are plenty of people out there that do wonderful jobs with that already, no need to sally forth with my own mediocre photography and recipe creation. Though, if I strike gold, I won't be shy about tooting my own horn.
No, for me, in so many ways, this is about so much more than food.
It is about being free, honest, strong, and open.
To illustrate my point, I want to give you a raw example from my life. This last week I went to Virginia to visit my sister and some other friends we hadn't seen in about a year since we'd moved away. It was a last sort of hurrah before the kids and I head to our respective schools.
I halfheartedly told my sister that I was *shrug* trying the raw lifestyle, but I quickly followed with excuses that I was travelling, and it was hard, etc. etc. etc. The truth was I had already compromised a great deal on the drive there, eating a burger and fries, a twix bar, and a bag of reese's pieces. I'd already accepted that I wasn't really going to stay raw on this trip, but I felt the need to announce I would "try" thinking that would make it seem like I was a healthy eater.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave. . . .
The sneaking, the stuffing, the hiding. It all happened. I snuck spoonfuls of ice cream, I took the kids places to eat just because I really wanted to eat there, not because they did. I bought donuts on solo trips to the grocery store. And I hid it all. I've gotten frighteningly good at that. By trip's end, my capacity for self-deception scared me, and I knew that I needed to press forward in this lifestyle, holding on to the prompting and urging within, to the spiritual confirmation I'd felt when I presenting this plan to the Lord, and no matter what. . . keep pressing forward.
And, I have.
Upon coming home, I started a two day juice fast to cleanse and recover from my weekend of chocolate cake fun. This was, I felt, a really important step. I need to feel at peace with hunger. I need to learn to breathe and not panic when I feel urges. I need to release food.
I actually really enjoyed this, and if we were made of money and could spend twenty bucks a day on fresh produce, I might never eat solid food again. But, two days was it.
And then I went to my mom's house. . always a place of regression.  I had decided to end my juice fast and my mom had fruit for me. . and sugar cookies for the kids.
I ate both.
And I found myself checking the cupboards for chocolate. And, of course, I found it. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed of it either. This is a process, and one I am determined to continue. It will take time. It will take time to recalibrate the way I view family togetherness. This lifestyle means that food will not be central to being together. I'll be on the fringes of eating often. I won't have birthday cake, I won't make birthday cake. I won't eat the same as my family. I'll have to say "No, thanks" more often than I ever have. That will take courage and confidence. It will mean standing up for myself, believing in myself, and trusting that though how I eat might not make sense to anyone else, and that many might make very valid arguments that it is far too extreme, it feels incredibly right to me. It feels centered and energized. And I am determined to make it work. When I picture myself (finally) able to live this lifestyle consistently, I immediately feel freedom. I will not live and die by the scale. I won't weigh and measure what I eat. I won't face parties or holidays with a thrilling trepidation because I am both excited to eat and dreading the decisions.
So, yes, it is extreme. But, hiding and sneaking and snacking and stuffing. . . that is pretty extreme too. Some are able to embrace moderation. These are the special souls who can stop at one brownie. I am not one of those souls. And so this is how I want to live. . . most of the time. I don't always want it. Many times I want a brownie. . and a candy bar. . and a pizza. But, I believe, that one choice at a time, the good will overcome the bad. And even with slip-ups and shortfalls, in time my body and soul will be free. And in the process, I will be stronger and closer to the God that gives me the power to change.

I am going raw. And look at all I get to eat!!

I'm in day 2 now of my raw journey. I am determined to only take this one day at a time. I will not think now about birthday cake at Isaac's party on Friday. . okay I've actually already thought of that. Daman's in charge of baking it. But, I feel very strongly that this is a wonderful path for me, that I will feel healthy, strong, and free. But, I also know that it will take time, repetition, and that in three days it might seem impossible. So, I am focusing on the now. The purpose of this blog is to honestly chronicle this new stage in my life. It isn't just about raw food. . it is about raw life. I think that eventually I will 100% love this lifestyle, but for now I am just trying to brave it out. And there will probably be times when I'm not so brave. But, I will be honest--and not just about what I'm eating.