Falling in love in February

I recently fell in love with two things I have a tendency to keep my distance from—nature and exercise. Sure, I can appreciate the beauty of the outdoors, but I prefer to admire it inside and protected from the elements. And before this year, I had ventured to Wilson Gym maybe four times my entire undergraduate career (more if you include visits to Quenchers). But this past summer, I found myself working in a city where walking was my primary mode of transport, and I latched onto the idea of moving around by foot. Four months ago, I realized I wanted to tap back into that interest and decided to take up running.

Despite my glory days in girls’ soccer, I am an atrocious runner. When I started, I couldn’t run for more than a few minutes without stopping and was fairly certain I had both improper form and incorrect breathing. As a seemingly healthy young female, it was embarrassing. But with the aid of a few YouTube tutorials and Runner’s World articles, I committed to improving. I began with the East Campus trail—with its 1.7 miles of gravel and the ability to quit at any point—and eventually moved onto the Al Buehler trail—outdoorsy rugged terrain that conveniently prevents runners from escaping unless they complete the entire three-plus miles. Four months in and I am probably still an awful runner, but my foray into the activity has transformed into a genuine love and welcomed source of comfort.

My outdoor adventures are unapologetic, undisrupted “me” time, which I value almost more than any other part of my day. So when a friends ask if I want to join them for a jog, my immediate answer is a definite no. For one, I literally cannot breathe, run and talk at the same time and am in awe that that is even a thing. But more than that, running is solely a time for me to de-stress, reflect and simply not worry about the chaos around me. In the climate of campus life, it is easy to compare oneself to others and invariably feel less. There is nothing wrong with healthy competition and admiration for the accomplishment of peers, but running is the one thing where I am truly only going up against myself. And in those moments, I am enough.

I was having a conversation with some female friends last week about the importance of finding “your thing”—something that makes you feel happy and strong and confident during times of stress and doubt. For me, running has become that “thing”, but I question why its merits feel so intertwined to my experiences as a woman. And it is something I see not just with myself. I am always shocked to hear a friend talk negatively about herself, whether about her body or intelligence or romantic relationship. I would never even think to disparage others the way they disparage themselves, and then I think back to all the times I have said similar things about myself.

At Duke, it can be difficult to feel good about yourself.

And as women, I don’t think we are told often enough that it is okay to feel confident, assured, even powerful. An oft-cited study from over a decade ago found that Duke women left the University with less confidence than when they arrived. A more recent study at Boston College reached a similar conclusion. While I hope we’ve made some progress since then, it wouldn’t surprise me if that confidence gap is still present. Self-care and self-love are topics that have reached greater prominence as we further discussions about mental wellbeing on campus. Yet, as I write about “loving oneself” in this column, the topic still feels strange, awkward, uncomfortable even. We are not told that it is okay to feel good about ourselves—but it is undeniably important. We give so much love to others; why shouldn’t we do the same for ourselves?

Self-care is a constant and evolving journey for anyone, but I would hope that we can all relish in the activities and hobbies that support, enrich and empower us, particularly when we need it most. We all deserve to fall in love with ourselves. Plus, it’s February—this is a good time for that.

Michelle Menchaca is a Trinity senior. Her column runs on alternate Wednesdays.