Dear Younger Me – Katie Lever

The Leave Your Mark Series invites current and former college athletes to address their former selves to provide advice, comfort, or anything else they feel may be important for up-and-coming generations to consider when determining their college athletic goals.

To read the entire Leave Your Mark Series, head over to www.athletestoathletes.com

Dear Younger Katie,

Where do I even begin?

You’ve always been the straightforward type and hate it when people beat around the bush. But I’m tempted to ease you into this letter because I know it’s going to be tough to read.

Right now, you’re in what you think is the prime of your life: you’re the successful D1 runner you always wanted to be.

You’re a conference champion.

You’ve run at NCAA regionals.

You’re on the cusp of breaking through at the national level.

You have goals to pursue and a plan to get you there.

You’re a straight-A student and a coach’s dream.

Life is so, so good and you feel happy, safe, and content. 

I’m sorry younger me, but it’s all temporary. 

I know you know that, but it’s still impossible to believe that you won’t always be a runner. It’s been your life for years—vacations, weekends, bedtimes, and every other aspect of your schedule revolve around your next interval workout or long run race. But everything ends, including your running career, and not in the way you planned it to. 

Put simply, it falls apart completely. 

I can all but read your mind right now: What? Falls apart? Impossible. That wasn’t a part of my plan. 

Younger Katie, you could never plan for how your life has turned out (but you’ll never stop trying), and you’ll eventually learn that’s okay. Those changes in your plans that make you lose sleep and pick your cuticles and worry incessantly and doubt yourself are not only necessary for your growth as a person, but they never stop.

Life is a series of anxieties and once you conquer one, you’ll find another new thing to worry about in a new place as you strive for new goals. You never truly feel like you know what you’re doing, but you don’t really want to.

One thing I love about you is that you’re never satisfied. you always try to grow and change and leave your comfort zone.

You can’t do that within the boundaries of your own plans and if you know what you’re doing all the time, you’re probably standing still. 

Never exchange your drive for a sense of security. I’m happy to report that you’re just as driven at 28 as you were at 19 and you’re showing no signs of slowing down. 

However, you’ll soon learn that drive of yours, that win-at-all-costs mentality, that nasty habit of tearing your mind and body down to reach your goals, is a double-edged sword—it’s the reason that post-college, it’s hard to remember the last time you ran more than 3 miles, which was an unfathomably short distance for you at one point.

In college, three miles was a warm-up. Remember the time you felt guilty for “only” running for 45 minutes because it was sleeting, you were borderline hypothermic, and had to stop? Hell, you could race 3 miles in well under 17 minutes (yes, I said “hell.” You swear more now. I wish you weren’t so uptight about those kinds of things for so long.).

But to make a long story short, you don’t run anymore because you ran yourself to the ground in college. 

It started with pain in your IT band that your trainer ignored. 

Then you had to push through it, too hard, too fast, to get in shape for conference.

You nearly recovered from that one, but then out of nowhere, you blew out your knee. And again, you had to push through it because you were told it was “selfish” to stop, not to mention “bad for the team.” And you convinced yourself that you signed up for this—injuries came with the territory.

You were told that you just needed to “toughen up.” 

And you did—you tried so, so hard to train back up to speed but you were never quite the same after that injury, physically or mentally.

You never won the national championship you wanted so badly. You didn’t even win another conference race and struggled immensely in the finishing chute of your career.

You never broke 34:00 in the 10k or 16:00 in the 5k.

You didn’t go pro like you were considering, you didn’t run a marathon post-college, and you don’t really want to now.

You’re not a runner anymore and the way your career turned out still stings some days. 

But your life isn’t over—not even close.

Dear younger Katie. I’m getting teary-eyed writing this because it kills me that you were at one point so wrapped up in who you were as an athlete that you didn’t care about who you were as a person. And it hurts me even more, knowing how badly you will try to piece yourself back together after being shattered by those injuries and the abusive coaching that accompanied them.

You’ll experience all of that soon enough and I’ll spare you the details (you’ll forget a lot of them anyway—that’s a protective psychological reflex), but I want you to know something:

It’s not your fault. 

The injuries weren’t your fault.

The abuse wasn’t your fault.

The insomnia, flashbacks, and PTSD symptoms you’ll experience in grad school aren’t your fault.

The complicated relationship you have with your college memories—some of the best and worst times of your life—isn’t your fault.

The trust issues you have and are working so hard to overcome aren’t your fault.

Your chronic pain and constant fear of injury aren’t your fault.

The anxiety isn’t your fault.

The tough exterior you’ve had to forge and the difficulty shedding it isn’t your fault.

None of what’s coming your way is your fault. But it’s your responsibility to take ownership of these things so they don’t hurt yourself or others. And after years of toughing it out on your own, you do take responsibility for your past. It’s hard, but you start therapy.

You learn to name and feel emotions instead of suppressing them.

You use your experiences to fuel your work and become the writer you’ve always wanted to be.

You make sure nobody under your authority ever has to experience the pain that you did. You learn to rest, trust, and invest in deep relationships.

You show up, you engage, and you pursue work that is much more meaningful than chasing mile splits and trophies.

You are a dedicated teacher, a loving partner, and a steadfast friend.

The best part: you’re still an athlete these days.

You fall in love with weightlifting.

You’ve gained some serious muscle and you’re still pretty fast when you need to be.

Your injuries still bother you sometimes, and you have some regrets about your college athlete days, but that’s okay—everyone has their ghosts.

You’ve learned there’s life after college sports and it’s, in a word, incredible. 

You’re doing great. Finally. 

Dear younger me. I’m so sorry that you’ll have to learn about the dark side of college sports soon. I’m sorry that your injuries will prevent you from running as hard as you’ve always wanted to.

And I’m so incredibly sorry that you’ll blame yourself for these things for so long.

But you’re an athlete—you’re capable of doing very hard things, including getting through the inevitable soul-crushing times we all experience in life. 

I love you. 

I’m proud of you.

Keep going.

Love, Future Katie