Dirty, stinky, bloated, and two new pimples on my face. I stopped on the trail and admired the view. I was about halfway up and needed to take a breather. I checked my heart rate, ate a quick snack, and readjusted my equipment. I had always been active, but hiking up a mountain was something that surprised me, especially by myself. It took me years to notice and acknowledge the strength I carried in my body. I wasn’t always the most confident in my body and didn’t feel that I belonged in certain groups because of my body type. That day, I don’t think I gave a second thought to my appearance or how my stomach looked. I just felt free. 

The journey to self-acceptance and body neutrality has been a long one. I still actively work on it, but I feel more confident in my ability to turn my negative and positive thoughts to neutral thoughts. Society first taught us to hate ourselves; then to turn our self-hatred into body positivity. The reality is  I’m not always waking up in a good mood with positive thoughts about myself. I have woken up and been annoyed that my stomach wasn’t flatter or legs longer and leaner. Over the course of my life, nature and movement were my guide to body neutrality. 

I chose Western Carolina University because it was far enough from my parent’s house, but close enough to go home on weekends. The school was also well-known for being super outdoorsy and my high school friend promised I could share a room with her. Because of her, I never had to experience freshmen housing (I still owe her for that one!). 

I knew I wanted to learn how to “be outdoorsy”. To me, that meant hiking, rafting, and camping. That was all I knew at the time. I jumped into every kind of activity I could and only went home whenever  I needed to get my hair done. I did a week-long camping trip in the Outer Banks, where I met one of my closest friends. I went on every hike I was invited to go on. I volunteered for a river cleanup  just so I could raft down it. Yes, I also cared about the environment, too, but rafting down a river seemed really fun! 

After the first semester, I noticed a shift that I still can’t quite put my finger on. It seemed to matter more to me that I looked good for others, not just myself. I loved reading magazines about “6 Secrets to 6 Pack Abs” and “Toned Arms In 4 Days”.  I didn’t play sports in college, so I had to learn how to go to the gym. I started running and I took 6 am HIIT bike classes that I loved to hate. I ran my first half marathon partially to lose weight and partially because I wanted to prove to myself I could. It seemed impressive. I remember the rolling hills on the course and just running to the music of my own breathing and footfalls. I ran a 150 mile relay race to impress my professors. I started Weight Watchers. I tried eating salads because I was told they were good for me. I did everything I could to make myself smaller, more appealing to college guys. 

When I look back, I’m not quite sure how many of the activities I tried because I wanted to burn calories or because I wanted to experience something new. I do know that the relationship I had with food was pretty toxic. My thought process at the time echoed how my friends and I talked and  what was in magazines.. 

Over time, I have learned how to view food as fuel and connection. It’s no longer good or bad; healthy or unhealthy. My love language is getting ice cream with a friend. Food is necessary as I continue to engage in 8-12 mile hikes, long runs, and heavy lifting at the gym. I no longer run to become smaller. I do it to become stronger and more powerful. I took my thoughts from “How many miles will it take to burn off this cookie?” to “My body supports me in so many ways” and “I respect my body, especially on challenging days”. 

My favorite way to be outside used to be in the snow. I grew up skiing and looked forward to those cold months and snow forecasts. Yes, I realize most people do not look forward to those months at all. But winter was the time I really came alive. Skiing was another opportunity for me to work towards strength in my body and appreciate function versus appearance. Also, everyone is wearing a big snowsuit. You can’t see anyone’s legs, arms, or stomachs anyways. What really mattered was who looked the smoothest on the trail, had the biggest jumps, or did really cool tricks. With skiing, I started to appreciate and observe my hamstring flexibility, my powerful quads, and core stability. I didn’t care while I was speeding downhill if the muscles were more pronounced in my legs or if I had perfect 6 or 8 pack abs. I leaned into being thankful for my ability to ski. 

Another way skiing supported my mental health was by neutralizing my concerns over acne. Downhill  skiing typically required a neck gaiter, goggles and a helmet. I can tell you that no one looks attractive like this. We are all functional and warm. The only part of someones’ face you might see is their nose. When I am dressed like this, the last thing I think about is how many zits I have on my face. Do I think about it after? Sure, sometimes. But I also focus on how much joy is vibrating through my body and how connected I feel to the world around me. I whisper a ‘thank you’ to my body for withstanding the multiple falls I took across the day and for not having any bruises, sprains, strains or breaks. I am grateful for taking up space. I am grateful to have a body that allows me to explore the world. I’ve learned to not associate my self worth with my appearance. I am allowed to experience pleasure, rich experiences, belly laughs. 

The most recent recreation that helped me to embrace body neutrality was trail running. My first trail run was about a year after college. It was a 5k on man made trails. I didn’t train for it “correctly”, but I was running at the time. I didn’t account for running up and down multiple hills, roots, branches, and running single file. Those were all pretty new to me. I remember tripping and falling down a hill. I would like to say that I was hooked after that race, but I wasn’t. 

Trail running was challenging in a different way. It was more gritty to me. Tougher. One of those sports didn’t quite make sense to me. Why would I purposely run in dirt, streams, and up a mountain with no service when I could run on sidewalks and pet a couple of cute dogs? For the next seven years, I would do a couple of trail runs with friends or by myself. I mostly dabbled in road races from 5k to marathon. It was what I knew and what I was comfortable with. January 13, 2024 changed this for me. I was competing in a Crossfit competition called Wodapalooza in Miami with two of my friends. Our group chat is fondly named Big Leaguers: #RememberingJanuary13th because of how grueling this day was for our team. We started off with a trail run at Virginia Key. It was mostly flat, like most of Florida, but had a few hills and what I like to call “racetrack turns”. I did make sure to ask how many alligators and crocodiles were on the island because, well, Florida. One of my teammates sped ahead which thankfully helped our overall score. My other teammate and I chose the more steady pace with as few walk breaks as possible. I was trying to stay supportive of her and do as many check-ins with myself as I could while offering mostly heartfelt good wishes to runners who ran past.

That was probably one of the top-five worst runs in my life. My calf was threatening to cramp; I was tired of being jostled by other runners; it was hot and humid even for January; and I simply wasn’t having a good time. But what I can remember is listening to the multitude of feet hitting the ground hard, the loud breathing, and thinking about how beautifully green and lush the area was, while leaping over logs and huffing my way up a small hill. My body persevered through that exhausting run. I won’t lie, my first thought when I finished the race was “that was awful”. But as time passed, I appreciated the beautiful harmony of my heart, lungs and organs working together to power me through. Even when I didn’t have my most successful or easy run, I had the ability to tell myself ‘yes, it was awful’ and keep going. Towards the end of January, I moved across the country to Nevada and began trail running as often as I could. 

Back on that mountain, I look towards the summit. Although I know a hike can be great even if you don’t reach the top, that was my goal for the day. I praised and thanked myself for fueling properly to complete the hike, for not being afraid to lift heavy in the gym and gain strength, and for healthy lungs and heart. Because of the way I nourish and value my body, it has connected me with so many of my closest friends on really exciting adventures. Because I view self worth beyond my physical appearance, make-up is optional and centered on my self-expression, not what others think of me. I remember I am a kind, loving, creative, confident and intelligent human being that can do more than be pretty. I put my equipment back on, take another gulp of water and keep heading up the path. My work isn’t over yet.