Running Up That Hill

I am 4 weeks, 6 days out from my first marathon. Am I nervous? Yes. Am I excited? Yes. Am I afraid I’ll pee my pants? Very yes. But ultimately, I am proud.

As my formative years were in the early 2000s with rampant diet culture, low-rise jeans, and teen magazines, my relationship with my body has been tenuous at best, hateful at worst. Fat was villainized. They tried to convince us to replace meals with special-K cereal. They told us a handful of almonds would stave off hunger.

To this day, I still experience body dysmorphia and I don’t want that for my daughter or my sons. I want them to experience food as fuel but also fun and delicious. I want them to move their bodies because it’s fun and freedom and not to punish themselves for that extra slice of pizza. I want them to listen to their hunger cues and satiation signals and not feel guilty about cleaning the plate OR indulging in dessert.

I still catch myself looking in the mirror and zeroing in on my perceived flaws and putting moral value on the number on the scale. But do you know what’s helped? Running.

I run to feel strong. I run to silence the noises in my head. I run to feel the meditative repetition of putting one foot in front of the other. I run for alone time and freedom. I run to feel present in my own body. I run to show my kids what health can look like. I run for me.

Since breaking my foot, I’ve been taking more post-run selfies to remind myself what a privilege it is to move my body. Not to lose weight, not to look lean, not to earn dessert. Unlearning the negative self-talk is a daily battle.

So here’s to loving myself right now, as I am. Here’s to YOU loving yourself as you are. Move to feel good. Move to heal. Move to help your heart and lungs and muscles and bones. Move for you.

And here’s to the sweaty selfies I took along the way.