A few weeks back I had this idea to write a post per day based on the calendar pages on my wall. There are 71 in total, and like most of my big challenges it sounded right so I jumped in. But I really didn't know what I was getting myself into. I kind of like that naive part of me that doesn't seem to get wiser with age, and I like it because almost all of the best things I've ever experienced may have never started if I didn't have that piece in my personality. I'm risk adverse enough as it is, and this little bit of naivete has given me adventure and possibility.

I knew that giving myself this daily posting/writing challenge would have moments that just felt like a grind. It's a big deal and I'm not always posting pieces that feel ready or done. But I'm keeping my word--showing up for myself as my coach has taught me. Ninety seven weeks ago I made my very first post. It felt like jumping off a cliff. I had been writing and I had things to say and, for whatever reason, I kind of wanted other people to read those things. I don't know what that is, but I know that my running life had so changed my life that I wanted people to know. I wanted people to know that it's never too late to expand. I wanted people to know that you can be almost 50 years old, and overweight, and lost--and still come back to life. You can change that life--like totally turn it on its' head. You can do what you want. You can become an athlete. You can become a writer. There are no limits. So I wrote that down and made a website. And I hit publish.

And I have hit publish ninety nine times since September 15, 2020. Some posts I labored over, some came with ease. There were periods when I couldn't write, like when my friend died. And there were periods I couldn't stop writing, because running was handing out lessons faster than I could get them down. Most importantly, I stuck with it, through the thick and thin of it. Running and writing going along hand in hand, trading notes back and forth. My life being the lucky recipient of what they do together.

Now I call myself a writer. That came to me much more easily than learning to call myself a runner, although running did pave the way on that one. My writing has expanded to a memoir and a novel and another book waiting in the wings. They feel like living little beings and I'm astounded they want to work with me. It would be so great if people read what I wrote-- cooler still if they liked it. I would love to have writing be my bread and butter, but I don't know if that will ever come to be. Even so, I love it. Just as it is, even if this is all it is. It comes naturally to me and everything in my life goes along more smoothly and makes more sense when I'm writing. Just like running. What a pair: Frick and Frack. Ben and Jerry. Running and Writing.

So now I've had a big day and I'm down to the wire to finish this post, my 100th post. That naive part of me played a big role in getting this blog site off the ground, and I'm sure grateful. Like running, writing has changed me too. Having a place to put these thoughts and these lessons learned has been instrumental in my becoming a writer, in recognizing the writer in me. Writing has begotten more writing and I'm guessing that's how it will continue to go along. And I'm really happy about that.

Don't put limits on anything. The more you run/write, the further you get.

Nothing could be truer in my life.