The first time I remember feeling fat, I was 11 years old and in a ballet class. I spent countless hours of my formational years in ballet studios, and for the first time, I looked in the mirror reflecting myself and the other girls in the class and I felt bigger than they were.

Looking back at actual pictures of me from that time, I realize how ridiculous it was. I was not bigger. In fact, I may have even been a tad scrawnier? I’m not sure why what I saw reflected was different than reality, but it was.

I continued to worry about my weight. Sure, I would indulge just like anybody else, but I sort of did my own Weight Watchers style calculations, even as a young teenager. Have cake at a party, don’t eat breakfast. Eat fast food for lunch? No dessert for 3 days. The rules were arbitrary and maybe a tad obsessive, but I felt that being and staying thin was extremely important for (wait for it) my worth and my happiness.

I will say that as I matured much of that dropped away, but I still had this feeling that my body was never quite what I wanted it to be. Too lumpy here, too bumpy there, hips just slightly wider than my shoulders, too much junk in the trunk (although thank you, Meghan Trainor and Kim Kardashian for actually making that fashionable again).

But when I became a runner . . . .no, wait, not just when I became a runner, when I became a RACER, something slowly started to change.

All the sudden the bumps and lumps didn’t bother me. My relationship with my body changed. The bones and the muscles and yes, the fat, were no longer merely there to hold up clothing and make me look fashionable and attractive.

They were there to get through a 10K, or 13.1 miles, or (gasp) 26.2 miles.

My body, which in the past had been something to change and sculpt and show my ability to be disciplined and only eat one scoop of ice cream on special occasions, became a vehicle that could carry me incredible distances that I had only imagined. Every inch of me become part of a precious machine that I could work on, sure, but not because I wanted it to look better. Because I wanted it to BE better. More sound. Less prone to injury. STRONGER.

I knew I had finally made peace when, just last month, I wore a bikini. In public. For the very first time.

And no, it wasn’t because I suddenly had a “bikini ready” body. You know, the body one hears so much about on television and on the internet.

In fact, what the heck does that even mean?

I still weigh myself from time to time but something beautiful has happened. A few pounds up no longer send me reeling into self loathing. And maybe more importantly, a few pounds down no longer makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something brilliant.

Because looking good, for me, is not brilliant. Being good, and strong, and capable and fit – THAT’S brilliant.

And me and my body? We’re good. We’re happy. And we are at peace.

Happy running.