I was initially going to post this as a Wellness Blog but it ended up being more of a "Lauren's Story" kind of vibe. So here we are.
Freaking comparison. It can be a good tool in some instances, but for the most part it makes us feel like shit and prevents us from accepting and loving who we are, how we are, and where we are.
As a new-to-competitive-running 9th grader, I had no idea my running form was different. I had never seen myself run in a video or mirror, and my funky-form was never pointed out by parents or peers. I found out in a hurtful way when I overheard my coach telling other teammates I ran like the Scarecrow from the Wizard Of Oz. I still didn't know what that meant, other than that I was, in some way, different. I noticed it "for real" by watching my brother - who has similar wonky form - run by me one day. I remember asking my dad if that was how I ran, and he said yes, but that mine was slightly worse. Great. The good news was that the fact that my hips rotated in a way to create a windmill-like leg kick-out made me pretty damn fast. The bad news was it also caused me to be constantly injured. And also, fuck that coach for not even trying to help me in the slightest way. Anyway - I think this was my first taste of true comparison; beyond wanting to buy Abercrombie because everyone else was, but wanting to change something about my body. I started noticing everyone else's legs that didn't bow in or their feet that didn't angle out. I noticed their beautiful running strides that didn't cause them hip or knee pain. I got so down on myself that I relished in every slight "injury" I had and didn't finish a single Cross Country season beyond 9th grade.
I got back into regular running after having babies, and mostly forgot about my windmill legs - perks of not being able to see yourself when you run. After a short time, running became something I truly loved and relied on, and so when people did notice my stride and decided to comment on it, I realized I had a choice: quit once again, or own it. I chose the ladder. I will be the first to introduce myself to you as "the one that runs funny", and even though there are still times I wish I were different, or times I get insecure meeting new people to run with, or feel that hurtful sting when people point it out to my husband, it's me. And it's how I was born and built. (I wrote my college essay titled "Born To Run, Built To Break"). The only way I am able to keep up with running is by letting go of comparison, because it won't change a damn thing. And thank goodness I did, because running has brought me some of my absolute best friends.
Onto lifting. CrossFit bodies are AMAZING. I could watch badass women lift serious weight all day, totally in awe of what their bodies can do. Years ago when my husband started CrossFit himself, I was smacked with some serious insecurities I didn't know I had. Society had always told us to be thin, and this born-runner nailed it without effort. But suddenly my thighs that didn't touch were nothing compared to these other muscular masterpieces. An injury prone, lanky runner was not made for CrossFit, despite dropping into a few classes with the hubby. Having a funky running stride but still being able to run was one thing. Not having thick thighs or any upper body strength and not being able to do something totally sucked. I wanted so badly to be a part of this kickass world that I started lifting on my own and insisted on calling myself a "CrossFit Dabbler". Not even close. Sure, I was lifting, but hella light weight, super slow, and no where near CrossFit status. I'd look at what others were lifting, or how often, and feel terrible about myself once again. Damn comparison. But, I loved the way I felt when I lifted. I loved feeling myself get stronger. I loved the way my body looked with the miniscule amount of muscle I put on. And so once again, I had a choice: stop lifting because I would never be a CrossFit girl with a CrossFit body, or simply do what I could. I am no where near the PR's of some of my badass friends or influencers, but I'm also so much further than when I struggled with an empty barbell. Shutting out comparison and focusing on the body I was given and it's abilities - even the limited ones - has been freeing.
Letting go of comparison in these two situations wasn't easy. But it was so worth it. Accepting myself in my own fitness world has spilled over into so many aspects of my life, allowing me to live in an intuitive manner. When you feel good about yourself and the choices you are making, you are a better person - trust me. I am kinder to myself and in return kinder to everyone around me. These are two examples of oh, so many, where comparison can be evil and dictate your life if you don't shut that shit down. So I'm here to say hey, I'm Lauren, I run funny and love to lift weights. And I hope you conquer any comparisons you are struggling with, because we will never be anyone but us.
