Making Peace: A Return to San Diego

September 26, 2016

Last weekend I learned it was possible to make peace with San Diego.

I learned it was possible to add another home to my list of homes, three of the most beautiful places in America (I’d like to think, at least). I learned it was possible to drop the leftover remains of heartache away and inhale the salty air with a certain lightness I haven’t felt in a while.



Make peace? What?

Well truth be told, I didn’t know what it would be like to finally venture back to SD after I moved away. This past weekend back was my first real return, and though I still remain close to my best friends there, the place itself used to stir up all the feels:

Would I miss it too bad? Would I have any twinge of regret over what I left behind? Would it still feel the same?

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When the Prescription is Rest

September 12, 2016

OK. I am going to be brutally honest here– This. Past. Month. Was. Hard.

It was a challenge in a different sort of way. Life was bumbling forward as usual, and then bam. I was knocked out. Well, down. Down in my bed, that is.


Several weeks of pure exhaustion swept in along with the kind of illness where you know something is wrong but you can’t exactly place your finger on what.

With no prescribed cure, and no real idea of what was going on, there was only one thing left for me to do: rest.

But how do you slow down when the world says speed up? 

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Be Where Your Feet Are ( & what a trip to Mexico taught me)

August 30, 2016

Last Sunday I boarded a plane bound for Mexico.


After being sick for over a month, bedridden for almost a week, and plain sick and tired of Karl the Fog, there was nothing I wanted more than this: quality time in the sunshine, tropical heat, warm ocean water and oppressive humidity with new friends.

So I dove in.


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San Francisco Half Marathon Recap

August 16, 2016


Cliché I know, but there are few better feelings than crossing the finish line– the swell of emotions, the excitement, relief. Tears (naturally) for me, a cold beer (Anchor Steam) presented to me by my sister.

Sweat dried in salty rivers around my face, white Lulu tank soaked through. Cold, but not, and buzzing with adrenalin, endorphin-charged high. Stoke level 100. 


Post-shower (me) with my two faves. What champs! They ran 26.2 miles & look amazing.

A smile unfading despite feeling the sudden tightness in my quads, twinge in my knees, the throb in my Achilles.

This year’s SF Half Marathon coincidentally fell on the same weekend as my apartment move. Packing and shuffling boxes combined with race prep and a friend’s visit to run with us meant struggling with the balancing act– but somehow we made it all happen.

(I’m not kidding when I say I get by with a little a shoot ton of help from my friends.)

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Make It Mean More: Why I’m Running 13.1 Miles

July 25, 2016

Thirteen years ago I stood on a scale and hated the number I saw for the first time.

I don’t remember what the digits were, but I knew they were higher than the number my friend saw. And suddenly these lines were no longer just empty numbers– they were empty vessels holding all my not enough-ness. 


My 12-year-old body saw everything she was not  reflected in these numbers: not skinny enough. Not pretty enough. Not smart enough, not responsible or mature enough. Not old enough. Not fast enough. Not funny enough, witty enough, nice enough.


It’s been thirteen years. 13 years. And I’ve had enough. So I’m running 13.1 miles, one mile for each year, to prove it.

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