Yesterday, I ran Mackinac Island for one of my final training runs before the marathon.

It was “raining.”

And I put that in quotation marks because, really, it was sprinkling. 😂

It would have been incredibly easy to look outside, decide the weather wasn’t ideal, and give myself permission not to go.

Instead, I started running.

And I am so glad I did.

There was something almost magical about it. The light rain downtown, the quieter stretches around the island, the water beside me, and this body that I’ve asked so much of over the last several months just… going.

I intended to run around a 9:30 pace.

That was the plan.

This wasn’t supposed to be a race or a test. I just wanted to get some miles in, enjoy Mackinac Island, and trust where I am in my training.

But my body felt good.

Really good.

My legs wanted to move. My breathing felt controlled. My energy was there. And mile after mile, I kept having the same thought:

I have so much gas left in the tank.

I finished with an average pace of 8:42.

And then, coming back into downtown Mackinac Island, I finished my last mile in under eight minutes.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

Not because I needed to prove I could run fast.

It actually felt like the opposite.

It felt like my body saying:

We’re ready.

And maybe that’s why today feels so strange.

Today, I’m walking while I write this because everything in me wants to run.

My body wants to GO.

But this is prep week.

I still have a couple of small runs this week, just enough to keep my legs moving and remind them what they already know. There isn’t any more fitness to build before Saturday. The big work has been done.

The early mornings happened.

The long runs happened.

The tired runs happened.

The amazing runs happened.

The runs where my legs felt heavy and the runs where I felt like I could go forever, they all counted.

Now my job is different.

Move a little. Rest a lot. Eat. Hydrate. Recover. Trust. Pray. Repeat.

And show up Saturday ready to race.

I don’t know that I’ve ever felt this ready for a race mentally, and mostly physically.

I do have a couple of angry tendons in my right calf reminding me that I have, in fact, been marathon training. 😂 But they actually feel better when I open up my stride.

So I’m excited.

And nervous.

And READY.

But right now?

I trust the taper.

And apparently, trusting the process is the theme of my life this week.

Because while I’m preparing for one starting line on Saturday, our family is approaching another one next Tuesday.

The kids go back to school.

Schedules change.

Routines change.

Summer ends.

The twins are going to Junior Kindergarten.

And Tate is going to preschool.

My baby is going to preschool.

That one gets me.

There are so many adjustments coming at once, and today I’m emotional but grateful about all of it.

There’s a part of me that wants to grab onto summer and say, Wait. I’m not ready yet.

But then I think about yesterday’s run.

I didn’t become ready for Saturday yesterday.

Yesterday simply showed me what all those ordinary days had already built.

And maybe life works like that, too.

Our kids don’t suddenly grow up the morning we drop them off at preschool.

They’ve been growing right in front of us.

Little by little.

Ordinary day by ordinary day.

Until suddenly we reach one of those moments that makes us stop and realize just how far we’ve come.

Maybe that’s why transitions can hurt even when they’re beautiful.

We can be ready for what’s next and still grieve what’s ending.

We can be excited and nervous.

Grateful and emotional.

Ready and still wish we could freeze time for just a little while longer.

Two things can be true at the same time.

And somewhere between running around Mackinac Island in the rain and thinking about sending my baby to preschool, I started thinking about perspective.

Yesterday, I could have looked outside and said:

It’s raining. I’m not running.

Or I could say:

It’s sprinkling. Let’s go run around an island.

Same weather.

Same day.

Same circumstances.

Completely different experience.

And isn’t that so much of life?

I have to send my baby to preschool.

Or—

I get to watch my baby grow.

Summer is over.

Or—

We got another beautiful summer together.

Everything is changing.

Or—

Look at how much we’re growing.

Nothing outside of me had to change for the experience to change.

My perspective did.

And it made me wonder:

Why do we wait to change our habits?

Why do we wait until we’re miserable?

Why do we wait for Monday?

For January?

For the kids to go back to school?

For work to slow down?

For the scale to scare us?

For the doctor to tell us something we don’t want to hear?

For life to become uncomfortable enough that changing finally feels easier than staying the same?

We tell ourselves:

I’ll start when things calm down.

I’ll take care of myself when I have more time.

I’ll be more present when life isn’t so chaotic.

I’ll trust when I know what’s going to happen.

But what if we don’t need our circumstances to change first?

What if we need to change the way we’re looking at them?

Because perspective is a habit.

Gratitude is a habit.

Movement is a habit.

Trust is a habit.

Showing up when conditions aren’t perfect is a habit.

And allowing ourselves to enter a new season without believing something has gone wrong is a habit, too.

Running has taught me this over and over again.

You don’t become a runner because of one incredible run.

You don’t become marathon-ready because you crushed one of your final training days.

It’s the ordinary stuff.

It’s getting up when you don’t feel like it.

It’s running slower when your ego wants to go faster.

And then—maybe the lesson I need most this week—it’s resting when your body wants to move.

For months, the habit has been to get up and do the work.

This week, doing the work looks different.

Doing the work means trusting that I don’t need to cram in one more long run.

I don’t need one more hard workout to prove I’m ready.

I don’t need to keep testing myself.

I already did the work.

Maybe that’s part of growth, too.

Knowing when to push.

Knowing when to rest.

Knowing when to hold on.

And knowing when it’s time to let the next season come.

Because habits aren’t always about doing more.

Sometimes the healthier habit is learning to trust more.

Yesterday, I ran around an island in a little bit of rain.

I looked down at my watch.

I realized I had averaged an 8:42 pace and finished my final mile under eight minutes.

And I thought:

Oh.

All of those little choices were doing something.

Life is like that, too.

The habits we’re building today are preparing us for starting lines we can’t even see yet.

Saturday, I’ll stand at one starting line with months of training behind me.

Tuesday, I’ll stand at another as my kids walk into a new school year and my baby goes to preschool.

Two completely different starting lines.

And I know I’ll feel nervous at both.

But I’m learning something:

Nervous doesn’t mean unprepared.

Emotional doesn’t mean I’m not ready.

And an ending doesn’t mean I’m losing something.

Sometimes it simply means the season did exactly what it was supposed to do.

It grew us.

It prepared us.

And now it’s time to see what’s next.

So this week, I’m not running from the transition.

Literally or figuratively. 😂

I’m walking today.

I’ll run a little this week.

I’ll rest.

I’ll let myself feel all of it.

I’ll change my perspective when I need to.

And I’ll trust the work that’s already been done.

Because Saturday, when it’s finally time to race, I know my body is ready to go.

And Tuesday, when it’s time to watch my babies walk into their next season, maybe my heart will be ready, too.

And if it isn’t completely ready?

That’s okay.

I don’t have to resist the next season just because I loved the one before it.

I can be sad that something is ending and grateful that something new is beginning.

I can trust the training.

I can trust the taper.

I can trust the transition.

I can trust what all those ordinary days have built.

And I can remember that sometimes the biggest change we need to make isn’t our schedule, our circumstances, our bodies, or our lives.

Sometimes we simply need to change the way we’re looking at them.

And then take the next step.

There’s still plenty of gas left in the tank.

🤍🙏🏻✨

Mondays since I got sober are no longer manic.

That sentence hit me this morning while I was running.

Because I remember exactly what Mondays used to feel like.

Even when nothing was technically wrong, there was this frantic energy inside me. I needed to get my life together. Fix everything. Start over. Eat perfectly. Work out harder. Be more productive. Make plans. Change plans. Get ahead.

Monday felt like another opportunity to reinvent my entire life before noon.

Today?

Monday is just Monday.

And I think that says more about what sobriety has given me than almost anything else.

I’ve been thinking lately about how much emphasis we put on whether someone technically has an alcohol problem.

Was I really that bad?
Did I actually have a problem?
Could I probably drink normally?
Was alcohol really the issue?

And maybe those questions matter.

But I’m not sure they matter nearly as much as this one:

Do I make better choices when alcohol isn’t in my life?

For me, the answer is overwhelmingly yes.

And I don’t just mean that I avoid bad decisions while drinking.

I mean I make better choices all around.

I’m more thoughtful about my relationships.

I’m more present with my family.

I take better care of my body.

I pay attention to what my gut is telling me.

I pause more.

I react less.

I can recognize when I’m trying to control an outcome instead of surrendering it.

I can feel something uncomfortable without immediately needing to escape it.

And maybe most importantly, I can hear God in my life in a way I couldn’t when everything inside of me was so loud.

One of the things I’m also deeply grateful for is having someone beside me who chose to remove alcohol from their life too.

I can say that being supported in sobriety by someone willing to make meaningful changes alongside me has mattered more than I can explain.

Sometimes love looks like words.

Sometimes it looks like action.

And that’s really what sobriety has become for me too.

Action.

Sobriety didn’t magically make me peaceful.

I’ve still had messy days.

I’ve still made mistakes.

I’ve gotten scared. I’ve spun out. I’ve tried to control things I had absolutely no business trying to control. I’ve hurt people. I’ve been hurt.

I’ve had moments when I desperately wanted relief from what I was feeling.

The difference is that now I have to stay.

I have to feel it.

I have to look at my part.

I have to make amends when they’re mine to make.

I have to pray.

I have to call someone.

I have to take the next right action instead of reaching for the fastest escape.

And slowly, those choices have changed me.

That’s what I didn’t understand about sobriety in the beginning.

I thought getting sober meant learning how not to drink.

It has actually been about learning how to live.

It’s learning that peace doesn’t come from controlling everything around me.

It’s learning that an uncomfortable feeling isn’t an emergency.

It’s learning that I don’t have to know what happens next.

It’s learning that I don’t have to solve my entire life on a Monday morning.

I can stay where my feet are.

I can do the next right thing.

I can trust God.

And then I can wake up tomorrow and do it again.

So maybe you have an alcohol use problem.

Maybe you don’t.

That’s not mine to decide for anyone else.

But I do think there’s another question worth asking:

Does alcohol help you become the person you want to be?

Because if your relationships are healthier without it…

If your mornings are better without it…

If you make clearer decisions without it…

If you’re more present without it…

If you’re more honest, accountable, grounded and connected to the people you love without it…

Then maybe you don’t need a dramatic enough reason to choose a life without alcohol.

Maybe you don’t need to prove that it was bad enough.

Maybe realizing that your life is better without it is enough.

I know mine is.

And today, on an ordinary Monday morning, I’m incredibly grateful that I don’t feel the need to reinvent my entire life before noon anymore.

I just get to live it.

And that feels a whole lot like freedom.

923 days sober one day at a time.

🙏🏻🤍

A few days ago, my mind was everywhere.

Future-tripping. Looking backward. Trying to control outcomes that were never mine to control.

I could feel it in my body, too. My heart rate was up. My thoughts were racing. Even running felt harder because my nervous system was carrying what my legs couldn’t fix.

Recovery has taught me that healing isn’t about never getting overwhelmed.

It’s about knowing what to do when I am.

So I went back to the basics.

Prayer.

Therapy.

Communication.

Breathing.

Grounding.

Rest.

Letting myself feel what I was feeling instead of trying to outrun it.

And then yesterday morning, I laced up my shoes and went.

Nine miles.
1:16:59.
8:33 average pace.
Mile eight: 8:08.

My glucose stayed between 99 and 125.

No gel.

No gummies.

No quick sugar rescue.

I got stronger as the miles went on.

And THAT was the moment.

Not because a fast run means everything is fixed.

But because two days ago, my mind and body were fighting each other.

Yesterday, they worked together.

That is the comeback.

The comeback happened before I ever started running.

It happened when I stopped trying to control everything.

It happened when I asked for help.

It happened when I prayed.

It happened when I took care of myself mentally, physically, and spiritually.

And then my body said:

Okay. We’re ready.

Recovery is so much bigger than putting down the substance.

It is learning how to live.

Learning how to stay.

Learning how to walk through the hard days without destroying yourself trying to escape them.

And sometimes, after all of that work, you get a morning where you look at what you just did and think:

Damn. Look at me go.

Faith over fear.

One day at a time.

Day 919 of living sober.

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. ❤️