That time I got nervous..

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I love running.

As you may know by now by reading my blog.

It’s a huge part of my life.

I never thought that something could even come close to it.

That once I was done running in college I’d never have that feeling again.

That nervous leg twitch on the starting line before a race.

The butterflies in my stomach.

The feeling of fire in my lungs tired from the race I just ran.

I thought it was all gone.

Until I started coaching.

Watching your athletes race is such a crazy experience.

You train with them, run with them, and put everything into what they do.

To have it all come down to a single race that you can’t help them with.

That they have to do all by themselves.

It’s so surreal.

I have the same feelings that I had when I was racing, when my kids are racing.

Now I know what my parents went through all those years.

Thinking back on the four and a half years of coaching I’ve done, cross country and track, there are two races that stand out to me.

Two races that gave me goosebumps.

Two races that made me so incredibly nervous but excited at the same time.

Two races that made me remember why I love coaching.

The first race was during the track season of 2016.

I got to coach Adolfo for 3 years.

He struggled quite a bit the first two years to really find himself.

To hit those times that he knew he could hit.

He ended up running a seasons best of 11:28 in the 3000 meter run his freshman year, and didn’t even do the event his sophomore year.

Junior year he started to show progress and ran a 10:46 in the 3000.

Yet he still wasn’t happy.

He trained all summer and had a great cross country season in the fall, all to make sure he had an even better track season.

We were at the Stayton Twilight track meet, and the 3000 was going to be run in the dark under the stadium lights.

It was the best race.

Throughout the season he had run a 10:47 and 10:23 in the 3000, he was ready for a breakthrough.

He started off the race so strong and so tough.

He kept his eyes up and on every runner in front of him, knowing what he had to do to improve.

The last 600 meters were my favorite.

Cheering so loud for him, telling him that he was having a great race.

When he approached the final 100 meters I looked up at the clock.

I remember being in shock.

He was so close to breaking 10 minutes.

I remember sprinting down to the finish line with a bunch of other kids screaming as loud as we could.

He didn’t quite break 10 minutes but he ran a 10:00.14.

He was so close.

But he was happy, and proud of himself, and I don’t think he stopped smiling.

Even thinking about it now brings back chills.

Seeing that moment in an athlete when things finally click.

When they finally believe that they can do what you’ve been telling them they could do all along.

My second favorite race was during this most recent cross country season.

Ramiro, who’s only a sophomore, had been training so hard all summer.

All of us coaches knew that he was going to have a special season.

His freshman year he ran a personal best of 19:35 in the 5k, but never broke the 20 minute mark again after that.

We could all tell that he had more in him, he just had to figure it out.

This last season was crazy for him.

He started with a 20:45 which would have been one of his faster times from the year before.

And then he got faster.

19:38.

18:41.

And of course, the one meet that I had to miss, he ran a 17:58.

Breaking the 18 minute mark is huge.

And he did it.

I talked to him on the phone after his race and told him that since I wasn’t there he had to do it again, he agreed.

The next meet he ran a 17:57.

Ramiro kept improving.

It was insane.

Watching it all click for him, and watching him get excited to race, was so much fun as a coach to see.

His last meet of the season was the district cross country meet.

He told us before the race he didn’t want to know his place or time throughout the race.

So we all cheered as loud as we could when he passed us.

He looked strong, focused, and motivated.

We realized as he passed us, that he was in a state qualifying position.

We all looked at each other in complete shock.

I remember telling everyone that I had goosebumps.

Even though he might not have finished in the position he wanted, he ended up running better than he was ranked, he finished 14th.

And he ran a 17:23, which was a personal record.

It was the coolest thing.

Watching him run.

Watching it click to him.

Watching him in control of his race.

Deciding to coach is probably one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

Coaching gave me a purpose.

Coaching motivates me to be a better person.

Coaching is the most rewarding thing.

I can’t imagine my life without it.

So cheers to more amazing races to come.

Cheers to being so nervous that I can’t even think straight.

Man, I love coaching.

 

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I like to chase things.

It’s true.

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I like to chase things.

I realized this on my run this morning.

I had stopped for a minute to catch my breath and another runner came running up by me.

I decided to give him a few seconds to get a head start.

And in my head it was a race.

I pushed myself a little more, to try and get him.

I had no idea who he was or why he was running.

But for this moment, he was my motivation.

You see, I’m easily motivated by chasing people or things.

If I have this goal that I can see, I want to do everything in my power to get it.

When I was younger and running club track, I use to get so excited by medals or t shirts.

If the top finishers of a race got a medal or t shirt I would push myself harder than I thought I could, just to get that prize.

Things.

They give me a reason to try hard, something to try and obtain.

Growing up I had this built in competition.

Even though I can only count on one hand how many times I’ve beaten her head to head, she’s my motivation.

Most of the time I don’t beat her.

And that’s ok.

I would be in the middle of the race and I could see her in front of me.

It would help me keep my eyes up and focused.

I wanted nothing more than to get her.

People.

Giving me someone to chase down, a reason to push myself.

I realized on my run today that I am easily motivated by people or things.

By the art of chasing them down.

Pushing myself harder than imaginable to try and get them.

It’s a challenge.

And I love that.

Maybe that’s why I love running.

It’s a challenge every time.

Even when you’re running by yourself, if you come up on some innocent runners, try to pass them.

It might sound mean, but it’s not intended to be.

It’s just a form of motivation.

In anything you do, it’s important to find something that motivates you.

A person, thing, or goal, anything that will make you want to push yourself that much more.

Motivation is key if you want to get anything done.

It’s that simple.

If you want to lose 10 pounds but have zero motivation to go to the gym or start eating healthy, it just won’t happen.

That might be harsh but it won’t.

It’s so important to find one thing that motivates you, just one thing to get yourself that much closer to your goal.

For me, it’s people or things.

Something that can get me instant satisfaction.

That’s how I am, I have to get things instantly.

Zero patience.

But I’m working on that. 

It’ll be different for everyone.

Free t shirts and passing people motivates me when it comes to running but it might not do the trick for you.

That’s when you need to sit and think.

What do I want from this?

What will make me run that much faster?

What is my goal?

It can be something so simple as you just want to be better.

That’s how I see it.

Pushing myself to catch people or things, will make me better in the end.

If I pushed myself to get top three in a race so that I could get a medal, I usually ran a fast time.

If I focused on beating my sister in a race but didn’t end up catching her, I usually still had a great race because I focused on moving up and running faster.

Find that thing that motivates you.

Or if you know what it is, embrace it.

I realized on my run today that I love chasing people.

I love actually having something in front of me to try and get.

A person.

A thing.

Something that pushes me that much harder.

That ignites the fire inside of me.

That time I started to believe in myself.

Let’s go back to 2008 shall we?

I was 18 and about to compete in my 3000 meter run at the district track meet.

Ya see..I was fast.

My freshman year in high school I was one of the fastest freshman in our district, not to mention one of the fastest overall for distance running in my town.

Sophomore year I surprised myself.

I got second at our district meet in the 3000 when I came in ranked in the bottom half of the top ten.

I got to go to the state track meet as a sophomore which was a big deal.

Junior year I was awful.

I’m just going to say it.

I went from running an 11:02 in the 3000 to an 11:37 the very next year, from 2nd place to 7th at the district meet in one years time.

I wasn’t myself.

I spent most of my time with someone who told me I wasn’t that good.

That my sister was better than me.

That track was a waste of time.

That I wasn’t going to go to college for it so why try.

I started to believe all of those things.

I made excuses.

I gave up.

I didn’t believe in myself.

But lets not dwell too much on that, that person isn’t worth any more words on this post.

It wasn’t until the summer of 2007 when I got rid of that person in my life and decided to get myself back.

I looked forward to every single practice.

I was motivated to be better.

I had a hard cross country season in the fall but arguably my best throughout my four years.

I worked my butt off to get back to where I was at the end of my sophomore year.

Back to when I was excited.

Eager.

Fierce.

I wanted nothing more than to find this girl and get her back.

To show her that she was the fire she needed to spark this desire to be better.

That winter was full of training, and so was the spring,  leading up to my last season of running for my high school.

I felt like I wanted it more than anyone.

That I had something to prove.

To show girls who laughed at me the previous year that I was back and better than ever.

Every 3000 meter race I had run that season was faster than any 3000 I ran the year before.

I would sit on the bus on the way to meets and close my eyes.

Picturing the exact moment where I threw my hands up in success after my win.

I could see the headlines, Everetts wins district title.

That’s how bad I wanted it.

I loved getting pumped up before meets, that’s when I discovered my love for rap music.

Lil’ Wayne to be exact.

I would completely zone out and lose myself in the music.

Never show it on the outside.

It became a ritual I would end up using the rest of my racing career.

I would look at myself in the mirror and repeat out loud, it’s mine, I can do it.

I had so much confidence as we neared the end of that track season, until the day finally came.

The day I dreamed about.

The district meet.

I was coming into the meet ranked third I believe, maybe second in the 3000.

My event.

There were three of us who were competing for that title, the rest of the pack was about 15-20 seconds behind us.

I remember shaking when I was putting on my bib number.

Not because I was nervous.

But because I wanted it.

So bad.

I stood on the starting line, my foot twitching like it always did.

I was ready to go.

Then the gun went off.

I ended up getting out to a quick start with one of the girls, we left the other one, and that was the last we saw of her.

We ran the first two laps of the seven and a half lap race toe to toe, and I had no intentions of letting her go.

It wasn’t until the 5th lap when we passed the crowd.

I knew there wasn’t much of the race left and one of us had to make a move.

I whispered to her, let’s do this, and we were off.

We were running faster than I ever thought possible.

Next thing I know it’s the final lap and I have the lead.

I can hear my family cheering.

My mom.

My dad.

My sister.

Everyone was screaming as loud as they could.

I was on the last 100 meter stretch.

I could hear my friends in the stands cheering.

I pushed myself as hard as I possibly could.

And in that moment I had it.

I threw my hands up over my head in complete disbelief.

It was mine.

That moment that I had dreamed of was mine.

I ran over to my sister and gave her the biggest hug imaginable.

I ran a 10:48 and won the district title, I was off to the state meet for a second time.

10:48 was almost a whole minute faster than the year before, and quite the improvement from seventh place.

I’ll never forget how happy I was in that moment.

What I had been working for all season, all four years of high school, was here.

It’s so crazy to me how you can manifest something so much that it becomes attainable.

That if you want something so badly, along with some hard work, you can achieve it.

That’s what I did that year.

I wanted it.

More than anything.

I thought about it.

Dreamed about it.

Pictured it.

That moment was all I thought about and it was mine.

That day I decided to believe in myself changed everything.

It allowed me to see my full potential.

To see that I was worth it.

That I could literally do anything that I wanted to do.

I can honestly say that was the moment.

The moment that I realized what I could do.

The moment I truly started to believe in myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You fall, you get back up.

Oh how I love Sunday’s.

Mine are usually very simple.

I don’t set my alarm and let Ian decide when it’s time to get up.

Make a cup of coffee.

Or two.

Ian eats.

We plan dinners for the week.

I tidy up the house.

We do laundry.

Get stuff ready for lunches during the week.

And watch football if it’s on.

But my absolute favorite part about Sunday’s are my runs.

Jason is a champ and always volunteers to take Ian with him to go grocery shopping so I can get a run in.

I drive to my favorite spot and lace up my shoes for a run.

I’ve been doing Sunday runs every Sunday for a few months straight and it’s something I really look forward to.

It’s my little bit of time that I get to just do what I love doing.

However today was different.

It was unlike any Sunday run I’ve had.

I ran at my usual spot and decided to take a different route.

I was cruising down the pavement about a mile in when I saw a familiar looking path.

It wasn’t too muddy so I decided to venture towards it.

After a few minutes I quickly realized that I was wrong about the “wasn’t too muddy” part.

I kept having to switch to different sides of the path.

Whichever side seemed to have less mud.

Every step I took I went deeper and deeper into this little mud pit.

I had to shorten my stride to limit my risk of falling.

Every new path I approached I had to ask myself..

Will this path be easier?

Will this lead me back to the pavement I wanted so badly to reach?

Finally I got to this spot that looked like it was going to clear up.

I came up on a friendly man and his dog, and as I passed him he told me to have fun.

I didn’t really think anything of it but thanked him for his advice,

Next thing I know I’m taking this extremely sharp turn and land flat on my right side.

Phone in hand.

Hand straight in a pile of the thickest mud.

I just sat there in the mud for a moment to take in my embarrassment when I realized where my phone was.

I grabbed it and jumped right up.

Don’t worry it was fine.

I stood there and just looked at myself.

I could have been mad at myself, or sad that I just fell full speed in the biggest mud pit I’ve ever seen.

Not literally but you try falling in mud and not thinking it’s the biggest mud pile ever.

As I paused my watch I noticed my friend with the dog from earlier was taking the turn.

He asked if I was alright.

I just kind of laughed and answered with a yes.

I told him I didn’t do a very good job of avoiding the mud and was off.

I still killed my run.

I wasn’t bleeding and nothing hurt.

Yes I was covered in mud.

But it was kind of funny.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Falling in the mud is hilarious.

And when it happens to you, you can’t help but to pull a tswift and shake it off.

If you fall, you get back up.

It’s as simple as that.

I’m taking this lesson and bringing it into my week.

I know it’s going to be a busy week for me at work, and that’s ok.

If anything goes wrong.

If anything is hard.

If anything just brings me down.

I’m going to put a big fat smile on my face and get back up.

I go on a run every Sunday.

This has never happened so far.

But it did today, and that’s ok.

I fell but I got back up.

I’ve found that I’m a creature of habit.

I can hear my husbands laugh from here as he reads this.

If something goes wrong or doesn’t happen the way it’s supposed to, I’ve been known to let it get to me.

But today I didn’t.

And I was so proud of myself.

It’s those small wins.

So take this as a reminder that whatever might happen this week, if you fall, get back up.

Keep on going and don’t let it get to you.

Shake it off.

 

A breakthrough

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It’s been almost three years since I’ve ran a race.

I’ve run so much in my life.

I’ve ran almost every event in Track.

I’ve ran so many 5k’s, 10k’s, and a few half marathons.

I’ve even done a marathon.

That was all up until May of 2015.

My life consisted of running non stop for thirteen years.

Then I took a break.

I got married, was pregnant, and had a newborn.

It was a three year time period where I ran a few times here and there but not consistently.

And that was my problem.

Consistency.

I wasn’t running consistently.

This summer I decided to change that.

I started running a little.

A mile or two turned into three or four.

Then four four turned into five or six.

Next thing I know it’s November and I’m hitting 8:30 miles.

When I first ran after having Ian I was at about 10 minutes for a mile.

Which isn’t bad at all, it just wasn’t what I wanted for myself.

For someone who could go under five minutes in her prime, it was discouraging.

Being able to crack an 8:30 mile made me feel on top of the world.

Then it was eight minutes per mile.

And 7:40 after that once for a three mile run.

That was the only run where I went under eight minutes miles for a whole run.

I decided to sign up for the 10k today back in November.

It was a race I’ve done probably six or seven times before.

It was a flat course, fun, and I got a shirt out of it.

I love getting shirts from races.

I’m not going to lie, I was super nervous.

I had set a goal of running under 50 minutes, because if I stuck to eight minute miles I allowed myself a little bit of wiggle room to slow down if needed.

When setting goals I like to make it achievable and realistic, because that’s who I am.

I kept telling Jason my hard to reach goal, was to place top three in my age group.

I was going to be bummed if I didn’t’ honestly.

But Jason kept telling me “this is your own race, worry about yourself.”

And right before the race I was talking to my mom, I told her that there were some quick people out there, her response?

“You’re doing this for you.”

And I was.

It was for me.

I was the one training for the past few months.

The one who realized that her knees weren’t as strong as they used to be.

The one who had just had a kid fifteen months ago.

This was for me.

I got to do it alongside two of my favorite athletes I coach, that made it so enjoyable.

It was their first 10k and introducing them to that race was so fun.

When the race started I took off, in typical Megan fashion, a little faster than I wanted.

In my defense however, I wanted to get ahead of the pack.

Once I felt good I decided to stay at the pace I was at.

I felt okay.

And I was so excited.

I told myself to treat it like two separate three miles runs.

Out three miles, and back three miles.

Honestly the first two miles were the hardest.

I realized that I was running 7:16 pace and had to stick to it.

But that’s the thing.

I could.

And I was.

I was out there running faster than I had planned, and it was crazy to me.

That I was doing it.

Each mile I just kept talking to myself.

That’s it Megan.

One more mile down.

You’re almost there.

Don’t slow down you’ve got this.

I’ve ran that course so many times, so much that I knew when the finish was coming.

I knew when there was only a mile left.

I could feel my body wanting to slow down, but I wasn’t going to let it.

I turned the corner and I could see the finish line, but that wasn’t the best part.

I heard my mom, my dad, my sister, and Jason.

Cheering for me like they’ve always done.

As I was passing them feeling stronger than ever I heard Jason say, “go mommy” for Ian.

That’s when it hit me.

I’m running this race as a mom.

I’m running 7:30 mile pace as a mom to this amazing baby.

It was such a great feeling.

Realizing that my body could make this beautiful baby and then turn around and run 7:30 minute miles just 15 months later.

I was so proud of myself.

So stinkin proud.

After I crossed the finish line I took my participation medal with so much pride.

Normally they’re just a medal, but this one is probably one of my favorites.

A local runner that I’ve known since I started running came up to me and told me that it was good to have me back.

And I was.

Back to my old running self.

And it felt amazing.

I crushed both of my goals.

I ran a 47:15 and got first place in my age group.

Something I’m so incredibly proud of.

And the coolest thing?

I went back and compared my times to what I ran back in 2014 and 2015. Back when I felt like I was in great shape and working harder than I was now. I was so close to those times and paces.

2014.2015.2018.

2014 I finished with a 45:26 and 7:21 mile pace.

2015 I ran a 46:39 with a 7:31 mile pace.

2018, three years later after having a baby, 47:15 and a 7:37 minute mile pace.

I’m not normally super cocky, but I’m a badass.

The end.

Just like that..

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It’s over.

My coaching role is over for the season.

We still have 10 kids going to the state meet, and that in itself is so fantastic.

Our team cheer, the hurdle kids getting directions for the day, our drills.

They go into storage until next year.

This was my fourth season coaching and by far my favorite season.

I’ve seen some great kids come through, don’t get me wrong.

My first season coaching was when our best 800 boy finally broke 2:00, won the district title, and got 4th in state.

That same year we took such a hard working girl to state in the 3000.

The year after that my dad became the head coach, and coaching with him is my favorite thing ever.

Last year one of my favorite people got 5th in state for Long Jump and my dad won his first co-coach of the year award for our league.

Those all seem so hard to beat.

But this year wins in a landslide.

I did not work with the distance kids a single day this year, it was hard at first I’m not going to lie. The thought of working with new kids who didn’t know me and who I hadn’t already established a relationship with was scary. I had worked with those kids for the last three years and distance running was something that I knew like the back of my hand.

I worked with hurdles last year with my dad, but it really consisted of hurdling 3 days a week for 30 minutes or so a day.

On the first day of practice this year I had twelve kids come in my direction when we split them off into disciplines. I was a little intimidated.

I remember sending them off for a ten minute warm up, something absurd to a few of them, and sending a snapchat to my best friend telling her I was nervous.

After a “you’ve got this coach” snapchat back, I proceeded to drills and the first workout of the year.

We ended the season with eleven consistent hurdles.

That was seven more than our best last year.

ELEVEN TOTAL HURDLERS.

That was insane to me and it still is.

Eleven kids that believed in hurdles and what we were doing. That trusted me. That worked hard every day at practice, some days harder than others.

We had our ups and downs.

I teased them whenever they did something worthy of being teased.

(You know who you are)

They got note cards before every race, and bright yellow “McKay Hurdle Crew” shirts.

Because I was so proud to call them our hurdlers.

It felt weird yesterday going to the track to watch the state athletes practice and not have the hurdlers asking what the workout was that day. I miss it all so much. I know it will come around again next year, and if I’m lucky some of them will come out for winter conditioning (hint hint) and we can start working earlier.

I just miss it.

Plain and simple.

Coaching is a huge part of me and I hate the off season.

I wanted to write this as a reflection of the season and as a thank you to the eleven kids who dedicated so many hours to our team and hurdles.

So thanks guys.

Thank you for taking a risk and trying an event that so many people find intimidating.

Thank you for always giving me something to laugh about.

Thank you for teaching me so many valuable things that I will use on and off of the track.

I remember the day that running collegiately ended for me.

Before my race I was so emotional, they played the national anthem and I cried.

Thinking..

This is it.

This is the last time I’ll ever get nervous listening to the national anthem.

The last time my foot will shake on the starting line.

The race didn’t go how I wanted, it wasn’t bad but it wasn’t great.

I remember standing along the fence with my dad after my race.

We were both quiet, staring at the races in front of us.

He said, “So that’s it.”

I replied with “yup.”

And that was it.

The last time my dad and I would talk about a race or strategize over what to do next.

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t the last time.

I get so nervous when my kids are about to run, I feel like all I want to do is stand there with them and push them along.

My dad and I still strategize and talk about anything and everything related to track but this time it isn’t about me.

And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

How many people get to coach an amazing group of kids alongside their dad?

Ok some, but none as cool as my dad.

Coaching gives me that feeling that I never thought I’d have again. That nervous feeling that I never thought I would take for granted.

I am so incredibly thankful I have the opportunity to coach and that I have a wonderful mother who watches my son. It allows me to keep my love for running alive.

This season was my favorite, hands down. We had hurdlers with PR’s left and right, sprinters making it to state, distance runners with some amazing races, and throwers getting better every single day. I love that team and I am thankful every day for it, but I am especially thankful for the hurdlers and what they did for me this season.

Run with heart.

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Running is and was everything to me.

Running has taught me so many lessons that no one else can teach me.

Running made me feel strong when I felt like I was at my worst.

Running gave me the courage to go for my craziest dreams.

Running helped me figure out what I was going to do with my life.

I have so many stories from my running career. That time Janelle and I almost missed the bus at our first out of state cross country meet..or that time we thought a cat was following us to our hotel room when it turned out to be a skunk.

This story is one of my favorites.

My freshman year cross country season was one of my best. I thought I was doing everything right, I thought I knew everything there was about running. I was running the best times in my life, beating my sister (sorry Janelle) and I was the number one girl on my team. I had it all.

It was our team dinner the night before we were going to leave for our conference meet. My coach thought of this idea to have giant pieces of paper with all of our names on them and have each other write something encouraging on it.
You know the usual stuff..

“Girl you’re so fast, go out there and kill it this weekend!”

“Make us proud!”

“Go out there and get to nationals!”

All of these encouraging words made me feel better than I already was.

Then I saw it, in the bottom corner of my paper..

“You’re a fast runner but you need more heart.”

I was pissed.

Seriously.

So incredibly pissed.

Someone vandalized my paper with this ridiculous claim that I had no heart.
It haunted me, it was all I could think about during the 4 hour drive to Seattle the next day.

I have heart! I love running! I love my family! How dare someone say that I didn’t have heart!

It was anonymous too. No one would claim responsibility for this insanity.
I looked around at all of my teammates furious at the thought that it could be any one of them. Instead of trying to understand the message I spent the entire bus ride wondering who would insult me like that.

It didn’t hit me like some things do.

It took quite a bit of internal dialogue to solve this one.

I started thinking of my favorite race in high school when I won the 3000 at my district meet. The feeling of pure joy that I felt at that very moment.

I started thinking of my awesome teammates that I missed so much.

I started thinking about my parents and how they spent the night driving to Seattle just to watch me run, and all of the time and money they put into me chasing my dream.

The joy I feel while running, my friends, my family, those were some of the reasons I ran.

Those were the reasons that I got up early in the morning to run ten miles, the reasons I pushed myself in races even though I felt like death.

Those things filled my heart and helped push me.

I was supposed to run for those things, I was supposed to take those things and let them fuel the fire inside of me and push me to go further.

Heart.

I have told so many of my athletes to “run with heart.”

I know that it’s reached one person in specifically.

She draws a heart on her hand between her index finger and thumb, exactly where I use to draw mine.

Sophomore year at Western I was in a slump in running, I didn’t have the fire like I use to. I remember on the way back from a meet my anonymous piece of advice and I knew what I was missing.

Heart.

I was forgetting those things I loved. The people that helped me with my dreams, the feeling I got after a huge PR, the goals I had as a twelve year old deciding to run track for the first time.

I took out a sharpie and drew that heart on my hand, right where I could see it. That way whenever I needed to I could look down and remind myself to remember why I do it.
Remember everything that running has put into my heart and use that to push myself towards what I wanted.

That could be said about so many things though, not just running.

Work can get so incredibly draining, and you could feel like quitting..but how hard did you work to get that job? How hard did you study in school? You earned that. Go to work every day with that drive you had when you were applying for jobs left and right.

School can get tough, especially at the end of the year. It’s hard to find any motivation to even go to class. But did you seriously waste so many years of waking up before the sun came up to quit? All of those sleepless nights working on never ending homework assignments just to stop trying and float by through the end of the year?

Life gets tough. We all have those days where all we want to do is sleep and forget about whatever might be troubling us at that moment in time. But we can’t. We can’t sit there and just skate through life not making the best out of every day. We have to put passion in everything, because you get what you put into things. We can’t stop trying because we feel bad. We have to remember every moment like this in the past and how we battled through it stronger than the first time.

We have to have heart.

We have to remember why we started.

Who pushed us to do more.

Who gave us what we needed to go for our dreams.

We have to remember what we wanted growing up. 

Everything that you have.

Everything saved up stays in your heart, and you use it to go for the unknown. You use it to fuel your fire.

So give everything that you do in life heart. Never just give anything you do in life the bare minimum, you’re selling yourself short.

Instead, do great things.

Push till you can’t anymore and dream those dreams that seem out of this world.

Live with purpose.

Love with passion.

Run with heart.