Almost every woman I know, runner or not, has had a difficult relationship with their body. They have starved it, overexercised it, shamed it, cried tears over it, and wanted it to be different.

Of course, I am no different. I was first called fat at the age 8, and from there on out, I believed that statement to be true. I started running in middle school because the sport seemed harder than others, but I quickly learned that I didn’t have the typical “runner’s body.” In high school, I was one of the slower runners on the team, but I was also the biggest. At a cross country camp, the head coach said that sometimes big girls win races too, and he looked right at me.

For many years, running was a tool to get to a thinner version of myself. Whether it was running multiple times a day to increase the number of calories out or jogging to deserted alleys to throw up that night’s dinner, I thought that if I just kept moving I would eventually lose the weight and find comfort in my body.

While I was a Peace Corps volunteer in Lesotho, I trained for and ran the Two Oceans Ultramarathon in Cape Town, South Africa. The race is 56 kilometers (roughly 35 miles), and when I registered for the race, I had not run more than a half marathon. For six months, I got up with the roosters (literally, those damn things woke me up every morning) and ran. Lesotho is extremely hilly and so my legs learned to endure the ups and downs of the foothills of the Maluti Mountains. Initially, I wanted to do the race because I had gained a considerable amount of weight in my service, and I couldn’t go home after two years in Africa fatter than when I arrived. (I know that is very shallow, but disordered eating and body image can warp your priorities). I tried to cutback on calories while running 50 miles a week, and soon I realized that it couldn’t be done. If I was going to run this monster of a race—something many people did not think I could do—I was going to have to work with my body, not against it.

While my body and I came together for that race, our years of feuding didn’t exactly end. I came back to the U.S., returned to my normal weight, and ran another marathon, but still resented my body for not being fitter, faster, and smaller. I gave up drinking for an entire year, went on juice cleanses and elimination diets, and joined fancy gyms in hopes of finally shaping my body into something I could be proud of, but it could never get there. I even lost eight pounds the month before my wedding (by eating only black beans and broccoli), and still I wasn’t satisfied. Eventually, I resigned to the fact that I may never like my body.

A few weeks ago, I found the #SportsBraSquad. This movement was started by Kelly Roberts, who is an all-around bad ass. One day, Kelly was running through the sweltering heat of New York and wanted to take off her tank top. Like myself, Kelly thought that only those with typical runner bodies had the privilege of running in their sports bras and that she didn’t belong in that group. She was fearful that if she did take off her shirt, and run only in her bra, that people would judge her and remark that her body shouldn’t be seen in public. However, the heat was too much for her, and she said screw it. Off with the shirt.

Kelly’s defiance against the stereotypical running body started a global movement. Woman of all shapes and sizes are throwing off their shirts and running in their bras because why the heck not. If men can run without shirts and thinner women in their sports bras, all women should be able to embrace the shirtless run. It’s an empowering statement, and I love scrolling through the hashtag to see women loving their bodies and putting it all on display.

“That’s so great of them,” I thought. “But I don’t think that I could ever do that.”

I assumed I wasn’t brave enough, or that people would really judge me. Any time I thought about baring it, I came up with an excuse: my bra is really old, I want to wait for a hotter day, or my route today will take me along a busy road, which may be too much. I wanted to join the #SportsBraSquad in theory, but I had a million reasons why I specifically couldn’t do it.

Yesterday, fartleks were on the schedule, and I planned to do them at the track before joining a few runners for a cool down. It wasn’t specifically hot nor was I going far enough to feel extra toasty. But, when I was getting dressed for my workout, I decided not to put on a tank top. This was not a premeditated act, and I didn’t feel a surge of courage or pride, rather, I simply decided to run in my sports bra. Two weeks ago, the thought of running in my bra was scary and unattainable, but yesterday, I approached my running attire with the same attitude as picking out what flavor of Nuun to drink after my run — it simply didn’t matter.

Outside, insecurities did creep in. I imagined what others must be thinking as they saw me bounce by, “Oh, a woman that size needs to wear a shirt.” Or, when my friends joined me halfway through, I wondered if they were a bit taken back, or appalled, at my unclothed stomach. These worries didn’t last long, though, because they were just thoughts. I was more focused on doing my hard workout and using my body to go harder that what it looked like.

A friend caught a quick video of me pushing through a speed set and posted it to Instagram. “Of all the days,” I thought, and I was nervous to see the video, knowing that my instinct would be to pick apart my shape and find new reasons to hate it. That didn’t happen. When I saw the video, I just saw myself pushing my pace. I didn’t have the same abs or leg muscles as some athletes, but I sure looked like a runner in that video. Maybe that perception of a “real runner’s body” doesn’t exist, or it does and it doesn’t matter.

In less than two months, I will be running my third marathon, and there will be a few points during that 26.2 miles when my body and mind will not agree, and one will likely falter. In order to get me to the finish line, though, they will have to come together and work as one. It’s a major step forward in my training when I can simply decide to run in my sports bra, and it not feel like a monumental thing. It means that I have put more focus on what my body can do and how it feels than what it looks like. Am I now fully in love with my body and an example of body positivity? Probably not, but I do understand that I must appreciate my body and not work so hard against it. To do, for me, is enough.