Why Slowing Down Might Be the Hardest Part of Running.

“If confidence comes from heels and PRs, what happens when you can't wear either?”

This summer, I am grounded, quite literally, with a partial tear of my MPFL and severe bone bruising. There won't be any walks on the beach or body surfing, no heels at the family wedding, just leg brace tan lines, modest flats, and the occasional urge to sprint across the street out of frustration and jealousy of the girls in their cute running fits jogging by.

Without the confidence that comes from a good run or the quiet power of strappy sandals, I’ve been forced to rethink what confidence actually means. It’s not how fast I move or how tall I stand — it’s how gracefully I stand when life tries to knock me down.

I haven’t exactly mastered the “graceful” part.

In fact, I’ve already self-sabotaged this recovery by pretending I’m stronger than I am, and thinking that I know more than my orthopedist (I don’t). I walked three miles without my brace the other day. I had my full range of motion, and in my last injury, my brace didn’t lock my knee — so I figured I’d be fine.

I wasn’t.

At my follow-up appointment the next day, it hit me: I wasn’t being kind to myself. I wasn’t doing things right — I was doing them fast, and those aren’t the same thing.

What I want now is simple:

I want to heal. I want to recover.

I want to meet this chapter with grace, not resistance, and find confidence in the quiet discipline of doing things slowly, and well.

In the weeks ahead, I’m looking forward to physical therapy, laughing with friends, and finally facing my fear of the ancient elevators in the lecture hall (seriously, why do they creak like that?).

Confidence may not come from heels or PRs right now, but maybe it can come from patience.