Remember when I officially became a triathlete? Well, while I was training for the race, I found that I needed a lot of new gear. I needed a road bike, a new helmet, a swim cap, new socks, new sunglasses, a pair of spandex tri shorts (ugh), and new shoes.

Now most of that was easy to come by. The bike was a little expensive. Finding sunglasses that fit with a helmet was a little tricky. And the shorts were the only thing that caused nausea. But the shoes…well the shoes were another story.

Frit and I went to a local running shop where they do a foot analysis, which allows them to then make better shoe brand recommendations based on your arch and step pattern, etc. But before the saleswoman had me run on the computerized mat, she measured my foot.

My foot size has always been a source of internal discomfort for me. Basically, I have big feet. No, actually I take that back. I don’t have big feet; I have long toes. But whichever way you want to spin it, it’s hard to deny when even my dad (lovingly) called me Sasquatch in 5th grade. And once when we were giving/receiving pedicures at a Church activity, the lady giving me my pedicure exclaimed, “Ohmigosh! You have fingers for toes!” when she saw my feet.

So needless to say, when the saleswoman at the running shop told me my feet were size 11 and NOT the size 10 I was wearing, and that I should actually buy running shoes big so she recommended a size 12 running shoe, the room got a little fuzzy and I thought I might pass out. Apparently, your feet get longer as you get older–something to do with gravity (which is the bane of my existence these days…don’t even ask me about my bosoms).

Long story short, I bought size 11.5 Adidas. I couldn’t bring myself to purchase a size 12. And you know what? They made all the difference. When I was wearing a size 10 to go running, my arches hurt more, my ankles hurt more, and my back hurt more. In the 11.5′s, my feet had room to move and bend the way they needed to in order to propel my body forward. I’ve also since noticed how cramped my feet feel and how much my hips hurt in my other, size 10, non-running shoes. For years I’ve been squishing my feet into size 10, which fit, but leave no breathing room or space for movement. Which brings me to my point.

When I was a child, I knew I could do anything, be anything, and go anywhere. I really believed that the sky was the limit. But somewhere along the way, around adulthood I think, fear and responsibility got the best of me. And though I don’t like to admit it, I’ve been living small. I’ve been squishing my life into a size 10 when I’m really a size 11. I’ve been waiting for the right time to do such and such. Or waiting until I get to a perfectly planned point in life to be so and so. I’ve let who I am and what I do be dictated by jobs and bosses and bills, but mostly by my very own voice inside my head.

But lately I’ve been looking at my life differently and I want to say, out loud, that we are meant to live big. Meaning: we are meant to create our lives, not just live them. And that’s just what I’m going to do. What do I want? Where do I want to be? Who do I want to be? I’m not totally sure yet. But I definitely don’t want to be a size 10.