Learn your label

When I was a little girl, we had some white plastic beads. The little white cubes had a black letter pressed into them. When we made jewellery with these alphabet beads I would always look for the same letters.

K. A. T. E.

It is my name, after all. If I couldn’t find those letters, I would readjust my expectations and look for my initials.

K. C. V.

These letters were always easier to find as they were less sought after.
I’d thread the little beads, tie the string up (hoping that it would hold) and either slip my new piece of jewellery onto my wrist or neck. I would wear my name proudly.

My name is Kate.
It’s who I was, who I am.

I like knowing the meanings of a name. I think the meaning relates to a certain aspect of someone and when you find out the meaning, you’re able to see that trait in them, in who they are.

Alexis, your name is Greek. It means “to defend, to help”. Your name wasn’t chosen accidentally; it was picked specifically for you.

Last year I sat in a parent/teacher meeting. Your teacher spoke of your academic achievements and then she said, “Alexis is compassionate, caring and empathetic.” Suddenly, all your wonderful academic achievements melted away as she talked about how you were happy to play with anyone. Your teacher told me that you had a large range of friends, that you worried about them and showed them kindness when they were struggling.

I heard, when she spoke, how you were living out exactly what I hoped for you.
Your kindness will always be more meaningful than your academic achievements. People will remember you for how you show that you love them.

My name, Kate, means pure. I always joked that I wasn’t that at all. But the truth is that I was. I was pure, innocent and a little naïve. Time after time, it screwed me over. I would believe the best of everyone and I would end up hurt. I would keep returning to those innocent beliefs though. I always wanted to believe that people were inherently good and kind.

Slowly over time, I removed this label from myself. I hurt others and myself and the meaning of pure no longer held true to me.

I learnt to give myself other labels. Labels that were painful. Labels that weren’t kind. Labels that weren’t pure. I gave myself meanings that didn’t build me up but instead tore me down.

Ugly.
Unkind.
Unloved.
Unworthy.
Sinner.
Slut.
Coward.
Weak.
Addict.

But then I started running.
I started off small, just 20 minutes of interval running.
Progressively, those times got longer.

And when I ran, I would leave behind all those labels that I called myself.
When you’re pushing yourself, you can’t carry those things with you. They’re too heavy and running is hard enough without any extra baggage.

When I ran, my mind would be set free from what was, to focus on what could be. Running was a space where I let go of hurt, where I let go of resentment, where I took my mask off.

Something in me shifted.
I could recognise my own strength.
Determination.
Discipline.
Focus.
Freedom.
The labels, the traits, they all started to change.

And so, I fell in love.
With running and with myself.

A few weekends ago, I ran the Cadbury marathon. When I registered for this run, I set myself a plan. I was going to train.
But I didn’t.
Not once.
I used Bruny as my training run.
Six weeks later, I showed up and just expected the magic to happen.

I was talking to Pa, and I said to him, “I don’t deserve to be out there. I don’t deserve to finish.”
In a single moment, I had flung open the door to those negative labels that I gave myself and welcomed a new one.

Undeserving.

When I woke up that morning, I spent the hours in the lead up trying to convince myself I deserved a place there. This was my run. This was my day. That I would enjoy the struggle. Embrace it.

20km into the run and my body was loudly telling me off for not training. I was pushing it to a place it didn’t want to go. I apologised to it by taking pain killers and distracting it with decent conversation.

I decided I needed a break at the half way point. A quick walk, a quick phone call and I would get back into it.
The pain killers had kicked in and I knew I could run for a bit.

My struggle became keeping my mind focused. It started to wander. While my legs moved in one direction, my mind was somewhere else. On another path.
I was thinking about what I was going to wear after I had finished. Seriously?

It was at this point I stopped.
There was an injured runner on the home stretch. He had about 5km to go. I called an ambulance and waited. I shared my water and became jealous of how he had made it that distance in a time that I wanted to be at (this was a lesson in itself... one that I’ll have to write about).

Five minutes later, I started again.
I should have turned back.
I should have claimed a DNF.

I knew that, mentally, I wasn’t in it. My mind had finished. It had given up.
The seeds I had planted in the lead up were growing. They had taken root and I reminded myself that I didn’t have a place out there. This was not my run. This was not my day.

Undeserving.
Untrained.
Weak.
It was the first time that inside an even I didn’t feel strong.

Spending two hours in the lead up plying myself with positive thinking was not enough to counteract the 12 weeks of not training, the 12 weeks of negative thinking, and the countless times that I said I was undertrained. Unworthy. Didn’t have a place.

It turns out that training not only teaches your body to go the distance, but also, your mind. It teaches your mind how to think and how to behave. It teaches you that your mind can make it as far as your body can, when they are working together.
And it teaches you that you are deserving.
Enough.
Strong.
Capable.
Worthy.

It takes training, practise and patience to improve how you think about yourself. About your worth. About who you are.

I have thought back to how I felt when I ran the Great Ocean Road.
I poured everything I had, everything I was, into that run and I still feel proud.
Through training, I learned how to believe in myself during that run. I learned to believe that I have a strong body and mind.

Alexis, you can train yourself to think both positively and negatively about yourself. Negative thinking is taught, just as positive thinking is.

I spent the rest of the Cadbury marathon mostly walking. Running even 1km seemed like too much.
I decided to take stock and be grateful that I was even out there. That day, that run, that moment, wasn’t my best run (or walk) but it was still happening. And that was good.

When I crossed the line, there was no feeling of satisfaction. No thrilling feeling of pride. There was relief; I was glad that it was over.

Alexis, I hope you run. Or ride. Or climb. Or find something else that pushes you to an extreme where you have no other option than to walk away proud.
I hope you find something which helps you to find out who you are, to see your strength and to know your true worth. You need something to find out what you’re made of, who you are.

Your labels are not weak. Or undeserving. Or untrained.
Your labels are strong. Kind. Gentle. Deserving. Brave. Fierce. Loved. Loving. Daughter. Your labels are defender. Fighter. Warrior. Funny. Silly.

Learn your labels.

Repeat them.
Repeat them.
Repeat them.

In moments of weakness I hope these words will flow through your mind as naturally as the tide does on the shore.

Train your mind and learn the labels that will build you up and keep you going. Do not train your mind to learn about the labels which will tear you down.