Wednesday: The first day of my seventh year of college, and my first time wearing track spikes since my final collegiate track meet in May.
At the start of a re-beginning, I am actually thinking a little bit about the past. About my younger selves in our first and last years of college track, and who— I am now so grateful— were wrong.
My freshman year of college, I was actually kind of miserable. I wanted to drop out, transfer, or quit my sport. A track stud in high school, I started college in the fall doing my secondary sport (cross country) and was honestly not very good. I got a C in Biology my first semester after finishing high school with a 4.3 GPA. I had a bit of an identity crisis; for the first time, I was “bad” at running and barely passing my first class. I came here to be a college athlete, and I felt like I was terrible at both the “college,” and the “athlete” part.
When people asked me if I wanted to go to grad school, I would bitterly laugh at them: “HELLLL no!!! I need to be out of here as soon as possible.” If you told Freshman Marian she would spend 7 years in college, she would have dropped out immediately to prevent that from becoming a reality. She didn’t know so many amazing days were ahead of her— in college. She didn’t know that she’d eventually find her groove athletically, and she would actually start to enjoy her education (though it would take another 1-2 years). Freshman Marian thought dropping out of college was the best move for her. I’m so glad she stuck around long enough to be proven wrong.
The other past self I am so grateful to have been wrong is sixth-year NCAA Marian. By then, I figured out that sticking around was worth it. I learned what it was like to love college, and how special it was to be an NCAA athlete. I thought, these are the best days of my life, the fittest I’ll ever be, the most supported and connected and fast I’ll ever be. I thought I had only my NCAA years to actualize my potential. Because of that, I put increasing pressure on myself with every passing meet to maximize my talent and make the most of every opportunity. I had a scarcity mindset about fitness and about racing opportunities, always scared that I might waste my shot or not do a good enough job while I still could. (Often, this turned out to be a self fulfilling prophecy).
Yet this summer after my final collegiate race has been the best I ever had. I still have my friends on the team; I’m healthier both physically and mentally than I was in my final year as a college athlete; and I’ve regained the FUN I used to have when racing. I’m still doing what I love— running— but I’m not crippled by performance anxiety or training perfectionism.
I have so much love, compassion, and affection for my younger selves, both at the start and end of my collegiate running career. AND I’m so, so glad that their predictions turned out to be wrong. I didn’t expect it, but things could— and DID— get better. They got better after freshman year when I stuck around school. And they got better after the NCAA when I had to go.
If you, dear reader, are in a spot right now where you’re anticipating the worst… I’ll pass along the words my old sports psych used to tell me: “You can always surprise yourself.” When you’re having negative thoughts, have a little hope: You can always end up wrong.
The More the Marianer 