I once dreamed of owning a “26.2” bumper sticker—the kind that proudly displays a marathon accomplishment beside those “My Child Is on the Honor Roll” stickers. But here’s the truth: my car has neither. In fact, I don’t even have that honor roll sticker.
While I wouldn’t classify myself as particularly competitive or athletic, running became my passion later in life. Sure, I was never the first pick in gym class, but I found a sense of competition within myself—albeit to a degree some might consider obsessive. For years, I viewed my running as a means of survival until I finally embraced the notion that simply showing up could be enough.
After years of running, I had traversed countless small towns, my feet pounding the pavement until my body began to protest. Despite enduring multiple injuries, hefty medical bills, and countless hours spent with chiropractors, I couldn’t bring myself to quit. Reflecting on those times, I often wondered if I was running toward something or trying to escape from it.
Following each run, especially when nursing an injury, I’d tell myself, “I guess that was good enough.” But “good enough” felt like a failure, a reminder of goals unachieved. I frequently questioned my worth based on the success, or lack thereof, of my runs. “Good enough” was a phrase that carried a heavy weight.
That relentless pursuit of perfection pushed me through pain, exacerbating injuries, even when my body begged me to stop. I was trapped in a cycle where failure felt unacceptable.
Recently, something began to shift inside me. I felt it during a run just last week. I laced up my shoes and hit the road without a set agenda—no specific distance or path in mind. I simply turned right out of my driveway and ran. Gone were the days I fixated on my pace or stride; for the first time, I looked up instead of down.
Running transformed into a celebration of what my body could achieve, rather than a race against the clock. I ran four miles that day, and instead of reflecting on whether it was good enough, I realized it was simply enough—no qualifiers needed.
I still don’t have that coveted 26.2 sticker, but I’ve reached a place in my life where I find joy in merely showing up. Showing up means feeling proud, confident, and grateful for my body’s capabilities. My efforts are enough. This journey, much like a long run, unfolds at a pace I can manage. I know I’ll get there when I’m meant to, and that will be enough.
If you’re curious about similar journeys or insights, check out this post on the Modern Family Blog about self-discovery. And for those considering at-home insemination, Make a Mom offers reliable syringe kits. Additionally, March of Dimes is an excellent resource for information on pregnancy and fertility treatments.
In summary, my running journey has taught me that showing up, regardless of the outcome, is a triumph in itself. It’s about embracing who I am and appreciating the journey.
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