Last year, I claimed DEEP as my word of intention for 2022. While the year was true to that word in a lot of ways, if I had to sum up 2022 in one word, it would be TRANSITION. We tackled several different transitions this year: getting a pet, exploring school options, embracing my call to write, just to name a few. Of course, those are the transitions we chose—the world threw us several others to tackle as well. Here’s a look at what I think are the ten best things about 2022.

1—Bringing Home the Puppy

The puppy was the hardest transition of our year. There were times when I thought bringing home a puppy was the biggest mistake we had ever made. There was even a moment when I wasn’t sure my marriage would survive the puppy. I had no idea raising a puppy would be harder than raising a child, but in so many ways it is. That being said, once D found the right training program for this little stuffed animal of ours, we turned a new corner. Leonardo ‘dawg Vinci Rowe is the very best thing that has happened to our little family of four.

2—The World Mostly Went Back to Normal

2022 began with retreats being cancelled, masks still required, and all of us wondering if life would ever return to the way it once was. But, by August, the four of us had all had Covid, we left home without masks, and we had calendars that were more full than we knew how to handle. David has even gone back to the office—on the train—several times a month. For better or worse, the world is back in full force. It’s been hard at times, but it also feels really good to be in person for meetings, go to yoga twice a week, occasionally eat out at restaurants, and not worry about whether or not I have a mask in the car before I walk out the front door.

3—Reaffirming Our Commitment to Homeschool

In April of last year, we thought the girls would be attending a hybrid school beginning in the Fall. Just a few weeks before classes were to begin, the school closed. We were heartbroken. And shellshocked. All of the hours I spent researching options seemed like nothing but a waste of time. I pivoted and replanned our school year, and it’s been a fantastic experience for all of us. We’ve found a few ways for the girls to regularly connect with other kids and teachers outside the home, they’ve gotten over their desire to “go to school”, and I realized it is possible to balance homeschooling and writing at the same time.

4—The Kids Went to Camp Gramma

Until 2022, my kids have never slept away from home without me. This summer, they stayed an entire week with my parents. One kid was even sick the whole time she was there. They had a blast anyway, they had endless playdates with cousins, they kayaked in the local lake, and learned that Gramma and Grandpa are even cooler than Mom and Dad. We’re hoping to make it an annual event.

5—I Claimed My Calling as Writer

Twelve years ago, I dreamed of this day. So many great things happened for my writing life in 2022. I took three overnight trips alone, where I had a chance to sleep in, breathe deep, and think deep thoughts without getting interrupted. I started getting paid to write, from two external publications and also through Substack. I began the early stages of writing a book. Those early stages have looked like a ton of drafting, reading old material, typing old journals, and a lot of random musings. It took me all year, but I think I finally have a good idea about the narrative direction I want to take. But perhaps most importantly, 2023 was the year I actually called myself a Writer on all those forms you have to fill out asking what your occupation is. There’s no going back now.

6—My Breast Exams Came Back Clear

After some weird discharge out of my right breast, I saw a breast specialist this year. After a mammogram, several exams, and even an MRI, I received confirmation that there’s nothing to be concerned about. My doctors have been incredible at taking me seriously and listening to my fears. Because of my family history with breast cancer, I’ve been moved to the “higher-risk” category so they can keep a closer eye on me. Early prevention is key, and I’m so grateful to have an excellent team of doctors in my court.

7—My Book Club

I’ve written about my book club before. 2023 was the first year since 2019 that we met without interruption. It is the very best part of every single month. They challenge me to read books I wouldn’t otherwise read. They open my mind to perspectives I wouldn’t otherwise have. We share food together. We drink wine, cocktails, and tea together. And through conversation about books and life in general, we share life together. Everyone needs a book club like mine.

8—I Began Tracking my Menstrual Cycle

This may be the single most life-changing thing that happened last year. Well, next to the dog. Since coming off of birth control after the birth of my second child, I have tried to get better in tune with my body. I’ve been reading about creativity and the menstrual cycle for several years now, so when I discovered Nicole Gulotta’s Writing Cycle e-course, I eagerly jumped all in. By paying attention to the time of month, I learned how my energy shifts and changes throughout the month. When I take the time to plan at the beginning of my cycle, and give myself the grace to go where the energy is, I feel less scattered and more creative as the month goes on.

9—I Ran a 5K!

Last year, I shared a little about how I wanted to be a runner. I continued my training, at what felt like a snail’s pace throughout the winter. When I learned my mom would be visiting in June, I asked if she wanted to run a 5K with me. When she said yes, I knew I was locked in and couldn’t get out of it. She was in far better shape than I, but she pushed me to do it. She ran beside me every step of the way. When my calf felt like it was locking up, she slowed down with me and walked a bit. And when we crossed over that finish line, I felt like I could tackle anything. I injured my calf during that run, and haven’t gotten back out on the trail ever since, but I will forever remember the day I ran a 5K with my mom as being one of the very best days of my life.

10—I Didn’t Give Up

In the 42 years that I’ve lived on this earth, discipline has always been my weakness. When things got hard or frustrating, I tended to walk away and started something new instead. 2022 taught me that while sometimes walking away is the best thing we can do, often we need to dig our heels in and keep on keeping on. Even when it feels harder than we can bear. Through schedule changes, injured body parts, more sickness than we’ve had in many years, too many rejections to count, and edits that brought me to tears, I didn’t give up. I kept running. I kept writing. I kept homeschooling. I called doctors. I argued for better care. I called on people to help when I needed it. I demanded time for myself. I dug my heels in.

I pull the laces on my shoes, looping one around the other to tie them in a bow. The laces dance as my feet hit the ground. The sun is out and the ground is dry—a rare occurrence for November in New England—so I go for a run outside. I open Spotify, find a playlist called “Run” and hit play. I start my brisk five minute walk to warm-up. My C25K App dings, telling me it’s time to run. I pick up the pace and begin the day’s planned workout—a 25-minute run.

After eight minutes of running it feels like I can do no more. I convince myself to keep running for two more minutes before it feels like my heart will give out. I slow to a brisk walk and challenge myself to walk only one minute before I begin to run again. I run three more minutes, making it just past one mile, before I give up and walk once again.

I remember this being easier, I think to myself. My mind starts its sabotage of self-doubting thoughts. I started this runner's journey back in August. I thought for sure I’d be ready to run a 5K by now. The plan is only eight weeks! I’ve been running (walking) for ten weeks now and I don’t even feel like I can complete week six. I wonder if I should go back to the beginning and start at week one. Will it feel more rewarding then?

The last time I considered myself a runner was in 2006. I was twenty-five and in my third year of law school in Ohio. My marriage was full of animosity and I was full of self-loathing and doubt. I had gained thirty-five pounds since graduating college two years earlier. January 1 felt like the perfect time to make a change. Several times a week, after my classes were done, I’d put on my running shoes and go for a run. Running became a way to care for myself and avoid the relationship mess waiting for me at home. Running became my escape.

I don’t remember many details about running back then, other than I mostly ran at a park with a circular track. I don’t remember anything about my shoes, or the clothes I wore, or what the park looked like or what the drive was like to get there. But I do remember the feeling of strapping my heart rate monitor across my chest. Sitting just below my breasts, under my sports bra, it became my power pack. With it on, I felt as if I could run for hours. The simple act of securing the buckle against my body made me love myself just a little more. The act of caring for myself—for my body—made me a little more confident.

I ran at least four days a week. Sometimes five or six. I ran outside as much as possible, but occasionally I did a treadmill run at the local gym. In eight weeks, just like planned, I ran 5K. There was no official race; it was an ordinary weekday afternoon.

I put on my running shoes and headed to the park, where I was the only one on the track. After a brisk five minute walk to warm-up, I started running. Lap after lap I ran, until the timer on my heart rate monitor told me I was done. I ran 35 minutes without stopping. As I walked my cool down, I scrolled through the stats on the watch connected to my monitor. 3.15 miles. I had done it! In eight weeks, I had gone from never running at all to being able to run 5K. I felt like I could take over the world.

The next week, I did it again. Again and again; my time improving each week. A few weeks later, I graduated law school and moved back to Georgia. I started a new job. My first husband (now ex) and I moved in with my parents while we searched for a place of our own. Animosity and anxiety reached an all time high and it became difficult to carve out time for running. With an 8-5 job, my normal afternoon running time disappeared. With so many changes, I didn’t have the energy to find a new running time. Or place.

I never ran consistently again.

I walk for a few minutes to catch my breath. Just as I begin to run another stretch, my phone rings. Normally I’d ignore it, but it’s my mom. We don’t talk as often as I’d like so I always answer when she calls. “Whatcha up to?” She asks.

Breathing heavily, I reply—my words choppy—“I’m out for a run.” She tries to tell me to call her later, but I know once I get home there won’t be any quiet time. My heart feeling like it’s going to pound right out of my chest, I say, “No, it’s okay. I don’t think I have it in me to run more today anyway.” I continue walking briskly as we talk about what food we’ll make when we are visiting over the holidays. Before I know it, I’ve arrived back at my door and we say goodbye. As I walk in the front door I glance at my Fitbit to see I went 3.25 miles. I may have only run ⅓ of it, I think, but at least the distance is there.

I slide my left foot into my navy blue Asic and notice the “shhhh” sound it makes as the heel hits the bottom. I pull the laces, looping one around the other to tie them in a bow that dances when I let go. Standing, I reach for the floor to warm up my muscles, alerting them it’s time to get to work.

It’s been four weeks since I last ran that sunny November day. The hardest part of getting back into it is showing up. The first day back feels like pulling teeth. Do I really want to do this? My resolve starts to wane. The excuses start to pile up in my mind:

It’s too cold outside.

Covid cases are on the rise and I don’t really want to wear a mask when I run. Is it safe to go to the gym?

I’ve already committed to yoga every day this month—how can I find time to run too?

It’s so cold outside!

I am behind. This plan is supposed to take 8 weeks. I feel like a failure. I want to quit.

Running is hard on your body—maybe I should power walk instead.

It’s hard.

It’s really really cold outside.

I think about the times over the years I’ve bought new shoes and vowed to run again. I’d run for a week or two and give up. I wasn’t really committed. I had too many other things to do. People to feed. Lessons to plan and oversee. A house to clean. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do all the things I need to do and all the things I want. I have to prioritize, and running never made it to the top of the list.

It was too hard. And it took too long to see results.

Shaking my head to release the negative thoughts, I grab my earbuds and water bottle. I yell at my family that I'm going to the gym and walk out the door before I can find an excuse to stay home. Taking a deep breath, I put my minivan in reverse and start to roll down the hill. I reach the bottom of the driveway and put the van in gear, driving slowly to the stop sign at the end of the street. As I wait for my chance to turn left onto the busy street, I think to myself: Maybe the plan is the problem.

Any time I get behind when following a plan, I feel like it’s not worth it to keep going. But what if—instead of using the plan as a schedule—I use it as a tool? Sure, I did it in eight weeks fifteen years ago, but I’m not in my twenties anymore. My life looked different then. My body was different. Now I’m forty-one. I’ve had three pregnancies, two caesarian births and one miscarriage. I’ve carried the weight of a cross-country move (and several moves since we got here), multiple job shifts, and more stress than I ever imagined when I was 25.

The traffic clears. I pull onto the main road and give myself a pep talk. So what if it takes you longer than eight weeks? It doesn’t matter how far you run. It only matters that you don’t give up.

What took eight weeks in 2006 may take sixteen or even twenty-four now. I cruised my way through the plan then and expected to do the same this time around. But nothing is the same now as it was then.

By the time I pull into the gym parking lot, I’ve made a new commitment to myself. I pull the ear loops of my mask around my ears, grab my water bottle, and walk in the front door of the YMCA. The gym is mostly empty, so I have my choice of treadmills. I remove my jacket. Place my keys in one cup holder and my water bottle in the other. I open C25K on my phone to see today’s planned workout—Day 1 of Week 8. My lips turn in a smile as I swipe left in search of the right workout for today. Settling on Week 5: Day 1, I press “Go”. The plan doesn’t control me. The plan is there to help me succeed.

As I begin my warmup, I repeat my commitment to myself:

I will not give up. This will be the year that I become a runner once again.

This post is part of a blog hop with other runner-mother-creatives. Click here to view the next post in this series on running, mothering, and making.

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