Dear Elementary School Girl,

Gym class is scary—I know, I’ve been there. When I was your age, my school gymnasium was a brightly-light space with floors that looked laminated—all shiny and clean—and squeaked underneath your sneakers. I remember the gym's small rock wall having painted monkeys on it (I think it was supposed to make us feel as though we were climbing through the jungle). We played games like, “Stuck In The Mud” and “Octopus.” And we used to push ourselves across the polished floor on rainbow scooters (do you still use those? I sure hope so). It was basically a slightly less wild, organized recess.

I loved being able to get out of script-writing sessions and multiplication lessons for an hour at a time to go down to the first floor with the rest of the class (this was before middle school when we had locker rooms and were required to change our clothes). I'd get excited whenever my teachers would write "Gym" on our blackboard schedules in big, black letters. We needed gym class—what else were we going to do with all of our energy?

If you haven’t already experienced the fitness exams that are given at least twice a year—the mile run and the stretch, curl up and push-up tests—you're in for a rude awakening. They aren't like those games you play. But even with the anxiety of strength and endurance testing (everyone seemed to scowl when we were paired up to help record each other's results), I didn't mind it all too much. When I was your age, I was the girl who beat all the boys in push-ups. I loved the challenge. I’d do 100 at a time and most of the boys would think I was cheating, even when the teacher would put a round cone on the ground below my chest so that I’d have to hit it every time. And I did hit it every time.

I have a very competitive nature. I liked winning, and still do. I think it has to do with my long history as a gymnast—toughness was one thing every girl in a leotard needed (you had no choice really). I learned to be fearless even when I took fall after fall (usually during beam routines). I learned that when an opportunity to shine presents itself, to snatch it and to hold on tight. I learned persistence and what it means to be internally, not just physically, strong. I had a lot of will and very little tolerance for doubt. It was the doubt, coincidentally, that made success that much sweeter.

It's during these first few years of gym class when we start comparing strength and generalizing it in terms of gender (granted, it's before we've gone through puberty when physical differences between the sexes start to become more evident). But these elementary school gym classes are crucial for setting the tone for how we treat each other in a competitive environment and how we view the opposite sex's physicality, defining strengths and weaknesses.

Push-ups aren't necessarily easier for one gender, especially at such a young age. That's what I've always liked about them—you're supporting your own body weight. One boy told me during gym class in 3rd grade that I had an unfair advantage because I was smaller, that it was easy for me because I "weighed nothing". But if I was smaller in size, if I had less body mass, that meant my arms, too, were smaller than his. And with my smaller arms, I had to hold my own weight. So, in the end, we were both doing the same work.

So, little girl—fierce, big-spirited girl—be a fearless competitor. You're not "supposed" to be the one who shows your strength (or that's what people assume and quite often say). We all know that women are, on average, physically smaller than men—we have less muscle mass than them simply because males have more testosterone. But that doesn't mean we're weak. God, no. Even if females aren’t biologically conditioned to have the same build as men, there’s no saying we can’t beat them, and there's no saying we can't out-push-up them.

Try not to be intimidated when your strength is tested. If the option still stands to opt for “girl push-ups,” don't take it (I never did). You know, the ones where you have your knees on the ground so that you aren't holding your own weight. The modified version. Simply try the regular ones, not the "push-ups for boys," but the push-ups, period. Because that’s what a fighter does—she doesn’t stand for alternatives, she’s all in no matter what.

I'm not saying you'll always come out on top because you most likely won't—push ups are hard. But even if some of the boys beat me, I still felt like a winner all the same. Because I was doing something I wasn't supposed to be good at. I was surprising people. So, whether you do 50, 25 or even 1 push-up, just try. Find your strength, embrace it. After all, we tend to find our fire when the odds are against us. Push-up so you can push back against all those doubts. That’s what I did.