Humble Progress

There are seasons when life pulls you one direction—deep into routine, motherhood, work, relationships—and your focus narrows to pure survival. I’ve spent the last two years missing a dedication to the gym I once had, I had spent 2 years rebuilding strength layer by layer post c section and building a “mom strength”, showing up even when it was inconvenient, even when I was slower, weaker, more tired than I wanted to admit. But today, as I laced back up and ran again, I feel thankful. I feel strong. I feel proud. I feel like I’m finally returning to a part of me that’s been patiently waiting for me to be ready.

This week, I ran six miles in two days—something I haven’t been able to say in a long time. Not all at once, not effortlessly, but I did it. After more than two years my body remembered how to really move at a pace set just for me. How to push, how to breathe, how to carry me forward.

And more than anything, I’m grateful.

I am grateful that my body gives me the chance to start again.

Grateful that muscles still respond.

Grateful that lungs learn again.

Grateful that discipline, not perfection, is what truly brings results.

It’s not easy. There’s no pretending it is. Running again feels awkward, humbling, and sweaty in ways that remind me that growth is earned—not entitled. But those miles meant something bigger than cardio. They represented forward motion—in health, in motherhood, in confidence, and in honoring the woman I want my kids to watch me become and the woman I want my husband to come home to.

Motherhood shifted my body, and that’s okay. I certainly don’t look like the three-sport competitive athlete I once was. Three major knee surgeries later, I’m realistic—speed isn’t the same, explosiveness isn’t the same, and I know I’ll never return to that physical form. But the real beauty of it all is that I don’t need to.

Because this version of me is still capable.

Capable of power.

Capable of endurance.

Capable of showing up in ways that matter.

I’ve never been “out of shape,” but my definition of fitness has changed. Fitness used to mean competition—PRs, state tourneys, schedules, rankings, and the god awful circuit that Coach Dad called “train wrecks”. But now, it means participation.

It’s hiking mountaintops with girlfriends every summer and laughing through steep switchbacks, then running bases as the T-ball coach with my kids.

It’s stomping through muskegs with my husband in the fall, hauling gear, weaving through uneven ground, soaking wet but happy and determined.

It’s chasing my kids down trails, letting them run ahead just to see their joy when I catch up.

It’s swimming with them back to shore or throwing them on my back because that’s what motherhood calls for in the moment.

That takes strength, too.

A different kind.

A quieter kind.

Running again isn’t about returning to who I used to be—it’s about adding to who I currently am. I have maintained a foundation of strength but running is building endurance on top of it.

I don’t need to be the fastest version of me anymore. I just want to be the strongest version of me right now.

Strong for my kids.

Steady for myself.

And someone my husband looks at proudly—not because of the miles logged, but because of the grit it takes to begin again.

This version fits my life.

And I’m grateful for every mile, every trail, every climb, and every piece of strength motherhood has etched into me. Progress not perfection.