On April 27th, I ran my very first half-marathon.
During several points of the race, and at the finish, I started crying (more of a sob but shhhss). It wasn’t because I was in pain, or it was freezing cold and I was soaking wet (because it just had to pour that morning), but because a year and a half ago, running a half-marathon would never have been a possibility because I was suffering with an eating disorder.
Only a year and a half ago, I was starving myself, cutting, taking diet pills and adderall, and hated myself so much that I wanted to die.
But, I hated how much I hated myself, and I wanted to get better.
So, I started the tough journey into recovery.
It hasn’t been an easy journey. I’ve relapsed and would stop eating for a few days. I would wear baggy sweats because I thought I was the ugliest person I’d ever seen and wanted my body to disappear in the clothes. I’ve cried over food and have wanted so badly to take a pair of scissors and release all the pain I was feeling, but thankfully I never did.
I started trying to find my way into a fit and healthy lifestyle. It was a learning experience. Working out 2 hours a day isn’t as good for my body as I thought it was and cutting out anything “unhealthy” was just as unhealthy mentally as not eating at all.
But, with each mile of the race, I proved to myself how strong I am and how far I can go to overcoming anything.
Weeks of training and determination brought me across the finish line and I really feel like a new person.
Crossing that finishing gives me a whole new confidence of knowing I can do anything when I’m determined to do it.
Once upon a time,
there was a girl with beautiful feet.
They were perfectly pedicured with not a blister, callous, or cut in sight.
Then she decided to become a runner.
And her feet went to shit.
As I was in my 8th mile of my 12 mile run, there was a group of Muslims gathered on the sidewalk.
They were holding signs that read, “Boston, we’re praying for you,” and “Boston is in our prayers.”
As I ran by them, they all turned to me and started cheering and waving me on.
It’s just a reminder that it doesn’t matter what religion we are, because we are all Americans who will not be beaten now just because we’ve been bombed. As Americans, we will come together, stay strong, and support each other no matter what our background is.
When I finish a workout, I strut around like I’m a fucking super model who owns the world.
I want to run into every sexy guy, cause I’ll smile at them because I feel that sexy.
Even on my shittiest day, when I feel ugly and worthless, when I leave the gym no one is better than me. I am the prettiest, I am the best at everything I do. No one trumps me.
When I finish my workout, I own the fucking world.
That’s why I work out