Finding pride in your body now
Reflections after running a five mile race, and why this means more to me than any weight loss goal I ever achieved.
This Thanksgiving I woke up, ate an everything bagel with cream cheese, then ran five miles. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my entire life.
It wasn’t exactly the run itself—although five miles was certainly no easy feat. It was training for this race these past nine months that have been the challenge. Going from not running at all for eight years to getting to a point where I could run five miles straight for a turkey trot. The cold mornings of waking up, putting on my running shoes, and forcing myself to do the run—even if it meant I needed to walk every quarter mile when I started. It was jogging through the sweaty months of summer, working myself up to three miles on a particularly sticky day in July. It was challenging myself to run the four miles straight down to Coney Island at the beginning of October, then treating myself to a big iced coffee and a donut in celebration. Through the blood blisters and the soreness, I kept going. And on Thanksgiving morning, I reached my goal.
I was about four miles in, blasting Olivia Rodrigo in my headphones, and I began to sob. I kept running, of course—I came too far to not finish that race. But I cried. Not because it was hard, but because my body was doing it. This body that I have such a hot and cold relationship with, the one I sometimes feel good in and sometimes I really hate for not doing what I want it to….in that moment, my body did a really hard thing. And I cried, because damn, I was really proud of myself.
Let me tell you, I was slow. People kept passing me left and right. My entire family (including my aunt and uncle running who are in their late 50s) beat me. My 12-year-old cousin came in third for his age group, and I probably came in last for mine. But I didn’t care in the slightest. I sprinted that last leg of the race with a big effing smile on my face, because my body did it. Because this body, which I kept telling myself was never a runner’s body, is in fact a runner’s body. Curvy and all, I can run five miles and finish. I am so proud…and I am so tired. 😂
I’m writing this to you now sitting on the couch with an ice pack in my pants because my hip hurts so bad I can’t move. (I know, I should probably go to a doctor next week, I get it.) My legs are beyond sore. My right knee protests every time I stand up. My shoulders are so tight, when my husband tries to massage them, I practically scream.
I could have been mad at this body again for not reciprocating in the way that everyone else’s were. The family members of mine that ran kept going with their Thanksgiving day like they were perfectly fine, as if a breezy five mile run is nothing to them. I know I could look at them and judge myself for not recovering quick enough, for not running fast enough.
But I won’t. Because I did the dang thing, and I refuse to be mad at this body that made it happen.
When I hit that four mile marker and cried, when I kept going and finished that race, I realized that this was the proudest I’ve ever felt of my body. None of my goals for weight loss or pants size or dieting have ever compared to how I felt in that moment. And as I crossed the finish line, I learned a very valuable lesson.
Being proud of your body is the most powerful tool you can have.
There’s a reason why many mothers feel an extra fondness for their bodies—and for female bodies in general—after going through pregnancy and childbirth. The body actually grew a human, then birthed a human, and then fed a human. Absolutely freaking wild, when you really think about it.
While it’s not true for every mother (I know there’s a lot of insecurities out there about post-pregnancy weight), I know there are some out there who feel really proud of their bodies for going through the entire experience. A new mindset is formed toward the body—to treat it gently and take care of it, because it’s done a lot for you, and you already know that it’s capable of doing hard things.
No, I have not birthed a human yet, but I do feel some of that. Running this race gave me a sense of pride toward my body. I may not look like I did when I was regularly running in high school and college, but on Thanksgiving, I ran the farthest distance I ever have in my entire life. Right now, I feel bad ass in this body, even with all of the curves and the cellulite. It feels really powerful to be proud of the body I’m in now, rather than trying to reach a “goal weight” and feel proud of a skinnier version of my body that isn’t truly meant for me.
Will I run five miles again? Oh, I don’t know, I’m going to go with no right now as I feel the ice pain my pants starting to melt. But I do love running again in a way that I never thought I would. I am looking forward to going on regular two mile runs, maybe even increasing my pacing time with each week that passes. Maybe someday in the future I’ll feel inspired enough to do a 10K. But right now, I simply want to enjoy the fact that my body can do this hard thing regularly. That this body of mine is a runner’s body, and it made me proud this week. And wow, it has been so long since I’ve ever been able to say that about myself.
So here’s my little tidbit of advice for you: Don’t wait until you’re a certain weight or look a certain way to do the hard thing you’ve always wanted to. Want to rock climb at a gym? Join a yoga studio? Sign up for a rec sports team? Run a five-mile turkey trot?
Do it. Nothing is stopping you but yourself. And I promise you, by mile four, you’ll be sobbing with pride—and it will be worth every second.
Need to handle this melting ice pack so I don’t have time for the Forkful reads and eats. So for now, here’s a fun video of me finishing my race. I’ll have the rest of the usual programming next week. Enjoy those leftovers. 😉