Starting any kind of exercise routine can feel daunting. Life gets busy, family comes first, and sometimes our bodies remind us that we can’t push the way we once did. For me, that reality hit hard.

I spent most of my life defining myself as an athlete. I ran track and cross country, threw myself into field events, played soccer, swam, and ultimately fell in love with field hockey. Sports weren’t just something I did — they were who I was. Gym class was my playground, competition my motivator.

But after two kids, years of high-impact wear on my knees, and two long years of physical therapy, I had to make a decision I never thought I would: I ended my competitive career in field hockey. It felt like I was closing the door on the athlete version of me — a version I’d known my entire life.

For years, I wrestled with that loss. I dabbled in golf and pickleball, fun but never quite “me.” Every attempt to get back to my old sports left me frustrated. I compared every step, every sprint, every swing to the younger version of myself who could push harder, run faster, go longer. And the more I compared, the more impossible it felt.

Would I ever be an athlete again?

The truth is, after five years of trying to match my old peak performance, I finally gave myself permission to let go. To stop chasing her — that younger, awesome, competitive version of me in her heyday. She was incredible, and she’ll always be part of my story. But she isn’t me now.

So I cut myself a break. I started walking. Sometimes I run, sometimes I don’t. And for the first time, that feels enough.

I walk in the rain, in the cold, in the sunshine. I walk after dropping the kids off. I walk and run for reasons that have nothing to do with personal bests or championship titles:

•  🌱 To be outside.
• 💛 To be happy.
• 🌅 To enjoy a sunrise.
• 🕰 To keep an appointment with myself.
• 👩‍👧‍👦 To be strong and healthy for my family.

Life is different now, and so is my relationship with sports. Walking and running aren’t about reclaiming my old self. They’re about meeting my new self — the one who shows up, who enjoys the journey, who moves not out of competition but out of love for the simple act of moving.

And maybe that’s the best lesson sports could have ever taught me: to keep showing up, even when the game changes.