Disclaimer: “The preceding story was fictional. No actual person or event was depicted.”

Hey friends,

So, I’ve been running lately. Not metaphorically—actual running. Like, shoes-laced, thighs-chafing, lungs-questioning-my-life-choices kind of running. And yes, before you roll your eyes, I am training for a marathon. A real one. With bibs and porta-potties and people who think GU packets are a food group.

I wish I could say I’m doing it for some noble reason—like raising money for orphaned goats or proving something profound about the human spirit. But honestly? I’m just trying to outrun my own excuses. And maybe my past decisions. And possibly the ghost of every unfinished diet I’ve started.

Every morning, one phrase plays on repeat in my head: Focus on the mile you’re in.
Not the finish line. Not the medal. Just this one, measly, sweaty mile.

And wouldn’t you know it—this little running mantra turned into a full-blown life sermon. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned (besides the fact that I should’ve invested in better socks), it’s this:

We all want the end result.
We just don’t want the middle.

The middle is slow.
It’s boring.

It’s the part where nothing happens and no one claps.
It’s like being stuck in a group text about nothing and you can’t leave because it’s “family.”

And yet, that’s where the growth happens. Or at least, that’s where the character builds. (Growth is still pending.)

Here’s the kicker:
Most of us already know it’s going to take time.
We know it’ll be hard.
We know it’ll be uncomfortable.
But deep down, we’re still hoping for a shortcut.
A life hack.
A divine loophole.

Spoiler alert: there isn’t one.

There’s just the work.
The repetition.
The silence.
The awkward part where you keep showing up and nothing seems to change.

I’ve quit and restarted more things than I care to admit—not because I couldn’t do them, but because I couldn’t wait for them. I wanted to skip the middle. I wanted mile 26.2 without mile 1.

I heard a coach say, “Focus on the mile you’re in.”
So, I did.
And in that mile, I had to ask myself:
What am I planning to do this time around?

Scroll?
Tweak the plan for the 100th time?
Keep talking about my potential like it’s a trust fund I’ll eventually cash in?

Running taught me something that applies to everything:
You either suffer now through the process,
or suffer later with regret.

That’s it.
Those are your only options.

One hurts.
The other haunts.

So today, I tie my laces.
I run one mile at a time.

And I remind myself of this truth: “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” —Matthew 6:34

Let’s laugh at the absurdity of it all.

And let us not take on tomorrow’s problems, let’s stay present because if we don’t, we’ll wake up one day staring at a life we never built, holding the pieces of dreams we abandoned, wondering how we got so good at quitting on ourselves.
Now go run your mile. Or at least walk it with flair.

From Your Friend, Me