After I wrote last week’s column about how slow of a runner I am, a few of my readers  — my parents and my co-editor — told me I was far too hard on myself. In that column, I complained that my pace now isn’t nearly as fast as when I ran a half marathon in November. I felt stupid for taking a week off after the race and “sacrificing” all my progress. I’ve since realized that if I had kept training at the level I had been post race, I would have risked injury. So today, as I ran my 10-mile run at a pace nearly two whole minutes slower than my half marathon pace, I consciously decided to let go of comparison.

For me, ditching comparison is best accomplished by way of gratitude. This may be the corniest thing I will ever say in this column, but even if I’m running slow, I’m so grateful that I get to run. In fact, running has taught me more about gratitude than I would have expected.

As a teenage girl, the ultimate battle of comparison I’ve faced is that of comparing my body to others. The day after I ran my half marathon, I went to the UO Rec Center to get back into the groove of lifting after a two-week hiatus during my taper for the race. Although at that moment I was in the best shape of my entire life, I found myself comparing my body to the girls in the gym with leaner frames and hating the way I looked.

I’m 5-foot-5 with a stocky build, and unlike the lean standard I had assigned to runners bodies, I have bulky muscles and short legs. That day I was so disgustingly jealous of the girls in the gym with their toned, lean legs, and I decided it was extremely unfair that I could do all this training and still not look like an athlete the way they did.

Although I was having a massive self-pity party, I forced myself to employ gratitude. I realized it didn’t matter what my body looked like after running a half marathon because at least my body was capable of running a half marathon, and that is a thing many people will never have the privilege of doing.

Again today I was faced with comparison. Trudging along the Amazon Park running loop this morning, I had the joy of encountering a group of who I assumed to be UO track athletes four different times. The first time they passed me, I was embarrassed. I was sweaty and wheezing as I went uphill, and worst of all, I’m sure they could hear the One Direction song blasting in my headphones. It’s moments like these that I feel I have no right to call myself a runner. But that statement is a whole load of bull. There is no pace or body type that defines someone as a runner, and for months now, I’ve refused to call myself a runner because I didn’t meet the standard I created in my head.

During all 10 of my very slow miles this morning, I decided it was time to ditch this self-created standard for good. By the fourth time I saw the UO athletes, I felt extremely proud because I had run the same eight miles as them. I realized it didn’t matter if I was minutes or hours behind them – I was running all the same and therefore I, too, am a runner.

I’m sure this won’t be the last time I battle with comparing myself to other athletes or my better, faster past self. But moving forward, I think it’s extremely important to accept myself at my current best and be grateful for all I have in the moment. I may not be running eight-minute mile 5Ks or 9:30-pace-long runs anymore, but I am still on my feet running, and now I get to experience the joy of improving all over again.