This post is by Pam Harris, an avid boxer, 3x marathoner, and one of our brand ambassadors. Pam is an AI research manager; she and her family live in the Atlanta area. 

I’m a few short miles into my first marathon, keeping a steady tempo as I traverse the streets of my hometown of Atlanta. The same town where the middle-school gym teacher mocked my mile time: “Pick it up, Greyson: My grandmother could run faster than that!” The same town where I’d run my first-ever nonstop mile 10 years before. Inadequacy and confidence war in my mind as my legs keep plugging away.

I can’t do this. Why did I ever think I could run a marathon? I’m not a marathoner. This is stupid.

My legs continue to maintain a steady turnover, the thousands of miles behind them fighting the noise in my head.

I can’t do this.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

Then it hits me: I am doing this. I’m out here, running up US1, taking part in a marathon. I may not think I can run a marathon, but clearly I can because I am.

I let that phrase—I can because I am—roll around in my brain, testing it against a full-body assessment.

Pam (left) and her marathon compadre, Katie

Breathing steady and easy. I can.

Heart rate squarely in its assigned zone. I am.

Arms swinging by my side. I can.

Legs keeping time with my breathing. I am.

I’ve spent months, years, even, preparing for this day. My body is ready. My mind is ready. Yet I hadn’t thought to sharpen one specific mental tool to vanquish the challenge of insecurity—dreaded imposter syndrome. 

That isn’t the first time I’ve run up against this foe: I often feel like an imposter at work; the feeling surfaces when I’m parenting my two daughters. The only way I’ve ever known how to handle insecurity is to maintain dogged forward motion. To keep showing up. And, eventually, I begin to believe I belong.

In the five years since that marathon, I’ve run two more 26.2s; started an entirely new career; undergone surgery to remove a cancerous thyroid; (mostly) stopped running; begun boxing; and made another massive career pivot. I’d forgotten about my marathon mantra: I can because I am.

Recently, though, I walked into a boxing class led by a trainer whose methods tend to surface my insecurities. This is one reason I tend to avoid his classes—it’s also one reason I intend to begin attending more of his classes.

Pam working up a sweat at the boxing gym

As I jog, punch, skip my way around the ring, sweating, breathing, following all the instructions even when I contemplate quitting, feeling like an imposter all the while, the words creep back into my head. 

I can because I am.

They roll quietly around in my brain, slowly gathering substance as I repeatedly round the ring time and again.

I can because I am.

I’d love to think one day I’ll move past imposter syndrome, but considering my penchant for consistently seeking out new challenges, it seems unlikely. (E.g. I just registered for an adult hip hop class with an end-of-year recital!) I’ll just keep moving forward, belief or no belief.