365 — and:

One year ago this weekend, I became a 50-mile finisher, and since then, I've been stuck in the post-marathon blues, big time. (Side note: in our weird world of running, I think the post-marathon blues are only supposed to last about 2 weeks, or until you sign up for another race and get that dopamine hit.)

It's no secret that I struggled a lot in the first half of this year. And as October 2025 approached, I started to feel it more — this bizarre case of FOMO, a nostalgic urge to do and feel everything I did last October, and, most importantly, the desire to hurt from running 12+ hours in the woods. But post-50 took me way longer to recover than anticipated, and then I dealt with my back flaring up for the first few months of 2025. 2025 would not be the year of endurance that I hoped it would be. The irony of using my 50-mile race both negatively and as a celebration of myself is not lost on me.  This past year, in my low moments, I often thought to myself, “Surely this isn’t the same body that ran 50 miles”, while later that same day, I would proudly remind myself, “Hell yeah, I ran 50 miles, and I'm going to do it again”. It brings me back to how I felt the first year without my mom — the conflicting feeling of AND that no one talks about nearly enough. Feeling relief AND heartbreak.

Feeling happy AND sad. Feeling grateful AND still wanting more. And as fate would have it, this past week, when I needed a pick-me-up, my coach told me two things — meet yourself where you are at, AND think about how far you've come this year.

So during my 6-mile run on Friday, I finally came to a realization that's brought me peace for the time being.

The distance doesn’t define who you are as a human.

Read it again with me — the distance [that you run] does not define who you are as a human.

What does define you —

The dedication.

The perseverance.

The resilience.

The grit.

The selfishness.

The courage.

These characteristics are what people will remember about you and talk about. Not the distances you accomplished, but the dedication you put into anything and everything you did. The tenacity with which you took on life. The way you got back up, when it wasn't easy, but especially when it wasn't easy.

All this to say, yes — I wish I were out in the woods, in pain and on my final lap, AND I will choose to celebrate: + my accomplishments this year, + what I will accomplish this year (there's still November and December, after all), + AND what I GET to do next year.