When I decided to help coach a running program at my kids' elementary school this spring, I didn't exactly know what to expect. I'd never coached a team before and I've come late to running, having grown to love it only in the past three years. It wasn't like I was an expert on the ins and outs of exercise drills or the various muscle groups used during stretches and runs. Important coach stuff to know, I would think.
But here's what I do know: I have a passion for running, for working toward a sound mind and body, and most importantly for this particular program, a desire to help young girls feel strong -- both mentally and physically. As the mom of an almost-tween, and a woman who has dealt with (still deals with!) feeling "good enough," I can't shake this longing for doing my part to combat all the junk out there that suggests girls should look and act a certain part to get ahead in life. It starts early, from my own experience and from what I see just watching my own beautifully unique nearly 9-year-old navigate her own world of relationships and the images she's exposed to through various forms of media.
Four weeks into coaching Girls on the Run, a national program with chapters across the country, I'm so happy I've taken on this role. Incredibly, we have nearly 70 third-, fourth- and fifth-grade girls on our team -- we're the largest chapter in our region. Of course I am not doing this alone, and I am so grateful for how seven other parents -- including one dad! -- have stepped up and entered into the lives of these amazing young girls. It's not been easy at times, thanks not only to the sheer size of the group and the twice-weekly time commitment, but because...well, 8, 9 and 10 are tough ages to be.
Ok, so each age has its challenges. (I have a two younger boys, ages 6 and 3, and believe me, there's plenty of issues with each of these ages as well, and I can just imagine what's in store for me during the teen years...) But there's something about the upper elementary grades, for a girl, that make life I believe especially trying. I can remember these days clearly: who's your best friend, who's not can change nearly weekly...clothing takes on new significance...boys as friends vs. boys as people with cooties to avoid at all costs becomes a concern...and, then, the whole body thing, with changes happening for some of us quickly (or slower) than others.
During the six practices we've had so far, we've dealt with the to-be-expected physical trials like skinned knees, cuts and bruises, even a minor asthma attack. Most recently we've faced the inevitable, heart-breaking tears over friend misunderstandings, hurtful gossiping and general relationship ickiness and drama. It's gonna happen, and while frustrating at times, I almost welcome it because the curriculum we follow talks about all this stuff, and then some. I feel almost honored to be there, helping these girls make sense of what's to them a very confusing time in their life. And in between all this, of course, we run. We stretch and play games and we run. We fall, figuratuvely and literally, but we help each other get back up, move forward and ultimately find out that we really can do more than we thought we could.
I love that now, walking through the school's hallways, girls yell out to me, "Hi, Mrs. Durocher!" and stop to share tidbits from their life, like how they talked things through with a friend or have been running on the weekends with their families.
I've also realized how much I'm learning from these girls. As I write this today I'm facing a decision I don't want to make, and I can't help thinking about how I'd be smart to heed some of the advice dispensed through the Girls on the Run program. Make healthy choices. Respect yourself. Take good care of your body.
But here's what I do know: I have a passion for running, for working toward a sound mind and body, and most importantly for this particular program, a desire to help young girls feel strong -- both mentally and physically. As the mom of an almost-tween, and a woman who has dealt with (still deals with!) feeling "good enough," I can't shake this longing for doing my part to combat all the junk out there that suggests girls should look and act a certain part to get ahead in life. It starts early, from my own experience and from what I see just watching my own beautifully unique nearly 9-year-old navigate her own world of relationships and the images she's exposed to through various forms of media.
Four weeks into coaching Girls on the Run, a national program with chapters across the country, I'm so happy I've taken on this role. Incredibly, we have nearly 70 third-, fourth- and fifth-grade girls on our team -- we're the largest chapter in our region. Of course I am not doing this alone, and I am so grateful for how seven other parents -- including one dad! -- have stepped up and entered into the lives of these amazing young girls. It's not been easy at times, thanks not only to the sheer size of the group and the twice-weekly time commitment, but because...well, 8, 9 and 10 are tough ages to be.
Ok, so each age has its challenges. (I have a two younger boys, ages 6 and 3, and believe me, there's plenty of issues with each of these ages as well, and I can just imagine what's in store for me during the teen years...) But there's something about the upper elementary grades, for a girl, that make life I believe especially trying. I can remember these days clearly: who's your best friend, who's not can change nearly weekly...clothing takes on new significance...boys as friends vs. boys as people with cooties to avoid at all costs becomes a concern...and, then, the whole body thing, with changes happening for some of us quickly (or slower) than others.
During the six practices we've had so far, we've dealt with the to-be-expected physical trials like skinned knees, cuts and bruises, even a minor asthma attack. Most recently we've faced the inevitable, heart-breaking tears over friend misunderstandings, hurtful gossiping and general relationship ickiness and drama. It's gonna happen, and while frustrating at times, I almost welcome it because the curriculum we follow talks about all this stuff, and then some. I feel almost honored to be there, helping these girls make sense of what's to them a very confusing time in their life. And in between all this, of course, we run. We stretch and play games and we run. We fall, figuratuvely and literally, but we help each other get back up, move forward and ultimately find out that we really can do more than we thought we could.
I love that now, walking through the school's hallways, girls yell out to me, "Hi, Mrs. Durocher!" and stop to share tidbits from their life, like how they talked things through with a friend or have been running on the weekends with their families.
I've also realized how much I'm learning from these girls. As I write this today I'm facing a decision I don't want to make, and I can't help thinking about how I'd be smart to heed some of the advice dispensed through the Girls on the Run program. Make healthy choices. Respect yourself. Take good care of your body.
As I've shared on this blog, I signed up for my first marathon this spring. After three half-marathons, a handful of 10- and 5-Ks, I felt ready to take the plunge and train for 26.2 miles. Having heard tales of runners pushing themselves too hard during training and injuring themselves to the point of having to pull out of the race, I was determined from the start to train smart. I imagined myself walking that fine line of challenging myself while listening to my body. I printed out a training guide based on my best half-marathon time of 1:48, but even that outline seemed overly aggressive at times. So I modified it some to be sure I kept to my goal of making it to race day unhurt.
Then it happened. I got overly-confident.
One cool, sunny Friday I laced up and headed out for a 10-miler. It went so well and I felt so good afterward, I somehow thought I would have no problem doing 12 miles just two days later, and then another 12 several days after that. Up to that point I'd been doing 6 miles at the most on a fairly consistent basis and so this jump up didn't seem too crazy at all. And maybe it wouldn't have been if I hadn't also dialed up my speed and incorporated a bigger hill into the mix. All together, it apparently was just too much. My left achilles informed me of my mistake.
I haven't run for a week now, having had to cut a planned 18-miler short after experiencing intense pain 10 miles in (yes, even after initial aches following the previous 12-miler, I thought I could do this even longer run). I pushed through a few more miles that afternoon, stopping every so often to rest and hope the throbbing would just go away. But it didn't. So I walked. Fighting tears, I walked several miles home, feeling stupid, ashamed, guilty...and then angry for not going easier on myself. Why is it I am so hard on myself when I would be nothing but loving and compassionate toward a friend in the same situation?
I thought of the girls I'm coaching and the all the lessons we're learning, that even I'm obviously still learning. And while I want to run a marathon very badly, now perhaps is just not my time. The last thing I want to do is injure myself further. There will be other races. Other times to prove to myself that I can do something I never thought I could do. Take care of yourself.
It's rather astounding to me that, at age 34, taking care of myself could prove to be such a difficult task. But the more I am aware of the benefits of doing so, and the more I witness it in the young girls I'm coaching and experience it firsthand, the more I realize it really is the only way to go. I think my girls would be proud to hear me say so -- and to see me actually live it out, too.
If you'd like to learn more about Girls on the Run, please check out the non-profit's web site. Also see the founder Molly Barker's very cool blog.
Posts
