Tag Archives: running is my therapy

Not All Those Who Wander Are Rootless

10 Oct

Hello lovelies!!!

Wishing you all a fantastical weekend filled with warmth, the aromas of fall, football & some racing!

I’ve been under the weather all week but I’m gearing to go for tomorrow’s Army Ten Miler. It won’t be a PR because I won’t be putting in race effort thanks to my hip injury and general feeling of ick. Regardless of the circumstances it will feel great to get out there with my tribe of runners!

***Note- last year I maintained a 7:12 pace with an overall finish of 1:12:09. This year crossing the finish line is my only goal. 🙂 [I can’t believe I’ve just typed that…]

Anyway, after taking the week off I engaged in quick 3 mile run this morning. Man I needed it! The feeling of my lungs expanding and my legs feeling light, loose and fresh put me in a trance of euphoria. I mean one week off and I still got it… Ohhhweee!!! It felt good to get back at it.

Check out my t-shirt…I picked up this gem yesterday, Not All Those Who Wander Are Rootless. Oh how I love it! Let it remind us that we runners [insert whatever defines you here] wander to new destinations – new destinations where PRs don’t have to define our effort but instead our curiosity to seek to know more of what is around and within us. Let it help you find peace in your run and peace in your journey.

Happy running y’all!

Enjoy your Saturday!

Not All Those Who Wander Are Rootless

Not All Those Who Wander Are Rootless




Marine Corps Marathon Ooh Rah Recap: Hot Dammmm

6 Nov

Hi friends! Here I am with MARATHON NUMERO DOS under my belt!!! Hot dammmm.

I never knew that screaming hot dammmm could be both a good and bad thing! Let me explain.

Pre-race: good thing.

Mid-race: good thing.

Last 3.2 miles: bad thing x bad thing x bad thing. It was hot dammmm! Seriously! When is this isht going to be effing over? My Garmin was flashing 26.2 miles and I was NOT done. Where was the finish line? Was that the finish line? I couldn’t see. Hot dammmm[it]!!!

Let me define hot dammmm by breaking it down.

Hot [good]: I refined my training for this marathon. I got this! Feeling good! Feeling light. Feeling flight. Wind under my legs. I got this!

Hot [bad]: My calves were on fire. My calf muscles felt like they were falling off my bones with every strike on the pavement. Ouuuuuchhhiessssss. Then there was my anxiety. My anxiety was running hot. It had a fever. A bad one because I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see because I lost my left contact at mile 9, (my left eye requires the strongest prescription) lucky me.

So there I was with a fever of anxiousness and a crowd cheering “You’re almost there!” They were relentless with their excitement to include clapping, whistling, shouting, cowbelling…I might have had a fever but the only prescription was finding the finish line, not more cowbell!!!

Dammmm [good]:I got this! I trained. Hot diggity dog, I might BQ!!! Wooohooo I’m flying.

Dammmm [bad]: It felt like I was sprinting when the reality was I shifted into granny gear!!! Talk about a Sunday joy ride. It was Sunday and I belonged in a walker at that point to carry my weight.

The Real Recap

The morning of the marathon was unlike any other. I hopped on the metro and was greeted with a swarm of runners (civilians, Marines, and other service members), volunteers, bands, and spectators. We were all crammed on the blue line heading to the Pentagon. The metro ride was a concert of songs, Ooh Rahs, and praise. The acoustics were unlike the normal route into the city. The clamor was a stark contrast from the Monday-Friday commute when most are plugged in to their phones being disconnected from the very person who’s sharing their personal space. These people were all up in each other’s personal space and they were welcome there! It was really something.

Fast Forward.

It’s race time. Hot Dammmm [good]. There were no “real” corrals. If you think you’ll finish with a 3 hour time, 4 hour time, 5 hour time, etc., you were to go park your feet near the designated sign. Oh I hate that kind of pressure. I wanted a 3:35 time because that is a Boston Qualifier (BQ). But I hesitated because I was suffering from acute bronchitis and didn’t know whether or not I would run fast or if my breathing would be exhaustively labored. I took one look at the crowd, the 20,000+ people (talk about sharing personal space), and recalled how much effort it took to weave in and out of the crowds of runners in my last race. So I deliberately parked at the 3:35 sign until the gun went off.

Gun went off.

Welp, I was wrong. What’s new? I am wrong a lot. The 3:35 sign did me no favors. I was stuck behind crowds of runners. I was shuffling my feet.

Thank gosh I stand 5’2” tall because I darted through people and any open space given the right opportunity. It took a lot of effort but none from my legs or lungs. I had to watch the people in front of me to gauge the motion and timing of their stride and elbows. Who said you don’t use physics and math in real life? I had to strategically and deliberately plan my attack to squeeze through limbs, spit, and other runners like me trying to dart ahead, while not colliding with one another. I was gauging speed and velocity at 8am, with the intent to BQ, while maintaining steady breathing, with a focus on my stride, fuel intake, etc. Are you kidding me? This isht gets difficult. I managed not to collide with anyone other than a fellow shrimpette, who like me, was planning her breakaway and taking full advantage of her 62 inches or less. We barely touched but shared a chuckle. We exchanged an excited “Sorry!” and kept moving forward. If you know me, you know how I say this!!! [“Sa-weewww-thank you cab driver!]

Mile 3 people were stopping. I remember thinking “It’s mile 3. How are you going to line up at 3:35 and stop here!?!” I mean seriously, it’s kind of dangerous when you’ve got me and shrimpette number 2 darting around. I mean flying around. Especially dangerous because it was a decline. Declines are FREE SPEED and I was all about that high velocity. I wanted more!

The FREE SPEED lasted a while. I took full advantage of it. Hot dammmm [good]. I loved that I didn’t have to return any favors either. Each decline and incline over the course was a silent declaration of what was to come. I paid close attention to its subtle hints (how often do those get overlooked girls?) and adjusted my body to its forewarning.

I leaned into the road. I was one with the road.

I was one with the road until mile 9. I had a gnarly cough paired with its obligatory accessory-phlegm. It was radiant in shades of green. OooOoo green! My favorite color! And neon green to boot! Thanks acute bronchitis! I digress. Anyway, I had just ate a GU so everything in my mouth felt sticky. Plus my cough was deep and my phlegm was thick. That’s the time when my left contact developed a film so thick I could no longer see. I stopped to make an effort to clean it. I had no other choice. I had to. I had to because it was more uncomfortable not being able to see than hacking said lungs. I can’t see 2 feet in front of me without contacts but this was worse. So I took my contact out and planned to spit on it to clean it. (As if you haven’t before. Spare me!) But my spit was thick with Jetberry GU residue and phlegm. I couldn’t do it. Sanitary purposes. I had to draw a line.

I ended up putting my contact back in my eye. Unclean and all. And with one intentional blink to make it fall in place that sucker fell off my eye and was gone. Shit!

I glanced at my Garmin. No I didn’t. I squinted. I couldn’t see very well at all so I placed the Garmin right in front of my right eye. That’s when I realized I had lost approximately one to two minutes of precious BQ time. Hot dammmm[it] [bad].

I ran the rest of my race, 17.2 miles, with one contact. I was blind. I was uncomfortable. And I couldn’t see the spectacular air show above. I couldn’t read the funny marathon signs. It sucked. 😦

As sucky as I felt I found pleasure in how great my legs felt. I just crested the course. I relied on my other senses to elevate me. I breathed in the remarkable, and inspirational cries from the crowd. I maintained focus. I repeated the mantra, Pain Only Hurts. Flight. Glide. Fly. Easy. Light. Smooth. It worked. I was clocking 7:40 miles give or take a few seconds. I even clocked a 6 minute mile somewhere in the mix. HOT diggity DAMMMM [good]. I fell back to a mid-8 minute a few times. Even losing a contact! Insert Hot dammmm  [good] one more time! Yes!!! My potential to BQ was still real.

But the pain began to set in at mile 18. Hot dammmm [bad].

The pain got so bad in my chest that I had to stop and cough for thirty seconds at least. My BQ fell further from reality. Hot dammmm [bad].

My legs were still fresh and agile. But my chest hurt. I was hacking. I dug deep. Pain Only Hurts. Pain Only Hurts. Pain Only Hurts. Pain is Temporary. Pain is Temporary. Pain is Temporary. When, OWWWWwwwweeeeee happened. The discomfort of being blind coupled with my heavy chest was one thing. But by mile 23, with 3.2 left to go, my calves felt as if they were on fire. That was the other thing; the ugly thing.

Each time my foot touched the pavement my calves ached with excruciating pain. I tried to ignore it. I tried to ignore the ugly pain by telling myself that if the whole race goes to shit in a hand basket at this very moment, and I fall back to 10 minute mile pace, I would still, at the least, PR. So that was a good thing. 🙂

But I would resent myself if I did. I knew I was a tough runner and could endure pain. I knew I could endure even more pain. So pain, I taunted with, summoning it to BRING IT ON. I double dog dared it!!!

That was the pain I had been begging for during my last marathon. Pain is the telltale sign that you’ve pushed your limits. (For me at least.) There it was staring at me at mile marker 23. I was tickled with excitement that it finally came to meet me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was that same feeling you get when you massage a bruise. (Right?)

I wanted nothing less than to be seduced by it. I wanted it to take all of me.

But I played hard to get. I wasn’t quite ready to give up. My effort was twinged but at I still had some.

For the last three miles pain and I danced around the course. It seduced me with water stops, orange slice stops, Gatorade, etc. I wanted to give in. The temptations were hydrating. The allure had me salivating.

However, I knew relief was only three short miles ahead. And in three miles I would be greeted with a medal and a beer!!! Mmm beer! Please! And it was only three short miles away. Three short miles away after having already covered 23.2 miles!!! Why do I do this to myself? I’m crazy!

I begged my body for merciful forgiveness as I repeated: Only Three More Miles. Only Three More Miles. You Got This. You Got This. Easy. Light. Smooth. Glide. Fly. Flight. Run For Those Who Can’t. Pain Is Temporary. Beer. Beer in Thirty Minutes or Less! Fly.

I convinced myself that not all pain is significant. I focused on the finish and not my legs.

I started to fly.

Or so I thought…

With less than a mile to go I started to focus on my will rather than my physical strength. I was running on empty and enveloped in pain. I wanted to walk so bad! I squinted at my Garmin to see how much more distance I had to cover before I would finish. I was p.o.’d. The Garmin told me I had already run the distance of a marathon. Ugh!

I recall thinking that I must be close. The trouble was I couldn’t see ahead. I saw two or three massive displays of orange balloons. One of them promised to be the finish but I could not decipher which one.

I had a fear of sprinting too early, granny sprints or not, so I maintained my pace.

When I could finally see the finish line I realized I should have started sprinting a quarter-mile before. Hot dammm [bad].

I dug deep, shifted gears, and I ran as hard as I could to the finish. Granny kicked ass! I think.

I crossed that finish line. Hot Dammmm [good].

I was in pain. I was exhausted. I couldn’t walk. Hot Dammmm [bad].

I was overwhelmed with emotion. I PR’d! Stopping to breathe, contact issues , and all! Hot Dammmm [good].

I finished in 3:39:35. An 8:22 pace per mile!!! Hot diggity Dammmm [good].

I missed Boston by 4 minutes and 35 seconds. Had I run 10 seconds faster per mile I would have BQ’d. But I accepted the circumstances. Had I been 100% healthy, I bet I could have celebrated a BQ. Regardless, I PR’d by 11 minutes. That’s something I’m proud of, sick and all!

This was the first race where I finally met pain. I finally met exhaustion. I finally met the wall. They all stink, literally: Pain. Exhaustion. Wall. = PEW. Hot Dammmm [bad]. But I can’t wait to meet them again and crush them. Hot Dammmm [good] J

Thanks for stopping by!!!

Happy Running!!! Happy BQ’ing. Happy Cowbelling, he he he. Happy whatever makes you happy! Just be true to you!







Michael Kors versus Garmin

2 Feb

Today I joined my friends for a crossfit session and there after we partook in a shopping binge at Ft. Myer’s Class 6 and Commissary in our efforts to stock up our pantries for personal gain as well as to prep for the Super Bowl. What began as a quick trip to the Class 6 for some discounted alcohol (hello Tequila and Firefly) resulted in my grand idea to hit the exchange because I was jonesing for a Michael Kors purse…and what better place to purchase one? A Michael Kors purse at a discounted price and no tax? Yes Please!

So there we were, my girlfriend Kaisha and I, in a sea of colorful, gorgeous, we must own, purses, wallets, satchels, and clutches to name a few. We were in the middle of all this glam and we definitely belonged there. The men that we were with us saw our proclivities to stay put in the Michael Kors section. Having good taste and lusting for attractive things is innate in both Kaisha and I. We knew just how to adorn our shoulders with gorgeous bags and we loved every minute of it. Kaisha and I rationalized prices and relished in the idea that buyer’s remorse wouldn’t even seep in if we purchased a purse, a matching wallet and perhaps an additional accessory. We even went so far to say screw the accessories, let’s purchase two purses. We figured, heck, it’s discounted and there’s no tax, why not!? Ask yourself the same question. What would you think?




My heart was happy when I realized I could easily see myself with my new bag and wallet that I had in tote. The bag, the wallet, both stunning and affordable, and did I say elegant and striking? Yes, that’s right; I was ready to commit to the purchase. I was so happy. I was almost as happy as my heart is when I decorate my feet with new Newton running shoes. Yup, I went there-running! I thought of running the moment I thought of purchasing a Michael Kors purse and wallet. Then I thought of Crossfit.

Yup. Crossfit. My mind went from Michael Kors to running plus Crossfit. I thought of running and its costs and then I thought of my new addiction of Crossfit compliments of my friend, Kaisha’s husband, Jason. My mind spiraled down this cost analysis nonsense. I know I need to become a member of Crossfit because after today, I’m captivated by it. It is the perfect cross training for a runner like me. Oh no. Then I thought of Paul. Crossfit x 2 people. Cha-ching. Wait, wait, it doesn’t stop there. I need a new road bike so that I can start training for a tri…Cha-ching. We need 2. Cha-ching. Cha-ching. $$$ $$$. Where does Michael Kors fall in line here?

Here’s the trouble. I don’t blink twice when I purchase Newton running shoes. They typically cost $175.00. Add a discount code for 20% off and one pair is approximately $140.00 plus tax. And if you know me you know I don’t purchase just one pair at a time, I purchase two. So there you have it, I spend at least $280.00 plus tax on a given running shoe purchase without exercising any caution. But there I was about to commit to what would be a hugely discounted Michael Kors purchase of only $350.00. $350.00 compared to the normal price of $650.00 plus tax in a typical scenario if I hadn’t been at the exchange, and yet my stomach turned in knots. What gives!

Then this voice in my head said, you don’t buy purses. You buy atheletic gear and equipment.

My stomach was knotted and I had instant buyer’s remorse even though I didn’t swipe my MasterCard yet. I rationalized my purchase for a minute. I even sent a picture to Paul with me donning my so-called purchases with the tag line, “I saved SO much. No taxes and discounted!!!” Paul didn’t respond immediately to object the purchase which led me to rationalize a little more.

I figured that I shouldn’t purchase the purse or the wallet even though I wanted to. Again, if you know me, you know I’m not into name brands unless we are talking about running brands. #hellobetter. Newton! I am just not that girl. I barely get my nails done because it’s a pain in the ass and an expense I don’t care for. Compared to my running addiction getting my nails done is such a nominal cost (I’m so pathetic!). Don’t get me wrong, I love how my nails look when they are done but my gripe is that it takes too long and I’d rather save the money. I suppose I have no issue spending the money on my nails but it’s really just not worth my time. Time is money! I have better uses of my time —> TRAINING! I can’t believe I’m still blonde for the same reason. I despise getting my hair done because the time it takes and the stylist always wants to talk to me. Newsflash, I’m not interested in telling you my life story. Tell me yours and I’m happy to charge you for the therapy session I can provide you. How I see it I owe you nothing…my fee washes your fee…just kidding? (That’s at least how I feel in the D.C. area. I miss my stylist in Scottsdale)! Moving on… I don’t find any of the maintenance (nails and/or hair) to be leisurely. I am a low maintenance kind of gal behind the stilettos when I’m not running in Newton’s who also loves high class at the right price. I am sure I come across as a tough nut to crack sometimes but truly, I am not into name brands at full price and I scoff at those who think name brands brand their identity. I’m just not that girl. I like name brands but don’t need them to define me.

And this is when Paul responded to my text and gave me the green light to purchase the Kors. His text was, “If it’s a great deal go for it! It’s not like you have to ask for permission, Val.”

And then I shed a tear because I was no longer at the Exchange. I text back, “So you’re cool with the Kors and the Garmin? Rock on!”

Paul called me and responded, “Whatever you want, babe. Go for it.” Oh wait, I dreamt that. He didn’t call.

And that is how I separate myself from the masses of females out there. I didn’t swipe my MasterCard. Truth is, I could afford the Michael Kors purse and wallet no problem. The trouble is, I want a Garmin 620, too. That’s right. I turned down the gorgeous Michael Kors purchases for the promise to myself to buy a running gadget. I could buy both Kors products as well as the Garmin but then I’d feel selfish. I know, I know, I want so much!!! But truthfully, it’s all about the Garmin 620. Right?!? I’d get more use out of it. It retails for $399.99. That is approximately $50 plus tax more than my sought after Michael Kors. One would think I’d buy the Michael Kors because it’s a better and cheaper deal. I’d be getting two Kors items at a discounted price with no tax versus one thing, a Garmin, with tax.


I chose the promise of the Garmin 620 over the sensational, drool worthy Michael Kors. Why? I don’t know.

WHAT’S MY PROBLEM?!! Michael Kors versus Garmin. Seriously. Only I would find myself in this quandary.

Here’s my rationale… The Garmin 620 is an advance running watch with a recovery advisor. To name a few, the Garmin 620 overview is as follows:

• Touchscreen GPS running watch with high-resolution color display that tracks distance, pace and heart rate¹
• Calculates your recovery time and VO2 max estimate when used with heart rate
• HRM-Run™ monitor¹ adds data for cadence, ground contact time and vertical oscillation
• Connected features²: automatic uploads to Garmin Connect, live tracking, social media sharing
• Compatible with free training plans from Garmin Connect

garmin 620

The Michael Kors purse and wallet doesn’t confer those perks! What’s a girl to do?

Granted the Michael Kors might make people think I’m a class act (I am!) and add a little more esteem to my wardrobe but it really doesn’t matter. You see, you are more likely to see me adorned in running gear and Newton’s versus my going out, classy attire on any given day. And if you see me in my bright ass running tights by Nike, Lululemon, or Under Armour, and my Lululemon bangbuster headbands, you’d know I’ve got a colorful personality paired with style. You would also see that beauty of a watch I’ll be wearing on right wrist soon that would be none other than the Garmin 620. If you don’t recognize the Newton’s on my feet or the Garmin on my wrist, well then your judgment towards me not owning the Michael Kors (or any other fancy purse with an exorbitant price tag) doesn’t matter.

People judge all day long based on the things we wear and the labels we rock. But the labels I love more than Michael Kors are Garmin, Newton’s, Nike, Under Armour, and Lululemon. In the running world the aforementioned are considerably equivalent, if not have more prestige than Michael Kors and all that other bullshit that we love, all day long.

There you have it. You know me a little better now.

I am that girl. I put down the Michael Kors and promised myself the Garmin 620.

By the way, when Paul did call me I advised him the Kors could be a gift from him later in the year and the Garmin 620 is a go today, or in the near future. He laughed and said sure thing babe…I think he likes that I am nutty enough to choose running possessions over luxury ones. Ugh!


Valgal aka Runnergirl

Keep running. Love the run. Love the burn.

Make the pain a friend and you’ll never be alone.

Humility and Humor

9 Nov

My first day to hit the streets here running. Autumn leaves paint the running path, the temperature is perfect, and the sunlight piercing through the trees is unlike the direct distribution of sunlight in Phoenix. So poetic! Okay, okay. Here’s the humility and humor. —->Don’t be a friggin tourist when you’re running. My dumbass tripped over a rock. A rock! The irony. I went flying forward. My left shoulder and new iPhone took the hits. So did my ego.


Running to Speculate

1 Apr

It’s been one heck of a week, maybe even two. My fiancé and I have found ourselves involved in family obligations, housework, wedding planning commitments among other things. The family obligations never stop and we aren’t complaining. Family comes first. Isn’t it amazing how our priorities change and how much growing up we do in our twenties? I mean I have been twenty-something for a while but wow, twenty-something right now is hitting me hard. And not because it’s an age thing.

I’m noticing that the older I get and yes I hear you exclaiming “twenty something and older” and trying to make sense of that sentence…but anyway, the older I get, I’m noticing this shift between my parents and I, even my grandparents and I. I know that as children, despite our age as twenty-somethings or fifty-somethings, we are our parents’ children and we are our grandparents’ grandchildren. Age plays no precedence within the familial infrastructure, only the role…we will always be titled children, cousins, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, mothers, fathers, etc. The roles adapt as we take on more titles, but we are always our parents’ child. End of story.

And that brings me to my point. There’s this shift between my parents and me being twenty-something. Suddenly I’m stricken with worry and anxiety about my parents. Granted I know they worry about me but it’s different nowadays. They know I’m in the best health of my life and they know I have an incredible man who is my rock and hopefully me, his. My parents are confident in my professional endeavors and see that Paul and I are trying to be financially savvy to better our future and prepare (as much as one can prepare) for children in a few years. My parents don’t worry too much about me. They are confident in my path. They know I make the right choices.

It’s not like I worry about my parents because they make the wrong choices. I worry about them as if I were the parent these days because they live and breathe in their business. They don’t turn work off and I sometimes think that could be toxic. They do indulge in some exotic vacations to get away, to tune out and disconnect in an effort to connect to what’s important, and that’s being with one another…But in order for them to do so, they work from sun up to sun up with no rest. That was intentional, sun up to sun up…they work 24/7, no kidding. There is no rest for the wicked! In order for them to go on vacation they bury themselves in work just to make certain when they return, the workload is somewhat manageable. Then it’s back to the grindstone for them. They are always working. I’ve never seen my parents work harder than this in their lives and I’m worried. I don’t want them to work themselves to death. I want them to enjoy the small moments rather than be distracted by the rigorous demands of owning their own business. I want to be able to communicate with my parents without having them have to make time for me, but that is how it is. And I’m proud of them and all they’ve accomplished but I don’t want them to miss out on what is going on around them. I want them to take a step back.

I’m seeing my parents age. Granted they are aging gracefully, they are aging. My parents are getting older and that’s the bottom line. It scares me. I have to face these facts and I don’t like it. I get so emotional. I’m getting older but that shouldn’t mean they are getting older. I’m a logical person but I can’t fathom this truth. I try to cope with the aging process of my parents and family members and it’s difficult. That’s why I turn to running sometimes. I try to cope with it. After all, aren’t we all supposed to be forever young?

Last week my parents informed me that my dad had to have a biopsy. They didn’t want to tell me and held off from telling me for a little over a week. I was outraged! They claimed they didn’t want me to worry or get too emotional. I understood their logic but was still miffed they didn’t share this news with me. I thought I handled it well when I spoke to my dad on the phone about the matter at hand. I was staying strong and supportive. We hung up with each other and suddenly the information started to process. It was just me alone with my thoughts as I was driving home from work and my eyes welted up in tears and I couldn’t stop crying. What was going to happen? I was thinking, this is my father, nothing can happen to him, he’s friggin invincible! I prayed, I prayed and I prayed. I had to go head out for a run. Running is my solitude, my church and where I pray (church, too).

In the middle of my run I began to think, what happens if it is cancer? Then I followed it up with what stage would it be, what would happen to my parents business, what would happen to my mom, has dad told his sisters? I couldn’t stop all my questions. I just kept running and running harder. I was desperate for answers and figured the harder I pushed myself the answers would come. With each stride I worked it out a little bit more. I had to hash out my emotions until I was numb. I kept telling the pavement, I can’t lose my dad. I was beating the pavement with my feet pleading for mercy, when the pavement probably wanted mercy from me.

I recall a song playing through my earbuds that reminded me of my dad and just put me over the top. I’m not talking a sentimental song; I’m talking about a Van Halen song that had me in tears all because Van Halen reminds me of my dad. I mean I was a mess. I was a sweaty, emotional, salty mess. There I was running while holding back tears. It was the first run in a while where I wasn’t running to train for a marathon, I wasn’t running for my physical and heart health; I was just running to manage my emotions and work them out. I couldn’t tell my parents how my heart sank to my feet with the news. I couldn’t let on that I was having a hard time with the news so I just ran… and I continued to run until I felt a little better which was very fleeting.

Finally Friday arrived and we were given great news. Dad will be okay! He needs to get checked every 6 months but he is going to be a-okay. Thank you, God!

But life is kind of a comedy and threw another matter at me. So I keep running. I keep running to face the adversity because I have faith in the Lord above and I have faith in my family and that all things will turn out as they should. Despite the hurt and my heavy, heavy heart, I believe it will all work out. I just need to keep running for my emotional health.

And last night as I was driving home from Easter events, Highway Don’t Care began playing and I just couldn’t help but to notice how much the song resonated with me. It may be a love song but it’s a song that made me think of my mom. And I love my mom. So I started to cry.

“Bet your window’s rolled down and your hair’s pulled back. I bet you have no idea you’re going way too fast. And you’re trying not to think about what went wrong. Trying not to stop til you get where you goin’…The highway won’t dry your tears. The highway don’t need you here. The highway don’t care if you’re coming home…Yeah, I bet you’re bending God’s ear talking about me…”

The song, as beautiful as it was in that moment intensified my emotions making me ache for a run. When I got home, I contemplated changing into my running attire to run my emotions away to guarantee a good night’s sleep. But I had taken pleasure in a glass or two of wine earlier in the day and decided it was best to lay low. I relished in the memories of Easter’s past with my family, days when we were all a little younger; days when I didn’t worry half as much about my parents and it helped revitalize my mood.

But here I am today, recollecting on the past week or two, thinking about what went right, what went wrong, and how much love I have for everyone despite differences, because life is precious and each day is a gift.

I thank the Lord for the strength to get through the thick of things and his faith in me. I thank the Lord for giving me the gift of running.

…forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead…

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