Day 17: Practice Vulnerability
On Saturday morning, I went out for a run. Since we’ve been stuck in quarantine, I’ve been sticking to my exercise habit as those 30 minutes are often the only time I’m alone (and yes, I’m including bathroom time. My kids don’t understand why they can’t just talk to me through the door). I’ve been using a running app that gradually makes my workouts harder and at 2.25 miles, this was going to be the longest I’d ever run without a break. We live at the top of a hill so no matter which way I start running, the beginning of my run will be downhill and the end will be uphill. Around the end of mile two, I’d run roughly 1 mile gently downhill, and 1 mile gently uphill. Now, I don’t know about other people, but sometimes I’d rather a short, brutal hill rather than a relentless slog that seems to never end.
As I was just hearing the app tell me I’d reached mile 2, I saw a car go by and a friend waved from the passenger seat. I waved as well as I could but I was hot, sweaty, red-faced, tired and just wanting to get the final quarter mile done. As soon as I got home, I said to Forrest, “You will not believe what just happened. Of course, it couldn’t have been at the beginning when I was probably all jaunty and energetic. I looked like I was two steps away from having a heart attack.”
The vulnerability of exercising in public is one that it has taken me a long time to get over. But practicing that type of small vulnerability has been really helpful for building connections. It’s hard to show our true selves, whether that’s by sharing uncomfortable emotions or appearing less-than-kempt while exercising. But each time we do, we give ourselves and others that much more permission to be vulnerable with us.
I don’t know how many people see me out running. I honestly wish to keep believing that I’m invisible while running. But there’s an older woman who I used to see running every day. She moved slowly, painstakingly up these same hills. Her hair has grown grey over the decade we’ve lived here and, still, every day I saw her out moving. I see her now, walking, and every time I think about the vulnerability she showed in being less-than-kempt and how it gave me that little bit of confidence to get out there.
How can you practice small vulnerability today? Have there been any moments where someone’s vulnerability inspired you?
