Beauty

I haven't been blogging much the past year or so. I was embarrassed because I gained back 30 pounds of the original weight I lost. And let me tell you something...it was easy.

The other day my nifty little TimeHop app showed me a status of mine from three years ago.

"I added a little jog to my walk tonight. And by a "little jog", I mean one block. I like to remind myself that little is more than nothing. So if it's more than nothing, it must be something. And something is always better than nothing."

Three years ago, I couldn't jog a block. I still remember going down to the track and putting everything I had into jogging a whole mile without stopping, months after I had started working out. What a victory that was. I took a picture of myself after that moment.

May 14th, 2012 - My first mile.

I felt beautiful when I took this picture. It's hard to feel that way looking at it now. But I distinctly remember how ecstatic I was. I felt more beautiful, more accomplished in this moment than I did after I finished my half marathon this past summer (although that was pretty cool too ;) )

The other day I jogged a mile. It had me winded, but even with the addition of 30 pounds, I could do it without thinking about it all too much. I didn't feel accomplished when it was over. I didn't feel beautiful. I felt like a fat blob, a loser...ugly. Less than a year ago, I jogged 13.1 miles. How did I get to this point? As I stood there, examining myself in the mirror, I cried.

I am ugly. I am fat. Those are words that I've never used to describe myself before, even at my heaviest. So it quickly became less about what happened to my body, and more about what happened to my being in these several months that I would consider some of the happiest of my life.

Anyone that works with me knows a lot about how my mind functions on a day-to-day basis. I am assertive, aggressive in my work, inquisitive, fast-acting, but deep thinking. I also tend to live in a constant state of panic, worried about completing all my work effectively, pleasing others, and not failing. A lot of these attributes carry over into my personal life. I've programmed myself as an employee and also as a person to be like this (I'm my father's child).

Somehow, I lost sight of what was important on my road to health. A half-marathon wasn't enough, and the remaining 30 pounds I had to lose seemed just completely unreachable. How could I switch careers, make a movie, start a relationship, travel, focus on my hobbies, and lose that last bit of weight? Instead of stepping back and looking at the big picture, I let my anxiety and fear get the best of me.  And instead of finding balance, I sacrificed in every part of my life by losing control of the one thing I can have control of, my self-worth and image of myself.

When I stopped feeling beautiful and accomplished, I stopped pushing myself to be better. Eric was there reminding me how pretty I was and encouraging me to move towards my goals, but when you don't feel beautiful, you won't accept people telling you that or treating you like you are. It's a really sad truth that I think a lot of people (men and women alike) face at some point in their lives.

I think the times in my life that I've felt most beautiful are the moments when I knew that I was using everything God gave me to be the best version of me possible. Because striving to be better is not only a gift to myself, but an obligation I have to family, friends, and people who love me. This goes beyond weight, my new shoes, or the amount of make-up I'm wearing for the day. Beauty is a lot deeper than that, and the most beautiful people in my life are the ones who are living each day to the fullest, taking care of themselves, and striving to be good to people. Maybe those things shine through in the glow of their skin or something, but I'm not imagining that.

I've been struggling a lot with body image lessons lately. There are a couple shows on TLC right now focused on being "fat". One is about a woman who is 250 pounds overweight. She just wants to lose a little weight, but is happy how she is. The other is about a "healthy" woman who gains 40 pounds to prove she can lose it in three months. I turned the channel after she goes for a jog with the extra 40 pounds. She is nearly in tears. "It's so hard being fat." She weighed 40 pounds less than I do in this picture below.

Both shows rub me the wrong way. I'm not a fan of complacency if there are parts of your life that you want to change, and I'm also not okay with "fat-shaming". If you haven't run around the track at 300 pounds, you probably have no idea what you're talking about regarding the issue. But if you're 380 pounds, and you've been overweight your whole life, you probably don't know how different and wonderful it feels to stop carrying some of that extra weight, and what it means to be healthy. Why aren't we focusing on all the glorious and wonderful ways that God made us different and unique?Each comes with unique challenges and gifts. Why is beauty not more about how we use what we've been given to be better quality people...in all aspects? I know for me, that's when I feel most beautiful. I haven't been using everything I have lately. I want to be better for me, for my family, for my friends, for my best friend and boyfriend. That's how this improved me started anyway (except for the boyfriend...I added him later. :) 

When I looked in the mirror the other day and felt ugly, it was less about that trouble spot or that new wrinkle. It was more about knowing I could be better, stronger, healthier. Giving up has never made me feel beautiful. I'm well on my way to balance now, which is what I've been searching for this whole time. I have great allies, and I can't wait to see what's in store for my new-found dedication. I made all of our lunches for the week last night, I conquered my DQ Blizzard craving tonight, and I got a 30-minute workout in. Tonight, I feel beautiful.

Here are other moments where I've felt beautiful, at all different sizes. My perception of these photos have changed over time, but I remember how great I felt in those moments.

Blast from the past. 

At our premiere.

Post - Run picture.

New Year's Eve a couple years ago.

Hardcore workouts.

A run with my sister.

The night after our half-marathon.

3 Weeks into working out 5 days a week.

First time wearing non-plus size dress.

Two Thousand Fourteen

So much happened in 2014 that I wasn't expecting. There was a lot of change, a lot of adventure, and a lot of growing up. I conquered my first half marathon, started my next documentary, transitioned into a new job, and fell in love. And even though it wasn't an easy year, it is safe to say that tradition continues and it was the best year of my life so far. 

In April, Eric and I ran a half marathon together. I can only describe the feeling as euphoric. I jogged through the rain and lighting, and cramped up the last quarter of a mile. But as I crossed the finish line, I could see Eric and my dad waiting for me. Eric had already drank a whole carton of chocolate milk and enjoyed his post-race chicken sandwich. I'm not fast, but I made it. I gave my dad a hug and then I cried in Eric's arms. It's a place I'd never thought I'd be, but there I was.

We started our next documentary, Break the Rock. Production has started slowly, but still we've worked a lot of nights and weekends as we've begun the process all over again. It is exciting and challenging. Finding and developing this story, is perhaps my greatest challenge to date. It is a long road ahead, but it's just the type of adventure and work I need in my life to keep me motivated.

During the summer, my role at work changed. I had to say goodbye to a really important part of my life, my first real job that had taught me so much about myself. I greatly miss Ann and the students I worked with every day.  But it was time I suppose and an opportunity I couldn't pass up. I was scared. I was put in a position that has pushed me over my limits.They were limitations I set for myself. I never thought I'd be the person who could survive or thrive in a job like this. It is constantly changing and evolving and quite honestly, uses all my brain power. Naps. I need more naps in my life because of it, but unfortunately have no time for them. 

Eric joined our office in the summer as well. We work side-by-side (no exaggeration...we share an office), and we work hard to make sure we don't kill each other. So far, so good. I've had to work a lot more closely with my dad in this new position, and while it has presented it's own set of challenges, it has been incredible to watch and learn from him what has made him so successful (a pure devotion to innovation, hard work, and the people who can put it all together...if you're wondering).

So, 2014 brought on a lot more work, but I somehow managed to squeeze every drop out of every second of this year. I found some time to meet up with old friends and time to develop new relationships with new friends. I witnessed a lot of nuptials, celebrated a lot of love, and explored Kansas City with people I care about most.

At 12:01 A.M. on January 1st, 2014 I texted my best friend. "It has been a crazy year. I hope this one is even better. Happy New Year!"

He texted me back at 12:04.  There I was, at 26 years old, anxious for a text back from a man that I've called my best friend for the better portion of a decade. He wasn't really a man when I met him though. We were kids, pretty fresh out of high school, trying to figure out just what the heck we were supposed to be doing with our lives.

We were kids when we met a few days before my first day of college at Northwest. We were kids, sitting in my dad's driveway until early morning,talking about life and love and happiness.  We were kids, sitting around filling out myspace surveys and watching youtube videos about how to properly tie a tie. We were kids when we tried to run the campus television station together. We were kids when we started our little production company when we graduated college. Then he bought a house, I got a real job, we made a documentary, I found myself. And all of a sudden we weren't kids anymore. We were adults, taking on life and facing adult challenges like actual human beings as the best of friends. But here I was at midnight on New Year's day, feeling like a kid again. Like, full on Taylor Swift-at-sixteen level of kid. 

I kind of panicked, realizing that I'm in fact, an adult and need to approach life as such. But I panicked more thinking about the all the love I had for him and all the things I all of a sudden wanted to tell him, all the things I NEEDED to say. So, I did what I do best. I word vomited every ounce of my soul into a less-than-eloquent speech that can only be rivaled by such other great oral presenters such as Abraham Lincoln, or Martin Luther King Jr.,..or Kanye. More toward the latter. 

We didn't fall in love at first sight, and our mutual realization that maybe what we've always wanted and needed was each other wasn't something we were going to just run with. A lot was at stake, a decade of friendship that neither of us wanted to sacrifice. But what it started was an incredible year of adventure, getting to know each other all over again. I'll save all the things I've learned about him, and myself, and us for a different blog, but it has been an incredible journey thus far.

Maybe it hasn't been perfect. I doubt things ever are. But it HAS been my type of perfect and I can honestly say that I absolutely can not wait to see what's in store on this road that I am traveling with my best friend. Somewhere along the lines, we fell in love and that has made this year...pretty much perfect.

I hope 2015 has plenty of adventures in store for us, my friends and family, and all the people I'll meet in this year to come.

Cheers!

 

The most important game the Royals will ever play

 

It was 2003.

93 games at number one in the American League Central. The Royals were going places. I’ll never forget that season of believing with Tony Pena at the helm. It felt like a different ball club. We had a stronger presence and many folks were hopping on the, “We Believe” bandwagon. I was loving it.

I grew up around the Royals. Not the Royals’ ball club; Not the business of Royals, but the team. My dad directed more Royals’ baseball games than I can remember. I had the fortunate experience of traveling with him to games both home and across the country. My dad became friends with the players, coaches, and managers. Those friendships allowed me the opportunity to meet a lot of really dynamic people and get to know a really incredible team.

I think I was around 10 years old when I first met Frank White. In the dugout, during batting practice my dad introduced me. “Katie…this is one of the greatest baseball players of all time.” Frank scoffed at that. I had no idea who he was. I sat in the dugout with them as they talked. I didn’t consider myself a baseball fan, but I knew it must be pretty cool to be there.

Then, I met Scott Pose. Scott Pose, people. I was enthralled. He talked to me. I had no idea what he said, but he gave me a baseball. I remember thinking that he was one of the nicest people I had ever met. Scott Pose wasn’t part of the team much longer, but that was only the beginning of my experiences with those players and my love for the Royals.

Over the next few years I met a lot of them. I attended a party with my dad and rubbed shoulders with Royals greats.  I prayed for smiles from Carlos Febles, respected Raul Ibanez, admired Jermaine Dye, and loved Mike Sweeney and Joe Randa. My dad (a stickler for rules), would never ask any of them for autographs for me. So I wrote out a letter to Mike Sweeney, and it wasn’t long before I had a personalized autographed poster of him. My mom laminated it for me and it went on the back of my door.

I didn’t fall in love with baseball. I fell in love with that team and those people. They made me love a losing team. Watching them play felt personal. It was exciting to me, even through the losses.  I always had hope that each year could be better than the last. Before I knew it, baseball, the sport, was important to me.

Then 2003 came. I don’t know that I’ll ever get those images out of my head…Tony Pena shouting, “We believe! We believe!”

Winning just felt incredible. We were a family of Royals fans. My mom and I would cheer them on from home when my dad was traveling. Mom tried to pretend she didn’t care about anything other than who had the best butt on the team, but I’d catch her watching plays intently and lashing out in the excitement of homeruns.

It was 2003 when Mom got sick. She got really sick, really fast and my family spent a month by her bedside in the hospital. Waiting for mom to pass was really difficult. But the Royals joined us through it. They were on in every room in that hallway of the hospital. Maybe it was the comfort of America’s favorite past time, or the hope in the promising season, but either way, that team was important.

You will hear people argue that Major League Baseball (or all professional sports) should not hold a place in our society. I’ve had people tell me that they hate baseball and ask me why I care. The truth is, I don’t know if I would love baseball if I didn’t fall in love with the Royals years ago. But I’ve grown to appreciate what place it has held in my life. It united me with my family. It was something I could talk about with my mom, dad, and grandpa alike. We would celebrate the successes together and shake our heads at the losses (all the freakin losses). Grandpa said it best when he said, “We’ve got an Angel and Jesus on our team and we can’t win a damn game.” We may not have had anything else to talk about, but we could talk about that.

In July, 2003, less than a month after my mom passed, my dad’s company had dugout suite tickets to a Royals game. Mike Sweeney was out with an injury and Joe Randa wasn’t in the lineup but I was still excited to go. In the middle of the game Paul Splitorff told me I needed to go inside the suite for a minute. I walked inside and standing by the doorway was Mike Sweeney and Joe Randa…in the middle of the game. Mike smiled at me sweetly and said, “We know it’s been a hard month for you. We’ve been thinking of you and your family, and hope you had a happy birthday.” He gave me an autographed bat and Joe Randa gave me a Royals hat.  I was floored. I couldn’t believe it.

I’ll never forget their kindness, but this wasn’t something out of character for them. These were the type of people on this team. They were the type of people you wanted to root for, and the sort of weird family that you’d want to be a part of. .  I haven’t met anyone on this current team, but from what I’ve seen and read, the players have continued to value kindness and sharing celebrations with the fans over all else. I hope the organization and business of the Royals follows their lead and makes strides like this team has.

Because here we are in 2014. Game one of the World Series is tomorrow. I myself, cannot afford to go, but I’m looking forward to cheering them on with the rest of the city. For me, it’s the kind of thing I dreamed about happening, but never really thought I’d see. Not in a bad way. To be honest, I’ve always been happy to root for the people on this team. I just never knew the fantasy of them actually getting here could be real. I’m not sure if they knew it was either. This game tomorrow is the most important game they’ve played in what seems like a million years, not for what it means for the Royals ball club, but for what it means for all of us. This team should be proud that they’ve united an entire city. Despite all our differences we are happy to come together to celebrate the absolutely incredible ride this team has taken us on this year. That’s how it should be, and I hope it stays that way. Win or lose, we love this team.  But we believe and they believe. I think the odds are in our favor.

These old shoes

If you walked a mile in my shoes, you’d probably regret it.

I’ve had these shoes for five years now. I must have bought them when I worked at Target as my back-up tennis shoes. Target or Wal-Mart. I don’t remember what I paid for them, but it was probably a target clearance catch. If I paid more than $15 for them, I’d be surprised.

When I bought them, they were too small for me. I barely wore them. Squeezing my size 10.5 foot into a size 9 shoe was a little rough. I always wore my white New Balance shoes my dad bought me to work in and in general these gray and blue tennies didn’t really match anything.

So these became my go-to shoes for anything that might involve me getting dirty. I didn’t want to risk messing up my good shoes so I’d always throw these on for fishing, muddy walks around the neighborhood, etc.

Now, looking at these shoes that desperately need to be tossed, I can’t help but think about all the things these shoes have seen, endured, and carried me through.  My feet began to shrink as I started working out and before I knew it, this pair of shoes became my favorite.

I had some new $150 New Balance kicks, fitted to my feet, meant for running. But nothing felt as good as my Target clearance shoes. But I forced myself to lace up my New Balance for my runs. They were expensive and the shoe experts told me they were ideal.

Even so, I still used my Target shoes for everything else, when I couldn’t risk losing or destroying the most expensive thing I owned. That means these Target shoes have been with me on every trip I’ve taken the past few years. They’ve been a lot of places and carried me through my happiest of times.

About halfway through my half-marathon training this year I was feeling really defeated. My runs were hard. My knees were killing me. For some reason I decided that switching my running shoes might rejeuvenate me and my legs. Much like switching shampoos, I immediately felt better.

So I used those cheap shoes to finish my training, and I  used them on race-day against my better judgement , constant requests from Eric to just go buy new shoes, and the advice of my running coach. I didn’t think much about it. It just felt better. I used them this past week when I traveled to Arkansas for a little mini vacation. They went camping, fishing, walked me through town, and sat by several camp fires. I left them outside the cabin, dirty and damp.

When I looked at them, I couldn’t believe they had carried me the 13.1 miles on race day or the hundred plus miles of training. They’re worn out, dingy, and just about ready to fall apart. I’m going to go ahead and buy some new shoes per the request of a dozen people, but it’s going to be hard to say goodbye.

I think I’ll keep these babies around for just one more year, in case I need to go fishing, hiking, biking, farming, or ya know ….in case my new shoes give me knee problems. You never know!

The man in the red hat

Scott Bostwick is one of the most influential and inspiring people in my life. I owe a lot to him, even though I never had the opportunity to meet him.

I often think about how many times we brushed shoulders on that football field when I was in college. How many times had we exchanged friendly smiles as we passed each other? I racked my brain trying to remember if I had ever interviewed him before or asked him some question in passing. It became clear though over the course of that 2011 season, that if I had…I would have remembered.

On this day three years ago, I received the news of Coach Bostwick passing much like a lot of Northwest students and alumni, via social media. I felt a sudden aching loss for a man that I had never met. That could well be one of the many reasons Eric and I decided to produce Dream Season that year. Both of us felt an incredible pull to tell his story and follow the team and community that loved him so much.

During a time when most of the people who loved him were trying to come to peace and say goodbye to a son, father, brother, coach, mentor and friend, Eric and I were just getting to know him.  You could say that I met Scott during our first interview with his nephew, Aaron on our first day of filming. It was clear from the beginning that Scott meant more than words to Aaron and also as we soon found out, to anyone who ever knew him.

Coach B’s “Dream Season” soon became ours as we got to know his family, team, and his extended family (the whole Bearcat community). There were so many different stories to tell, but they were all united by a love for a great man and the tragedy of his sudden passing.I can tell you now that Eric and I had no idea what we were doing. I think it was a gift from God and Scott that people who didn’t know us at all, let us into their lives without question. 

“It’s cool if we come to your baptism, right Jake?”

“Josh, we’re coming over. Give us a tour of your apartment. That’d be great.”

“AT, there’s a Bostwick barbecue after the game? It cool if we join?”

Someone asked me today if there was anyone who didn’t want us to do this story. I don’t think I have ever been asked that before. And my answer surprised even myself. During an emotional and difficult time, more than 30 people said “Yes” to us when it would have been just a whole hell of a lot easier to say “No.”  Eric and I took that for granted then, but looking back I am just so incredibly grateful.

Coach Bostwick’s immediate family allowed us the privilege of getting to know him and telling his story. Jake’s family let us stay with them when we made the journey to Iowa. J.Lo’s family hung out in a basement all day as we interviewed them one-by-one. The Bostwicks? Every brother and sister, his mom and dad, Aaron and Preston all sat down to be interviewed. They all poured their hearts out to us about Scott, who he was, what he stood for, and the type of men he had raised on the football field. They talked to us without reservation, like we were family.

Who was Scott? The Coach I came to know was unwavering in his love for his family. He practiced an unconditional love for his football players and friends, the kind of love that can only be achieved with the power and willingness to forgive and move on. He was honest. He would tell it to you straight and expected you to do the same. He was funny and ready to deliver his smile in a moment’s notice. He expected a lot out of people, but wanted to live up to his own expectations.  He was dedicated to everything in his life that he loved, including Northwest football.

Anyone who knew him, knows those things about him. But here’s what Scott taught me over that year. He renewed in me my willingness to forgive. The stories of him forgiving transgressions and allowing people to move forward with him by their side, really struck me.

He reminded me that dedication to things you love isn’t just nice, it’s necessary. There was one point when we were completely done filming everything, but were thinking about giving up. Finances and emotional fatigue wore us to a breaking point. But we sat in our office (my apartment kitchen, with a computer on my dinner table), and actually discussed out loud what Scott would do.  It was his dedication that drove us to continue.

He taught me that you can’t take anything with you when you go. But the love in the hearts of all the people he touched, that will remain forever and in a sense, it’s really what you leave behind that matters most. How you live your life, matters. How you treat people, matters. That man’s legacy is eternal and it will be passed down from generation to generation.

Every time I see a cardinal, I think of Coach. It seems like I’ve seen a lot of them the past few years, but maybe I’m just noticing them more now. Either way, it’s always comforting to think about Scott kind of just watching over everyone. He’s the kind of guy I would have wanted in my corner. His family, that team, and his extended family will always be family to me and Eric.

Scott helped a lot of kids grow up and overcome life obstacles on the football field. It wasn’t any different for Eric and I. We were just two kids who didn’t know what we were doing. Scott and the people he loved, gave us a chance to learn and helped us grow up.

 I’ll always be grateful to the man in the red hat, the man I never met, who coached us through some of life’s hardest lessons and gave us the opportunity to succeed.