It’s okay to be strong

*Legacy posts are from girls who have been there, played hard, and learned an awful lot along the way!

It’s ok to be strong.

I’m not sure girls hear that. Or hear it enough. Or worse, believe it. But they should.

Strength, while often immortalized as a male attribute, is not gender biased. It is a human trait. It is a trait of both physical and mental prowess. It is a trait that all people should aspire to–in thought, in emotion, and in physicality.

I consider myself lucky. When I was little, my dad encouraged me to work hard, to play sports, to do exercises, to set goals. He taught me that it is ok to be strong, even in a world where I was often told otherwise.

I am a girl, and I am an athlete, and I am strong.

The summer before my sophomore year of high school, I started spending time in the weight room. It was unfamiliar territory, and fear seeped into my veins as I walked through the door. Despite the unnecessarily loud rock music blaring from the open doors, my thoughts persisted, drowning out the music with negativity and self-doubt. What are you doing here? my mind screamed. And for a second, I thought about turning around and going home. After all, I didn’t belong there. I was a girl.

But I didn’t leave. I walked into the room, moving from station to station, machine to machine, doing the lifts that my track coach had taught me during the previous season. That summer I’d been benched from softball due to an injury, and I was focused on overcoming that injury and coming back to cross country stronger. I needed to do everything possible to minimize the gap between me and my fellow competitors, and if lifting was a step toward that strength, I would do it, even if it scared me.

“Is that all you can do?” He sneered, mocking the measly twenty pounds I attempted to move on the tricep pushdown machine.

I exhaled steadily, funneling every ounce of energy into the muscles needed for that movement. My arms resisted, struggling to straighten. My core tightened in response. Yet, I finished the movement.

“Yes, that’s all I’m doing. Do you see these arms?” I snipped back, pointing to my twig-like arms, embarrassed by their fragility, shamed by the look on his face, disgusted by my weakness.

I don’t remember the rest of the conversation or the rest of that workout, but I do remember those words. More importantly, I remember the way that moment made me feel. Instantly, with one short sentence, I felt unworthy of my goals. I felt incapable of strength. I felt unwelcome in a world that was an extension of who I’d become. For, throughout the previous school year, I’d become not just a girl who does sports, but an athlete. I’d invested myself in off-season training and participated in local races. I’d begun reading books about the great runners, reveling in the stories of their races, workouts, and struggles. I felt most alive in the middle of a long run as the sun dipped into the horizon, and I loathed the rest days I was forced to take.

“More importantly, I remember the way that moment made me feel. Instantly, with one short sentence, I felt unworthy of my goals. I felt incapable of strength. I felt unwelcome in a world that was an extension of who I’d become.”

But suddenly, after a few words, I felt like an outsider. I felt misplaced.

Over the next few years of high school, I continued to work on my strength. Often times, I was one of only a few girls who spent time in the weight room. In college, I started to see more female faces as lifting became an expectation of our programming. Yet, it was still evident that girls didn’t feel as comfortable maneuvering a barbell as they did jumping onto a cardio machine. While the alienation between femininity and strength had decreased, it had not been completely abolished. It was not until I began CrossFit that I truly felt comfortable accepting my own strength. I was encouraged to lift weights, and more importantly, I was congratulated for reaching new PRs for particular lifts. Much like running, lifting became a place of solace and freedom.

And I started to realize that it’s not just ok to be strong, it’s good to be strong.

Yet, strength doesn’t have to be barbells stacked with plates or kettlebells that appear bigger than the person swinging them. Strength is a much stronger force than any steel equipment, for it manifests itself in our thoughts and will. It is the voice that says to keep pushing forward. It is the persistence to overcome adversity and struggle. It is the constitution to focus on the goal, ignoring the pain threatening progress.

Strength is a human trait. It knows no gender. It knows struggle and defeat, but it does not know girl or boy.

That day in the weight room could have been my opportunity to shrink back and quit. I made an excuse for my lack of strength–for I was a weak, little girl. After all, girls are supposed to be thin and frail, right? As a girl, the appearance of definition or bulky muscles is unattractive, right? That day could have limited me as an athlete, and in some ways, it probably did (at least for awhile). But ultimately, I was lucky. When I told my track coach the story, he scoffed and made certain to shut down any negative talk when he was supervising the weight room. I had coaches and parents supporting and encouraging me to ignore the comments and forge ahead. As I learned that my physical strength was acceptable and worthy, my mental strength increased. I learned to utilize my resilience during moments of difficulty, and I honed my ability to focus on the positive when I felt confidence wavering.

For physical strength becomes mental strength and mental strength becomes emotional strength. And strength becomes power. And resilience. And freedom. And success.

As I coach, I think of this, and I encourage my female athletes to empower themselves and appreciate their strength. Despite their reservations to enter the weight room (for it is still an environment that elicits fear), I take them in and teach them how to lift. I encourage them to celebrate their strength.

The opportunity to be strong should not be limited to any one gender or any one type of person. All athletes, females included, need encouraged to embrace their strength–whatever it may look like.

So pick up the barbell, or push the weighted sled, or pull your chin over the bar.

Because it’s not just ok to be strong–it’s great to be strong.