A few months ago on a school morning, as I attempted

'No, mom.' 'Excuse me?' 'No, I don't want to wear that sweater, it makes me look fat.' 'What?' My comb clattered to the bathroom floor. 'Fat?' 'What do you know about fat? You're five years old. You are definitely not fat. God made you just right. Now get your sweater.' She scampered off, and I wearily leaned against the counter and let out a long, sad sigh. It has begun. I thought I had a few more years before my twin daughters picked up the modern day f-word. I have admittedly had my own seasons of unwarranted, psychotic Slim-Fasting and have looked erroneously to the scale to give me a measurement of myself. But these departures from my character were in my 20s, before the balancing hand of motherhood met the grounding grip of running. Once I learned what it meant to push myself, I lost all taste for depriving myself. I want to grow into more of a woman, not find ways to whittle myself down to less. Toxic The way I see it, the only way to run counter to our toxic image-centric society is to literally run by example. I can't tell my daughters that beauty is an incidental side effect of living your passion rather than an adherence to socially prescribed standards. I can't tell my son how to recognize and appreciate this kind of beauty in a woman. I have to show them, over and over again, kilometre after kilometre, until they feel the power of their own legs beneath them and catch the rhythm of their own strides. Which is why my parents wake my kids early on race-day mornings. It matters to me that my children see me out there, slogging through difficult miles. I want my girls to grow up recognizing the beauty of strength, the exuberance of endurance, and the core confidence residing in a well-tended body and spirit. I want them to be more interested in what they are doing than how they look doing it. I want them to enjoy food that is delicious, feed their bodies with wisdom and intent, and give themselves the freedom to indulge. I want them to compete in healthy ways that honor the cultivation of skill, the expenditure of effort, and the courage of the attempt. Lovely Grace and Bella, will you have any idea how lovely you are when you try? Recently we ran a fun run together as a family, and I ran a 5-K immediately afterwards. Post-race, my kids asked me where my medal was. I explained that not everyone gets a medal, so they must have run really well (all kids got a medal, shhh). As I picked up Grace, she said, 'You are so sweaty Mommy, all wet.' Luke smiled and said, 'Mommy's sweaty cause she's fast. And she looks pretty. All clean.' My PB's will never garner attention or generate awards. But when I run, I am 100 percent me-my strengths and weaknesses play out like a cracked-open diary, my emotions often as raw as the chafing from my running bra. In my ultimate moments of vulnerability, I am twice the woman I was when I thought I was meant to look pretty on the sidelines. Sweaty and smiling, breathless and beautiful: Running helps us all shine. A lesson worth passing along.