Not because I didn’t want it—but because it felt so far out of reach.
Now? It’s just what happens when I show up.
Day after day. Quietly. Consistently. Huge thanks to my guy Chris Henry for jumping in last minute and setting the pace. Having someone beside you who believes in the effort makes all the difference. Couldn’t have asked for a better way to close out the year.
And for the first time in over a year… I’m not registered for a single race. We’ll see how long that lasts. 😅
For now, I’m just letting the work speak for itself.
This time last year, I was standing in Wilmington having just finished my first 10K. It felt big then. It felt like something to hold on to.
A year later, I came back and ran those same streets again—but this time I followed the course all the way to 13.1.
When I started this year, the goal was simple: run a half marathon. Somehow, it turned into two. Myrtle Beach in March was my first, and I crossed that finish line at a 2:19—proud to have done the thing. Wilmington in December told a very different story. I finished in 1:55–and I felt like I completely different runner.
A 25-minute difference doesn’t come from luck. It comes from showing up consistently and learning to trust the process instead of fighting it. Somewhere along the way, I stopped forcing the pace and started flowing with it. My stride feels natural now. It shows in my cardio fitness and vO2 max.
I’m not the same runner I was a year ago. And that’s the part that matters most. Progress doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it just waits patiently for you to come back and show up stronger, steadier, and ready.
Running the Thanksgiving Turkey Day Run in Downtown Greenville has quickly become one of my favorite holiday rituals. While most people ease into the morning with warm coffee and the Macy’s parade, more than 8,000 runners gather for the annual Trees Upstate Turkey Day Run, lining up shoulder to shoulder, shaking off the cold, and buzzing with that “let’s do this” race-day energy.
For years, this race was something I did purely for fun, with no real training or expectations. I’d show up and run/walk the 5K course (not the longer 8K route) and call it a morning.
But this year was different.
This year, I came with a goal.
It’s officially been one year since I decided to train as a competitive runner—one year since I stopped winging it and started building real consistency. And on Thanksgiving morning, those steady miles and discipline all showed up in one massive way:
A new PR—14 minutes faster than last year. 🏁 40:15 8K
Running in Gratitude
If Thanksgiving has a theme, it’s gratitude. And this year, that theme felt especially real for me.
As I crossed the finish line and caught my breath, I felt gratitude move through me in a way I wasn’t expecting.
I’m grateful for strong legs that have carried me through every mile of training.
I’m grateful for a calm, grounded mind that now works with me instead of against me.
I’m grateful for the clarity and peace that running continues to create in my life—mile by mile, week by week.
This sport has become more than exercise. It’s become a space where I build the version of me I want to bring into the rest of my life.
This PR Isn’t the Finish Line
A personal record feels amazing—but it’s not the end of anything. If anything, it’s just another check-in point along the journey.
I’m stronger than I was last year. More confident and more capable. And I have more belief than I ever had before.
But before all that, I’m letting myself pause for a moment to acknowledge the progress and honor the work I’ve put in. And to remind myself that the path I’m on is the right one.
This fall, mine was about rhythm. The kind that comes from showing up each week and never quite knowing who you’ll be standing beside. I played in both sessions of the City of Greenville Parks & Recreation 3.5 Men’s Doubles Ladder Pickleball League, each one lasting four weeks. With no set partners, every match was a fresh opportunity, presenting numerous micro-decisions to be made right on the court.
The first session came together easily. I started to recognize familiar faces and patterns, finding my footing with whoever I happened to be paired with. I found that if I just locked in on my serve and return placement, the rest of the rally fell right into place. Each point instilled more and more confidence. By the end of those four weeks, I had worked my way into a silver medal finish.
The second session felt a little different. The competition got tighter. The points got longer. And I had to learn how to adapt faster, reading new partners and finding ways to connect on the fly. Some days everything clicked, and others it didn’t. But even when the results didn’t go my way, I left feeling sharper and more grounded. I had a rhythm that I had never felt before. That session ended with a bronze medal and a reminder that progress doesn’t always look like winning on the scoreboard.
That’s what I love about pickleball. It teaches patience and awareness. It forces you to adjust, to reset, to keep learning. You can’t fake chemistry, and you can’t control every point. And you certainly can’t control your doubles partner! What you can do is focus on what you can control, play your game with calm confidence, communicate effectively, and trust that something good will come from the effort.
Two sessions. Two medals. A season of growth.
Here’s to showing up again. See you next season, City of GVL Pickleball!
Last year, I left my full-time agency job. Let’s be honest… it drained me more than it grew me. Without anything lined up, letting go was scary… but necessary. I didn’t know what would fill the space.
Today, that space is filled with things that light me up. I’ve been able to challenge myself in ways I never thought possible. This morning, the challenge was on the pickleball court. And the joy was found in the journey.
It wasn’t easy. It was a grind.
There were some tough losses. Horrendous points.
There was even a moment I lost my cool out of frustration and threw my paddle into the net (I later apologized to my opponent—it was completely uncalled for).
But that’s why you keep fighting.
You don’t let one bad point—or one bad call—dictate the whole game. Or in my case, the whole day.
Sometimes you have to take the L on the chin and come back swinging.
Sometimes… you pickle the next game. 🙂↕️
Today, I found a way to come back and win the bronze medal.
Love the feel!!!
