A Road Made of Small Moments

This project didn’t start as a bold declaration — it started as a quiet need.

To find a place where my litany of neurodivergencies softened.  To outrun my shame, my self doubt, my guilt, my feelings of inadequacy, my depression.  A place where I was my only priority.

The product of an abusive Irish Catholic family, I was the scapegoat child, the one who did everything wrong, couldn’t keep up, mentally, physically, emotionally, I was tagged as wrong so that everyone else could be right.  And I believed it, for years.

Then covid happened, I found space to be quiet, to reflect, I came out, again and again.  I let go of people who harmed me.  I shifted my priorities and my obligations.  I started running six days a week, and I haven’t really looked back.

And now I look forward to most days, rather than dreading them.  I love training.  Even the hard stuff.  Especially the hard stuff.  I am so lucky that I get to do any of this.  I had PTSD related arthritis head to toe by the time I was 17, so many people told me over and over again that I just wasn’t capable of long distance running (or math, or coding, or being successful).  Even the days I get up at 5am and it’s dark, negative degrees, raining, and I just want to cry because I am so tired I cannot possibly make it through one more training run.  I also want to cry because at 42 I’m just figuring out that I AM capable, and I CAN do it, and gosh what a gift to receive this late in life.  To be seeing the world with such fresh eyes.  I am so grateful.  For every single hard cold difficult bullshit glorious irreplaceable early brutal mile.  It’s almost too much to bare.

Running a marathon in every state might sound like a challenge, but for me, it’s more like a compass. A meditation on what I thought was impossible and why, a way to carve a path forward when the way back is no longer an option.

It’s not about medals or finish times — it’s about what happens in between: the early alarms, the playlists that carry me, the strangers who cheer, the way Malcolm curls up next to me when it’s all over.

This is a road made of small moments. And somewhere along it, I’m learning what it means to come home.

Along the way, you’ll find:

• Pre-dawn runs through unfamiliar cities
• Candid reflections scribbled into hotel notebooks
• The lopsided grin of Malcolm hanging out the car window
• Gas station snacks and finish line tears
• Lost toenails, found courage
• The quiet satisfaction of lacing up - again, and again, and again