By Liz Senn
For the Salisbury Post

The year is 1992. I am 13 years old. My braces gleam. A Scrunci headband pulls back the ski jump bangs I am desperate to grow out. My body debates adolescence with an awkward combination of training bra and baby fat.

Despite the handicaps of puberty, I walk into middle school shop class with a spring in my step. My carefully selected Amy Byer bodysuit, stonewash Guess Jeans, and Sam & Libby flats are way fresh. A popular girl had just passed me a sleepover invitation. I hoped Mom and Dad would buy me a New Kids on the Block sleeping bag for the occasion.

My teen musings are shattered by the cracking pubescent cry of the meanest boy in the 8^th grade.

“Oh. My. GAWD! Liz has a HUGE ZIT on her forehead!!!” The room goes silent as more than a dozen other boys sneer at me with revulsion. Betrayed by drug store concealer, the pink pimple on my forehead has revealed itself.

I want to run, disappear, fight — do anything other than become the frozen mute now helplessly staring up at him. Tears came to my eyes.

Feigning women’s troubles, I raced to the restroom and sobbed in a locked stall. Surrounded by cigarette smoke, flushing commodes and older girls trading birth control hacks, my mind churned over alternate endings to my painful encounter. I should have kept my cool. I should have walked away. I should have prayed for him. I should have shot back with a classroom announcement of his abundant unibrow.

I vowed to stand up for myself in the future.

The year is 2009. Braces and bangs are long gone. My wardrobe is an enviable assortment of Ann Taylor, J. Crew and Banana Republic. As I prepare for yet another obligatory social event, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Streaks on the glass twist my features into an anxious Picasso. As the steam evaporates, my image comes back into focus. I see a 30-year-old woman who has spent the past decade trying to fit in. An attorney’s wife, Southern belle socialite and debutante groupie, I had achieved the lifestyle and social approval I craved.

When I stepped onto the Carolina campus freshman year, I was immediately enamored with the Greek system and … belonging. Though my sorority had a high GPA and encouraged philanthropy, I focused more on the see-and-be-seen mixers, formals and late nights. I dated fraternity presidents, and as “first lady,” I felt I had finally secured my spot in this exclusive world of the elite. Dating a pre-law student senior year led to an expensive cookie-cutter wedding.

Dull eyes and a frozen smile stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. Despite my achievements, I was miserable, exhausted and broken. After years of trying to fit the mold, the silent disapproval in my world made clear that I still wasn’t good enough.

Shortly after I left my marriage, Dad took me out to breakfast. After a few minutes of casual conversation over pancakes, he said, “Well, Elizabeth, you have your whole life ahead of you now. You can do anything you want. What are your dreams?”

I was hit with a horrible realization. All I could do was look at him and say, “My dreams, Dad? I think I’ve forgotten what they are.” Then promptly started crying. He gave me a fierce hug and said, “It’s time to remember your dreams.”

For the longest time, my dreams had included running a 5K and coaching a Girls on the Run team. Free from the petty commitments of my past, I chose to make those dreams a reality.

In 1996, Charlottean Molly Barker founded Girls on the Run (GOTR), an empowering social and emotional learning program for elementary and middle school girls. Girls are inspired to be joyful, healthy and confident using a fun, experience-based curriculum that culminates in a celebratory 5K.

As I experienced the program with my girls, I began to wonder … what if? What if there had been a GOTR team at my elementary school, and I had been encouraged to run my first 5K, instead of shying away from sports? What if a middle school GOTR coach had helped me fight the onslaught of sexual comments from adolescent boys? What if I had the self-love to know I was good enough already, instead of trying to change myself?

What if the lessons of GOTR lead to fewer “what ifs” in the lives of our girls?

Thirty years later, the mean boy from middle school messaged me on Facebook. “Hey, Liz. You may not remember me, but I saw you were in the area. Wanna grab drinks sometime?” My mind snapped back to that mortifying day in shop class. I paused and debated my options. Ignore the message? Jump offline to avoid confrontation? Not this time. With a sly smile, I sent mean boy a satisfying decline: “Actually, I DO remember you …”

Brownley Elizabeth “Liz” Senn is a member of the board of directors for the Girls on the Run of the Greater Piedmont. Fall season registration is open through September 4. The celebratory 5K will be held Nov. 13 at Salisbury Community Park. Financial aid available. Sign up to join or volunteer at https://www.gotrgreaterpiedmont.org/. Liz welcomes your messages at Brownley.elizabeth.senn@gmail.com.