How Running a Marathon Helped Me Heal After Divorce

And some powerful mantras for you to use!

Exactly one year ago, I crossed the finish line of my first marathon.

It wasn’t just 26.2 miles — it was a milestone of survival, healing, and the beginning of something new.

(If you want my running plan and insights, I’ll be happy to share them in another post.)

But this? This is about the why — the real story behind the medal photo.

Why I Chose to Run a Marathon

After three incredibly difficult years — navigating a painful divorce and the slow rebuilding of my identity — I needed something bold. Something symbolic. Something that could reflect the sheer effort it took to hold myself together.

26.2 miles may sound like a physical challenge — and it is — but for me, it was also a soul journey. A declaration. A homecoming.

I had never planned to be part of that elite percentage of marathon runners (only 0.01% of the world's population finish a marathon each year globally)… until life knocked me down, and I needed proof that I could get back up.

I ran to celebrate my strength.
I ran to reclaim my identity.
I ran every single morning I got out of bed, even when I didn’t want to.
For every moment, I kept going when stopping would’ve been easier.

The Mantras That Carried Me

I never ran with music. Just me, my breath, my feet on the pavement — and the mantras that kept me moving forward:

• I am a runner.

• I am strong.

• I could do this all day long.

• Forward is a pace.

• One breath at a time.

• Stay in your lane.

• I am breathing in. I am breathing out.

• I’m doing great. I’m doing fine. I’ll make it to the finish line.

• Just this breath. Just this moment.

• I can do hard things.

• Keep moving forward.

• One step at a time.

• I believe in myself.

• I am grateful for every mile.

• More miles, more smiles.

These words became a rhythm, a lifeline. And somehow, they still echo in my everyday life.

What You Don’t See in the Finish Line Photo

What people don’t see is the work behind the win:

The freezing cold morning runs. The dark, slushy sidewalks. The wind in my face. The day I nearly peed my pants mid-run (real talk). The runs squeezed in between ski sessions—yes, I once ran after a morning on the slopes, all the way over to the kids’ hill in Sun Valley, Idaho, just to ski with my boys in the afternoon. Runs at high altitude and at sea level. With friends, through Central Park, to and from work, then straight into teaching live classes on air. Runs on the treadmill at Peloton. I can’t even begin to thank my friends, family, and community enough—and my amazing nanny, who covered extra hours so I could lace up and get out there. The mental negotiations it took just to put on my shoes. Every single time I stepped onto the pavement or the treadmill, even when I didn’t want to. The lessons I learned from every good run, every tough one, from my PT, from my fellow runners and coworkers—every step taught me something.

It wasn’t glamorous. It was real. It was raw. It was rough. It was a whole new way of eating, training, breathing, and being that I had never done before. And it was mine.

From Marathon Miles to Middle School Mindfulness

This week, something came full circle.

The teacher of the 6th-grade class I lead, “Mindful Mondays,” pulled me aside. “The kids are struggling,” she said. “They’re tired. Distracted. Mentally checked out. I remembered you ran a marathon... how did you stay in it?”

And I realized: what got me through 26.2 miles is exactly what I try to teach those kids each week.

One breath at a time.
One step at a time.
Return to the why.
Keep showing up.

Next Monday, I’ll be sharing those mantras with them, because right now, their finish line might be June. And they need to know that forward is a pace, too.

What the Marathon Taught Me

Crossing that finish line was unforgettable. But the real transformation was in the journey: the training, the tears, the mantras, the mornings I didn’t feel like it, and the way I kept showing up anyway.

One year later, I carry those lessons with me. When I’m working on my next venture. In relationships. In quiet, everyday moments.

Because here's what the marathon taught me — and what I’ll never forget:

You don’t have to be fast.
You don’t have to be perfect.
You just have to keep moving forward.

What’s your version of a marathon? Whatever that is, right now, close your eyes, settle into your breath, choose a mantra that resonates with you from up above,e and quietly repeat it in your mind.