Some days, the hardest thing I do is not the workout.

It’s getting my mind to stop running faster than my feet.

Today, I only made it five miles.

Not because my body couldn’t keep going.

My mind was spinning.

Life felt heavy. My thoughts were moving in ten different directions at once. I was trying to understand things I may never fully understand, trying to solve things that are not mine to solve today, trying to find certainty in places where certainty simply does not exist yet.

And somewhere in those five miles, I realized something.

I keep asking God to lead me while simultaneously trying to grab the steering wheel.

I pray for direction, and then I start analyzing every possible outcome.

I ask for peace, and then I rehearse every fear.

I tell God I trust Him, and five minutes later I’m trying to figure out exactly how everything is going to work out.

Maybe faith isn’t knowing how this ends.

Maybe faith is continuing to walk when I don’t.

TRUST. TRUST. TRUST.

That word keeps finding me.

Trust that what is meant to be revealed will be revealed.

Trust that I do not have to uncover every answer today.

Trust that God can work in circumstances I cannot control.

Trust that another person’s choices do not determine my peace.

Trust that I will know what to do when it is time to know.

Trust that God has carried me through things I once believed would destroy me—and He has never abandoned me in the middle of them.

My family is beyond important to me.

They are at the center of nearly every decision I make, every prayer I pray, and so much of the reason I fight so hard to become a healthier version of myself.

And sometimes that is exactly why my mind spins.

Because when you love people this deeply, you want to protect them.

You want to make the right choices.

You want to know the outcome before you take the next step.

You want to make sure the people you love are okay.

But I am learning that I cannot control my way into peace.

I have to trust my way there.

I don’t want fear making decisions for me.

I don’t want anger making decisions for me.

I don’t want someone else’s choices determining the atmosphere of my home.

I want God at the center of my family.

And sometimes that means trusting Him with the people I love most, too.

Trust that I don’t have to fix everything today.

Trust that protecting my family does not require controlling every outcome.

Trust that God can show me the next right thing.

Trust that truth will make the path clearer.

My family is worth fighting for.

But so is honesty.

Peace.

Safety.

Faith.

And the kind of love I want my children to grow up believing in.

I have spent so much of my life believing strength meant pushing harder.

Run farther.

Figure it out.

Fix it.

Control it.

Hold everything together.

But recovery has taught me something completely different.

Sometimes strength is surrender.

Sometimes strength is saying,

“God, I cannot carry this one today. You’re going to have to.”

Sometimes five miles is enough.

Sometimes crying is enough.

Sometimes prayer is enough.

Sometimes the next right thing is simply refusing to make a permanent decision from a temporary storm.

My brain wants answers.

My fear wants guarantees.

My ego wants control.

But my spirit keeps whispering:

Trust.

I don’t know how every broken thing will be repaired.

But I know this:

God has never asked me to see the entire road.

He has only asked me to take the next step with Him.

So today, the next step was five miles.

Then food.

Then rest.

Then prayer.

Then staying where my feet are.

Tomorrow may look completely different.

And I don’t need to know yet.

God, help me trust what You are doing when I cannot understand what I am seeing. Help me stop trying to force clarity before its time. Help me remember that surrender is not giving up—it is giving You what I was never meant to carry alone.

Trust the process.

Trust the timing.

Trust the unfolding.

Trust God.

And when fear creeps back in—

trust Him again.

Healing doesn’t mean I never want to escape again.
It means I recognize the moment I want to run, and instead of reaching for the thing that once numbed me, I reach for God.

MONDAY THOUGHT: Sometimes you just have to do it before you feel ready.

Coming home from vacation, I’m incredibly grateful for the time off and also grateful to be home.

There’s something so sweet about August mornings here, the cooler air, the quiet, and absolutely perfect running weather.

But my body? It’s still trying to figure out what time zone we’re in. 😂

Just as I adjusted to Pacific Time, we came home. And this morning, my alarm and I apparently had different plans.

I had a meeting from 6–7 AM that I needed to be prepared for and present at.

I woke up at 5:48.

So: two minutes of meditation. Espresso. Coffee. Meeting.

And then I had a 16-mile run to do.

Was I perfectly rested? Nope.
Did I feel completely ready? Also nope.

But sometimes we spend so much time waiting to feel ready that we forget something important:

You don’t always need to feel ready. Sometimes you just need to start.

So I started.

And I ran 16 miles with an average pace of 9:05/mile.

That doesn’t mean every day is about pushing harder or proving something.

For me, today was about finding out where I am.

New territory. A body still adjusting. A routine that’s not quite routine again yet.

And one foot in front of the other anyway.

Maybe that’s your Monday reminder, too:

You may never feel completely ready. Do it anyway. You might surprise yourself with where you already are. ❤️

💪🏼

There is a transparency that comes with living life honestly. The more I heal, the more I realize that growth isn’t about controlling every outcome—it’s about learning to act despite fear, trusting discernment, and surrendering to the changes I can’t control.

People will always be people. They’ll disappoint us, surprise us, teach us, and sometimes hurt us. But my peace no longer depends on changing them. It depends on changing me.

I’ve found that this truth stretches into every part of life—fitness, nutrition, wellness, recovery, relationships, and spirituality. None of them are really separate. They’re all invitations to become a little more honest, a little more willing, and a little more present.

“Move a muscle, change a thought” has become more than a recovery slogan to me. It’s a reminder that action creates clarity. We don’t think our way into a new life—we live our way into one. All while trusting. 

Change is uncomfortable, and many of us naturally resist it because the familiar feels safer than the unknown. But healing begins when we’re willing to surrender what no longer serves us and trust that growth is found on the other side of willingness.

That’s the journey I’m choosing—not perfection, but progress. One honest action at a time.

Have a wonderful Monday!

A little Saturday rant…

I’ve seen a lot of comments saying, “Imagine if we were in Canada. We should just be grateful.”

Two things can be true at once.

Yes, my heart hurts for the people directly impacted by the wildfires.

And yes, our feelings here are still valid.

As someone training for a full marathon, it’s frustrating to have another long run canceled because the air isn’t safe. It’s hard for kids who just want to play outside during the few precious weeks of a U.P. summer. It’s hard on restaurants, small businesses, and everyone who depends on tourism.

For my family, this isn’t just an inconvenience. My son has respiratory challenges after spending part of his life with a trach, so air quality is something we have to take seriously. Please be kind. You never know what someone else’s family is navigating.

We spend months waiting for summer, and now it feels like life is on pause again—just like it does during winter.

Having empathy for others doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to acknowledge our own disappointment.

So instead of telling people to “just be grateful,” maybe let’s extend a little grace. We can care deeply about what’s happening in Canada while also recognizing that this is affecting our own communities.

And if you’re going stir-crazy, here’s your reminder that TM Fitness has $10 day passes this weekend! Come move your body, release some endorphins, and take care of your mental health. We could all use a little more movement and a little less arguing on Facebook. ❤️

One of the biggest misconceptions I hear is, “I’ll start when things calm down.”

After the kids are back in school.

After vacation.

After work gets less busy.

After the holidays.

After Monday.

But here’s the truth: life rarely slows down. It simply changes.

The people who see lasting results aren’t the ones who wait for the perfect time, they’re the ones who decide to start in the middle of real life. They begin while they’re busy. They learn to make healthy choices even when life isn’t perfect. And little by little, those choices become habits.

You don’t have to overhaul your entire life overnight. You just have to take the next step.

If you’ve been thinking about making a change, maybe this is your sign that you don’t need another Monday or another month. You just need today.

Good news! I currently have a few openings for one-on-one training and coaching or spaces in my accountability group! Whether your goal is building strength, losing weight, improving your health, or simply feeling more confident, I’d love to help you create a plan that fits your life.

Message me if you’ve been waiting for the “right time.” Let’s make today Day One.

💪🏼🫶🏻

Me on a Friday morning. ❤️

The alarm goes off at 4:00 a.m.

Before my 5:00 a.m. client arrives, I pour a cup of coffee, spend time with God in my office, meditate, and clean the gym.

It’s become one of my favorite parts of the day.

Completely different than when I was drinking.

I used to think life happened on Friday nights. Now I realize some of life’s greatest gifts happen before most people are even awake.

Recovery didn’t just remove alcohol. It gave me mornings.

It gave me purpose before sunrise.
It gave me peace instead of chaos.
It gave me habits that build the life I prayed for instead of trying to escape the one I had.

Sometimes I just stand in my gym, coffee in hand, grateful.

I can’t help but chuckle at how much of life I missed but beyond grateful for where I’m at now.

Today, I don’t wake up wondering how I’ll get through the day.

I wake up excited to live it.

One day at a time!

❤️

#Recovery #OneDayAtATime #MorningRoutine #Gratitude #Sobriety #Faith #Fitness #RecoveryWorks

Ultimately, Choose Your Hard

This week reminded me of something I’ve been learning for a long time.

Every path has a cost.

We don’t get to choose whether life will be hard.

We get to choose which hard we’re willing to live with.

This week was filled with truth.

Truth uncovered in therapy.

Truth found in recovery.

Truth in relationships.

Truth on long runs.

Truth in quiet mornings with God.

None of it was easy.

But every bit of it was worth it.

Because healing has taught me something I never understood before:

The hard things aren’t always the things that hurt us. Sometimes they’re the very things that heal us.

Last weekend, while driving to spend time with some truly wonderful people, I hit a deer. The accident flared up an old whiplash injury on my left side.

I didn’t get to choose that.

But I did get to choose my response.

Instead of pretending I was fine, I made an appointment with a massage therapist who knows my body, knows my old injuries, and knows exactly where I carry tension. I chose to listen to what my body was telling me instead of ignoring it.

As I reflected on everything that happened, one thought kept coming back to me:

I believe God saved me.

Things could have been so much worse.

Instead of focusing on what could have happened, I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude for what didn’t.

There was another moment that stayed with me this week.

I sat quietly in a rocking chair, listening to a song that seemed to meet me exactly where I was. For a few minutes, I wasn’t trying to fix anything. I wasn’t planning tomorrow. I wasn’t carrying everyone else’s burdens.

I was simply present.

I’ve learned that healing isn’t always found in doing more.

Sometimes it’s found in stillness.

This week I also ran the fastest eight miles of my entire life. At 37 years old, I accomplished something I’ve never done before.

Ironically, it came just one week after a 20-mile run humbled me.

That run reminded me that strength isn’t always about pushing harder. Sometimes strength is having enough humility to slow down, adjust, and actually listen to your body instead of fighting it.

This morning, after coaching an early morning client, I found myself back on the treadmill.

But before any of that, I spent time with God in prayer and meditation. And ☕️ 

That has become the foundation of my mornings.

Years ago, I would’ve looked at those moments as obligations.

Today, I see them as gifts.

I get to move my body.

I get to coach people.

I get to recover. (864 days without any mind altering substance in my system, one day at a time)

I get to grow.

I get another day.

That simple shift—from have to to get to—has changed my life.

I’ve realized there is almost always a solution.

Not always an easy one.

Not always the one we’d choose if comfort were the goal.

But there is almost always a path forward.

There’s another truth I’ve been thinking about this week.

Social media has a funny way of making people believe they know someone’s life.

But here’s what I’ve learned:

Social media has never defined my family.

Honestly, social media has become less and less of a reflection of my life because I’m spending less and less time on it.

Healing has a way of doing that.

The more I’ve recovered, the more I’ve fallen in love with real conversations instead of posts.

Long runs instead of scrolling.

Quiet mornings with God instead of notifications.

Therapy instead of pretending.

Time with my kids instead of my phone.

Being fully present with the people in front of me instead of worrying about documenting the moment.

Ironically, some of the healthiest moments of my life have never made it online.

Maybe that’s because healing has a way of humbling you.

It reminds you that the life you’re building is far more important than the image you’re projecting.

Life asks every one of us to choose our hard.

Ignoring your health is hard.

Taking care of it is hard.

Avoiding difficult conversations is hard.

Having them is hard.

Living in unhealthy patterns is hard.

Breaking them is hard.

Recovery is hard.

Active addiction is hard.

Discipline is hard.

Regret over missed opportunities is hard.

Every path costs something.

The question isn’t whether life will be difficult.

The question is: Which hard is helping you become the person God created you to be?

Success isn’t one big decision.

It’s built in hundreds of quiet choices no one else sees.

Choosing honesty.

Choosing therapy.

Choosing prayer.

Choosing movement.

Choosing to listen to your body.

Choosing to ask for help.

Choosing recovery.

Choosing to be present.

Choosing to tell yourself the truth.

Choosing to begin again.

Those choices don’t always make today easier.

But they shape who you become tomorrow.

Ultimately, we all choose our hard.

My hope is that I keep choosing the hard that brings me closer to God, closer to the people I love, and closer to the woman He is shaping me to be.

Because the hard things haven’t been what defined my life.

The choices I made in the middle of them have.

Ultimately, choose your hard. ❤️

On Wednesday, I headed out for a 20-mile run.

Around mile 15, my left glute started making its presence known. I was dealing with the normal hormonal fluctuations that come with being a woman, and by the end of the run, I definitely knew I had put my body to work.

But here’s what I’ve been thinking about over the last few days.

Not the discomfort.

Not the fatigue.

Not the fact that marathon training is hard.

What stands out is how grateful I am that I get to do it at all.

For years, I’ve heard people talk about getting older, hormones changing, perimenopause, and all the things our bodies supposedly won’t be able to do anymore.

And while change is part of life, Wednesday reminded me of something important:

My body is still incredibly capable.

One thing I noticed this week was how different this phase of my cycle feels compared to years ago.

Do I still experience hormonal fluctuations?

Absolutely.

Do I still get cramps and have a period?

Of course.

But the extreme bloating, fatigue, and discomfort that I used to assume were just part of being a woman aren’t nearly what they once were.

And I don’t think that’s an accident.

Over the last several years, I’ve learned that how we fuel our bodies, move our bodies, manage stress, and take care of ourselves matters.

A lot.

I’m not saying healthy habits eliminate every symptom.

They don’t.

I’m saying that taking care of yourself can change your baseline in ways you may not even realize until you look back.

This week was a reminder of that for me.

My body was navigating a 20-mile training run, hormonal fluctuations, recovery, and everyday life.

And it handled all of it far better than I ever could have imagined years ago.

Last weekend, I ran a half marathon in 1:56.

A few days later, I completed a 20-mile training run.

Today, just a few days after that, I feel ready to get back out there and train again.

That isn’t something I take for granted.

People often ask where they see themselves in five years.

The older I get, the less interested I am in predicting the future.

What I care about is being present enough to appreciate today.

If I had one goal, it would be simple:

To stay healthy enough to keep moving.

To keep exploring what my body is capable of.

To continue running, lifting, hiking, adventuring, and showing up for life.

I want to be the kind of person who can run at least one half marathon and one full marathon every year.

Not because I’m chasing a number on the scale.

Not because I’m trying to look a certain way.

Not because of the medals.

Not because of the finish times.

Because movement is one of the greatest gifts I’ve been given.

This body has carried me through so much, recovery, pregnancies, sleepless nights, healing, and growth.

And this week, it carried me through 20 miles.

For the record, after six kids, hormonal fluctuations, and a 20-mile training run… I didn’t even pee my pants.

That’s worth celebrating too.

Today, I’m not focused on what my body can’t do.

I’m grateful for everything it still can.

And if there’s one thing this week reminded me, it’s this:

Health compounds.

The small choices matter.

The walks matter.

The strength workouts matter.

The vegetables matter.

The sleep matters.

The water matters.

The recovery matters.

Day after day, those choices add up.

Until one day you find yourself doing things you never thought possible and realizing that your body isn’t working against you.

It’s carrying you.

And for that, I am deeply grateful.

Yesterday I set out to run 20 miles!

I was experiencing all the normal hormonal fluctuations that come with this time of the month, but I did it anyway and somewhere around mile 15 of a 20-mile run, my left glute finally decided to activate.

Yet somehow, I found myself smiling.

Because instead of focusing on what my body wasn’t doing perfectly, I was overwhelmed by gratitude for what it was doing.

For years, I’ve heard the warnings.

“Just wait until perimenopause.”

“Everything changes.”

“You won’t be able to do what you used to do.”

Maybe some of that is true. But yesterday, all I could think was:

How amazing is it that I get to do this?

I got to wake up and prepare for a 20-mile run.

I got to move my body.

I got to challenge myself.

I got to experience soreness, fatigue, and growth because I was healthy enough to be out there trying.

And for the record, after six kids, hormonal fluctuations, a 20-mile training run, and four miles still left to go… I didn’t even pee my pants.

That’s worth celebrating too.

Last weekend, I ran a half marathon in 1:56.

And I was happy with it.

Not because it was perfect, but because I remember a version of myself who couldn’t have imagined running like this again.

Who wasn’t dreaming about half marathons, long runs, strength training, recovery, and all the beautiful ordinary things that make up my life today.

People love to ask, “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

The truth is, healing and running have taught me something different.

Stay where your feet are.

Live in the present.

Five years from now isn’t promised.

But if I had to answer, my goal is simple:

I want to be healthy enough to keep doing the things I love.

I want to stay active.

I want to keep showing up for myself.

I want to run at least one half marathon and one full marathon every year.

Not because of the medals.

Not because of the finish times.

Because movement is a gift.

Because health is a gift.

Because being able to do hard things is a gift.

Yesterday, at mile 15, with a cranky glute, hormonal fluctuations, and four miles still to run, I realized something:

This body has carried me through so much.

And yesterday, it carried me through 20 miles.

That’s not something I take for granted.

It’s something I’m deeply grateful for.