Imposter Syndrome, But Make It Running

 So, after my last post—where I finally admitted that I am, in fact, an athlete—it’s time for another confession.

This one has been sitting heavy with me, especially since my marathon last week:

I spend a lot of time feeling like a fraud when it comes to running.

Yep. Full-on running imposter syndrome. I do the things that make me a runner, I show up in the community, I train and race and sweat and cry (sometimes all in mile 17), and yet I still catch myself wondering if I truly belong here.

Let me be clear: no one has told me I don’t belong. Friends, family, and other runners have been welcoming, encouraging, supportive—or confused. (That last group is mostly my family. My mom has dementia and even on a bad day, if you ask her about my running, she’ll tell you I’m adopted. My cousin and I always say it’s not that diabetes runs in our family—it’s that nobody runs in our family.)

So why do I feel like a fraud?

Because my races don’t always go the way I hoped.
Because I am, without question, unnecessarily hard on myself.
Because my brain acts like those old cartoons with the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other—except in my case, it’s Encouraging Runner Brain vs. Garmin Brain. (#IYKYK)

Encouraging Runner Brain is like:

“You did the best you could. And you finished! You lapped everyone still sleeping, and you stayed ahead of the sweeper car the whole time. It wasn’t even your slowest marathon! Indy was actually your second-best finish—only four weeks after Chicago!”

But then there’s Garmin Brain, who apparently had a childhood career as an Olympic-level trash talker:

“Wow. No PR. Again. You’re too slow. If you fueled better your stomach wouldn’t hate you. Second best finish? Why not first? You skipped a workout, remember? You couldn’t even keep up when you were supposed to support a friend. Maybe stick to 5Ks. Maybe stick to the couch.”

These two sides wage war in my head after almost every race. And I’m learning—slowly, stubbornly, imperfectly—to turn Garmin Brain’s volume down. That doesn’t mean it’s easy. In the moments when I’m exhausted or disappointed or replaying every mile in my head, Garmin Brain sounds a lot like truth. Unlearning that is work.

But here’s what’s also true: I am improving. Maybe not in dramatic montage-worthy leaps, but steadily, meaningfully, me-fully.

I learn something at every race.

This time? Chewable Pepto is a girl’s best friend. (Sorry, diamonds. We had a good run.)

After the race I talked to my nutritionist, and she reminded me that GI issues are extremely common in long-distance running, no matter how carefully a person fuels. Garmin Brain swore I was the only one with a stomach that stages a coup at mile 15. Spoiler: it lied.

So going forward, I’m carrying stomach-calming meds and probably taking a pre-game dose. Take THAT, Garmin Brain.

And yes, I will probably still feel like a fraud sometimes. But that feeling isn’t the truth. The truth is this:

I put in the work.
I run the miles.
I cross-train.
I do yoga with feline supervision (which should absolutely be an Olympic event).

I may not be the fastest or strongest runner out there, but I belong out there. Absolutely, unequivocally, fully belong.