The Hardest Part Was Never Running. It Was Letting Someone Help Me.

**TW: I mention abuse. While I do not go into details just reading that word and how its affected me still to this day may conjure up some emotions.

This week I had the chance to be personally coached in the gym by Coach Cass. Our strength coach building our plans behind the scenes! Going into the session, I expected to leave with sore muscles and maybe a little friendly chit chat. I expected to be challenged physically. What I didn't expect was how emotionally uncomfortable it would feel to have someone genuinely notice me. So much so I about started crying when attempting a single leg move on my right leg. That’s the hip that used to give out on my and the tendons that were broken down for a long period of time after childbirth number three.

As she watched me move, she didn't immediately point out everything that needed fixing. Instead, she actually started by showing me where I was already strong. I looked at her confused. Like, you sure you see muscles there? hah! Then, almost effortlessly, she identified the muscles that weren't contributing the way they could. There was no criticism or judgment. No sense that I had somehow ‘failed’. She simply observed what was already working and what needed a little more support.

SUPPORT. that’s the key word.

That should have felt reassuring.

Instead, my chest tightened and my eyes started watering. Kind of like they are now while writing this. For me this story is quite vulnerable.

Almost immediately, I caught myself thinking, What do I owe her? How can I help her? Where can I support her next? Then another familiar thought surfaced. “I should probably just figure this out myself. I’m asking too much.” (that struck a nerve. i’m crying again. geezuz. write this blog post AI.) You should also know she invited me in. I didn’t ask anything. She actually just wanted to invest time with me.

Logically, I knew neither of those thoughts made sense. She was simply doing exactly what a great coach and friend does. Something I’ve organically done for athletes over the years. But our nervous systems don't always respond to logic. They respond to what they've learned over years of experience.

For many of us, support doesn't automatically feel safe.

If you grew up in a home where being noticed usually meant being criticized or shamed, your brain may have learned that visibility comes with a cost. If asking for help was met with shame, dismissal, or the message that you were "too much," needing other people may have started to feel dangerous. Even if your childhood wasn't quite as traumatic as mine, many of us absorbed cultural messages that celebrated independence above all else. We learned to admire the people who never asked for help, who handled everything themselves, who quietly carried impossible loads without letting anyone see them struggle. It’s a cruel badge of “honor”. Unfortunately, Those lessons don't automatically disappear when we become adults. Or even when we become “aware”. They follow us into our relationships, our careers, and surprisingly, into even into our running and strength training. Your body has to learn "“feel” safe on a physiological/emotional level.

I've coached runners for years, and I've noticed something that has very little to do with mileage, VO₂ max, or training plans. The athletes who struggle the most aren't always the least talented. Often, they're the ones carrying everything by themselves. They second-guess every workout. They hesitate to ask questions because they don't want to be a “burden”. They apologize for missing a run because life happened. They feel guilty receiving encouragement, almost as if support is something they have to earn instead of something they're allowed to receive.

Do any of those words resonate with you? If so, that’s your nervous system trying to protect you. oddly enough.

The beautiful irony is that I've built my career around seeing other people. Every week I look at training files, celebrate breakthroughs, calm fears, and remind athletes of strengths they've forgotten they have. If I'm honest, I think part of the reason I became a coach is because I know exactly what it feels like to move through life wishing someone would simply notice me. like the REAL me. I know what it's like to wonder if anyone sees how hard you're trying. Helping other people has always come naturally because I know what it’s like to feel invisible.

but …receiving that same kind of care? without begging for it then owing? That's still something I'm learning. not only am I navigating financial debt i’m navigating emotional debt.

“Debt” feels safe because it’s what my nervous system has been used to. Debt and guilt. I’m familiar with those emotions.

Joy, abundance and genuine relationships? FOREIGN objects. to have those things must mean i’ve manipulated my way into them.

fucking twisted mindset!! But, that’s what years of abuse will do to the brain’s chemistry.

This week reminded me that support (and you know what? a hella lot of it!) doesn't diminish us or make us somehow weak. It strengthens us. A great coach doesn't create strengths that weren't already there. They simply help uncover them while strengthening the places that have been quietly compensating for years.

Running itself is actually a beautiful metaphor for this. Every runner has strong muscles that naturally take over when others become weak. Eventually those compensations catch up with us. We get injured. We plateau. We wonder why all the hard work isn't producing the results we hoped for.

The same thing happens emotionally.

When we've spent years compensating by becoming fiercely independent, endlessly capable, or constantly in control, those strategies eventually become fcking exhausting. What once protected us begins limiting us.

I've started to wonder if one of the bravest things we can do isn't running farther or faster….Maybe it's allowing ourselves to be supported.

Not because we're incapable. Not because we're broken.

But because humans have never been designed to thrive alone!! somehow our culture seems to elevate the every man for himself narrative.

Long before GPS watches, training apps, or finish-line medals, people survived because they lived in community. They shared resources. They leaned on one another. Someone carried the fire while someone else carried the water. Strength was never about doing everything yourself. It was about contributing your gifts while allowing others to contribute theirs.

Maybe we've drifted too far from that.

We celebrate the self-made entrepreneur (hi. its me. yay look at me. NO. i’m fkcing broke and exhausted and need help!!), the lone wolf, the runner grinding through miles before sunrise with no one else around. Those stories inspire us, but they're incomplete. Behind every successful athlete is someone who believed in them. A coach. A teammate. A friend. A spouse. Someone who held hope when they couldn't.

That's what I hope Rogue Run Coaching becomes for people. Our tagline has always been: we help runners come back to life on the run and in life. community does that.

Yes, we build training plans. Yes, we help runners get stronger, faster.

But more than that, I want this to be a place where ambitious people discover that receiving support doesn't make them weak.

It makes them sustainable.

If you've been dreaming about running your first marathon, qualifying for Boston, or simply becoming the kind of runner who keeps showing up year after year, maybe the next breakthrough isn't another workout.

Maybe it's allowing someone to see you.

Not just your pace.

Not just your finish times.

You.

Because sometimes the strongest thing we can do isn't carrying everything ourselves.

Sometimes it's letting someone run beside us for a while.