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.

🤍🙏🏻✨