5 Weeks Post-op

Yesterday marked five weeks since I broke my tibia and fibula, and four weeks since surgery. Somehow the time has both flown by and dragged on—with each day feeling like its own little chapter.

The first couple of weeks were a haze. I depended on the meds, which kept me in a fog and turned my emotions into something unpredictable—moody, sad, and not quite myself. But here I am now, over a week med-free, and feeling much more grounded and clear.

I’m still wearing my boot, partly out of caution and partly because there’s a whole lot of hardware in my ankle settling into its new home. Will I set off airport security alarms one day? I can’t wait to find out.

One of the hardest parts has been the loss of independence—especially not being able to drive. But I’m beyond grateful for my daughters, my husband, and my friends who have hauled me, helped me, and held me up in ways I didn’t even know I’d need.

Healing has a way of slowing life down, forcing us to sit with ourselves, and showing us who shows up. And even on the hardest days, I’m reminded:

Every setback is just a plot twist—not the end of the story. Keep going. Your comeback is already in motion.

PS - can you believe an ant got in my boot and bit me??

When the Streak Breaks

1,039 days.

That’s how long my “at least a mile a day” running streak lasted. Every single day for nearly three years, I laced up — rain or shine, tired or energized — and put one foot in front of the other. Until two weeks ago.

A broken tibia and fibula in my right leg brought the streak to a sudden stop. It’s been two weeks since the break and one week since surgery. I’m trying hard not to feel down, but it’s not easy. I’m a fairly active person — always on the go, always moving — and being still feels unnatural.

Maybe this is God’s way of making me slow down. Maybe it’s a reminder that rest has value too.

As I wrote in my last post, I was gearing up to start training for my 14th marathon. I felt strong, confident, and ready. My speed was improving, my training plan was solid, and I was excited to test it all in a half marathon this past Sunday.

But of course… I didn’t run.

Instead, I’m learning a different kind of endurance — the kind that doesn’t involve miles but patience, healing, and trust. My marathon plans are now deferred to 2027, giving me a year to rebuild and, as the saying goes, get “back on track.”

For now, I’m counting small victories: healing progress, movement returning, and faith that this pause will eventually lead to a stronger start line.

I just signed up for my 14th marathon

Yes, I did. Official training begins in November, but since I’ve got a half marathon coming up in October, the journey has already begun. Having these races ahead of me feels grounding, especially right now.

My heart has been heavy with recent events. Running has always been a place where I process, reflect, and carry both the hard and the hopeful. The miles don’t make the pain disappear, but they do remind me that forward motion—one step, one breath at a time—is still possible.

Brenham on the Run is still very much alive, and I’m so grateful for it. I've even added a free Saturday run group, a space where runners of all paces can show up, be accountable, and share in the simple gift of running together. I miss my old running group, but this new chapter is hopeful in helping to bring that sense of community back.

This marathon journey feels extra meaningful, too. I’ll be turning 50 years old during taper time. To me, that milestone isn’t about slowing down—it’s about honoring the years behind me while leaning with hope into what’s ahead. If 13 marathons have taught me anything, it’s this: planning is key, but so is heart. The miles matter, the schedules help, but it’s the people, the moments, and the reasons we lace up that carry us through.

Here’s to turning 50 with gratitude and strength

See you on the run. 🏃‍♀️✨