Julie B. Hughes's Blog, page 5

The Finish

Photo: Goat Factory Media

“Muddy meadow” was an understatement. I couldn't believe how different it looked from my first pass through. Pockets of mud held standing water, and each step was a surprise. How far down would my sneaker go? I kept repeating, Get through this section. Get through this section.

I lifted my knees, rushing from board to board as they bounced and wobbled beneath me. Mud and water splashed up my legs. I just wanted to escape this section. I slid all over the place while boards popped up and slapped back into the muck. I figured no one was around to witness my wild scramble.

Wrong. A runner appeared behind me. As he got closer, he called out, “This is kinda dangerous. I don't want to get hurt.”

I shrugged off his comment; injury hadn't crossed my mind. I had one goal: get the heck out of here.

When the mud finally gave way to solid ground, hallelujah! I'd made it through. Best part? I didn't have to do it again.

Now for the aid station at mile 40. The runner behind me took off ahead, and I kept him in view as long as I could before he disappeared. Maybe I'd find another run buddy at the aid station.

When I arrived, it was pure celebration. Music, spectators, and volunteers packed the area with laughter and cheers that energized my tired legs. I refilled my flasks and grabbed a banana. Let’s go!

Soon after, I spotted a familiar vehicle. Could it be? I looked to the right and saw a tall man wearing a white and black checkered flannel jacket. Jeff! I was stunned—they had found me. My children were cheering, and my mom stood on the far side of the vehicle. I stopped and rushed over for hugs.

“I probably won't be done until 6 pm,” I told Jeff.

He nodded.

“I'll meet you at the dance recital. I should make it in time.”

I figured that was goodbye to my cheer squad, but my husband had other plans. I love that he didn't listen to me.

I turned my focus to the stone steps at Buttermilk Falls. If I can just get through that section, all I have left is the creek one last time. I can do this.

As I neared the falls, distant cheers reached my ears: “Go Mama Go!” “Alright, Jules!” I looked up to see my family waving from the other side of the falls—just the boost I needed. Their voices carried me up those stone steps, and I smiled despite the pain.

At the top, relief washed over me. Stone steps officially conquered! I returned to running and focused on the last aid station at 45.5 miles, where bacon scented the air. I topped off my flasks one final time.

Now the road section, then the creek. I regretted not bringing gloves on the road as my hands grew cold and stiff. Come on, legs, let's go. I was thrilled to spot another runner ahead. I focused on her back and slowly reeled her in. We encouraged each other until she slowed to a walk while I pressed on. I was happy to return to the woods for shelter from the wind.

The creek was next, one last time. My feet would get relief before the final push to the finish—two miles to go.

At the muddy bank, I attempted the same sideways step I'd used before, but the surface was too slippery. I lost my footing and slid down, grabbing a branch to steady myself as I plunged into the water. The ice-cold shock hit me—I'm alive.

Last stretch. Go! Go! Go!

I weaved through the trails, eyes fixed ahead. So close now. Through the trees, I glimpsed the finish line. Almost there! Cheers and music filled the air.

I increased my pace as best I could around the final corner. There was the finish line and my family! I couldn't believe they stayed to see me finish. Fifty miles conquered. Fifty run buddies carried me. As I embraced my family, my heart overflowed with emotion. They reached the finish line, and I finished in under six hours.

We did it.

Thank you so much for reading along and sharing with your running friends. Thank you , , , , , for the restacks over this series.

Keep moving,

Julie

We will resume writing together on Zoom next Monday, 7/7/25. See you then!

Writing prompt: Think of a time when you had to keep telling yourself “just get through this section” to overcome a physical, mental, or emotional challenge. Write about that moment—the messy middle where you weren't sure you'd make it, the unexpected help (or obstacles) that appeared along the way, and how it felt when you finally reached the other side.

One more thing… we meet in person this Wednesday, July 2.

Please join us. Click the button below for details and to register. Drop-ins welcome.

Summer—Move. Write. Connect.

Mantras of Endurance

Photo: Goat Factory Media

Thanks for following my Caygua Trails 50 series these past weeks. Monday brings Part 6: The Finish!

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Chunk by ChunkGet to the next aid station. Get to the next aid stationMy feet listen,charge with couragethrough the muddy meadow. Stay strong. I say to a friend, my own voice echoes back to me— words to ruminate on.Be brave and believe. Courage over comfort.Affirmations that stick like the mudon my sneakers.Stone steps one at a time, muddy banks, fingers in the soft earth, grass roots strong enough to pull me forward.Get through this section. Get through this section.Chunk by chunk, fifty becomes one then one then one.Each mantra moves my feet forward,even with the painI pay no attention.This is temporary. This isn't urgent.and when squeaking sneakers carry me along, the mantras turn to whispers, then silence, to the loudest truth of all—I made it.

What are your mantras of endurance? I would love to know. Feel free to share in the comments.

Dear Local Run to Write Friends,

Join Move.Write.Connect starting July 2nd at Freedom of Espresso in Liverpool, NY. Weekly movement + writing sessions in a supportive community. No experience needed, just bring curiosity! 10 spots only. Who's in?

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Heads up: I can't host the Zoom writing session next Monday. I'll see you on July 7th.

Dear Body, Thank You for Not Quitting on Me

This is where we left off:

Photo taken by Goat Factory Media

Next 10-mile loop ahead. With no runners in sight, I began humming the last song from my car:

God is great, give Him all the praise
Hallelujah, Name above all Names
Fire in His eyes, healing in His veins
Everywhere His glory on display…

I needed to shift my focus to gratitude rather than dwelling on the discomfort in my left foot and ankle. It worked.

Instead of thinking I have 25 miles left, I broke the race into chunks. I paid attention to my surroundings. What do I see, hear, and smell?

Those lovely stone steps again. I placed my hands on my thighs and climbed one at a time, grateful I'd made it this far. My sneakers felt good, no distracting pebbles rolling around.

Now, get to the next aid station at mile 29. I grabbed a banana, thanked the volunteers, and headed for the meadow trail. The ruts weren't kind to my left ankle, but I kept my eyes focused just ahead, navigating the uneven ground. Even the steep vertical climb coming up looked better than this. Back to walking, eager to reach the top and run again. Perfect time for another gel.

I heard two runners approaching from behind as I sipped from my flask.

“What time do you want to finish?”

“I was hoping for 10 hours, but after 5:30 for the first 25 miles, I'm shooting for 11.”

I smiled. I could relate. As they passed, I matched their pace. We moved single-file as oncoming runners approached, exchanging encouragement. Then I saw my friend, we high-fived as we passed.

“Stay strong,” I called out.

I took a deep breath and listened to my own words. Stay strong. Fatigue was setting in, blisters pulling at me, but I ignored it. This is temporary. This isn't urgent.

I prayed. I focused on my breath and my mantras: Be brave and believe. Courage over comfort. Just get to the next aid station.

Rolling up to the main aid station again, I realized—just one more loop! Yes, 15 challenging miles, but just one more! Volunteers refilled my bottles while I sipped warm vegetable broth. I was getting cold, grateful to sip something warm. I grabbed more gels, but didn’t think to grab my gloves from my drop bag and took off, not wanting to linger.

I broke this 15 mile loop into mental sections. First up—cross the creek.

As I stepped into the creek, my left foot sighed with relief. The ice-cold water felt wonderful. Three runners were approaching from the opposite direction: one wading through the water, another sliding down the muddy bank with laughter after slipping, and the third trying desperately not to follow.

I couldn't help but smile at the scene. We called out encouragement to each other, and when I reached the far side, I faced my own challenge: how to climb up the slick, muddy bank.

I figured I'd crawl up, digging my fingers into the soft mud. As I dragged myself up, I spotted a small patch of grass just long enough to grab. Those roots were strong, and I was grateful. I laughed as I dug my left hand into the mud and gripped the grass with my right, fighting to keep moving forward rather than slip backwards into the water.

Back on my feet, I wiped my hands on my shirt, sneakers squeaking with each stride. I made it. Thank you, Lord.

Next section to conquer: the muddy meadow and wobbly boards.

To be continued…

Thank you writing buddies.

You’re invited!

Join our online community writing session today (6/23) at 11 am EST. We'll gather in silent solidarity to work on our creative projects, starting with a writing prompt to warm up. No experience is necessary.

You're welcome here if you seek accountability partners, fellow writers, or a supportive community space. After the prompt, please use this focused time to advance your project in any way you like.

Be part of our creative community! Use the link below (on Mondays) to join our Zoom room. Feel free to share with a friend.

Community writing session

Writing prompt: Think of a time when you faced something that felt overwhelming—maybe it was a difficult project, a challenging conversation, a health struggle, or even just a really hard day.

What was your "25 miles left" moment—when the task ahead felt impossible? How did you break it down into smaller, manageable pieces? What did you tell yourself to keep going? (Your personal mantras or self-talk) Was there a moment when you had to shift your focus from the problem to something else—gratitude, your surroundings, or help from others?

Summer Sessions, for Move. Write. Connect. begin July 2. No experience necessary. Please join us.

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50 Names, One Promise, and a Rock in My Shoe

Listen in for the poem of the day: What Stays, What Goes— A poem inspired by todays story.

Another amazing photo by Goat Factory Media (look at the forest—Life giving)

The view was worth the climb—perfect timing for another gel. I was nailing my nutrition strategy. Every 40 minutes, gel down, regular sips from my flask, and aid station refueling. My stomach wasn't protesting. Could I keep this up for another 35 miles?

Relief flooded through me as I crested those stone steps and found the dirt trail again. The runner I'd been chatting with pulled ahead while I pushed forward, knowing the next aid station waited just a few miles out.

Then I felt it, something shifting around in my left shoe. Probably a pebble from the creek crossing. I kept running, but my coach's voice echoed in my head: “If you feel anything in your shoe, stop and get it out rather than risk more irritation.”

I fought the urge to stop, hoping it would settle, but it didn't. Finding a fallen log, I sat down, pulled off my shoe, and shook out the tiniest bit of dirt and maybe a pebble. After running my hand along the inside to clear everything, I laced back up and took off, grateful for the downhill stretch ahead.

My goal: finish the first 25 miles in 5 hours. I refused to check my watch until I reached the aid station.

Ten minutes later, that same annoying sensation returned. GRR. I kept running. My left foot discomfort overshadowed the pebble anyway. I'd clean out my shoe properly with wet wipes (thank you, Tracy, for the tip to pack these) once I got to my drop bag. Some toe wiggling helped whatever was bothering me find a tolerable spot.

Back at Buttermilk Falls aid station, I made a quick bathroom stop (real bathrooms—luxury!) and thanked the volunteers before heading toward the creek again.

This loop skipped the muddy meadow and wobbly boards. Instead, we ran a stretch on the road before diving back into the woods. Volunteers directed traffic as we crossed. I picked up my pace on the smooth, flat asphalt despite the wind and cold. I had no idea the temperature had dropped. I was grateful to be back in the protective forest.

The 50K runners were heading our way now. We exchanged encouragement as we passed, and I scanned faces, hoping to spot my two friends. There they were! Looking strong and beaming as we passed with a high-five.

The creek crossing proved trickier this direction, a muddy, slick bank to enter the water. I descended sideways to avoid falling, and that cold water felt amazing on my feet.

Squeaking with each stride, I climbed out and crossed the train tracks toward Y-camp. This gentler stretch gave me hope—I couldn't wait to properly clean my shoe. I'd sit down and do this right, hoping to run the next 25 miles without increasing foot pain.

I considered changing socks, but decided against it—two more creek crossings ahead made fresh socks pointless. Besides, my shoes dried faster than expected, and the creek water provided relief to my left foot. I could run without limping.

Cruising through the trails toward the 25 mile aid station, I felt strong. Two more loops to go! After another porta-potty stop, I found my drop bag and settled on a picnic table bench.

Off came the shoe. Out came the wet wipes. I cleaned the inside thoroughly, then noticed blood on my left leg and wiped that clean too. Lacing back up, I finally checked my watch: 5 hours, 30 minutes.

No 10-hour finish today. New goal: under 12 hours. That would still get me cleaned up in time for my daughter's dance recital.

Now for the entire course again. The thought hit heavy, so I shifted strategy—break it into chunks. Next stone steps (maybe the bagpiper would still be there), then the mile 29 aid station, then back here at mile 35.

Sitting here, quitting felt tempting. But I didn't linger with that thought, I had 50 names in my running vest. We were committed to finishing this race, no matter what.

Let's go!

To be continued…

Writing Prompt: What's your ‘coach's voice’ moment? Tell me about a time when advice from someone (coach, parent, friend, or even your own inner wisdom) made you stop and do the right thing, even when you really didn't want to.

Drop your story below—I love hearing how we look out for each other, even when the advice comes from miles away or years ago.

Summer Sessions, for Move. Write. Connect. begin July 2. No experience necessary. Please join us.

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(Author's Note: I've started using Grammarly to edit my writing, which helps me communicate more clearly and create a better reading experience for you.)

Courage Over Comfort: Part 3

I blurred out runners faces for privacy. Photo credit: Goat Factory Media

Cresting the hill, I was thrilled to hit flat ground again. A runner bobbed ahead of me in the distance, my new pacer. I locked my eyes on his back, determined to keep up. The urgent need for a bathroom break made me even happier to know the aid station was just ahead.

Through the trees, I caught glimpses of the inflatable arch and heard the sweet sounds of music and voices. Ten miles down. Three more loops to go.

As I made the left turn into the aid station, a perfect line of porta-potties greeted me. Talk about timing. I ducked in before refueling—what a setup.

I hurried to the aid station where volunteers topped off my empty flasks while I grabbed a handful of potato chips, eating as I stuffed more gels from my drop bag into my running vest. No time to linger, I had a cutoff time to beat.

Back on the trail, I headed in a new direction for the 15 mile Buttermilk Falls loop. This section promised creek crossings, stone steps, and tremendous views. One question nagged at me: how deep would the water be? Knee-deep? Waist-deep? Whatever awaited, I would focus on the other side and charge through without hesitation.

The trail started flat with some downhill relief before punching skyward again. Back to hiking I went, hands on thighs, repeating my mantras: Be brave and believe. Courage over comfort.

Silence enveloped me as I climbed. No runners ahead or behind—just me and the forest. I took a deep breath of the crisp air, finding peace in the solitude. At the top, I started running again, hoping to catch up to someone.

Train tracks appeared ahead, triggering memories of the JFK 50 miler when a train thundered past, horn blaring. Relief washed over me as I crossed the tracks in silence; all I could hear was my breath.

When will the creek show up? Just as that thought formed, I spotted the water. Two runners stood frozen at the bank, staring at the current like deer in headlights.

“Let's go for it!” I called, splashing into the ice-cold creek.

The shock felt amazing on my throbbing left foot. The current tugged hard, forcing me to windmill my arms for balance as I fought across. Only then did I notice the photographer capturing our adventure. I laughed, imagining how comical I must look as the other runners finally followed behind me.

We hauled ourselves up the muddy bank, sneakers squelching with each step, laughing as we continued through the fields. This section was a mud pit—I dreaded seeing it again on the return loop when dozens more runners would make their way through.

Thankfully, the race director had laid boards over the worst sections. I ran from board to board as they tipped and wobbled under my weight, ankles sliding as I picked up pace just to escape this challenging stretch.

Despite my left foot's protests and the blisters I could feel forming from the creek crossing, I felt strong. Then I shifted focus to the names tucked in my running vest—people touched by cancer, some fighting treatment right now.

What I was experiencing was nothing compared to their battle. I needed to run hard for them.

Get to the next aid station. Get to the next aid station.

Two miles ahead lay my target. I began planning my refuel: bottles topped off, grab a potato and banana, get back on course. Simple. Efficient.

I kept my eyes forward, relieved to see volunteers ushering me into the aid station. They had a feast waiting.

“Water or electrolytes?” a volunteer asked.

“Electrolytes, please.”

I held out my empty flask as he filled it, then grabbed the second for a top-off. Runners crowded the tables, helping themselves to the spread. I snagged a potato and banana as the smell of bacon wafted through the air and cheers carried us back onto the trail.

I pushed my discomfort aside, devouring the potato first, then the banana, fueling up for what lay ahead. I was approaching one of the course's most challenging sections (in my opinion), Buttermilk Falls and its infamous stone steps. Several runners appeared ahead, perfect. I ran until I reached the steps, then began my ascent alongside another runner. The company for the climb felt like a gift.

“Have you run this before?” he asked between breaths.

“No, have you?”

“I have, but didn't make it the entire way. I've come back to finish what I started.”

“Good for you.”

He smiled as we continued climbing. I glanced left to admire the view—the roaring waterfall was tremendous, a reminder of nature's power and my own small place within it.

To be continued...

Thank you for reading. Please feel free to share with a friend,

Julie

(Author's Note: I've started using Grammarly to edit my writing, which helps me communicate more clearly and create a better reading experience for you.)

You’re invited!

Join our online community writing session today (6/16) at 11 am EST. We'll gather in silent solidarity to work on our creative projects, starting with a writing prompt to warm up. No experience is necessary.

You're welcome here if you seek accountability partners, fellow writers, or a supportive community space. After the prompt, please use this focused time to advance your project in any way you like.

Be part of our creative community! Use the link below (on Mondays) to join our Zoom room. Feel free to share with a friend.

Community writing session

Craving time to move and write?

Join our Move.Write.Connect group this summer, where we:

Put down our phones 📱➡️📴

Lace up our sneakers 👟

Grab our notebooks 📝

Show up for ourselves ✨

Click the button below for details and to sign up. Drop ins welcome.

Move and Write Summer

Channeling my inner Courtney Dauwalter

Listen in for the poem of the day: From Roads to Trails.

Another amazing photo of the waterfall by Goat Factory Media

Standing at the starting line, I felt a mix of curiosity and nerves. After years of road racing, chasing PRs, and Boston qualifiers, was I ready to trade predictable pacing for the wild uncertainty of trails? The rocks, roots, relentless climbs, and nutrition strategies were all rather new territory for me.

Did I want to get better at this? Did I want to shift my focus from roads to trails?

With 50 miles ahead of me, I'd have plenty of time to think it over. I had no idea how long it would take, but I hoped to finish in time for my daughter's dance recital, 90 minutes away. (I must finish by 6 p.m.)

My family planned to find me at the finish, though I'd told my husband Jeff the night before not to worry if they couldn't make it.

“The start/finish might be tricky to find,” I said. “Head to Buttermilk Falls instead—we pass through there several times and it's easy to spot.”

"We'll see, we'll figure it out," he replied.

I should have known better than to worry about Jeff finding his way. With cold rain in the forecast and Delaney's recital that evening, I didn't want them to feel obligated to come. I told her to bring her dance outfit so she could change on the way if needed.

My mom insisted on staying to drive me home afterward. “You shouldn't drive after running 50 miles,” she said, ignoring my protests that I'd be fine.

The cloudy, cool weather suited me much better than sunny and 80 degrees. After weeks of rain, I expected muddy conditions. My recent run at Highland Forest had been mostly mud with few dry patches, so I was prepared for more of the same.

I patted the 50 names tucked in my running vest—my motivation for the miles ahead. The race director's pre-race briefing was relaxed and encouraging. After covering the course and aid stations, he sent us off with simple instructions: “Have fun out there.”

I smiled as we took off toward the trails. Here we go!

The first loop covered 10 miles through Lower Treman State Park, with our first aid station at mile 4. I'll never forget those initial stone steps—holy cow! My thighs were already burning before mile 3, and when I looked up to see even more steps stretching ahead, I had to laugh. When does it end?

I went back to my mantras and remembered my why. I had to keep my attitude and thoughts in check. I chose to be here, so let's enjoy it, all 1,000 steps and more.

Around this time, I started hearing bagpipes. I thought I was losing it until another runner spoke up, “It's too early to be hallucinating.” We all chuckled. I was relieved I wasn't the only one hearing the melody over the waterfall's roar. That shared laugh was exactly what I needed; there's something special about running and struggling together as a group.

As we rounded the stone platform along the gorge, there he was, a kilted musician playing bagpipes. We all ran right past him, and goosebumps covered my arms as I smiled. Howard's heavenly music had found us in the most unexpected place.

I was in awe.

The miles began to flow. We wove along singletrack, hopped over fallen logs, and danced around trail obstacles until a tremendous climb reared up before us. One runner glided past me, walking the incline with trekking poles like he was taking a stroll through the park.

Those look helpful, I thought, placing my hands on my thighs for leverage and channeling my inner Courtney Dauwalter.

I kept my eyes fixed on the trail directly ahead instead of measuring the distance still to climb. Please, Lord, I need your strength and mighty power. Keep us safe out here.

When I finally looked up, the crest of the hill was within reach.

Let’s go legs…get to the next aid station.

TBC…

Thank you for reading along and being here with me.

Julie

It's been a pleasure to move and write with you over the past six weeks. Thank you for taking a chance on this move and write thing!

Please continue with your courageous writing! You just never know who you will have a positive impact on.

Hope to see you over the summer,
Julie

Summer Sessions are here

50 Miles and 10,000 Feet

Ron Heerkens Jr of Goat Factory media

On the morning of the Cayuga Trail 50, I navigated the narrow service road toward the start line. Relief washed over me when I spotted a volunteer directing runners into the entrance from the main road. At 5 am, visibility was poor, and I worried I might miss the turn.

I turned in cautiously and proceeded down the dirt road, with trees towering over me on each side. A single figure caught my eye—a runner walking down the path to my left.

Should I offer her a ride? Why am I even hesitating? It's fascinating how my brain sometimes pauses before simple acts of kindness.

I rolled down my window and stopped the car.

“Hey, would you like a ride? I'm heading to the start too—you can hop in the back.”

“That would be great, thank you! My husband just dropped me off. He and my son are running the 50K.”

“Oh, cool! Have you run this race before?”

“No, I'm from New Jersey. All my training has been on flat terrain, so this should be interesting.”

We chatted like old friends until another volunteer appeared ahead, directing us where to park.

“Please get over as far as you can,” she said with a smile.

A line of vehicles hugged the right side of the path. I steered onto the grass, adding my car to the makeshift parking lot. We gathered our gear and walked toward the mysterious start line.

The race headquarters sat tucked away at Y Camp—a secluded campground so far off the beaten path that without the unmistakable row of porta-potties, you'd never guess hundreds of runners were about to embark on an epic journey through the woods.

We made our way over to the picnic tables to set down our gear. Many runners were headed in the same direction. Straight ahead was the inflatable arch, signifying the start and finish line. Instead of saying ‘start,’ it read Giddyup and It’s Done, instead of finish. I laughed to myself.

I found an empty picnic table to set my drop bag. I had extra nutrition, fluids, wet wipes, and a small towel. I would be able to access this bag at miles 10, 25, 35, and at the finish. I checked my watch: 45 minutes until the start. I examined my running vest to ensure I had enough gels to begin. Then, I took one gel and some fluids before hitting the porta-potty.

As I stood in line, the weight of what I was about to attempt settled in. 50 miles. Over 10,000 feet of elevation gain. I recognized how different this 50 mile run was from the JFK 50 mile.

Could I do it?

This was why I was here: to find out.

(TBC… to be continued)

You’re invited!

Join our online community writing session today (6/9) at 11 am EST. We'll gather in silent solidarity to work on our creative projects, starting with a writing prompt to warm up. No experience is necessary.

You're welcome here if you seek accountability partners, fellow writers, or a supportive community space. After the prompt, please use this focused time to advance your project in any way you like.

Be part of our creative community! Use the link below (on Mondays) to join our Zoom room. Feel free to share with a friend.

Community writing session

Monday’s writing group—thank you! Craving time to move and write?

Join our Move.Write.Connect group this summer, where we:

Put down our phones 📱➡️📴

Lace up our sneakers 👟

Grab our notebooks 📝

Show up for ourselves ✨

Click the button below for details and to sign up.

Move and Write Summer

Bagpipes in the Woods at Mile Three

The Cayuga Trails 50 mile race was on Saturday. I carried the same beads in my running vest that I carried at the JFK 50 Mile—each bead representing someone touched by cancer. Mile three was dedicated to Howard, and I had learned from his brother, Clark, that Howard was a musician.

When I told Clark I would be running for Howard again, he said, “Howard will be sending you heavenly music to inspire and fuel those last 10 miles. He had a gift for music and created some magnificent compositions.”

He was right.

At mile three, a man was playing bagpipes right by the waterfall. I couldn't believe it. Goosebumps covered my arms as I smiled.

Howard was with me.

It was beautiful and became the inspiration for today's poem.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published The Sound of RemembranceFootsteps beat along the trail,a heightened state of awareness—each distinct sound carries us forwardin continuous stirring,a soulful melody threading through our steps.The roar of waterfallsdrowns the music at first,but maybe I’m not imagining things:bagpipes in the woods?Could this be?The sound floats among the trees,closer,louder.Goosebumps rise on my armsas I glance at my watch—mile three.Howard is with me in spirit.I turn the cornerto see the man playing for usas we embark on our fifty-mile adventure,his heavenly musicconfirming what Clark always said was true.

Writing prompt: Tell me about a moment during a physical journey when an unexpected sound, sight, or encounter made you feel connected to someone who wasn't physically present with you.

You’re invited!

Join us for our online community writing session next Monday(6/9) at 11 am EST. We'll gather in silent solidarity to work on our creative projects, starting with a writing prompt to warm up. No experience is necessary.

You're welcome here if you seek accountability partners, fellow writers, or a supportive community space. After the prompt, please use this focused time to advance your project in any way you like.

Be part of our creative community! Use the link below (on Mondays) to join our Zoom room. Feel free to share with a friend.

Community writing session

I discovered my Shopping Superpower and you can too

Better your world

Changing up today’s post with a book recommendation, my friend Diane published, Your Shopping Superpower: Follow your values and better your world one purchase at a time.

I'm currently reading Your Shopping Superpower by Diane Osgood. The title immediately caught my attention—who doesn't want a superpower? I certainly do, especially one that helps improve the world with every purchase I make.

Diane delivers exactly what the title promises, providing practical tools and valuable insights to transform how we shop. In Your Shopping Superpower, she equips readers with actionable tips to align their spending with their values.

I’m learning how to support local businesses in my community better. Diane dedicates an entire chapter to this topic, offering small, manageable ways to make a meaningful impact while shopping with intention and purpose.

I visit a local coffee shop at least once a week; it's where I lead the Run to Write Club and reflects the kind of local business I want to champion. By bringing writers to this coffee shop, I know we’re helping the business meet its daily financial goals.

It’s also allowed me to start implementing Diane's advice—bring your reusable coffee cup. It not only reduces waste but also demonstrates my commitment to supporting this wonderful local gathering spot where our community connects and grows.

This small change—bringing my own cup—has become a weekly reminder that conscious choices, no matter how minor they seem, can create ripple effects in our communities. Diane's book has opened my eyes to countless other ways I can use my purchasing power for good.

If you're looking to make your spending more intentional and impactful, Your Shopping Superpower offers the roadmap to get started. Check out Diane’s Substack publication to learn more.

You can buy the book from an independent bookstore in person or online here.

You’re invited!

Join us for our online community writing session today (6/4) at 11 am EST. We'll gather in silent solidarity to work on our creative projects, starting with a writing prompt to warm up. No experience is necessary.

You're welcome here if you seek accountability partners, fellow writers, or a supportive community space. After the prompt, please use this focused time to advance your project in any way you like.

Be part of our creative community! Use the link below (on Mondays) to join our Zoom room. Feel free to share with a friend.

Community writing session

P.S. I finished the Cayuga trails! What an adventure. I have some writing to do and hope to share more with you soon.

Manufacturing Sunshine™

Saturday arrived grey and rainy, much like the day before. I was happy I'd chosen to run The Highland Forest 1-2-3, 20 miles through the woods with others, and my son Brindsley joining me for the first loop. I’ll manufacture my own sunshine, as my friend Terri would say.

Given all the rain over the past few weeks and the downpour hitting my windshield as we drove to the race, I knew the trail would be muddy. Despite the small crowd of runners, it was wonderful to see so many smiles as we lined up for our bib numbers.

I'm grateful each time I get to pin a bib number on my chest—it's a celebration of toeing another starting line and moving alongside others. Thank you, body. Thank you, mind.

My goals for this trail run were to test last-minute nutrition strategies for my upcoming 50-mile race this Saturday and to practice my mantras. The steep climbs would provide a good test for this upcoming run.

The one thing I couldn't control was the mud and rain, so I didn't worry about those conditions. (I did make sure my sneakers were laced good and tight.) Instead, I focused on what mattered: nutrition, mantras, spending time with my son, and enjoying the company of fellow runners on the trail.

A mile in, and we were slipping and sliding. Let's see if I can stay upright, I thought. Sections of the trail were ankle to shin deep with mud. The sounds of squish, plunk, and pop as my feet pulled free filled my ears. The trail was talking back with each stride, bringing back memories of cross-country running and my love of mud runs.

It was comical at times—my arms flailing as my feet slid left, then right. I kept my balance and laughed to myself. Then we ran through a section where towering evergreens rose above us, enormous roots crossing the forest floor, and the smell of pine filled the air.

Glorious.

I had the best thought: This is so fun. I feel like a kid in the woods, along the trails, sloshing through the mud.

What a great day to be a runner.

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Join us for our online community writing session next week (6/2) at 11 am EST. We'll gather in silent solidarity to work on our creative projects, starting with a writing prompt to warm up. No experience is necessary.

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Community writing session

Superhero movers and writers!

We had a great Wednesday Move. Write. Connect.

Grateful each week to hear your stories and connect. If you’re local, we have 3 spots available for next Wednesday's 6/4 session if you would like to drop in. Click the button below for details and to register.

Move. Write. Connect.