I sat in my freshman dorm alone, staring into the yellow rimmed Target brand full sized mirror that I propped up on my fridge. I was appalled at what I saw. I stared into the mirror and didn’t see myself. Instead, I saw “That Girl”.
I swore that I would never become her. In high school I wrote myself a letter, signed and dated with the written promise that I would never become Her: the girl who was fairly speedy among her high school competitors, went off to college, gained a few too many pounds on her body and a few too many minutes on her race times.
I was three days old when I attended my first track meet. Three years old when I watched my sister’s cross country team win back to back state championships. Thirteen when I began running myself, and have never looked back.
I was a competitive, confident little girl. Checking in at just under 90 lbs, I was a late bloomer, but it never crossed my mind when I was out trying to cross the finish line as fast as I could.
Slowly, slowly and then rapidly I began to grow and gain weight. I was happy at first. I ate whatever I felt like without a thought. My little-girl-stick-legs gained some muscle definition and I was excited to see myself getting stronger.
On the day of my senior prom, I stepped into my lacy red dress and couldn’t zip it. My dad cut the dress down the back so I could fit into it.
A week later I came down with a season ending stress fracture.
I spent my first year of college continually gaining weight despite the vigor of running for a Division 1 program. I was constantly torn between trying to consume enough calories to prevent injury, (yet got two anyway), and consuming too little in fear of seeing the number on the scale go up.
Standing in front of the yellow rimmed full length Target mirror, alone in my shoebox of a dorm room, tears welled in my eyes as I gazed at the tuft of skin rolling over the band of my running shorts. In front of that mirror, there was no hiding. “That Girl” was glaring right back at me.
I hated “That Girl”. Suddenly I was constantly aware of the shape of my stomach, the feel of my thighs and the width of my shoulders. “I burn the calories and you eat them,” my roommate would say in a sing song voice as she completed her nightly core session while I ate my bedtime snack, trying to fill the pit of stress and sadness in my stomach that I always mistook for hunger.
Any ounce of confidence I had accumulated throughout my 18 years was thrown in the garbage, along with all of my size small pairs of spandex shorts.
But now, as I continue on into my second year as a college runner in my new size medium spandex shorts, I am starting to realize who “That Girl” really is.
She is not the same twig-ster runner that she was before. And that is ok. She is new and she is maturing; bodies are supposed to grow and change with age. Instead of fighting the process or completely giving up and letting go, endure. Ride the wave of uncertainty and gather new perspectives and experiences, for this is the true test of strength, grit, and growth, not the time on the track or the size of a thigh or waistband.
Wherever you are in your running journey- stop and enjoy the positives of where you are at. Look back at where you were, not to compare and beat yourself up, but to really appreciate how far you have come.
Turn around the yellow rimmed target mirror in your life- let yourself live.
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