When I Dared to Ask, "Can I Do Hard Things?"

And a Divine Mushroom Stroganoff to Warm Your Winter Evenings

Photo by Bruno Nascimento on Unsplash

According to the western calendar, we welcomed in the New Year a couple of weeks ago, but all that enthusiasm for new beginnings and soul-stretching resolutions actually hit me at the beginning of this past October.

We were just coming up for air after our six week stint as part-time carnies, and I was looking for a fresh start. Working 14 hour days on a steady diet of soft pretzels and lemonade with little to no time for the luxuries of restful sleep or moments of self-reflection had me itching for health and wholeness. Add to that the recent revelation I experienced on the eve of my 45th birthday and I knew I was standing on fertile ground for a major transformation.

Or so I hoped.

Over the summer I’d had the opportunity to spend a few days with my brother who lives in Hawaii. During our time together he shared with me about his journey into marathon running. He started off overweight and out of shape, doing short walks each day followed by longer walks with a slow jog peppered in here and there. As the pounds came off and his body got stronger, he started jogging more for longer stints. Now eight years later, he’s in his mid-fifties, runs several marathons each year, and is inching ever so close to reaching his goal of qualifying for the Boston.

As he shared his story with me, my first thought was “humans are amazing.” Really, we are a pretty remarkable group of mammals. Whether we’re climbing Mt. Everest blind or raising children as a single parent, there’s no end to the number of stories out there that echo the same theme as my brother’s: humans can do really hard things.

And it got me thinking: I’m a human. Can I do hard things?

One of the other reasons my brother’s story resonated with me is because ever since I was a little girl, running intrigued me. Though I was never particularly fast, there was something about getting my arms pumping, my legs churning, and my lungs puffing that felt about as close to flying as a person could get.

But my intrigue quickly morphed into insecurity. As I shared before, I was a little chunkier than the average Jane as a kiddo. When I went out for track in middle school, all the other girls were skinnier and faster than me. I loped through our warm up runs like an asthmatic Big Foot while everyone passed by me with elven grace.

I baled after the first week.

During my college years after I’d shed all the extra baby fat of my adolescence, I started running again. But this time I did it out of fear. Everyone knew the “Freshman 15” was on the prowl for any and all vulnerable first-years, and I was determined not to fall prey to it. So I woke at the crack of dawn three times a week and eked out 2-3 miles on the indoor track to keep the beast at bay. But I didn’t love it. I didn’t even like it. It felt like a chore I had to do, whose only payout was not getting fat.

That same mindset plagued me as the years progressed. I’d forgotten about my childhood fascination with running and relegated it simply to “exercise.” Every once in a while I’d have a run that felt fantastic, that resembled that flying sensation of my youth, but it happened so rarely that I labeled it as a fluke. As time went on, I convinced myself that I just wasn’t a runner. I never was. Even when I didn’t have the body of a Yeti, I still felt like one. I ran slow and awkwardly. I was always fighting with my breath, trying to control it but never succeeding. Running was for the lithe folks who had “come hell or high water” determination, the lung capacity of a blue whale, and wore shoe brands that the masses had never heard of.

But then I got my 45th birthday revelation and realized that I actually get to choose the voices that I listen to. With that new beacon of wisdom to guide me, I decided that my musty mindset about running needed a second look. Since I continued daydreaming about those childhood euphoric runs, I figured running still had a role to play in my life. But what role would I give it?

Because here’s the thing. In the past, running had mostly been used by the “You’re the Worst” Voice in my head to tell me I wasn’t good enough, strong enough, skinny enough, fast enough. And I was done with the “You’re the Worst” Voice. I was putting her into retirement. So if running wasn’t going to beat me up, what was it going to do?I had no idea but something in my soul wanted to lace up my sneakers and find out.

And that’s what I did. On Monday, October 2, I put “go for a jog” on my to-do list.

And you know what? I did it.

And you know what else? It sucked.

Ugh.

Friends, have you ever been there? You’ve worked yourself all into a lather to go after that dream or passion or lifestyle change; you’re pumped, you’re envisioning victory dances and ticker-tape parades in your future. And then you take the first step towards it and—bam!—you face-plant right into reality. Because, gosh darn it, making changes, chasing dreams, pursuing your passion is a hard, hard business.

Next week, the story of my running saga continues (my working title is Chapter 2: When Not Wetting Your Pants is the Only Win), and I promise I will bring this (eventually) full circle so you’ll understand why I’m talking about all this in a newsletter about food and wfpb eating.

But in the meantime, check out my next “Recipe Favorites—Winter Edition” offering below. When the temps get chilly and snow blankets the grass, there’s nothing cozier than snuggling up with a generous helping of creamy stroganoff to warm you from within. Enjoy!

Photo by Vanessa Rees

I did my time in college dining halls and I know that eventually every meal begins to taste the same. Whether it’s a bowl of chili or a Caesar salad or a soft serve ice cream cone, soon the sensation upon your tongue can only be described with one word: “cafeteria.” So every time my older babes (aka The Bigs) come home from university, I ask if there’s any meal they want me to make to help wake up their taste buds again. Without fail either or both of them will request this Tofu and Mushroom Stroganoff recipe from master vegan chef Isa Moskowitz. The flavors are deep and earthy delivered in a velvety cream sauce speckled with hearty mushrooms (and if the tofu scares you, just leave it out!) Pair it with chunks of thick, grainy bread and you truly can’t ask for a better winter evening meal. Happy cooking, friends!