Retrospective

So here I am, startled to discover that it's already summer. The past few months have been punctuated by more than one major achievement for me, and considering how I rarely take time to celebrate such achievements, I think they might be due some acknowledgment.

I ran my first race. A 5K, in a respectable 30:29. Surprisingly, I felt great, despite the inner thigh strain that hasn't quit hurting even five months later. The atmosphere at the starting line was electric. The unity and camaraderie I felt with a couple thousand strangers was exhilarating. The mutual appreciation for accomplishment displayed when the first speedy runners passed us already heading back to the finish line, when we applauded and cheered though we scarcely had the breath to spare to do so, was deeply touching. Remember paroxysms of joy? Like that.

2013: We run this. It was a perfect day for our first race.

Two weeks later was my Aerobics & Fitness Association of America (AFAA) Group Exercise Instructor Certification. In the midst of everything else I'd been doing all spring, I made time to read a chapter or two of that massive textbook every night, all in the hopes of being a better and safer instructor for the people who place their well-being in my jingling hands. When my workshop and testing was cancelled, I immediately booked another in California and drove down after work on a Friday. Not that I learned this until a month later, but I passed easily. Just about one year to the day after getting licensed as a Zumba instructor.

The many AFAA textbooks, study materials, and DVDs. Okay, just one DVD. Still.

Ever since March, I was working on my biggest goal for the year: my Zumbathon for the Crohn's & Colitis Foundation of America (CCFA). A Zumbathon is a long Zumba dance party in a larger-than-usual venue, with proceeds going to charity.

I've wanted to do this for a while, but the moment that really showed me I needed to was in January, on the tail end of my Christmas flare, when I found myself alone and overwhelmed and sobbing in the backseat of my car in a hospital parking lot. I got a text message asking me to lead a Zumba class, and it calmed me down like nothing else could. Zumba has given me such joy and gotten me through the hardest times, so I thought it was only fitting to leverage the best thing in my life to fight the worst.

So much love for all who attended.

I won't go into detail about everything required to plan an event like this one, but let's just say it took two months and countless hours of effort. And it was emotionally draining to transform myself to an outspoken advocate about things that are easier not to even think about. The result was better than I could have hoped for: over 70 people in attendance, awareness raised about these diseases that can be so tough to talk about, almost $1,100 raised.

To the many people who donated, attended, and spread the word, thank you. It means more than I could possibly express. Nothing beat seeing my coworkers, my best friends, strangers, and my college professor all dancing together. Sorrow is powerful, but so are joy and community.

Filling the gym at my former university.

I have a useful but troublesome habit of pouring my entire self into the pursuit of every goal. I will accept no less than excellence and refuse to relinquish control. I'm happy that I've done so much in such a short time, but I'd be even happier if I were able to reach some sort of balance. Rather than losing things in a haze of stress, I should savor them. I should ask for help and accept it.

...I'm working on it.