There’s a dream that lives quietly in the back of my mind:
One day, I’d love to run an ultra.
Not tomorrow.
Not this year.
Not in a way that requires burnout or proving anything.
Just someday — when it feels like an honest extension of the slow, patient work I’m doing now. Because here’s the truth. I stopped running for years.
Between caregiving, stress, grief, and survival mode, there simply wasn’t space for it. My world shrank down to getting through each day. And when I finally had room to breathe again, coming back to running didn’t feel easy or natural — it felt like starting all over.
So that’s what I’m doing. I’m beginning again — from the beginning. 5Ks. Then maybe a 10K. Then maybe something a little longer. And eventually, if my body and life say yes, maybe I’ll work my way toward that bigger dream.
We didn’t rush. We followed the path and let the miles unfold at their own pace.
What “slow miles” really look like for me right now
They aren’t big numbers.
They aren’t impressive screenshots.
They are:
• run-walk intervals
• short routes I know well
• reminding myself it’s okay to be “a beginner” again
• celebrating finishing instead of comparing
And most often, they happen on trails — tucked into the woods where the world feels quieter and wider at the same time. I love the uneven roots, the changing light, the smell of pine and damp earth. The woods slow me down in the best way — they ask me to pay attention, to lift my feet, to look up and notice where I am.
Slow miles give me permission to build a foundation, not a highlight reel. They whisper “Let’s do this gently. Let’s make it sustainable this time.” And that’s exactly what I want.
My favorite running partner
Most mornings, my running buddy trots along beside me, completely delighted that we’re out there at all. He doesn’t care how far we’re going. He doesn’t know whether we’re “training” or just jogging through another quiet morning. He is just happy:
- to move
- to explore
- to be together
Out on the trails, it feels like we’re both exactly where we’re meant to be, moving through trees, listening to birds, sharing the quiet. Trail miles don’t rush you. They invite you to belong to the moment.
Watching him reminds me that I don’t have to earn joy by hitting a certain distance. Joy can exist right here — at mile one, mile two, or even on the days when the best I can manage is a brisk walk.
Beginning again isn’t failure
Starting over used to feel embarrassing, like I had somehow erased all the progress I made before. But the more I run, the more I realize:
- my body remembers
- my patience is stronger now
- my reasons are deeper
- and starting small doesn’t erase anything — it honors the season I went through
Training right now looks like:
• short races that build confidence
• learning how to recover
• listening more than pushing
• stacking tiny wins
And honestly, those tiny wins feel huge.
This part matters just as much as the miles, the exhale afterwards.
What these rebuilding miles are teaching me
• I’m allowed to grow slowly
• consistency matters more than intensity
• rest is not quitting
• there is beauty in beginning again
And maybe the biggest lesson:
You don’t have to be fast to be brave. Sometimes you just have to be willing to start.
If you’re also starting over
Maybe you paused for years.
Maybe life pulled you in another direction.
Maybe you’re just now finding your way back to yourself.
You’re not behind.
You’re rebuilding and that’s powerful.
I don’t know when that ultra will happen. It may take years. But for now, I’m running softly through the woods, building strength one gentle mile at a time, with my favorite four-legged companion beside me.
And honestly, that feels like exactly where I’m meant to be.
The Enchanted Path 
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