I accomplished a goal I had set: I wanted to complete a marathon by 50 years old. I never would’ve expected to ever do that in my life. So there it was—goal achieved. I was in good physical and mental health, and I decided to take a short break from running to recover. I didn’t drop it fully and ran easy for the next few weeks. May and June were uneventful, but thoughts of what was next started forming. I finished my marathon, so aside from running longer distances, maybe I could improve my times. But I didn’t really have anything specific in mind.
In July, I ran my last 15K to date; it was my slowest. I wasn’t prepared—I took too much time off after the marathon. I knew I was unprepared, and my anxiety ran with it. The morning of the race, my anxiety was screaming. I was convinced that I was “going to die.”
I know, dramatic. That is how my anxiety runs—it always goes straight to the worst-case scenario. It spirals, and I was heading into that slump. I called my doctor when I arrived home from the race weekend. After I saw him, we decided to start Zoloft. I had also actively been in therapy since March 2024.
The year continued. My exercise routine slid, and my weight kept creeping up. I ran less, raced less, and I think my last race was in October. It was more walking than running by now. Winter arrived with its dark and cold. I used every excuse I could think of to not run or exercise, and the year ended.
We don’t know the future; I had no idea what 2025 would bring. I started with good intentions of getting back to exercise and routines. But old habits don’t die easily... It was too dark, too cold, it’s snowing, I’m hurt. The excuses won, and I continued my slide.
In March, my family got together to celebrate what would be Dad’s last birthday. It was probably one of the best moments of the year. I can’t remember the last time just the family was home. It felt right. It was also the last time, to date, that we were all together in our home. A few weeks later, Dad broke his hip.
