I used to dream of having one of those coveted “26.2” stickers on my car—those badges of honor that proudly accompany “My Child is an Honor Roll Student” decals on the back windows of family vehicles. However, my car remains devoid of both the running sticker and the honor roll acknowledgment.
I have never been particularly competitive or athletic. As a child, I often found myself being the last pick during gym class team selections. Years later, I took up running and found a competitiveness within myself, albeit one that bordered on obsession. I ran for years, likening my persistence to that of Forrest Gump, traversing small towns until my body began to protest. Yet, despite numerous injuries and countless medical bills, I refused to abandon running.
Upon reflection, I’m uncertain whether I was running towards something or attempting to escape from it. After each run, especially during those plagued by injuries, I would find myself muttering that it was “good enough.” Yet, that phrase felt like a concession—a reminder of unmet goals. I began to tie my sense of worth to the success, or lack thereof, of my runs. To me, “good enough” was synonymous with failure.
This relentless pursuit of perfection compelled me to ignore pain, exacerbating injuries while my body pleaded for a break. I pushed myself to the brink, believing that anything less than excellence was unacceptable.
Recently, however, a transformation has begun to take shape within me. Just last week, I laced up my running shoes without a specific goal in mind and stepped outside. For the first time, I didn’t have a predetermined route or distance; it was simply me and the open road. My focus shifted from my feet and my watch to the world around me. As I ran, I absorbed the beauty of my surroundings and felt gratitude for my body’s capabilities, rather than competing against my own limitations.
That day, I completed four miles, and instead of thinking, “that was good enough,” I simply acknowledged it was enough—without qualifiers. I was enough.
Although I still don’t have that “26.2” sticker, I now feel a sense of accomplishment just in showing up. I find pride, confidence, and gratitude in what my body can achieve. My efforts are enough. Just like my running journey, this personal growth has unfolded at a pace I can manage. I realize I will reach my destination in my own time, and that is perfectly okay.
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In summary, my running journey has taught me that I am enough just as I am. I’ve moved past the need for validation through performance, and I now embrace the simple act of showing up.