What I’d Tell My Younger Self Who Thought Running Wasn’t for Her

If I could step back in time and sit beside the girl standing on the edge of the soccer field, the one pretending not to care that she was always picked last, I’d take her hand and tell her something she wouldn’t believe:

One day, you’re going to become a runner. Not just a “I jog sometimes” kind of runner…A real one. A consistent one. A strong one.

She’d laugh, of course. Because back then, running felt like something other people did. Athletic people. Confident people. People who weren’t terrified of letting the team down.

Back then, she thought being picked last meant she wasn’t capable. That she was slow. That she wasn’t athletic enough, or good enough to belong.

So she stayed small. She stayed quiet. She cheered from the sidelines instead of stepping onto the field, because watching felt safer than being seen.

But here’s what I wish she knew — what I’d whisper to her now:

You were never bad at sports. You were scared of being seen. Scared of messing up. Scared of failing publicly. Scared of confirming the story you thought everyone already believed about you.

That fear would follow you into adulthood, into motherhood and into every “maybe I should try running” moment you’d talk yourself out of.

Running wouldn’t come into your life easily. But it would come in exactly when you needed it. And here’s the truth I wish younger me could hear:

Running was for you all along. Not because you’d ever be the fastest. Not because you’d win medals or suddenly become naturally athletic. But because running would eventually teach you something that field never did:

You don’t have to be good at something to belong in it.

You don’t have to be picked first to participate.

You don’t need permission to take up space.

One day, running will become the thing that makes you feel strong, grounded, and proud in ways you can’t imagine yet. But you don’t know any of that right now. So here’s what I wish you knew back then. 

You’ll start running… and stop… and start again.

In your twenties, you’ll try running here and there because it’s “healthy” and “everyone says it’s good for stress.” You’ll go for short jogs with no plan and hope you magically fall in love with it.

But you won’t. Because running doesn’t stick when it’s random. Running sticks when it has purpose.

When you finally sign up for a race — more out of curiosity than confidence — everything will shift. Having a clear running plan will give you structure. Something to follow. A goal to reach for. A reason.

And suddenly, running will feel less like an obligation and more like a path. One you can actually stay on. But after that race? You’ll stop again for a while. Not because you can’t run. But because you still don’t know how to stay consistent without a finish line in sight.

It will take time for you to understand something simple but powerful: Your brain likes running more when it has direction.

Your consistency will arrive the day running finally fits your life.

You’ll spend years trying to run after work, telling yourself, “Tonight’s the night. I’ll go as soon as I get home.”

But it won’t happen. After a full day, your tank will be empty. Your body will crave the couch. Your mind will say, “Maybe tomorrow.”

And younger you will interpret that as weakness. As lack of discipline. As proof she isn’t a “real runner.”

But the truth is that you’re just human. And even experienced runners struggle with evening runs.

Everything will change when you and your partner decide to shift your entire routine. You’ll wake up before the girls, trade off gym time and running time, and head outside while the house is still quiet.

It won’t be glamorous. It won’t always be easy. It won’t always feel natural.

But it will be doable.

And doable leads to consistent.

And consistent leads to confidence.

You’ll start your days already feeling accomplished — checkmark made, stress lowered, mindset strengthened — before breakfast is even on the table.

That’s when running will finally become yours.

Your proudest runs won’t be your fastest ones.

Some mornings, you won’t want to go. The weather will be awful. It’ll be cold, rainy, snowy, or windy. You’ll question yourself as you step outside.

But those runs, the ones that felt impossible before they began, will end up giving you the most confidence.

You’ll pass another runner and share a tiny nod that says everything: We’re out here. We showed up. We’re doing the hard thing.

And on those days, you’ll feel like a badass. You’ll feel capable. You’ll feel proud. And you’ll carry that energy into the rest of your life.

Slowly, running will stop being something you “try to do” and become something you are. 

And one day, you’ll help other women become runners too.

Eventually, you’ll see something clearly: Running programs teach mileage, pace, and workouts…but they don’t teach mindset.

 And for women, especially women who never felt athletic, or who have busy lives, or who have started and stopped and felt embarrassed by it, mindset is what matters most.

The structure matters.

The why matters.

The habit-building matters.

The confidence-building matters.

That’s why you’ll create something your younger self desperately needed:

• A program that finally helps women run more and quit less.
• A program built for real life, real schedules, real fears, and real wins.
• A program that teaches women to believe:

Running IS for them. 

If you’re reading this and seeing yourself in my younger self…

If you’ve been picked last…

If you’ve started and stopped…

If you’ve believed running “wasn’t for you”…

If you’ve been scared to try again because you don’t want to fail…

I built this for you.

My Run More, Quit Less 30-Day Plan launches this Sunday. And if you want:

•  mindset support
•  structure without overwhelm
•  a realistic plan that fits your life
•  guidance to stay consistent
•  confidence that actually lasts

Then you’re exactly who I created it for.

Join the waitlist today and get first access + a special launch price.

Because running was always for you, no matter what that younger version of you believed.