Running, Like Gardening, Is a Lesson in Presence

The good old days, when running was effortless and triathlons were easy. When strapping on my shoes and stepping out for miles was accomplished with no thought whatsoever. I didn't have to think about pace (always less than 8min/miles), stamina, or whether or not I had enough gas. My body was conditioned, sturdy, and brimming with energy.

Running faded into the background, buried beneath pregnancy, tiny humans, sleep deprivation, and the mental load of raising a family. The energy I once poured into training was redirected into keeping small people alive, chasing toddlers, juggling work, and managing a million responsibilities. My running shoes were shoved to the back of the pantry, collecting dust.

For years, I promised myself, I’ll get back to it. No problem.

And now, someday is here.

The Reality of Returning

I thought I’d fall right back into it. That I’d find my rhythm in just a few runs. That I’d feel strong again in no time. I assumed muscle memory would take over, that my body would simply remember.

But nope. It’s different now.

My legs feel heavier. My lungs burn faster. My pace isn’t what it used to be. Runs that once felt like a warm-up now demand everything I’ve got. And some days, just getting out the door is the hardest part.

For a while, I fought it. I pushed harder. I got frustrated when my body didn’t respond the way I wanted it to. I kept looking back at who I used to be, comparing this version of me to the one from years ago.

But here’s the thing—I’m not her anymore.

Running & Gardening: Two Lessons in Presence

I used to think running was about getting better, getting faster, getting stronger. But now, I realize it’s about showing up.

And, ironically, that’s the same thing gardening has been teaching me.

When I started Wild Rabbit Blooms, I quickly discovered that you can’t control growth—only nurture it.

You plant seeds, water them, and wait. Some bloom quickly, reaching for the sun with urgency. Others take their time, working quietly underground before they finally emerge.

And some? They never bloom at all.

Then, even after they do bloom, you cut them. You arrange them. And they last a week at most.

It’s fleeting. But that doesn’t make it any less beautiful.

Kristen Griffith-VanderYacht: "Flowers are not supposed to last" from the Drew Barrymore Show

Embracing Who I Am Now

I’d be lying if I said this shift was easy.

There are still mornings when I cry before a run (especially in New England winters❄️), when I want to skip the slow progress and just be back. I still have runs where I catch myself thinking, Why is this so much harder than it used to be?

But what I’m learning—through running, through gardening, through being—is that this version of me is worth celebrating, too.

I’m not chasing an earlier version of myself anymore. I’m showing up for the person I am today.

Some days, that means reframing success. Maybe it’s not about miles or pace—maybe it’s simply about moving.

Other days, it’s about celebrating what I can do instead of mourning what I used to do. Because this body—the one that’s slower, heavier, working harder than it used to—is also the same body that carried life, that adapted, that kept going even when I didn’t think it could.

And that? That deserves respect.

So as I head out for my long run (yay for better weather!), I'll keep reminding myself:

I'm not running to prove anything. I'm running for my health and to be present.

Because this season, this me, this moment, it's worth showing up for.

What About You?

Where in your life are you learning to show up as who you are now, instead of chasing who you used to be?

Let’s talk—I’d love to hear your thoughts. 💬🏃‍♀️🌸