Lisa Baumert

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I need running more than ever

February 7, 2017 by Lisa Leave a Comment

When things don’t make sense and the world is spinning out of control, when absurdity and malice prevail, I need running more than ever. When I’m angry and sad and confused and despairing for the world I want my kids to grow up in; when the news seems fake and I wish the facts were alternative, I need running more than ever.

In the past few months, I’ve needed running because it is an escape – from reality, from Twitter, from my obsessions and fears. But also because running brings me back to reality – back to the hard and pounding cadence of what is, and what this day – and this day alone – requires. Running wears out any pretense of what I want to be or wish wasn’t, leaving only the heaving, sweaty, tired core of who I am, and what is.

I need running because it reminds me that I can do hard things.

Running teaches me that hard work produces results – and also, that sometimes, it doesn’t. Running teaches me that working for and toward good things is always worth it.

Running forces me to listen to myself, to take care of myself and to treat myself with respect.

Running makes me strong.

Running connects me with fierce, funny, talented women who care deeply about being good people – good employees, mothers, wives, daughters, friends and runners.

Running reminds me that I come from a long line of strong women.

Kathrine &
Grete &
Joan &
Cindy – my mother – who was among the first generation of women given the opportunity to run. When her high school track coach was reluctant to let his female athletes run more than a couple laps around the track, she returned home after practice to log miles on the country roads that veined out in all directions from her family’s Nebraska farm. At the University of Nebraska, she lettered in Track & Field and Field Hockey, the very first year women were able letter in sports.

I need running because it reminds me that women are strong – and we’re getting stronger.

Running makes me feel free and powerful.

Running reminds me of my limitations, and my need for the love and support and friendship of others.

Running shows me the necessity of listening to, loving and supporting others.

Running helps me understand that I matter; my body matters.

Running teaches me that my body is my own and that it is useful. It is capable of doing difficult and awesome things. Running teaches me that my body is not an object of or tool for, others – that the difficult and awesome things my body does, can be for me alone, and no one else.

I’ve needed running more than ever in the past few months because – it’s just running. It’s a privilege and a hobby whose meaning is derived from my use of it, the value which I give it. Running matters and it doesn’t – and it’s beautiful because of that. Running stands in stark contrast to those things which really are a matter of life and death, of a better, more equitable future for all.

I need running now more than ever because it grounds me, and it prepares me to live and work honestly and courageously in the world outside the running path.

Posted in: Running, What I'm thinking Tagged: politics, Running, self love, What I'm Thinking

I can do hard things

January 7, 2017 by Lisa 1 Comment

I can do hard things.

This has been my mantra the past few days. The holidays are over, the new year has begun, and here in Minnesota we’ve entered the coldest, most bleak time of the year. I can do hard things. The next few months will feel longer than all of the rest combined, and every effort expended in them will be harder, take longer and drain more of your “capacity to deal” than at any other time. I know this. I hate this. But I will live through it.

Last night after work I left the office and walked the three blocks to my gym. I muttered under my breath, “I can do hard things.” It was -5 degrees and of course I would rather go home, sit on the couch and refresh Twitter while watching episodes of Girls end-on-end. Really, I don’t have to run.

I told myself, “I can do hard things.”

This morning my alarm sounded at 4:45 a.m. I got up, made coffee and then stretched on layer of clothing over layer of clothing, covering every part of me – leaving nothing exposed but my eyes. I locked the door behind me and stepped out into the -11 degree pre-dawn darkness. I can do hard things. I ran the mile to my gym. My eyes watered and stung. I can do hard things. In the locker room I shed layer after layer of clothing, down to shorts and a tank top.

I’m not sure which I dislike more – the cold or the treadmill. Painful v. Boring. Miserable v. Terrible.  Today the treadmill won out as a matter of safety. An 8-mile progression run in the dark over sporadically icy terrain is a fool’s errand.

I stood on the dreadmill (yes, dreadmill) for a long time before starting the belt; adjusting my headphones and choosing music, flipping through the television channels and putting off the inevitable. I can do hard things.

And I did. It kind of sucked. But, I did.

The snot froze in my nose during my walk to the bus stop this morning. I’m dreading the journey home. But I can do hard things.

I can do hard things is not a command. It is not an admonition. It’s an affirmation that I can, in fact, do hard, difficult, unwanted, miserable things. Hard things that have to do not only with running in the winter in Minnesota, but also the hard things that are working and being kind and grieving and keeping the kitchen moderately clean and moving forward and believing in myself when there are more “NOs” than “YESes.” Sometimes hard things can’t be avoided. Other times they are a necessary means to an end you’ve chosen.

I’m quite aware that the hard things of my the day-to-day existence look meager when held up next to those of so many other people – many I see, some of whom I know and love. People doing the hard things of loss and diagnosis and false hope – deterioration, abandonment, getting old and having babies.  The hard things of learning and trying to live well; having hope and working for a better world and facing those with whom you disagree.

One could, if they were so inclined, see life as merely a perpetual state of doing hard things. Birth – Growth – Relationships – Survival – Death. That’s thing about hard things – they will happen, guaranteed. They can’t be wished away or passively endured. They take work and determination and courage.

Being a human is hard. That’s where my mantra comes in. We can do hard things. We are tough. We are strong enough to acknowledge and name and accept and endure hard things – which is all you can really do with them. Hard things sometimes make us stronger, and sometimes they just are.

We have to do them. We can do them. We might as well affirm ourselves of the later.

I can do hard things.

Saying it somehow makes me feel strong and tough and accomplished. Saying it moves me from victimhood to ownership; from passive to active. Even if it doesn’t change the reality of my hard things – and it won’t – it changes my framing of them.

I’ve got to get through this winter somehow.

I can do hard things.

Posted in: What I'm thinking Tagged: What I'm Thinking

Today’s outfit

May 25, 2016 by Lisa 3 Comments

First grade outfit

Today my outfit looks a lot like something I would have worn in first grade.

Back then, my favorite color was purple, my favorite food was Cosmic Brownies and my favorite activity was monopolizing the swings during recess while singing songs from Aladdin.

Is it weird to worry that your 6-year-old self wouldn’t like your current self? Because I do.

Sure, first grade Lisa didn’t like to brush her teeth and refused to learn how to read, but she also unselfconsciously embraced what she liked. She sang really loud and tried to set pr’s with her skip-it and traversed the neighborhood on a pogo stick. She thought everything Lisa Frank was made especially for her.

She rode her bike like this:

Little Lisa on a bike

I think she was more brave than I am.

I bet she would like the skirt I’m wearing today and my balcony garden. She’d find my pantry boring, but my nail polish collection, amazing. So that’s a start.

Being an adult is awesome (when it doesn’t suck). But childhood had a whole lot more wonder and exploration and risk and unbridled amusement.

I probably don’t have enough of those things.

I worry a lot about what other people think. And most of the time, that gets me no where but confused and anxious.

I think I’m going to lean into my worry about 6-year-old Lisa’s estimation of me. Her opinion – if nothing else – will leave me in a more colorful and happy place.

Posted in: What I'm thinking Tagged: self love, What I'm Thinking

Moms know best

May 14, 2016 by Lisa Leave a Comment

Balcony garden

My mom always advised, “Don’t plant your garden until Mother’s Day.”

She was in town last weekend and helped me set up the balcony garden. We walked through the aisles of Home Depot’s garden department for an hour and a half, admiring, choosing and weighing the pros and cons. But mostly just admiring.

“Look at that beautiful strawberry plant. It looks so happy. You need it. Yes. You need it. Put it in the cart”

And so, the balcony garden came to be.

Mom is wise when it comes to the ways of plants. She’s not afraid to dig her hands into the dirt. She scoffs at those who wear “gardening gloves.”

Under her tutelage I’ve come to understand the value of proper drainage and the necessity of talking to your plants. Positive affirmation goes a long way in reaching full bloom potential. It really does.

For all her wisdom, it turns out, the “no garden before Mother’s Day rule” doesn’t apply to Minnesota.

The #balconygarden came inside last night, and will probably do the same tonight. Temperatures can reach below freezing in mid-May up here in the North. And so, I’ve spent most of the day watching Netflix and painting my nails.

As a plant mom, it’s hard to see your babies cooped up inside, away from the direct sunlight. But you have to do what’s best for them, you know?

I’ve told them that the forecast looks promising – that they’ll be tall and lush and vibrant in no time. I didn’t mention The Evil Squirrels of Loring Park. It’s best not to focus on the negative. And plus, when they’re inside – as long as the squirrels don’t get in through the hole they ate in the screen of my kitchen window – they’re safe.

Posted in: What I'm thinking Tagged: Balcony Garden, Balcony Life, Minneapolis, What I'm Thinking

Linked Up

May 13, 2016 by Lisa Leave a Comment

Old Pillsbury Mill

It’s been a while since I last shared my favorite internet finds. It’s not that the internet hasn’t been full of ridiculous and wonderful and mind-blowing things. It’s just that – to be honest – I’ve been busy.

First off, there’s my balcony garden. I planted it last weekend and it’s just so needy. It rained a lot this week so I haven’t actually had to water it yet – but it just takes up so much of my mental energy. I’m constantly worried about The Evil Squirrels of Loring Park (yes, that usage of a proper noun is appropriate). After a winter in which a general cessation of hostilities was maintained, my war with The Evil Squirrels of Loring Park ramped back up this week when my very first, beautiful, perfect, little strawberry was eaten by a ravenous and ungrateful rodent. Life is truly brutish, nasty and short.

Another occupier of my time has been my efforts to keep up with the Kardashian/Jenner/Blac Chyna saga. If you’re not familiar, Kylie is dating Tyga (but I heard that they may have broken up right before the Met Gala) and Rob is engaged to Blac Chyna who recently announced her pregnancy via Chymoji on Instagram. Tyga and Chyna used to be engaged and have a kid together. Kris and the fam are acting like everything is OK but I know that secretly, they are losing their s#&%. Between snap stories and Instagram, Twitter and the gossip news sites, there’s just so much to learn and care about.

And then there is the basic, boring stuff like work and running and family. But whatevs. Priorities, am I right?

So here is what I’ve found particularly interesting on the internet over the past few weeks.

I’d also love to know what you are reading and listening to. Tell me about it in the comments.


How jogging in Burundi became an act of war.

My latest podcast obsession is Call Your Girlfriend. It’s exactly what it sounds like – two smart, funny, female friends talking politics, pop-culture and whatever they find interesting.

Have you heard of Empty Nose Syndrome? Medical professionals aren’t sure that it’s a real thing, but people are killing themselves over it.

I’ve been immensely enjoying the political satire of Alexandra Petri.

Thirteen genetic superheros walk among us.

Fresh Air‘s Terry Gross recently spoke with The Longest Shortest Time – a podcast on parenting – about her decision to not have kids. If you don’t know Terry Gross, she’s public radio royalty – the best interviewer there is, hands down.

GQ’s profile of Melania Trump is highly entertaining and worth the read.

How to avoid boring sunsets.

My music suggestion is a no-brainer. And if I’m being honest, it’s not so much a music suggestion as it is a music order. – Sturgill Simpson’s new album, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth. Listen to it.

The album is more or less a letter to his son, and this song in particular is phenomenal:

Keep up the good work. We’ve got this.

Posted in: Uncategorized, What I'm loving Tagged: Linked Up

running clothes and rabbit

April 28, 2016 by Lisa 4 Comments

Born to run free 2

When I first started running, I wore polyester basketball shorts, a cotton t-shirt and a sports bra from the juniors section at Walmart. It was your basic P.E. uniform – the same thing I wore to softball practice or when I rode my bike to the Texaco gas station on the corner of Bell and Clarmar, to buy Bubble Tape. A pure and uncomplicated getup that was a little too big, it was for the most part comprised of hand-me-downs. It wasn’t great, but it got me through many formative miles on the sidewalks of Fremont, NE.

I started running before the days of specialty running shops in every town, athleisure and coordinating workout separates. I started running not long after Oprah completed a marathon, but before the recreational running boom she helped launch, took hold. I started running before running was cool (insert hipster meme here) and before social media allowed you to document, share and receive affirmation for every training run and themed 5k you completed. Running wasn’t always so popular, and running apparel used to be much less complicated.

Now don’t get me wrong. While my “early adopter” status is a source of pride, I’m grateful and indebted to the growing popularity of running. In the same way that youth soccer undergirds the success of professional soccer in the United States, the top echelon of the running world benefit in talent and money from the sport’s growth among the masses.

Rabbit gear

Sure, those clothes from my early days of running were inferior to the engineered fabrics and flattering fits of today’s athletic wear. But they were also pure and easy, simple and functional. They served the purpose for which they were employed – to help me train hard and run fast.

By the time I entered high school and became more competitive in the sport, my mom and I would make the 90 minute round trip trek into Omaha at the beginning of each track and cross country season to buy my training shoes and spikes at a specialty running store. That store was my first glimpse into a running culture and the gear and clothing designed specifically for people like me – people who love to run.

During one of my first trips to that running store, I pulled a pair of billowy shorts off the rack. They were covered in neon geometric shapes, and I was confused to find that they had built-in underwear. Why would you want that?! – I remember thinking. So odd.

Upon discovering that every pair of running shorts in the store had that same feature, I deduced that built-in underwear was a runner thing – a special thing that real, serious runners liked. That day, I convinced my mom to buy me those bright, billowy shorts. I wore them through college, until the elastic wore out. And in time, I discovered that there is a real benefit to lined shorts. I also learned how certain styles and fits of running clothing help me do what I love, easier and better.

Fabrics that don’t sag or chafe, colors that don’t fade, materials that wick away moisture but don’t hold onto smells, and clothes that keep me cool or hot, depending on which I prefer. – This is what I look for in running clothing. I want simple, effective clothes that I can put on and forget about. I want clothes that allow me to do what I love, well.

But let’s be honest, I also appreciate the popularity – no dominance – of activewear. I love me some good Lululemon yoga pants, and I’m scared to join Fabletics for fear that I’d spend way too much money on their comfortable-yet-cute clothing (that can be worn to both happy hour and the gym!). And there’s no shame in admitting that really wish I was cool enough to sport Beyonce’s new Ivy Park line, specifically this number.

Activewear is great. Athleisure is wonderful. But when it comes to running, I prefer simple and functional.

I also prefer running clothes that allows me to easily transition from running to side-planking.

I also prefer running clothes that allow me to easily transition from running to side-planking.

Shortly before the Olympic Trials, I was contacted through Instagram by brand new running apparel company – rabbit. Their product wasn’t even in stores yet, but they were hoping to get a few athletes who were running in the Trials, to wear their racing kit. I chatted on the phone Monica, one of the founders of rabbit, to learn more about the company and what they are doing. She told me that she and her co-founder Jill started rabbit after growing tired of athleticwear that was complicated and impractical. They wanted to create running clothes that were simple and made for one purpose – running.

Ok. I can get behind that, I thought.

I told Monica to send me their racing kit and if I liked it, I’d wear it at the Trials.

Rabbit Racing Kit

The quality of the rabbit uniform she sent me, was high. It was soft and well-cut, stretchy but structured. I liked it.

You’ll remember that Olympic Trials was a tough, hot and emotion-filled experience.  So much went through my mind during that long 26.2 mile race, but one thing I didn’t think about was my uniform. I dumped 16oz of water over my head and body every 3 miles, and I didn’t once adjust my shorts. I finished the race without chafing, and my singlet dried out, shortly after I finished.

A company whose mission and values I respect, and whose product is top-notch – I was sold.

Rabbit logo

And so you can imagine that I was thrilled when Monica and Jill asked me to be an elite-level ambassador of the brand – something they’re calling RADrabbitPRO. (The RAD part stands for “Runners And Dreamers”.)

I’ll admit that in recent years, I’ve been reluctant to associate myself and my running with a brand. Running is an extremely personal and important thing to me. I don’t want to feel that my passion is beholden to a company that treats me as a walking – or running – billboard. With rabbit, I’m comfortable and confident in what they stand for, and what they are trying do. They know me and want to support me, and their clothes are so fricking awesome.

And so, last month I signed a contract and am officially a rabbit – a RADrabbit.

I’m excited about this. I think it could be something pretty great.

If you want to learn more about rabbit, and order their awesome running gear, check out their website, www.runinrabbit.com.

Did I mention that all of their clothes are made in the U.S.A?

Also, Rabbit is committed to supporting running specialty stores – places like the shop where I first discovered lined shorts and running culture. They believe that these stores serve runners, and are the anchors of the running community in each town, and I agree.

I think rabbit is pretty awesome, and I’m excited to be a part of what they’re trying to do. Stay tuned.

Posted in: Running, What I'm thinking Tagged: rabbit, Running, What I'm Loving, What I'm Thinking

Pugs and Pillows and Sparking Joy

April 1, 2016 by Lisa 1 Comment

Pug pillow

Spend a little time around me and you will discover my latest obsession – pugs. I’m not quite sure when or how it started but sometime in the past few years I became fixated on the pudgy little critters.

I mean, what’s not to love? They’re fat and lazy and wrinkly and grumpy and flighty and they can’t breath very well or swim. The pug is basically my spirit animal – if spirit animal meant your anthropomorphic antithesis. I get pugs. Pugs get me. I make a point to stop and greet every pug I see out on the path when I’m running, and I’ve never met a pug I didn’t like. I have total pug cute aggression.

And yes, I want a pug. I would get a pug in a heartbeat, but common sense and rental agreements are no respecters of life goals. I’m honest enough to know that I value the freedom of my dog-less life, and that the idea of a pug might just be more fun – at least for now – than an actual pug living in my one-bedroom, fourth floor walk-up.

As fate would have it, last month I won a pug pillow in a raffle at a local running store. Ok, so it wasn’t so much fate as it was my friend and teammate buying the raffle prizes and maybe slightly rigging the game so that the pug pillow was available when my name was drawn. Details. Details. It was destiny.

It was also a joke. I didn’t really plan to do much with the pillow, or even keep it for that matter. Like I said, I live in an apartment. Space is precious. I’ve made a point to keep our home decluttered and its decor simple. The pug pillow fell in the category of things that – if I even let them get past the dumpster in the parking lot – end up in the trash or donation pile a short while later. Like buttons from a parade or tchotchkes in a Christmas stocking, the pug pillow was destined to be a victim of my perpetual decluttering efforts.

You know who Marie Kondo is, right? I haven’t read her bestselling book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing – and to be honest I’m a little put off by how obsessed everyone is with the Kondo method. But in my less cynical moments I recognize – from what I’ve read and heard – that she’s on to something. Her most basic and overarching decluttering technique is to approach each and every item in your possession with the simple question, “Does it spark joy?”  Does it truly make you happy? If it does, keep it. If it doesn’t, toss it. – It all makes sense to me, even if the cult of Kondo is a bit annoying. I should probably Kondo-ify my apartment one of these days. I’m sure that I’m holding onto many things out of guilt or habit or laziness – and not out of joy. It would be a productive exercise, I’m sure.

The night I “won” the pug pillow, I brought it up to the apartment and set him on a chair, facing out to survey the room. The plan was to eventually – sooner rather than later – dispose of Puggy. He didn’t fit with our decor, and he was decidedly tacky. Who – other than a small child – would reasonably display a pillow with a life-sized snapshot of a pug on it? Puggy would be rehomed shortly.

But then something funny happened. As Puggy the pug pillow sat on that chair in the dining room, his eyes would catch mine each time I passed. They are such buldgy and happy eyes. His eyes do that thing – like the eyes of white Jesus in the picture that hung in my childhood home – that thing where they somehow follow you wherever you move, staring deep into your soul. My mom used to tell me that that picture of white Jesus at the end of the hallway next to my bedroom was a reminder that Jesus is always watching you. A not so subtle reminder, it turns out. To be honest, I much prefer the idea of an omniscient pug than an all-seeing Jesus who is reminiscent of Al Pacino in the movie Serpico. But that’s just me.

Puggy the pug pillow living the #balconylife.

Puggy the pug pillow living the #balconylife.

And as my gaze would meet Puggy’s, I noticed a strong feeling rise up in me. It started in my chest and tightened through my throat and made me want to say GAHHHH!!!!!

It was joy.

Puggy made me happy. Simple, pure happiness. Sometimes I would poke his nose as I passed, or say hello when I saw him. It’s silly, I know. I’ve never brought him to bed like a childhood stuffed animal, or played with him beyond taking his picture and trying to do a face swap on Snapchat [I haven’t yet gotten it to work :(]. He just sits on a chair and looks cute and makes me happy – really, really happy. And that’s not something to take for granted.

Of course, Puggy the pug pillow is no substitute for a real pug. He’s not particularly soft or moody. He violates all of my interior decorating sensibilities and he’s completely novel and ridiculous. He goes in the closet when company comes over. But, for all of his flaws, he does stand the test of Marie Kondo, the decluttering queen. He sparks joy. And as long as my husband doesn’t throw him away and I’m smitten with him, I let him live in my apartment.

Life is too short (and mundane, complex and ridiculous) not to keep the fugly pug pillow that brings you great joy. That’s my interpretation of  the Kondo method, and current life philosophy.

Posted in: What I'm loving Tagged: Pugs, What I'm Loving

Linked Up

March 25, 2016 by Lisa Leave a Comment

Stone arch

Heyo.

How’s the internet been treating you lately?

It’s been pretty good for me. But tbh, the election stuff is kinda wearing me down. I never thought I’d say it – because I’m a sucker for news and politics – but this presidential campaign season is getting to me. And by that I mean Donald Trump is getting to me.

So, if it’s OK with you, I’m going to skip the political links this time around.

Well, alright.  Maybe just one.

Ok, one more.

Now on to the good stuff.

Two years ago, Richard Simmons disappeared from public life. His friends worry that the fitness guru is being held against his will in his Hollywood Hills mansion.

We are in the era of the shrinking pop song title.

Research shows that there is a correlation between happiness, and having friends and not living in a densely populated area. Research shows the opposite is true for smart people.

In the history of truth, a new chapter begins.

“My sisters and I refuse to feel bad about shopping. And why should we? Obviously we have some hole we’re trying to fill, but doesn’t everyone?” – David Sedaris

Philip Johnson was a promising musical prodigy. Then he stole a teacher’s prized Stradivarius.

The 100 funniest jokes in the history of Twitter.

There is some lesson here about technology and human nature and trying to be cool and relevant. I don’t know what it is, exactly. But it’s there.

A photograph is shaped more by the person behind the camera, than by what’s in front of it.

Man arrested for not returning a VHS rental of Freddy Got Fingered 14 years ago.

Why the poor pay more for toilet paper.

The most important things to read to understand why Brussels became a terrorist hub.

If you’re looking for a really excellent podcast, check out Home of the Brave.

In internet news:

The runaway Vine meme that should never end.

The origin of some African Proverbs.

The pre-internet history of viral memes.

Where’s George?

For Christians, it’s Holy Week. In honor of this most of important of church holidays:

Jesus’ New York Times obituary.

I have long said that Easter Bunnies are terrifying and a bad idea. This proves my belief.

And finally, the best Easter song ever:

Posted in: What I'm loving Tagged: Linked Up, What I'm Loving

The first time I ran a mile

March 18, 2016 by Lisa 2 Comments

Middle school mile

The first time I ran a mile, I was 12 years old.

Well, that’s not completely accurate. I ran the “10-minute straw run” in gym glass. But if you were to ask my elementary school self, that didn’t really count. It wasn’t a truly accurate measure of my mile speed. And I cared about that.

You remember how the straw run worked, right? Orange cones marked out a circle in the field behind the playground. There were 10 minutes on the clock and you were given one straw for each lap of the circle you completed. It was the culmination of our physical education curriculum – the most dreaded and arduous undertaking of our 10-year-old lives.

And of course – as I did with all PE and related physical activities – I took the straw run way too seriously. I recall being convinced that people were cheating. I remember scoffing at my classmates who were walking. I also remember approaching my PE teacher after the bell had rung and class was over. I wanted to make sure – to hear it from her – that I had collected the most straws of any girl in my class.

[Remind me to tell you about the time I was the Third Grade Flexed Arm Hang Champion. It was glorious. I couldn’t write for two days afterward because my arm muscles seized up and gave out. I was so proud.]

Yeah, so basically I was that girl in Phy. Ed. that you hated. The one who you secretly hoped would “accidentally” get kicked in the face on scooter day.

The first time I ran a mile as a distance runner was in the summer of 1999. May of 1999 to be precise. I was fresh off a triple crown win at the All-City Track and Field Day. My 1st place blue ribbons for performances in the 400m, long jump and 100m shuttle relay were proudly pinned to the bulletin board in my room – likely next to my latest puff paint creation and the optical illusion JESUS heroglyph my grandmother had knitted on a plastic canvas. The later looked something like this. Grandma Krause made one for each of her grandchildren, and it had taken me several years and a lot of staring to finally see Jesus’ name.

I was 12 years old. I was growing out my bangs – but not all of them. Baby bangs were a big thing in Fremont, Nebraska at the time and despite my greasy, pimple-ridden forehead and inability to properly form them into the single swooping curl that the style demanded, growing out some but not all of my bangs felt like the first real autonomous style decision I had or could make. Those baby bangs made me feel cool and independent. They marked the beginning of my transition into adulthood and self-actualization – a process I’m still working through.

I was 12 years old and I looked like this:

6th grade Lisa

The day I ran a mile for the first time, my mother drove me to the high school. My hometown has only one public high school – Fremont High School – and it sits on Lincoln Avenue between 16th and 19th streets. In Fremont, the numbered streets pretty much end at 23. Beyond that it’s country roads laid out on a grid, corn fields and an intersection every mile.

It was 6:50 a.m. when we pulled into the north parking lot. I was sleepy and nervous. The high school cross country coach had invited me to train with the team several mornings a week during the summer. She had seen my victorious 400m effort at the All-City Track and Field Day and suggested that I give cross country a try. I peered out the passenger side window of my mother’s Chevy Astro van, watching as girls began to arrive. I looked for familiar faces and my stomach tightened. I wanted to be liked and welcomed; I wanted to do well. Like PE class, I cared – maybe too much.

All of the girls at practice that day – except for my friend Maggie – were older than me. I knew Maggie from church. We had gone to different elementary schools, but in the fall we’d both be starting 7th grade at Fremont Middle School. Maggie’s older brother ran cross country and she seemed to know what to expect; she seemed more confident than I.

Coach Hento was organized and direct, kind and clear.  After introductions and a stretching routine we divided into groups based on our abilities and the distance we would be running. Maggie and I were the last people assigned to a training group.

“You two will run with me,” Coach told Maggie and I. “We’re just going to go one mile today.”

One mile. OK. I can do that, I thought.

I wore basketball shorts, a cotton t-shirt and athletic shoes. They weren’t running shoes – just basic trainers. And they were a size and a half too big because maybe I was still growing, my mother said. It turns out, I wasn’t. My feet never got bigger and I never grew any taller after the beginning of that summer. That summer was the onset of what I would be for the rest of my life – the start of me growing into myself.

Maggie, Coach Hento and I waited for the other groups of runners to leave before we headed out on our one-mile run. Coach told us that we would go slow and that the key to training for and running long distances is pacing. I let Maggie and Coach take the lead as we left the parking lot. We headed west on 19th Street toward Bell. I was quiet.

“Keep your breathing calm,” Coach instructed. “You should be able to talk while you run at training pace.”

A mile felt like a long way. The idea of a mile felt even longer. In Fremont you can get from one end of town to the other in under three miles. Up to this point, all of my conscious life had been spent in this place – this flat and quiet place. Perspective has taught me that Fremont is small and flat and quiet. But back then, to me it was real and the measure of all that was important and normative.

I don’t remember all the details of that morning, but if it was like most summer mornings in Fremont, it was cool and damp. If the wind was blowing in the right direction, the smell of freshly slaughtered pigs was drifting north from the Hormel plant south of the tracks. There probably wasn’t much traffic and there’s a good chance I saw a few people I knew during that one-mile run. It would have all been familiar, even if the running a mile part was not.

As we headed back toward the high school on 16th street, just as we were passing by the CMA Church, Coach turned back to me.

“Don’t let your feet hit the ground so loudly. Your foot strike should be soft,” she instructed. “And drop your arms. Don’t carry them so high.”

I felt embarrassed and a bit discouraged at her instructions. For the remainder of the run I focused all my energy on quiet feet and low arms. I had so much to learn.

Unlike all of my running endeavors up to that point, this training run did not end in a sprint to the finish. There were no winners and losers that day – just an easy, abrupt stop and encouragement and affirmation all around. I liked that.

Coach Hento and I were the last people at practice that day. We sat on a concrete bench outside of the East Gym of the high school and waited for my mom. Coach asked me what I thought of my first day of cross country practice. Did I enjoy it?

“Yeah, I did,” I replied. “But I don’t know if long-distance running is for me. I don’t know if I can do this, or if I’ll be any good at it.”

I was being honest. I didn’t see myself as a long distance runner. There was a real sense of accomplishment in having run one mile, but thought of doing many more in succession was daunting.

“I think you’ll be OK,” Coach told me. “Just stick with it.”

And I did – obviously. Quitting was a sin in my house, after all. I came back the next morning and the one after that, and again the next week. My arms started swinging lower without me thinking about them. I got real running shoes and my feet stopped striking the pavement so forcefully.  I heeded Coach Hento’s advice and by the end of the summer my longest run was a 5-miler. Five miles is basically a marathon when it means that you reach every edge and cross all the major streets of your hometown.

By the end of the summer I was addicted to that unique sense of accomplishment running imparts – that very personal, quiet strength and self-gratification that bubbles up when you’ve done something powerful and beautiful and hard.

17 years later, I’ve learned that that sense of accomplishment never goes away if you’re kind enough to yourself to acknowledge it.

That summer was the beginning and end of a lot of things for me. My feet stopped getting bigger and I started growing out some but not all of my bangs. The following summer I would grow out the rest of them and start buying smaller shoes.

That summer I started gaining perspective on myself and my home. I started growing into and out of my life. I started figuring out the parts of me that are essential, and the things I’m better for leaving behind.

That summer I found my passion and my tribe.

The first time I ran a mile didn’t change my life. But now, with a little more time, mileage and perspective – I can say that it probably did.

Posted in: Running, What I'm thinking Tagged: Fremont, Nebraska, Running, What I'm Thinking

Linked Up

March 11, 2016 by Lisa Leave a Comment

Old building

Hey. How’s it going?

…

That’s good to hear.

…

I’m doing alright – happy it’s Friday.

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No, don’t have many plans this weekend. Supposed to be nice here. I’ll probably try to get outside. What about you?

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That sounds fun. Well, have a good weekend.

Now that we’ve gotten through the small talk, let’s move on to the links – the fruits of my browsing labors, the blessed gifts of the internet gods for which we are forever grateful. Amen.

Let’s start with politics:

Is Chris Christie okay?

Which topics are most discussed within each party and the phrases each GOP candidate repeats the most.

The Obama Doctrine. – It’s long but worth the read.

What’s driving the ascent of Donald Trump? A niche group of political scientists may have the answer.

A beautiful, quaint piece of political history, frozen in time: www.dolekemp96.org

How soon will the nominations be clinched?

Lawmakers in West Virginia celebrate the legalization of raw milk by drinking it and getting sick.

Some Chrome extensions that might help you get through this election year.

In internet news:

#Trubama

Follow @teenybiscuit. She is the true Twitter treasure who’s given us puppy or bagel, sheepdog or mop, chihuahua or muffin, and my favorite – labradoodle or fried chicken. She’s young, but her future is extremely bright.

If you don’t follow Gemma Correll’s work, start now.

Another Round is a podcast that you should be listening to.

The Pokémon Test.

Search for YouTube videos by location.

Let’s take a musical break:

Okay, back to the links:

The Zamboni: an origin story

As equality in marriages grows, America is becoming more segregated by class.

25 songs that tell us where music is going.

Syrian Refugees share a hotel with a furry convention.

A short list of games robots still can’t win, and a puzzle game that makes me really happy.

How lol became a punctuation mark.

The forgotten history of fat men’s clubs.

The U.S. is trailing the rest of the world when it comes to …. roundabouts.

Every movie ending is better when it’s soundtracked by Dire Strait’s Walk of Life.

And finally, I’ve saved the best for last. A big thank-you to my dear friend Rebecca for passing this article along to me. It is truly a gem, and one of the most enjoyable things I have read in a long time. – The undying love story of Heidi and Spencer Pratt.

Posted in: What I'm loving Tagged: Linked Up, What I'm Loving
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I am Lisa Baumert. I'm a person who does a bunch of stuff and has thoughts and generally tries to live life well.

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