I’ve been extra motivated about running lately. It comes from watching my daughter Isabelle train during her freshman year of cross-country. I never ran cross-country. I didn’t even discover my love of running until I was in my 30’s.
I’d never even been to a meet before. So I found myself with a nervous lump in my throat watching the girls line up in a giant mass at the start line, and somehow siphon into a small trail entry. It reminds me of the scary start of a triathlon swim, a mass of bodies kicking each other and churning the water until they eventually spread out.
During her first race I found a couple spots to watch her and when I screamed her name to cheer, I heard my voice break. Watching someone I love be brave undoes me. She is a far faster, better runner than I am, but it’s still fun to have something we both love to share and connect over.
At a more recent race, just before the start, her coach pulled her aside and asked a question: “What hat are you going to wear today, Isabelle?”
She was confused. “What do you mean?”
“What hat? Your business hat or your tiara?” he smiled at her, egging her on.
“Business hat,” she decided.
“Okay then. Line up in the front.” And she did. She placed in the top five on her team—good enough to qualify to run varsity at the following meet. Apparently, that business hat means business.
When she told me the story on the way home after her race, I loved it. Her coach knows her awfully well after such a short time. Isabelle is a girlie girl. She loves her make-up and chooses her outfits for school a day in advance. Even her hair is perfectly braided before practices and meets. And she loved tiaras and puffy princess dresses when she was a little girl. She wore little plastic high heels with “jewels” on them; clicking across the wood floor, tiny painted pink toenails peeking out.
But Isabelle is also an athlete. She is tough, determined, competitive, and graceful. She could do anything she wants to do, and if she chooses to push herself, her body will oblige.
But here’s the thing, her coach was telling her: sometimes pushing yourself isn’t pretty.
For a young teenage girl, it can be awkward or uncomfortable to to tap into the Power more than the Pretty. To be seen trying can be embarrassing.
It often isn’t sweet, or girlie, or perfect. You sweat. You smell. You ache. You turn red. You feel sick. You might beat someone who isn’t used to being beat. Or you might put yourself out there and bonk. Either way, people can How Des Linden Keeps Showing Up.
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From the vantage point of thirty extra years, I can see things my daughter can’t. I can see that suffering builds camaraderie; that friendships forged in the fields are the true race results. I can see the fire in her that she is tentatively igniting, and I know that it will fuel and fortify her for all the miles of her life.
I know the power of teamwork and I can feel the force of their blue and red blur as her team passes by me, their ponytails swishing like mustangs. I know she is learning the value and the power of working together. I can see the way hard training in one area of life creates momentum in every area. Her morning workouts create a clear and calm mind for the school day ahead. And I know how the But I also know it’s better and more badass that that can whisper to you for the rest of your life. I can see her body changing, getting leaner and stronger as her endurance builds and beckons. I can feel her endorphin-born exuberance at the finish line as she answers her own question, “Yes, I can.”
Most of all I know this one thing: Pushing yourself may not always be pretty.
But I also know it’s better and more badass that that.
It’s beautiful.
Kristin Armstrong is a mother, a writer, and a runner. She has written six books, including her latest, A Pro Athlete Takes on The Great World Race.
