Introduction and Overview: The Body, the Mind, and the Track

Stories that encompass the interactions between sport and female experiences can be structured through autoethnographic writing. The methodology of an autoethnography is formulated through research and personal accounts within creative style. Authors are able to articulate their histories through intersecting the roles of oneself and a researcher (McParland 2012). By becoming the subject of research, authors enact vulnerability to ground their writing by attributing meanings to metaphors and stories. These meanings convey a deeper sense of societal values that are perpetuated throughout one’s perspective of events. Thus, autoethnographies are able to highlight the intersectionality of gender and sport.

I intend to write my piece similar to Murray Drummond’s narrative style autoethnography, The Natural, which delves into the intersectionality of masculinity and sport–specifically running–through relaying stories and explaining its meaning. 

Drummond’s writing breaches lines between researcher and self through positioning himself as an author who deciphers the fixation between body, running, and self image which fundamentally correlates gender and sport: “The sport, the subculture, and the members of the subculture compound the problem and make it difficult to not be apart of its intensely critical and self focused and yet self-adulatory world in which one's body is closely scrutinized on both a personal and subcultural level” (Drummond, 2010, p. 380). His focus within the autoethnography similarly correlates to my experiences with running, self image, and the role gender plays in shaping my experience. Furthermore, he argues that sport–specifically long distance running–becomes its own subculture with a new set of norms and expectations. Thus, I intend to follow Drummond’s narrative style and focus by relaying my experiences within my high school cross country and track team as the role of gender, femininity, and sport conveys a woman’s sport story. Moreover, I also intend to use Drummond’s descriptive titles of the body to section each part and to establish the gradual shift of mental, physical, and emotional toll that gender has within the subculture of sport. I plan to use insight from Mary Cain’s narrative from the New York Times article, “I Was the Fastest Girl in America, Until I Joined Nike”, as her storytelling of how body, male dominance, and female sport participation inform a much larger issue within society’s values. The correlation between weight and performance as a coaching style ultimately ended Cain’s career as a runner, and I believe that her insight can help develop my narrative to convey the same.

The structure of this autoethnography is divided into four sections that each periodically represent instances where the intersectionality between race, gender, and body is highlighted through my coach’s sexist coaching beliefs. The sections follow Drummond’s style of italicized reflection which is preceded by an explanation of my perspectives at the time. Furthermore, the ability to reflect on how I was unable to perceive the correlations between this autoethnography’s focus on intersectionality at the time allows me to reconsider how these instances gradually shaped my understanding of sport and femininity within a patriarchal society. Thus, the goal of my autoethnography is to facilitate enough perspective as an author that will serve as additional research to female sporting experiences.
 

The Body as Unseen

August, 2020

It’s been six months since our last team practice. The pandemic wiped out our season only two weeks into our preseason for spring track, locking us up from the world. It’s been six months since I’ve stepped onto a track, since I’ve practiced with the girls who felt like family, since I’ve seen my coach. I look at myself in the mirror and analyze the figure looking back at me. My pink practice T-shirt evidently is more snug. I had no doubts that my body looked different after the pandemic, but that didn’t ease my internal panic alarms to what Coach will say to me once I get to practice.

I step out of the car and scan the track to try and find a familiar team. The masks covering half of each face made me nervous, but I began trembling by looking at the other girls who wore the pink training tops. My arms look bigger in the shirt than theirs do, it’s making me look fat, Cara’s isn’t tight– I shouldn’t be wearing this. I glanced over at the boys, swarmed together like a flock of birds ready to show off. Each one without a shirt, displaying their bodies and muscles with pride and eagerness to work their bodies for all to see. Coach lets the boys run without shirts especially when it’s hot out. The humid August air feels heavy and thick with the sun beating down on our skin. It’s practices like these where I wish Coach let us run in our sports bras because our clothes insulated our bodies with the stinging heat.

“Alright, enough chatter ladies, let's go. Let’s get to work, c’mon.” Coach hustles us together and I zone back into practice mode. Sometimes I feel like practice makes me more anxious than the meets do because of the groupings. Every pre season and every couple weeks Coach reassesses practice groups and moves around the girls and boys based on how we’re performing. For us girls, he usually groups the joeys together, but everyone else he bases differently.

Coach begins listing off the first two groups, which are the nationals relays and the girls who can make Leagues. They are the golden runners, Coach only “coaches” them. I yearn for him to even look at me while I run, but I would be honored at this point for him to even give me a critique about my running.

Coach then lists off group three-the group I know I can be in. My best friends are in group three, but that’s not the reason I strive to train alongside those girls: I am at their skill level, we are constantly neck and neck during races. I know I can run in group three because that is how I am ultimately going to improve. However, Coach fails to say my name.

In fact, I was the only returning athlete–a junior–standing beside the joeys.

“Anderson,” Coach grunted. “Just go with the joeys. Take em’ on a flower pot.” A flower pot was one of the routes we run, but it’s just barely a mile.

“How many, coach?” The alarms in my head are starting to go off. He scans my body with scrutiny. “Just one.”

Just one? How am I supposed to make it to group three if I’m only running a mile when the athletes I should be pacing with are running four? My shoulders sink but not as fast as my stomach. I swiftly turn and walk away with utter embarrassment fizzling throughout my body. I blinked back warm tears, lowered my head, and reached down to grab my toes as I “pretended” to stretch. He knows I’ve gained weight, and this is my punishment.

I glance over at the boys. As if I didn’t need any more anger to boil my skin more, I see them rip off their shirts and head out for a Leewood–the longest route. Even the Freshman were allowed to run with the veterans because Coach believed boys can run any amount. Girls? It depends on your body.

I know I shouldn’t, I know it’s wrong, but running is my outlet. I take off and leave the joeys behind. I’ll never be taken seriously if I run just a flower pot…I’ll never lose weight. Coach will never see me if I don’t show him I can run like the boys and the upper groups.

To paint a picture of my lingering frustration that gradually consolidated until this moment, I need to highlight my struggle to gain acknowledgment from Coach thus far. I ran cross country for the past consecutive seasons, Coach failed to ever place me in a track event more than four hundred meters. I was trained to be able to run four times that amount flawlessly, yet winter track froze the endurance I built and spring track melted that endurance away. The cycle of seasons naturally mirrored the cycle of my distance running. I knew I was capable of placing in distance events, but for every sprint event that I didn’t place in Coach saw my body as less athletic. When the boys ask Coach to place them in a different event, he agrees because boys can run any distance or event and will exceed. But, the one time I gained enough strength to face the shadow who usually chases me away and asked him to put me in a distance event, Coach chuckled at me and his eyes narrowed. When he realized I was serious, he scoffed: “You can’t run distance, you’re not built for it, Anderson.” His shadow chased me away, for good. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever believe that the most difficult point in my life would lead me to catching up to the runner I so desperately strived to become.

After my second cross country meet of the season where I finally broke 20:00 for 2.5 miles from running a 19:06, I sprained my ankle. Coach placed me with group three after he ridiculed the girls for letting me “beat” them. The excitement that bubbled throughout my body was quickly dissipated after I collapsed two minutes into our run from sharp, excruciating pain traveling within my ankle. After three separate doctors appointments that somehow all seemed to mold together into one, I was told I was out for the rest of the cross country season. Just as I was starting to prove my worth to the team and Coach, I was shut down. Just like that.

The Body Fits Right

November, 2020

I was wrong to think October was going to be the worst month of my life. Since the abrupt halt to my season, my routine life that I was so accustomed to flipped upside down. I developed an illness that left me bedridden for weeks, my grandfather passed away the day I was able to get out of bed, my mom left for two months to help my grandmother, I had to manage the house while my father was away at work, and all on top of schoolwork and extracurriculars. The girl who looked me back in the mirror looked unfamiliar. Her face is solemn, her waist is smaller, she looks tired.

The one silver lining through this cloud of deep darkness that occurred was my clearing to run. The second I got this notice I flung out of bed to grab my sneakers and ankle brace, and I took off. Each step I took felt more exhilarating and I was finally able to breathe all my frustration out with each deep breath I took. The sky was painted orange and striped with salmon pink. For the first time in what has felt like eternity, I was able to close my eyes for a second and smile. I was back.

During the off season, I woke up at five every morning, went on my first run at 5:30, came home and got ready for school, after school I would go on my second run, shower before dinner by myself, greet my dad when he gets home from work at 8, complete my homework, get ready for bed and fall asleep by 10. Now, I must note that the strange girl in the mirror who I studied every morning became more familiar. I liked how she looked, and I think Coach would too, maybe as much as he likes the boys? I decided since no one was home throughout the day that I could start limiting myself to two meals, and eventually eat one. I began whittling down each meal, as I sat alone at the dinner I pictured Coach watching me eat. Tomorrow is the first day of preseason, and hopefully this has all been worth it.

This foreign routine became the norm in order to get myself caught up for winter track. And now, the day has come. I zip up my blue and navy windbreaker with the words “Ursuline Cross Country” printed on the back. I fix my ponytail and smooth all the bumps in my hair. 

Coach won’t let us run with our hair down, they have to be in ponytails, even though Oscar has long hair and he always runs with his golden locks let down. My dimples feel like they are protruding on my face as I walk out to the track. I can see my breath cloud the air in front of me with the sharp chill running up my back. I feel the solidarity of the team when I step onto the track for the first time since the beginning of October, as all the girls run to embrace me. As they all unlatch themselves, Coach walks up to me, examining my body critically starting at my feet and ending at eye level.

Coach nods his head and murmurs, “You look great, Anderson. You know–more, like…” He makes a gesture with his hands mocking the curve of my body.

My throat feels like it's stuck and my cheeks are surged with heat. I thought that sentence would have made me feel good. Why did I hate that statement?

I brush off that odd encounter with Coach and we head out to run laps with the boys. Coach is ecstatic to show off their new jackets, each inscribed with a last name. We rolled our eyes–our jackets our athletic director had to give us. Typical.

Coach lines all of us up at the two hundred starting line for us to run six hundred meters. I placed myself behind most of the team as I felt my absence outweighed my seniority. “Ready-” Coach shouts. “Go!”

Each time we run laps it feels like I black out, so I can’t remember the race until I get close to the finish. I just keep pushing, picking up my pace with every hundred meters running as fast as my legs will take me. For every maroon and yellow jacket I see I push harder. For every time I hear the boys cackle when a girl drops out, I push harder. I push harder for every single girl on this team who is told to “move” by a boy.

Time skips to the finish line and the muffled noises I block out start to become more clear.

I quickly swivel my head to see Coach congratulating me. “Anderson! Look at you!” The approval I greatly craved felt satisfied. I’m panting with my hands on my knees staring down at the red track as I can hear huffing from some of the boys. I feel a pat on my back, it's Daphne–the fastest girl on our team and in Ursuline History– and she has a wide grin on her face. I smile through deep breaths and turn my body to face the track. A jolt of surprise shocks my body, and it finally sinks in why everyone is fussing over me.

I ran with group one.

My hyperfixation on gender, body, and performance has gradually increased since my improvement within running. There were only about three girls on the team that he perceived to be athletes, and the rest of us he saw us for our bodies. I had finally felt seen from the man who I sought the most approval from for years. For all the times I felt belittled, embarrassed, or less than compared to the boys and skinny girls on the team, he was in that moment forgiven. It felt like an endorphin high.

I went on to win the “most improved” award for the 2021 winter track season, winter track. I went from fighting to be considered for long distance, to becoming one of the best distance runners in one season. I was brought up to run with group two, and I was living the dream that felt as if it wasn’t attainable. Senior year started off strong: I was named co captain for the cross country season, I ran the best races of my life including a sub 21:00 5K and placing 5th in our first meet, I finished our League meet in the top fifteen so I was named “All League”, I ran only the 1000m and the mile during winter track and winning a handful of races, I was on runner’s high. I wish this is where I could end my story, with a happy ending and all of my hard work paying off. 

The real truth lies in between those highlighted moments, as they were intertwined with some of the darkest periods of my life. The anxiety that built up before each race day was debilitating, sometimes preventing me from stepping out onto that white starting line. I was struggling with eating from the hurricane of anxiety that I felt like I was eating to fuel my body with instead of food. I thought I had always wanted Coach to look at me, however I failed to perceive the immense scrutiny that came with being deemed “athletic” for a girl. At every practice while we stretched Coach would review what we can and can’t eat while the boys were lectured about taking care of their bodies through good sleep. We were forced into running illegally under different girls on our team to even the distribution of qualifying times, which risked our entire running careers. We were shamed in front of the team if we underperformed, but if one of the boys did, Coach defended him by suggesting he was ill or overtraining. For each win we attained, Coach pushed us harder and harder as he was addicted to the power. By the time the snow melted and spring track rolled in, we were all burnt out.

Coach didn’t believe in burning out, instead, he believed in kicking out. One by one, the girls who I had been running next to for the past four years suddenly stopped showing up to practices and meets. Their bodies couldn’t take the physical, mental, and emotional pressure, and mine was giving out. During spring track, I contracted pneumonia and was out for two weeks.

My cough led to a sprained rib cage, but Coach laughed that off and said: “I’ll believe it if it happens to one of my boys.” As the girls in groups one and two quickly disappeared, I was wrong to assume that my place in distance running was solidified. Instead, I was punished for their “betrayal” and sent back to sprints. Coach said he wanted to focus his attention on the new underclassmen and the boys because their his future. I had lost my place in his race.

The Body at its Breaking Point

May, 2022

I sit quietly at my desk and look through the photos of myself running during winter track on Facebook. I can see my bones that my skin traced along my legs and arms. I slam my laptop shut, my stomach sinks and my eyes begin to quickly fill with tears. Mrs. Enright’s voice is drowned out from my memory, beginning to replay the moments that I had internalized every time Coach gave me a compliment. His voice grew louder and louder in my head and it’s starting to pound as loud as my heart from the anxiety of showing up to practice today. I’m scared of what he will say about my body, I’m scared of his sexist remarks, I’m scared of how he will punish me today. I take a deep breath and let the anger overtake the commotion in my head: something needs to be done. All my emotions settle and I open my laptop to start a new note to my athletic director:

I have been running on this team for the past four years and I’ve competed in every season. I have felt extremely uncomfortable running this year and being a part of this team. It has been hard for me to bring myself to competing because of the overwhelming anxiety I have felt going into every race. I have never felt like our team was built on a foundation of supporting each other, yet it feels more like we’re pinned against each other to see who is the better runner. I joined this team originally so that I could further my athletic experience, and I wanted to push myself. I wanted to try new events, and enjoy myself. However, I find myself questioning the team’s goal, as it seems like a winning team is more important than having a team with girls who want to be there.

I have had a lot of conflicts this season with being away, being sick, and enduring an injury stemming from my sickness; thus, leagues was my first time competing this season. I was unable to attend the Tuesday meet due to the Art Show and NAHS, and I tried multiple times talking with Coach Mitchell. However, he was dismissive of my conflicts and voiced his opinion to me in a very inappropriate manner.

I have debated bringing this to light, but Coach Mitchell has said some things to me that I think are very inexcusable. I would rather talk about these things in private, as I am very uncomfortable as to what was said- and I don’t think I can write it out. I am not at all trying to get my Coach in trouble, I just don’t know if I can continue running after this.

I know I am one of the bigger girls on the team, and I know I am not the best. However, I was always looked upon as a worse runner than I believe I am for this. I wasn’t taken seriously until last year when I lost weight from an illness. I was able to start long distance from this, but when I was heavier I wasn’t seen as good enough to try it.

I care about all of my teammates and about running.

However, racing has now affected my mental health significantly with the anxiety it has given me. I do go to therapy to help alleviate these mental pains, however nothing has helped me thus far. I have many conflicts for the upcoming races, however I am afraid to tell my coach because I am scared of his reaction. I hate leaving off on this note as a senior because I feel like I’ve put a lot of time and dedication into running, but I don’t feel like I support a lot of the morals being advocated on this team anymore.

I never hit send.

After I decided to select the autoethnography for my final research and concluded my experiences within running in high school would serve best for analysis, I remembered this note I had drafted to send to my school’s athletic director. At this time, my senior year was almost at its finish line and I was eager to graduate. This decision to write this note preceded my final race on the team, after I had won my first 400 heat. Yet, I would be wrong in failing to highlight the recent events that occurred prior to this moment that ultimately led to my decision to quit.

I understand that many would question why after four years with every three seasons on the team that I would decide to quit during the last month of Spring track. The best answer I can now look back on and provide is the debilitating mindset that became more bruised every time I came to practice. I had suffered crippling anxiety and panic attacks before races during winter track that led me to barely be able to put one foot in front of the other at practice. Moreover, I came down with pneumonia at the beginning of the spring season which ultimately led to a bruised rib cage and the inability to walk. Coach shrugged these ailments off while he simultaneously began removing my teammates from the roster. Each practice the girls I had been running with for years were at their breaking points from constant berating by male coaches and burnout that was caused by constant comparisons pushing us to try harder. Coach was on his own runner’s high, as the boys’ team, who were not worn in by the years of harsh conditions and mental pains, were clocking in state worth times and records. He was blind to his own evil.

After having to skip my National Art Society induction because Coach told me: “Art is a sissy thing–you’re running the meet,” I strapped on my spikes for the final time. In that 400M, I ran with the knowledge that it was my last race–ever. The last time I needed to push myself to prove myself. I finished in first with a solid PR, and I smiled to myself not because I ran one of my best short distance races: I was finally done. I knew that the past three years had put me through enough physical and mental trauma, and I could finally not run with the boys, but by myself.

The Body, Three Years Later

November, 2024

“My New Year’s resolution is to run a half marathon and train for a marathon…” I declared to my family at the dinner table. The look of bewilderment on my parent’s faces would suggest that I was not a runner and have never shown interest in the sport until now. This connotation would be false: I was a runner and I did show interest. In fact, I needed running as it was my escape and my outlet. The use of “was” is why my parents looked at me with such concern, as running has been absent from my life since senior year of high school. The gradual accumulation of pain within the duration of my time on the cross country and track team was manifested not only physically, but more so mentally. These pains inherently were the cause of my end to running, but the fundamental issue stems from the individual who was supposed to guide me through sport, not guide me to relooking at myself in the mirror. My coach turned me against myself, he made me feel less than because I was a woman, he ridiculed our bodies by comparing us to the boys, he withered me away until I couldn’t recognize myself. And through all of these grievances, I would be lying if I didn’t recognize that in the small handful of times where he didn’t look at me for my gender or my body–but as an athlete–all of those grievances dissipated. They were forgiven, and such grievances were sustained until I crossed the finish line that I drew for the last time. I ran too many laps around that four hundred meter cycle that never ceased in making us hurt from words, stereotypes, and comparisons. I promised myself I would never drop out of a race, even if the runners next to me decided to because I wanted to compete against myself. However, gradually the girls who used to run next to me began falling off that track until it felt as if I was running alone. Either girls had quit because they didn’t feel comfortable within the environment that used to feel like unity, or because Coach pinned us against each other to make that environment feel like solitude. “Run with the boys, look how toned she is–doesn’t her body look good? That’s why she beat you last week.” Three years later, these are the words that start playing in my head louder than the music in my headphones when I go on a run. Those words have paced with me no matter how much I try to outrun them. Those words haunt me, they keep me from running. Now I catch myself trying to run faster than the girl next to me on the treadmill at the gym. I catch myself comparing my body to hers, correlating the shape of the body and endurance just like Coach had taught me to. Who have I become? I thought I ended that vicious race, but now I’ve come to realize that I’m running a race alone. And, I don’t know how to stop.

Conclusion

The structure of an autoethnography helped delineate a gendered story through being able to narrate specific stories and thus navigating their meanings. These four scenarios convey how gender shaped my coach’s perception on athletic performance and abilities in relation to sport.

Furthermore, I was able to perceive how the intersectionality between sport and feminine experience is deeply rooted within notions of the feminine apologetic. Since we were infiltrating a male dominated space, we were wired to let the sexism within his coaching style and rules continue. I have found through writing this autoethnography that ability connects with this intersectionality, as the relationship with my body, my coach, and my performance were all linked through gender. I discovered sociocultural norms that are centered around patriarchal values of able bodied men continue to foster the displacement of females within sport. The concept of the “ideal body” is naive when it is attributed to athletic success of women as it naturally discounts talent and practice. I found myself trying to mold into the patriarchal values that my Coach inherently instilled in me in order to become his desired athlete. However, I desire my autoethnography to symbolize the finish line for this unhealthy and blatantly unrealistic habit that is perpetuated within sport.

The body and running are too closely connected when measuring the success of female athletes as we are programmed to think that the women who finish marathons are the models we see on covers of magazines. My narrative that underlines the downfall of my running career and ultimate burnout that has since prevented me from running aids in researching this false notion.

Moreover, the society that has allowed these men to dominate women’s sporting histories are at fault for the lack of knowledge concerning the nourishment of bodies. This is a failure that has been proliferated by each woman who has dropped out of a race because she didn’t feel her body was “skinny” enough or because she couldn’t run anymore from the burn out. While I believe this autoethnography can serve as a foundation for research into how gender intersects with sport, accompanied by notions of body and ability, I also believe this has served as an eye opening and rehabilitative opportunity for myself. For years I have refused to face my experiences from running under a man who fundamentally ruined the athlete I knew myself to be due to the residual anger and anxiety that accompanies these memories. However, I have realized I inherently have finished the race that never felt like it stopped because it's time to take a step forward and begin running towards a new set of goals: a marathon. I can be the distance runner I’ve wanted to be by redefining how society categorizes athletes by gender and body. This method of conceptualizing my experiences as information that emphasizes sport and femininity allowed me to take an approach three years later as the writer and not a victim. My autoethnography is not to highlight women as victims within a society built for men, but as athletes who are forced to compete in a separate sphere, struggling to be seen. Thus, my research has conveyed that society’s values need to rewrite how sport is taught to young girls and women. We need to be taught to run like a female, eat to make your body feel nourished, and to not stop because the male dictated society we live in believes that your weight dictates where the finish line falls.