my heart is sore

You know that feeling a day or two after a particularly tough workout?

It takes a little longer to get out of bed, you need a few stretches and a couple extra minutes to get your stiff and sore muscles going, and then throughout the day you get little reminders of how you worked your tail off. Sometimes at random or unexpected moments, your muscles scream and resist being used – when you reach down to grab something off the floor, when you try to put something off the top shelf, when you grab something that's not normally heavy with one hand and almost drop it.

I have a love/hate relationship with that feeling. With being sore.

I love it because it reminds me that I've done something good for my body. I know that I'm using it, I'm building up strength and endurance, I'm transforming it. I hate it because, well… it hurts. And that kinda sucks. 

Lately the love/hate relationship isn't with sore quads or triceps. It's with my heart.

The best way I can come up with to describe how I'm feeling and what my transition back to the United States and life after the race has been like is that…

The last year has been one of doing something so good for my heart. I used it. I grew it. It became stronger and bigger and more loving and more mature. But those things came at a price. 

This year I saw the injustice and the hurt in this world first hand. I walked through dumps that people call home, held babies who would never know their parents and looked in they eyes of little girls who had been sold for their bodies. 

This year I redefined some things in my own life. I intentionally dug out some things that were deeply rooted in my heart that needed to go – past hurts, lies, bad decisions, and beliefs about who I was. 

This year I lived and led in community that left no room for escape. I fought for relationships that at times didn't seem worth fighting for. I got real with people when I really just wanted to be left alone. I gave and accepted feedback that was scary to say and to hear. 

These things – the hard things – made me better. But they cost me. I paid the price of letting go of a lot of things I used to cling to. And I paid the price of pain. It seemed like this year my heart was constantly undergoing reconstruction – I had to go through a detox so that old lies and hurts and realities could be excavated. And I had to work hard to constantly build up the new truths that were being embedded. Sometimes they came easily, but more often it felt like my heart was being forced to do emotional pushups and squats and burpees long after my second wind had come and gone. 

And just like after a tough day at the gym, I get unexpected reminders that stir up the soreness. A small, dirty, tear-streaked face floats into my mind. A friend innocently makes a joke about who I "used to be." I'm momentarily overwhelmed by the absence of my team when their pictures pop up in my newsfeed. And my heart protests being reminded of the pain.

So the soreness has made my transition kind of tough. It's not that I'm not happy to be home – I've looked forward to this new season and have loved reconnecting with friends and family and hot showers and chips and queso. But I'm just moving a little slower than normal, because sometimes if I stretch or reach the wrong way, it's a little painful. 

But I know the best way to get rid of sore muscles is to keep moving. While it goes against everything your body feels, laying around and being still only makes it worse. Getting back in the gym works out the soreness. 

And so even though my heart feels like it wants to bury itself and not face the world or the things that have been shaping it this year, I know that's not what's best. So I'm working out the soreness by letting myself remember the hard things I saw. By reflecting on and writing about how I've grown and matured this year. By once again, pressing into community. 

I may be moving a bit more slowly than usual while I work this soreness out, but I'm working on it. Because I know that it's worth it. Thanks for loving me so well while I'm in the process.