What Does A Runner Look Like?

She looks like a runner.

It was a simple comment. Casual. Probably not meant to carry much weight.

But it has stayed with me.

Because the person it was said about… doesn’t run.

She’s strong. She’s fit. She shows up for herself in ways that deserve respect. But running? That’s not her thing.

And yet—that’s what a runner looks like?

I haven’t been able to shake it.

Not because there’s anything wrong with her. But because of what it quietly suggests about me.

Because here’s the truth—I don’t look like what people picture when they think of a runner.

I’m not the image you see in ads or magazines. I don’t fit the mold that so many people have been taught to associate with speed, endurance, or strength.

And yet…

I’ve run over 200 races.
Nine marathons.
Countless miles in between.

I’ve shown up on the days when it felt easy—and the days when it felt impossible.
I’ve run through stress, through change, through seasons of growth and seasons of doubt.

Running is not something I look like.
It’s something I live.

And maybe that’s the part we’ve gotten wrong.

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that movement has a “look.”
That strength has a shape.
That being a runner is something you can determine with your eyes.

But being a runner isn’t about appearance.

It’s about choosing to show up.
It’s about putting one foot in front of the other—again and again—whether anyone is watching or not.
It’s about building something within yourself that no one else can define for you.

This season of my life has reminded me of that in a deeper way.

My body has changed.
My pace has changed.
My routines look different than they used to.

But none of that takes away from who I am.

If anything, it’s made me more certain.

Because being a runner was never about fitting into a box.

It’s about showing up—especially when it would be easier not to.
It’s about choosing to keep going, even when things feel different than they used to.

It’s about learning how to trust yourself in new seasons.

And maybe that’s what we should start recognizing when we look at someone and think—

She looks like a runner.

Not a body type.
Not a pace.
Not a number.

Just someone who knows who she is…
and isn’t afraid to keep showing up for it.

To keep showing up for herself.

To keep fueling what’s still there.

Jumping for Joy (and for Them)

This time of year always leaves me feeling a little melancholy. January and February carry too many hard anniversaries. On January 17, 2012, I lost my fabulous friend Joanna to colon cancer. On January 11, 2018, the world lost the amazing Rachel. And on February 25, 2022, we had to say goodbye to the always fun and quirky Catherine. Both Rachel and Catherine were taken far too soon by breast cancer.

Joanna and I met through swim team. Our daughters became fast friends, and our own friendship quickly followed. Her diagnosis came as a shock—she was incredibly active and took such good care of herself. During the last four years of her life, I was fortunate to be one of the people she spent a lot of time with. While that closeness made her passing even harder, I will always cherish our walks and talks.

Joanna was also a huge cheerleader in the early days of my running journey. She built up my confidence as I trained for my first race—a 5K on New Year’s Day 2012. She was so proud of me and promised she would be there to cheer me on at the next one. Sadly, that was not to be. Still, I carry her with me during every race I run.

Rachel was another friend I met through swim team, but I got to know her even better when I became a summer nanny for her four children. Rachel was smart, kind, and one of the most authentic people I have ever known. She never hesitated to tell you she loved you. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time, it was devastating, yet she fought fiercely to stay for her kids.

Rachel had a rare gift for seeing the good in people and appreciating even the smallest kindnesses. I think of her often, especially when I run or walk by her favorite bench near the lake. Sometimes I stop there for a moment, sit quietly, and spend a little time catching up with her.

I met Catherine through the running program at PR Run and Walk. When we first met, she too was battling breast cancer and was deeply involved with a charity called F.O.R.C.E. Catherine changed my life in early 2013 when she asked if I would consider running the Marine Corps Marathon that fall as a fundraiser. At the time, I hadn’t even run a half marathon, and my initial answer was no. But after talking it over with my husband and a close friend, I decided to take the leap.

That fall, I ran MCM—and then again the following year—as a fundraiser for Team F.O.R.C.E. Catherine thankfully went into remission, and we went on to share many adventures together, including the American Odyssey Relay, a 200-mile relay from Gettysburg to Washington, DC. Catherine loved yoga and often tried to convince me it would be a great addition to my routine. I always resisted, convinced it wasn’t for someone like me who struggled to sit still and be quiet. I know she would be thrilled to know I’m finally making space for it now.

While there is deep sadness in losing each of these women, I try to focus on how incredibly lucky I was to have known them. Each one brought something different and special into my life—something that shaped me in ways I still carry forward.

That’s where my photos come in.

At some point during a run, a walk, or a meaningful moment, I’ll jump and take a photo midair. It’s a small, joyful act—but for me, it’s intentional. That jump is a reminder that joy and grief can coexist. It’s my way of choosing life, movement, and gratitude, even while carrying loss. In those moments, I think of Joanna, Rachel, and Catherine—women who lived fully, encouraged boldly, and loved deeply.

When I jump, I’m not ignoring the sadness. I’m honoring them by celebrating the fact that I’m still here, still moving, still finding joy. I try to live in a way that reflects what they gave me—and sometimes that means quite literally taking a leap in their honor.

Learning to Start Again Without Motivation

The worst of perimenopause and menopause hit me right around the time the world shut down in 2020. Looking back, it was the perfect storm. Overnight, routines disappeared, uncertainty took over, and many of the habits I’d built and relied on for years slowly unraveled. Things that once felt automatic – movement, structure, self-care – suddenly felt heavy and optional.

Even now, years later, and despite feeling so much better physically, and mentally, I have struggled to fully return to those healthy habits. I kept telling myself that once the motivation came back, everything else would fall into place. But the truth is, the motivation just hasn’t shown up the way I expected it to. 

What I finally realized is that for where I am right now, discipline has to come first. Motivation can’t be the prerequisite anymore – it must be the result. I’m trusting that as I show up consistently, as I begin to see progress and feel more like myself again, the motivation will follow.

There’s a reason Nikes “Just Do It” campaign has stood the test of time. It’s simple, honest, and uncomfortable in the best way. Sometimes you don’t feel ready. Sometimes you don’t feel inspired. But you do it anyway.

I’m no longer allowing myself to sit around, waiting for motivation to magically appear, because experience has taught me that it doesn’t work that way for me. Instead, I’m choosing discipline – small, intentional actions done consistently, even on the days I don’t feel like it. To help keep that commitment front and center, I’ve  given myself a small physical reminder: something I wear on my wrist as a cue to follow through. 

This season isn’t about perfection or pushing too hard. It’s about rebuilding trust with myself, one disciplined choice at a time, and believing that motivation will meet me along the way.

Why I Strike a Superhero Pose on My Long Runs

At some point during most of my long runs, I stop, turn toward my phone, and strike what I lovingly call my superhero pose—hands on hips, chest lifted, standing tall. Sometimes I’m sweaty. Sometimes I’m tired. Sometimes I’m questioning every life choice that led me to this exact mile.

And every single time, I take the photo anyway.

The idea for this pose didn’t come from a running book or a coach. It actually came from an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. In the scene, one of the characters talks about “power posing”—standing in a confident, expansive posture for a short amount of time to change how you feel. The claim was that holding a superhero-style stance for just two minutes could increase testosterone, lower cortisol, and boost confidence.

Naturally, I was skeptical. Two minutes of standing still doesn’t exactly sound like a magic fix.

So I did what many of us do when something catches our attention: I researched it. And while the science isn’t perfect or unanimous, there is evidence suggesting that posture can influence mindset. Standing tall, taking up space, and opening your body can signal confidence to your brain—even if you don’t feel particularly confident in the moment.

Here’s the thing: I never stand in that pose for two minutes. Sometimes it’s ten seconds. Sometimes it’s just long enough to snap a photo and laugh at myself. But somehow, it still works.

Over time, the superhero pose has become a tradition—my own quiet ritual during long runs. It’s a pause that says, Look at you. You’re doing this. It’s a reminder that showing up matters, even when the run isn’t perfect, even when my body feels different than it used to.

And in the last few years, my body has changed—dramatically. Perimenopause and menopause brought exhaustion, weight gain, brain fog, and a sense of disconnect that I wasn’t prepared for. I didn’t always recognize the runner staring back at me in the mirror. Some days, I still don’t.

There are moments—mid-run, mid-mile, mid-thought—when I ask myself why I keep pushing. Why I keep training. Why I keep lacing up when things feel harder than they used to.

The answer isn’t about pace or distance or race goals anymore.

I keep going because running helps me feel like me.

The superhero pose is my way of honoring that. It’s not about pretending I’m invincible or strong all the time. It’s about acknowledging resilience. About standing tall in a body that’s changing. About claiming pride in the effort, not just the outcome.

So yes, I’ll keep stopping on my long runs. I’ll keep striking that pose. I’ll keep reminding myself—on tired legs and uncertain days—that strength doesn’t disappear just because things change.

Sometimes, strength looks like simply showing up… and standing tall long enough to remember who you are.

Starting Over—Again!

Since the fall of 2019, I’ve been determined to complete my 10th marathon. Each time I signed up, though, life threw a new obstacle in my path. Turning 51 brought unexpected changes—perimenopause and menopause—that left me exhausted, gaining weight, and struggling to recognize myself. My energy was low, my mind felt foggy, and I wondered if I’d ever feel like the runner I once was again.

Then the pandemic hit, shutting down races and routines. In those early months, I suffered a significant ankle sprain, followed later by Covid. Somewhere in the chaos, I became anemic, sprained my ankle again, and lost my motivation for the gym. Just as things finally seemed to be improving, a serious knee injury sidelined me for nearly a year.

Despite all of this, I refused to give up. I kept signing up for marathons—and even a few 50Ks—but each time, something went wrong. I found myself stuck in a cycle of disappointment and self-criticism. Not making it to the start line became a pattern, and with every missed opportunity, I grew harder on myself.

A few weeks ago, something shifted. I realized I’d lost sight of the basics—both physically and mentally. Instead of focusing on what I couldn’t do, I chose to start fresh. Now, I’m training for a 5K, just like I did for my very first race on January 1, 2012. My hope is that once I cross that finish line, I’ll feel strong enough to move on to a 10K, then a 10-miler, a half marathon, and eventually, marathon number ten.

This time, I’m celebrating every step forward. I’m learning to be patient with myself, to honor the progress I make, and to remember that every new beginning is a victory. If you’re facing your own setbacks, know this: starting over isn’t a failure—it’s a courageous choice. Progress is possible, one step at a time.

RECHARGE

Today I did something I have only done one other time since I started racing 7 ½ years ago. I sat out a race. This morning I was supposed to be up and out of the house by 4:30am to head to Annapolis to do the 10-miler, but yesterday I decided I just couldn’t do it. I have been feeling very weary, not so much physically, but mentally. This weariness has impacted all aspects of my life including my athletic performance, my weight, my sleep and how I interact with the people around me.

I think there comes a time in everyone’s life when they find themselves in a situation that they have no control over and that’s where I’m at right now. Extricating myself from it doesn’t feel like an option, but it’s taken a heavy toll on my heart and my mind. I’m still working on a healthy way to cope with my feelings. My physical activity helps, especially my time outdoors and throwing some weight around at CrossFit. With time, I expect I will figure things out, but it’s a process and I have to be patient with myself.

Some may wonder why I’m sharing this. Well, based on a few comments I’ve heard lately, some overheard, I know that I have not always done the best job of hiding my weariness. To those folks, I ask that you too be patient as I work through the best way for me to deal with my feelings. I need love and support, not judgement.

Instead of running the Annapolis 10-miler today, I took some time to recharge. I didn’t want to worry about how many steps I got so I left my Garmin on the nightstand. I savored a sweet tea and took the dog for a walk. After that I enjoyed an early dinner with my always supportive husband and a stroll through beautiful Meadowlark Gardens.

Tomorrow is a new day and I got this!

Celebrate!

I love celebrating my birthday which will be of no surprise to the people that know me best. What might be a surprise is the reason I enjoy celebrating my birthday so much. A long time ago 15-year-old me sat in the dark on the verge of making a decision that I would not be able to come back from. The despair I was feeling at that moment was so great that I could think of only one way to find peace. I had a plan in place and was very close to following through with it, but somehow a glimmer of hope shone through and I decided to push forward.

Most years on my birthday I spend some time reflecting on all that I would’ve missed if I had made a different decision on that night so long ago. I would’ve missed out on meeting a man who loves me, baggage and all. I would’ve missed out on being the mother of two amazing kids who make me proud every day. I would’ve missed out on crossing the finish line of my first marathon as well as pushing an amazing young man in his first marathon. I would’ve missed out on teaching hundreds of children in my years as an early childhood educator. I would’ve missed out on more wonderful friendships than I can count, people who enrich my life in so many ways. There are many simpler things that I would’ve missed out on too-sunrises and sunsets, puppy kisses, the sound of waves lapping on the shore, mountain vistas, warm bread with butter, getting on a good sweat after a challenging workout, and so much more.

Life is worth celebrating, not just today, but every day! 78E1803B-9229-40BA-AD04-01B25B5FE924

JUST A DOG

Our 15 year old dog Molly passed away back in April of 2013. She was a faithful companion who adored our kids. We got her when they were small and they grew up together. When Courtney, our youngest, left for college in the fall of 2012 I think Molly felt just as lost as I did. Our house was suddenly very quiet after years of being the gathering place for our kids and their friends.

Molly was a good companion for me after Courtney headed to Charlottesville. She greeted me at the door each day when I came home and followed me around the house, grateful when I settled somewhere so that she could lay down at my feet and rest her achy joints. It was no surprise when she passed away in her sleep and I found her that April morning. I definitely felt sad, but she had lived a good life and I knew she was running like the wind in heaven on her greyhound legs (she was half collie and half greyhound). The house was lonely without her and about a week after she passed, during my spring break, I told Rich I was ready for another dog. He didn’t seem surprised and his only request was that we get a puppy and that we name it Scooter. You’ll have to ask him why he chose Scooter. Within a week of this conversation I had done some research, found a reputable breeder and put a deposit down on a Pembroke welsh corgi puppy.

About six weeks later Courtney and I drove to Midlothian to pick up our little bundle who I had picked out a few weeks prior. “Blue Ribbon Boy” became Skooter Lawson. Not sure why I changed that c to a k, but it seemed appropriate. He settled into our family easily and Courtney cared for him in those first few weeks until I got out of school for the summer. He bonded with her during that time and whenever we mentioned her name from then on, his ears would perk up and he would run to the door to see if she was coming.

The thing that was different about Skooter was that he was our dog, meaning Rich and I. Joshua and Courtney would come home and comment on how much we spoiled him compared to Molly. I would remind them that when Molly was with us most of my time and and energy was spent caring for them and their dad was active duty Army and gone quite a bit!

Skooter’s arrival in my life came at the perfect time. I was beginning to form some ideas about what I wanted to do with my new found free time and I was also feeling a strong need to live a more authentic life. As I was getting older I felt that I had spent too much time feeling less than because of circumstance I could not control and I knew it was time to be comfortable in my own skin everywhere and not just with those closest to me.

At this point you may be wondering what all this has to do with Skooter, but the thing is that Skooter was such a happy, silly dog. He made me laugh every day and I stopped taking myself too seriously. I am pretty sure that the very first selfie I ever took was with Skooter. He and I used to go for a walk every morning when I knew the neighborhood kids would be at the bus stop and I stopped worrying about my hair and whether or not I had makeup on before leaving the house. He didn’t care and no one else seemed to care either. He gave me the confidence to approach people that I did not know.  Everyone was drawn to Skooter and I met many of my neighbors because of him. If I was sad he would lay by me with his head on my lap, looking at me with his big brown eyes until I gave in and threw his ball or frisbee a few times. Before I knew it I was smiling and probably getting my camera to take a selfie!

My life has changed so much since the day we brought Skooter home. I have become a dedicated runner and coach. I quit a job that was no longer a good fit for me. My circle of friends has expanded in a way that I never could have imagined and they are people who love me in spite of my flaws, just like Skooter did. I’ve come a long way and I am grateful for the sweet little dog that helped me get there.

THE SAGA OF THE TRAINING BAR

So, this morning was my third CrossFit workout. Before I left the house I looked on the calendar to see what the workout was going to be. One of the things we were going to be doing was box jumps and I felt like I could handle that, but the other thing, something called a hang power clean made me a little nervous. I didn’t even know what it was but I had a bad feeling. Like we do with anything we don’t know about nowadays I googled it. I watched a couple of videos and it was confirmed to me that this was going to be a difficult move for me to get right. Fortunately, I had confidence in the patience and knowledge of the coach that would be overseeing the class and I headed out the door. I made sure to arrive a few minutes early so that I could watch folks in the earlier class in the hopes that maybe I could grasp at least part of the move. Sadly, this did not work in my favor and I headed into the class with a lump in my stomach, feeling very nervous. I wish I could tell you that some miracle happened and it suddenly became perfectly clear and my body did exactly what I needed it to do, but that was definitely not the case. I ended up having to do a modified version with just the training bar. This was OK with me though, because it’s more important for me to use proper form and learn how to do the moves correctly then it is for me to lift a lot of weight or do a lot of reps. Anyway, I was moving through the work out at my own speed when suddenly a voice from behind me said, “At least I’m not using the training bar!” Immediately, I turned to this person and said “Hey! I’m using a training bar!” I got no response and tried to go on with my workout. Unfortunately I let this person’s words get in my head, which surprised me because I am usually a bit thicker skinned. They probably weren’t even referring to me and just weren’t thinking about what they were saying, but the words cut just the same. I struggled even harder with the rest of the work out and found myself close to tears by the time it was over. When I walked out of the CrossFit area I had almost convinced myself that CrossFit wasn’t for me. ALMOST. You see, when I signed up at Halo I made a commitment to myself. I committed to doing CrossFit three days a week for a month before I even thought about trying something different. I have tried a lot of things to help improve my running and some of them have worked, but I knew I needed something more to help me achieve the goals I have set for myself and I believe CrossFit could be just what I have been looking for. So, for now, I may be the only one in the class doing the modified version of an exercise and possibly the only one using the training bar without weight, but that’s okay, as long as I keep coming back. 11f0d078-39f7-40ba-a194-88eccf88b5a4

My Year In Skirt Sports

2018 got off to a great start when I was chosen as a Skirt Sports Ambassador. When I first started running I wasn’t comfortable in the traditional running shorts that I was seeing in most stores. I had a pooch after two C-Sections and I had “tiger stripes” on my thighs. Honestly, I cannot remember how I discovered Skirt Sports, but after purchasing my first one and taking it for a spin, I was hooked! I have worn small, medium and large and felt great in every skirt I’ve worn. As my running progressed, I almost always turned to one of my skirts for my races. I wore my favorite gray jaguar skirt for my very first marathon and it was perfect. I felt fit and confident and ready to take on a challenging new distance.

In 2018 I ran 29 races and I work Skirt Sports for just about every one of them. The Jaguar skirt is my absolute favorite and I want it in all the colors! When the temps are cooler I tend to turn to one of my Tough Girls. Becoming a Skirt Sports Ambassador has been such a privilege! This past year as I have learned more about the products I have even branched out and purchased tights, capris and shorts (though the Jaguar skirt is always going to be my favorite!). I have also introduced a number of women in my running group to all that is SKIRT!

2018 was a year of confidence building for me, and Skirt Sports played a big part of that for me. I am excited to see what Skirt Sports and I will achieve in 2019!

If you want to see if Skirt Sports is just what you need to gain the confidence you’re looking for to achieve your fitness goals, check them out at http://www.skirtsports.com! Use code 504LAWS to save 15% on any regularly priced merchandise.