Mom. Triathlete. Yogi. Foodie. Writer. Boss. Coffee lover. Side hustler.

I run for team Oiselle Volée and Skratch Labs.



Stop. 3.85 miles at my feet.

Promise above.

Wizzing lights were my excuse for the extended break.

I cupped my hands over my face; tears streaming beneath. Jumping from my cheeks.

Promise. Promises.

I promise - you’ll never forget me.

For better or for worse.

As long as I continue to breathe,

I will

I will set the world on fire.

For as many promises as I make, that one will never fall.

You’ll never forget me until the light from your eyes fade to black.

I can absolutely believe that I haven’t posted anything since February. I can also say that I haven’t written shit in my journal since the end of January. I’m kinda tired…but not like physically tired, I suppose. I’m just life tired. Maybe it’s just the end of winter that’s pulling me down. C’mon warmer weather. It’s not April, I got that. After my grandmother died, I needed to take a break from structured training because it was not a priority. A small part of me felt a little stupid for grieving so much, but fuck it. I’m still upset. I started regular training about 3 (or so) weeks ago.

I missed Frieda’s 93rd birthday because I was running a race in Delaware. I got my ass out of bed the following day to run 1 mile with a few amazing ladies. One of them had run the marathon the previous day, but needed to keep her run streak alive. I can’t remember how many consecutive days she had been running, but it was definitely over 365. On that run I decided that I would streak as long as I could.

I didn’t dedicate every mile to Frieda until after she passed. I felt like shit that I missed her birthday, even though she wouldn’t have recognized me; even if she’d be reminded by my Mom and her eyes sparked joy - she’d forget just as soon as she remembered, the light in her eyes would dim again.

Today’s run was the 93rd consecutive day of my run streak. I knew that the run would be special somehow, and yet, in the same thought I didn’t want to run. I catch myself in moments of disbelief. I can’t believe she’s really gone. I can still hear her voice, but I have to concentrate - I strain to hear it. It’s still there. I have a hold on it, as it holds on to me. One day I’ll forget, right?

I use longer runs to decompress; to unpack all the mental shit that I shove to the back or things that require immediate attention. Today was no different. I stopped my watch at an intersection (East Texas and Promise) to let traffic pass while also sobbing. Most of my workouts purge the demons. Some of those buggers revealed their spirits at that corner. I pulled my shit together through the next 1/2 mile. During this half mile is when I wrote the poem above.



I See You

I See You