Running Rocket City  – Part 1

"Whether a mile or a marathon, you get there the same way… one step at a time. Such is life." — Baylor Barbee

I decided to sign up for the Rocket City Marathon in July. But why? Let’s rewind a bit.

I’ve been a physical therapist for almost a decade, and running a marathon is one event I was sure I’d never sign up for. My marathon (and ultramarathon) runners were often those that battled severe overuse injuries. Many of them expressed not just physical pain, but emotional hurt too, as they faced the daunting prospect of having to stop or modify their training—or even worse, stop running. After running the Tuscaloosa Half Marathon four times, relatively injury-free, I personally couldn’t understand why any novice or even intermediate runner would want to take 13.1 miles and double it.

But life has a way of surprising you.

After I had my second daughter, Brady Joon, in April of 2023, the little bit of capacity I had for self-care plummeted to an all-time low. The only consistent habits I could maintain for a year postpartum were maintaining a pumping/breastfeeding schedule daily and eating Bluebell Vanilla Bean Ice Cream every night.

It wasn’t that something had drastically changed in me from being postpartum the first time with Rory to the second time with Brady—my insides were the same, albeit they had shifted a bit as intestines do when you have to make room for a baby. I believe the biggest difference in my postpartum experience the first time vs. the second time was having the expectation that my experiences would be the same when, in reality, they could not have been more opposite.

Postpartum round one.

Rory was eight weeks old when she started sleeping through the night. I am honestly ashamed at how much unsolicited sleep advice I gave to friends after I had her. I truly believed the reason she was sleeping through the night was the result of my supermom routines—like adhering to the Mom’s on Call schedule even if it meant missing out on something fun with friends or family. LOL—sorry to the friends that I told to try putting their baby down at 6 p.m. instead of 8 p.m. because their newborn was “overtired.” It didn’t stop at sleep coaching; I also created a postpartum exercise plan that had about six days of recommended exercises that could take upwards of an hour for future postpartum patients. I wanted to show them how “all” they had to do was follow my simple plan and they’d be back in the gym in no time.

Fast forward to postpartum life round two.

I was extremely sleep-deprived and navigating this new chapter in life with my “colicky” little angel and a toddler still in diapers.

Side note: I still don’t really understand what colic is, but my personal interpretation of the medical diagnosis is: unknown digestive discomfort that causes your sweet little angel to cry (often) at a decibel level that makes all your insides feel like they are waging a world war inside your body.

Oh, the irony. The whole schedule thing for Brady? Yeah, non-existent. I couldn’t even make time to do my postpartum exercise plan I designed at the frequency I recommended this time around because the only way I could calm Brady down was to constantly hold her like a football on my chest while doing this wild figure-eight thing with my body as I walked through the house shushing loudly.

Another little funny—because if you aren’t laughing with a colicky baby, you are crying. When Brady was around one, a good friend of mine’s son experienced a fibula fracture landing awkwardly off a slide. I’ll never forget his dad said, “We knew something was wrong mainly because of the primal cry he let out.” I laughed because I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between any of Brady’s cries. If she wanted me, milk, a diaper change, a broken bone, a toy, or even a good hard belly laugh—all the cries sounded the same, and all of them made my ears feel like they were bleeding. Talk about feeling like a failure as a mom.

Part of my relentless determination to maintain some control over my life in that season was to stay consistent with my habits. That meant, of course, eating ice cream every night and maintaining my pump/nurse schedule. Even if that meant choosing ice cream over exercise. Even if that meant waking up every three hours for a year. Even if that meant impending doom every time my milk dropped—I had experienced the “mythical” euphoria with nursing the first time, and the second time around, I experienced Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex (DMER) symptoms.

I would love to talk to any mom who may be experiencing these symptoms because they are ruthless and scary. I would have heart palpitations, shortness of breath, and dizzy spells all around the time I was about to start nursing or pumping. My cardiologist cleared me from any heart conditions, but she also told me I need to find time to relax. Clearly she was onto something. While I don’t have any regrets over my decisions postpartum with Brady, I do often wonder what would have happened if I had stopped nursing sooner. Unfortunately, my worst enemies—control and perfection—got the best of me because 1) I could control pumping/nursing and 2) I wanted to do it for a year just like I did for Rory.

For exercise, I was averaging about two Peloton rides a month and holding my daughters for farmer’s carries up and down our stairs daily.

Another side note: I do credit the “daughter carries” with rehabbing my patellofemoral pain that sprung up during my second pregnancy. The “Knees Over Toes Guy” on Instagram isn’t wrong about the benefits of eccentrically loading your quads in functional patterns.

Praise God—I decided to take on one life-changing habit three months postpartum that didn’t involve any sort of milk, unless you want to call it spiritual milk. One day in June, I gave up asking God for sleep and started praying for rest. I wanted God to answer my call and tell me exactly what to do as a mom because I felt very lost. Jeremy Burrage always says that the Bible is God’s living word and that you can read the same verse on different days, yet receive new knowledge, wisdom, and revelation. I decided to read the Psalms because while I felt I was in a season of despair; I knew God was present in the midst and that it too would pass. I read each Psalm at my own digestible pace (whoops—another milk reference), verse by verse, from June 2023 to February 2025. God didn’t provide a step-by-step guide quite like the Mom’s on Call authors did for postpartum moms, but He did reveal to me in the Word exactly what I needed. To rest. To cast my anxieties on Him because He cares. To pray often. To let go.

My journey through the Psalms showed me that it wasn’t abnormal to feel alone, exhausted, sad, worried, anxious, or even angry. It was abnormal and unhealthy, however, to bury those feelings and keep trying to control every little thing. I began journaling more regularly, talking to friends with colicky little angels, and I started going to counseling—another activity next to running a marathon I said I would never sign up for.

In January of 2024, Physiolete kicked off our yearly Tuscaloosa Half Marathon training group with Wagner’s Run Walk. I decided to sign up for the half using the Run Walk method because, to be honest, I figured it was the only way I could half-ass my training and not get injured. I chose to follow the Run Walk method because I figured it would allow me to balance training with the unpredictable nature of motherhood.

Enter new habits.

Not only did I sign up to run the 13.1, I also committed to doing a weekly blog post to document my progression using the Run Walk Method. This quickly turned into somewhat of an online journal/therapy homework. I found so much healing in talking about my feelings in counseling that I felt comfortable enough to share a little piece of my heart with some of those who were interested in my training (be it the running or the mom-ing).

When I got to the halfway point in my training, I realized that Run Walking the half marathon in under two hours was possible. I’ve never set a time goal for a run because the only thing worse than running is pushing yourself harder while running. I knew it would take some self-discipline, and at that point, I committed to upping the intensity of my training (within reason, of course). All of this required adding new habits and personal practices, one step at a time. In March, I met my goal and ran the Tuscaloosa Half a little under two hours—but the joy wasn’t all in crossing the finish line; it was mostly in the journey.

It’s a long story, but the Lord orchestrated the most perfect reunion with my beloved fourth-grade teacher shortly after I started counseling in the spring of 2023. I had tried to connect with her for over a decade but pursued her passionately one late night when my counselor assigned me an exercise in which I reflected on people who had made a positive impact on my life. I found her on Facebook. I could tell she wasn’t active, so I messaged her friend for contact information. After that, I met with Ms. Nagle in her home. She was just as delightful and intense as I remembered her in fourth grade. Although 25 years older, she was equally radiant and feisty. My first visit with her, I found out that she was living with a terminal illness and that she was on hospice. While I had an incredible first visit with her, I cried the entire drive back to my parents’ home. I was devastated that after all the years of searching for her, I found her—and she was dying. I didn’t know if it would be days or weeks, but God blessed me with much more time with her than I expected.

Fast forward to the summer of 2025.

A little over a year of visiting with Ms. Nagle at least once a month and talking to her on the phone weekly, I found out the Rocket City Marathon run route was near her home. You can see the Saturn V Rocket a few feet from her house in the fall and winter when the trees don’t have their leaves. I hoped and prayed that I would get to run by her home and blow her kisses—a small thank-you gesture for all the love and kindness she had shared with me. Ms. Nagle was so happy and proud of me—for the same reason she was a quarter of a century ago: because she loved me unconditionally. I did nothing to earn her love. I was a B- student at best, and I was constantly being disciplined for my incessant talking. Yet, at the end of my fourth-grade year, she told me she waited until she taught me to retire. This is a kind reminder that people will forget a lot of things, but they will never forget the way you made them feel.

I was excited to catch Ms. Nagle up on my summer readings and decision to run the marathon in the summer, although each visit this summer felt more difficult. Her condition was progressing. She was a little sleepier, a little more agitated with the revolving door of caregivers, and her cognition was declining slightly—I mean ever so slightly. She was still as sharp as a whistle when she wasn’t drowsy.

My 2025 summer readings included The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl. I highly recommend these books! I considered taking them out of this blog post to help bring my word count down, but goodness gracious it’s already long so here we go.

• A fictional book, The Alchemist is about a young man’s dreams of finding treasure in Egypt. His journey becomes a quest for selfdiscovery, teaching him that true treasure lies in motion and not at the finish line.
• A nonfiction bestseller, Man’s Search for Meaning is a true story about a Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist who reflects on his time in Nazi concentration camps. Frankl argues that finding meaning in life, even in suffering, is essential to human survival and mental wellbeing.

I visited Ms. Nagle one more time in August. I was able to hug her, pray with her, hold her hand, eat one more bowl of ice cream with her, and, most importantly, tell her I loved her. She passed the next night. While my heart still aches because I am not able to call or visit her, I am sure she is with the Lord. A faithful woman after God’s heart, my visits with Ms. Nagle were the biggest blessing to me. I am grateful for each one of them, and if I had to list out all the life lessons I gained from her, this blog post would officially turn into a novel.

I found a few common themes in my journey through Postpartum: The Sequel, the Psalms, my reunion with Ms. Bunny Nagle, my 2025 summer reads, counseling, and my “training.”

• Much of the learning happens in the journey, not at the finish line.
• Troubling times aren’t meaningless—they can strengthen our faith and give us endurance.
• Unconditional love is unmatched. Period—end of story.
• There is peace in giving up control—fighting to keep it is a losing battle.

The Rocket City Marathon is Sunday, December 14, 2025. I am dedicating my training season and the marathon to Ms. Nagle, my beloved fourth-grade teacher who made me feel special, whose beautiful soul helped heal wounds I wasn’t even aware of, who loved me (and so many other students at Weatherly Heights Elementary) unconditionally, and who reminded me that loving someone includes giving them your time, even if you don’t think you have it.

I am eternally thankful for both of my daughters. While they are complete opposites, they fill my life with so much joy and happiness—it’s hard to put into words. As a Christian, I believe God ordains my days. I know God knew I needed Brady to come into my world and humble me quite a bit. As much as I joke about how hard those days were in year one (I joke because laughing about it is less painful), I would have continued down the path of believing I had control, and that perfection was an achievable goal. My counselor told me on my second session that to get out of quicksand you must move slow and stay calm. Who knew fighting through quicksand could cost you your life? What a great analogy for life.

So, in conclusion, I want to leave you with my favorite Psalm, Psalm 23. This Psalm was often one I turned to when I needed rest postpartum, and it’s often one I turn to for peace during troubling times. Some of you may know that this summer my dad was stuck overseas visiting his family, and I truthfully wasn’t sure when—or if—I would see him again. I meditated on this Psalm heavily. Ms. Nagle and I also prayed it on our last visit together. I invite you to read it and see what God has to share with you today!

The Lord Is My Shepherd

A Psalm of David.

23 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
²     He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
³     He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
    for his name's sake.

⁴ Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
    I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
    your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me.

⁵ You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.
⁶ Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
    all the days of my life,
and I shall dwellin the house of the Lord.