A letter to my friend

So you have a secret goal and  you are so afraid you will mess it up that you haven't told anyone? 

You asked for my advice and I know what you are really asking is how to make sure you succeed and rule out any possibility of failing. 

I know you are filled with self-doubt and are not feeling confident, so you don’t want to put it out there and tell anyone you are doing it.  I know the fear well. 

This is what I can tell you. You are missing out on the best part of the experience and the biggest gift possible in the entire experience by not allowing others to sit next to you and say "me too." 

There is never a race I have done that I didn’t want to find a way out.  Shit, I have contemplated throwing myself in front of a car because after all, no one would expect me to race with multiple broken bones.

 Even if it is a race I have done before, I hear this bitchy voice in my head saying “who do you think you are?”  I go to get my packet and as I look around I think everyone must be looking at me thinking “what is she doing here?”  They are the athletes and I am the imposter, about to be busted and exposed.   I take this fear along on every race I do.  I have gotten better at muting her voice, but have yet to find a way to shut her up completely.

So you signed up for this huge thing!   Congratulations.  That is a big step.  

You had the courage to have the dream, you had the courage to sign up for it.

If you are waiting to feel confident enough,  you will have to wait until the lights go down at midnight. No matter where you are on that course, if you are at the finish line or still running your way toward it, when it is over is when the self-doubt will finally silence itself.

Courage means you do it because it’s your dream and your life.  And even when you aren’t certain about the outcome, you put your ass out there and you step into it anyway.  Every time you do that, you give yourself and every woman out there permission to  also step into something even when they are afraid.

I had always thought that being a DNF for Ironman would be the worst thing possible and I would feel like a failure.  It turns out that wasn’t true at all.   

I sat there with the bike and swim behind me, and the course official telling me I was done, and I realized the worst thing possible would be to quit.  It turns out I didn’t care if I was an Ironman by anyone else’s standards, it only mattered to me that I did the 140.6 I had set out to do.  I believe this shift was the reason I loved every single second of the marathon. I felt amazing and everything that had hurt all day stopped hurting, the chatter in my head was gone and I was experiencing the moments as they were happening in a whole new way.   When I stopped worrying about failing, that was the moment I was finally courageous enough to love the experience. 

For every bit of imperfection, fear and self- doubt we hide and keep tucked away, we rob ourselves of the support we could be getting and we also rob others of what we could be sharing with them. 

The difference between confidence and courage is huge, so move forward with courage my friend, and stop waiting to feel confident.

So the second step is a bit more scary.  Let every flaw, every fear and every failure shine brightly and know that the authenticity that comes with that will give you a sense of freedom you can only imagine.

Thank you for telling me you are doing this big scary thing and I will support your decision to keep it a secret or to go big with it, whatever you choose.   But my best piece of advice is don’t keep it to yourself, stop rehearsing all the ways you can fail, stop giving yourself a silent arena to back out of, and stop playing small.  If this is your dream then live it out loud and live it big. 

Blog post: Strong Enough to Cry~50k

My life changed radically in 2008 when I began training for my first marathon.  It is hard to believe it has only been 4 short years since I set out to do what “runners” do and grappled with the doubt and insecurity of entering a world in which I didn’t belong.   I have struggled with uncertainty and fear, doubting myself most of the way.  It is my default setting, whispering in my ear in the moments I am anxious and unsure of myself.

I have found purpose in my running and feel unbelievably blessed to be able to combine it with writing.  I am always incredibly touched when something I have written encourages someone else.  One comment I have never found a way to be comfortable with, is that I am an inspiration.  I squirm every time I hear this and although I try to accept the comment with grace, I fall short most times.

It is a similar discomfort I have with the challenge to be vulnerable. Being uncomfortable with it  is not the same as not being vulnerable.  I am vulnerable, sensitive, often easily hurt and exposed more often than I would like.

Running a 50 k yesterday, the hours on the trail  gave me time to think as always.   I found myself thinking about my tendency to wait just until the race to register.  I thought about my physical reaction, a tug in the pit of my stomach the night before as I was pulling in for packet pick up.  Driving into the campground of tents and athletic looking people all wearing the trademark brands of competent runners, I wanted to turn around and go home.  It is the same thought I have every time, which actually seems to be more of a feeling.  “These people belong and I don’t. “  I wait, holding my breath for the group to collectively turn and look at me, the one person who doesn’t belong there. It doesn’t happen of course, and each time I go through this I talk myself back into reality.  But the pattern is predictable, and stays with me through the start line the next morning.

I had plenty of time to analyze it yesterday.  Was I afraid I wouldn’t finish the race?  Was I afraid I couldn’t do it?  Was I afraid my body would shut down or that I would be injured? Was I afraid of being so  slow that the course closed before I got to the finish line? Was I afraid every person there would see me as an imposter, figuring out I wasn’t a real runner? Answering no to all the questions, meant I really didn’t have a good reason for doubting myself, yet I do every time. I am afraid of signing up and I am afraid of all of the things I know are not true.  I am afraid of quitting, even though I know I won’t.  I am afraid of failing even though I know finishing is good enough.  I am afraid of falling short and being judged even though it would be unjust.

In my mind I call it fearful courage.  It is as paradoxical as it sounds and I can’t explain it, because it is as emotive as it sounds.  The best I can do  is this:  It is feeling