Starting Again, Gently

The past two weeks have felt like a beautiful reminder that progress doesn't have to be rushed.

After taking some time off to let my ankle fully settle down, I eased back into running instead of trying to pick up where I left off.

My first run back happened to be in the rain, and instead of seeing it as an obstacle, it became one of the most refreshing runs I've had. I shortened my route, experimented with longer running intervals, and was reminded that taking the time to recover had absolutely been the right decision.

A few days later, I reached a new milestone.

I completed ten rounds of one minute running and one minute walking—for a total of 10 minutes of running. More importantly, I felt great the entire time.

I finished with my usual cooldown walk, brain retraining, tapping, declarations, and visualization, and couldn't wait to get out there again.

Then this week brought one more unexpected lesson.

I ended up choosing to run instead of playing pickleball because spending a little extra time with Miss Coconut simply sounded more fun. Before I even left the house, I caught an old familiar pattern creeping in—the voice that wanted to know if today should be the day I did more than ten minutes.

This time, I smiled.

I reminded myself that growth doesn't have to mean constant increases. I had consciously chosen to rebuild this running practice slowly, steadily, and without urgency.

So I made a promise to myself:

If I ran ten minutes again, wonderful.

If my body wanted less, that would be wonderful too.

During the run, another old pattern surfaced.

I noticed myself scanning my body, looking for signs that something might be wrong. As I walked between intervals, I used those moments to interrupt the pattern and reconnect with what I knew to be true.

Then I had an unexpected realization.

For years, I'd been comparing how my body feels now to previous times I'd "gotten back into shape." But every other break from exercise in my life had only lasted a few months.

This time?

It had been more than eight years.

Of course my body feels different.

Of course rebuilding takes patience.

That realization replaced judgment with compassion.

It also made me realize how much deeper my understanding will be as a coach. I'll be able to genuinely appreciate what it feels like to start over after years away, not just after a short break.

I finished my ten rounds feeling grateful, energized, and excited.

And then I made one final decision.

I stopped.

Not because I had to.

Because I wanted to honor the balance that has gotten me this far.

There will be plenty of time to build more capacity.

Right now, I'm learning that recovery, patience, and consistency are every bit as important as the running itself.

The goal isn't to see how quickly I can improve.

The goal is to create a running practice that I genuinely love—and one that I can enjoy for years to come.

A few reflections for you...

• Have you ever realized you were comparing your current season of life to a version of yourself with completely different circumstances?

• Where might patience create more lasting progress than pushing harder?

• What's one old pattern you've noticed lately that you're learning to replace with something kinder?

I'd love to hear your reflections. ❤️