It’s been months since I’ve written here. While social media tends to pull most of the chatter these days, this quiet corner of the internet still feels like home when I need room for longer thoughts.
The last time I posted, it was about an 8K race I ran in June. I experimented with a more active writing style—what my instructor calls showing rather than telling. Instead of simply saying “the race was hard,” I tried to pull you into the experience: the sights and sounds along the course, the exchanges with spectators and fellow runners, and that final push toward the finish line. The more I practice writing this way, the more natural it feels. It’s still very much a work in progress, but when the words start to breathe on the page, it feels like magic.
Over the past year, I’ve been sifting through old memories, photos, blog posts, journals—even medical records—trying to piece together a larger story of survival. At its core, the story is about grief and resilience, but it also draws on the years when marathon running provided me the structure and strength to overcome what life kept dishing out.
Along the way, I’ve taken memoir-writing classes, welcomed feedback (even the hard kind), and shaped something I’m proud of. It’s not quite ready for the world yet; for now, it’s with a few trusted readers for early review and fine-tuning. But with a little luck—and a lot more patience—I hope to soon have a book ready to send out in search of a publisher.
And here I am, dusting off this quiet little corner of the internet. If you’ve found your way here—whether you’ve been reading for years or just stumbled in—thank you for keeping me company. Sometimes that’s all a writer really needs.
The throbbing continued. I kept checking to see if he had returned to torture me some more but he was no where in sight. Without my epi-pen on my person, I thanked God that it was a wasp and not a honey bee. Then I turned back (0.15 miles early), reminding myself that it was “okay” and trying to focus on the soreness in my quads as I tried to continue running. The lingering soreness was now a gift as I tried to divert my attention from one pain to another. Upon reaching my car, I immediately went to get some ice on my leg.