Running • Reset • Reflection
Running has taught me a lot. A lot about resilience, the human capacity to endure, to be disciplined. How to be fast. But in the last year, what it’s really taught me is how essential it is to slow down.
A year ago, I had my first race blow up. I came out way too hot in the St. Petersburg Marathon and literally cooked at the end. Nearly getting heat stroke, I walk-ran miles 22-24, then jogged out the last two miles, incapable of running in a straight line. The med tent forced me to sit down (and stop blabbering) once they saw me come across the finish, being stubborn and senseless. Despite coming in just a couple minutes over my goal time and taking first for my age group, I didn’t see the performance as a victory, but as a cry for a hard reset.
I pulled back from running till June. I then started seriously training for the Clarence DeMar Marathon in New Hampshire, my eye on qualifying for Chicago with a 3:25 or better. I ran all summer long, even taking second with Bethany and Roman at the Chase the Moon 12-hour Relay and running 30 miles. But going into Clarence, I felt tired. Instead of feeling tuned up, I felt desperate for rest.
The day of Clarence ended up being far warmer than expected, and I was worried about blowing up again. Mercifully, the sky stayed overcast until mile 24. I had already thrown out time expectations at around mile 14, wanting to just finish the race without heat stroke and spend a happy time with friends and family after (a whole crew had come).
In the final stretch, I turned a corner and saw the clock was at 3:24, so I sprinted to the finish and got a 3:24:30. It was such a glorious celebration of chocolate milk and donuts with my friends and family after. (Tragically, the Chicago qualifications were lowered to 3:20 before 2026 registration. The joy of that moment couldn’t be lost, though, since I had no idea that Chicago would become stiffer at the end of Clarence.)
Following that race, I had one left, a month later: the Bridge Burner 35K, a trail race in Cañon City.
The turnaround time was insufficient for me. I noticed my heart rate was soaring on practically any run I did leading up, whether an easy run or a speed workout. I almost called it a week before, worried I may pass out during the race—or worse. But I had two friends coming and my HRV seemed to stabilize, so I decided to give it a shot.
Similar to St. Pete’s, on paper it looked like a win, but it felt anything but. The last 6 miles, despite being all downhill, I saw my heart rate was in high zone 4. I thought I might faint, so I started walk-running and didn’t stop until I crossed the finish. 3rd woman, but I felt like last.
Another hard reset. My heart rate continued to not settle and I grew worried. I set up an appointment with my PCP, only to find myself in the ER days later with chest pain. After an EKG, chest x-ray, and blood panel, they found … nothing. I spent another month agonizing, wearing a continuous heart rate monitor and feeling chest pains. The anxiety kept me awake at night. I ran less and less. I quit Strava and had a long conversation with myself. Was I not built for running the way I thought I was? Who was I, without running? Thankfully, as I grappled with these questions, my friends in the Springs were so caring and supportive. I never felt like I didn’t have someone to call if anything went wrong.
When I finally got into a cardiologist, he found that my monitor data showed nothing worrisome—just a very fit individual. After talking through all my concerns and routine, he determined the culprit: creatine. It had severely dehydrated me. By eliminating the supplement and adding sodium to my diet, he felt confident I would bounce back. With this advice, I have been slowly getting back into the running shape I was once in.
That’s not to say that it’s been an easy transition. After running 3 to 4 miles at most for months, doing even a 7 or 8-mile run feels long to me. Not running for two months also means that my body has changed—some pants have felt uncomfortably tight to the point that I’ve stopped wearing them. And on workouts I once used to crush, I feel like I’m dogging it. But the desire to recover my previous fitness motivates me to keep going.
That said, with the doctor’s blessing to train for my next race, I am trying to be as intentional as possible. Taking proper rest and not running when I’m not recovered. Continuing to eat a lot and often. Prioritizing sleep. And honoring my emotions—because this has been a particularly challenging winter, psychologically.
A couple weeks ago, I went out for a speed workout that went so well, it inspired me to write about the lessons running teaches. Because in that run, I felt all the joy I used to when running: I felt fast and strong, and my heart rate did its job, speeding up on fast intervals and cooling down on recovery intervals. I felt secure in my body and could feel that my fitness was returning.
When you give the running the care it requires, it will give back to you. It teaches not just resilience, endurance, discipline. Not just how to be fast and how to slow down. It also teaches patience, and for me, to care for myself better than I ever have.
