Once upon a time, a girl became a runner. Unfortunately, she was under a horrible spell.

What a strange way to became a fairy tale. Not with a girl trapped in a tower, waiting to be saved, but a girl trying to save herself. To be clear, this girl was me. And to be clearer, I’ll explain.

I would never say I’m an athletic person. I like being active and participating in sports. I played four years of basketball in middle school and played in a recreation soccer league in college. I’m a member of a kickboxing club now, which I visit multiple times a week. But somewhere in the midst of this, I also spent a number of years as a runner.

It technically started my freshman year of high school, when I was a part of my high school’s track team. I was, quite literally, no exaggeration, the worst member of the team. Every practice was an exercise in torture. I had shin splints that had me constantly limping. I wasn’t in the remotest sense competitive in any of our meets. There was a reason I only did this my freshman year.

But then, my senior year, I auditioned for show choir and by some miracle, I was invited to join! This seems completely unrelated, but I realized that to be a good member of the show choir, I needed to up my endurance. Dancing and singing simultaneously is INTENSE. Seriously: if you enjoy musical theater, gives those people some SERIOUS credit. That is not for the faint of heart! In order to up my endurance, I decided to start running.

This sounds all well and good. Running is a great way to up endurance! People talk about runner’s high and how empowered they feel when they run a 5K. And I’ll be honest: there’s serious truth to that. I’m amazed that in the time I was a runner, I went from running a half mile to running a 10K (6.2 miles for all the non-runners out there). I’m proud of myself for accomplishing that between the end of high school and just after I graduated college. And doing it to improve my health, also great.

However, a neat and tidy story is hardly ever reality. Works nicely in a book but in life, decisions are made from a collection of smaller details. And I didn’t just start running to get healthy.

I started running so as to fit in with my extended family.

A little background here. Some members of my extended family are runners. And they are good at what they do. I’m talking coaches, ultra-marathoners, state-winning, athletic-scholarship-earning runners. Growing up, I spent most family parties listening to the latest goings-on in the running world, which yeah, not the typical gossip.

But it did wear on me. I felt like I was on the outside looking in when it came to my extended family, a feeling only worsened when all of the younger members of my extended family involved were boys. I was the only granddaughter in a world of grandsons. So if I wasn’t on the outside already, not participating in running didn’t help.

So when it came time to grow my endurance, running was the only option I knew. Plus, I saw my opportunity to be seen.

So I ran. I dreaded running about 80% of the time I did it. I loved listening to loud music and enjoying nice weather. The high of race day was amazing! But mostly, my favorite part of running was just having done it. Being done and not having to do it again. The day after I ran, I struggled with stairs. Or, like, moving at all. I was sore. I thought it was a normal part of working out so I dealt with it.

The shin splints I faced during my brief stint on the track team didn’t suddenly disappear, but I ignored them, like my coaches had taught me to. Only, it turns out they were wrong. Because one time I ignored them and it turns out I had literally BROKEN MY LEG. I didn’t know. And so I ran an entire 5K on, yes, a BROKEN LEG.

But I was running, which meant I could participate in family conversations. Which meant it was worth it, right?

No, that wasn’t what happened.

I still couldn’t participate in running gossip because it still involved people I didn't know in a world I wasn't--and didn't want to be--part of. I would try to break in to conversations with my two cents, but my input was often rolled right past because honestly, it wasn't actually relevant. So I wasn’t really part of the conversations.

No, I don’t think any of this was intentional. But it still meant I felt outside. Alone.

A few years after college, I was having trouble running at all. It used to be that sometimes, when I ran, it felt like my heart was accelerating too fast when I started. And then that started to be every time I ran. Until the only thing I could think was: if I start running, I trigger a panic attack.

Now this was before I was diagnosed with anxiety. So for a while, I tried to push through. I tried to convince myself that I was just nervous when I started running and it was a feeling I needed to push through to get past. I’d sometimes felt this in the past when working out like I said. But it became every single time I laced up my running shoes.

Until…finally…I stopped running.

I stopped working out. I was so confused and afraid. For a while, I thought I might have asthma. It was a year before I finally got tested for breathing problems, heart problems, and finally determined my health was fine. I just had clinical anxiety.

And I realized that, for the sake of my mental health, it wasn’t worth it to keep running.

Every time I tried running, I thought about why I started. And it had nothing to do with making good, healthy choices for myself. Nothing to do with wanting to be a good runner. And everything to do with wanting the approval and recognition of others. Which is never a good reason to do anything. But it got to the point that needing that approval and not having it was triggering panic attacks.

It was a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. And it broke my heart. It meant that the need to gain the approval of others led to the deterioration of my mental health, which took me years to realize. Like I said before, I was like the princess waiting in a tower to be saved. Except saved, in this case, meant being noticed. And in this case, I needed to actually save myself.

It’s been almost three years since I was diagnosed with clinical anxiety and I realized I wouldn’t run anymore. Instead, I learned I absolutely love kickboxing. I’m a member of studio that doesn’t say “push through the shin splints” but instead says “if you’re hurting, take a break.” If I miss a day, I’m not reprimanded but told, “it’s good to take time off.” And most of all, I’m doing it for myself and literally not a single other person.

This is a weird story. But I know that there are so many people who choose to do things or take paths to gain the approval of others. Maybe it’s a sibling or a friend or a coworker. And sometimes, these are small gives and takes. I’ll go spend an afternoon on a so-so activity to make someone happy because I love them. I once saw a movie I didn't like TWICE IN THE SAME DAY because I wanted to spend time with people I cared about. But when I started running, I destroyed my mental health and got no joy in return. When I stopped running, no one really noticed. Because they hadn’t really noticed in the first place. Everyone is too wrapped up in their own lives, comparing themselves to others, to notice you compared yourself to them.

Do what you love because you love it.

And if you are trying to be healthy by exercising, there are options that don’t make you want to give up. There are options that really do make you feel alive.