Growing up, it was impossible not to feel the athletic prowess of my family. My mom was the kind of person who could casually shoot a hole-in-one on the golf course, bowl a perfect game and was still skiing downhill at age 80. My dad played ice hockey well into his 70s. My brother was on the state champion team for soccer at age 12 and went on to play varsity lacrosse and soccer in high school and college. The bar was set high, as everyone else in my family had inherited the athletic gene
I wanted to be an athlete, but the universe had other plans.
I can't throw a ball to save my life. I’m not strong, fast, or agile. I can’t touch my toes, I don’t float, and anything requiring eye-hand coordination? Forget it. I’ve always been the one struggling to keep up, the weak link on every team. It was frustrating and disheartening to want so badly to excel in sports, only to find myself falling short time and time again. So, after years of this struggle, I made a decision: it was time to find something that worked for me.
Discovering running
My journey with running began somewhat accidentally. I wasn't looking to become a runner; I just wanted to find a way to stay active without feeling like a constant failure. One day, out of sheer frustration, I decided to sign up for a race: the Bolder Boulder, a 10K event with about 50,000 other participants. I was convinced I would come in dead last, but I did it anyway
I braced myself for the embarrassment, for the humiliation of finishing after everyone else had gone home. But something surprising happened that day—I didn't come in last. I found that running wasn’t about being fast or having perfect coordination; it was about persistence. All I had to do was put one foot in front of the other. Running became a powerful metaphor for my life. It wasn't about winning or even being particularly good at it; it was about showing up, moving forward, and keeping going, no matter how slow my pace.
The deeper benefits of running
As I started to increase my distances, I discovered even deeper benefits. Running longer distances taught me a crucial life skill: breaking down daunting tasks into smaller, manageable chunks. When I thought I couldn't possibly run any further, I learned to focus only on the next step, the next breath. Concentrating on what's directly in front of me, rather than the overwhelming distance ahead, has helped me in many areas of life beyond running.
Running outdoors adds another layer of nourishment to my self-care routine. Whenever I get the chance to run outside, I draw energy from my surroundings—the sun glimmering on the water, the burst of wildflowers lining the path, the sight of wildlife darting by. When I run with friends, we get lost in deep conversations, creating a rhythm that feels both physical and emotional.
The power of smiling
Today, I tried a little experiment. I decided to smile—a genuine, full-teeth, belly smile—at everyone I passed: bikers, runners, walkers.
The results were fascinating.
About one-third of the people didn’t seem to notice, their focus elsewhere. Another third gave me a perfunctory, straight-lipped nod, acknowledging my existence but not fully engaging. But the last third? They smiled back with the same full-belly warmth I was projecting. It was like a jolt of energy to my heart. Those smiles exchanged between strangers sharing a moment of connection, were powerful.
I also found unexpected joy in making eye contact with every dog that crossed my path. I sent them mental messages of gratitude for simply being the glorious creatures they are. And maybe it’s just my imagination, but it felt like many of them smiled back. In those moments, I felt a profound sense of connection—not just with people, but with everything around me.
Finding my place in the running world
I’ll never be a star runner. I don’t run to win medals or accolades. Usually, I’m just grateful to cross the finish line before they close down the course! But running has given me something I never expected—a way to reflect, enjoy nature, and even explore different parts of the country.
It has become my way of grounding myself, of finding peace in a chaotic world.
The back-of-the-packers are a unique bunch, and I feel a special camaraderie with them. Most have a powerful story to tell about overcoming loss, illness, or heartbreak. We run for reasons beyond fitness. We run to heal, to process, to push ourselves beyond our perceived limits. It’s in these shared experiences that I’ve found my tribe—people who understand that the race is not against each other but against our own self-doubts and fears.
Looking forward
On October 20th, I will be running the Detroit Marathon with my 23-year-old son, Tanner. My husband Randy, and Tanner’s girlfriend will be running the half-marathon. If all goes well, this will be the 44th marathon I’ve run in 40 states Each race, each mile, has been a journey—not just across physical distances, but through the landscape of my own mind and spirit.
I didn't get the jock genes, but I’ve found something even more valuable: a form of self-care that fits me perfectly. Running has taught me to be patient with myself, to embrace my own pace, and to find joy in the journey rather than the destination. It has given me the space to breathe, to think, to feel, and to connect. And for that, I am profoundly grateful.
So, while I may never shoot a hole-in-one or play hockey into my 70s like my parents, I’ve found my own path. A path that, with every step, reminds me of the strength and resilience I have within me. And that’s enough. That’s more than enough.