It’s race week! On Saturday, I’m running my next marathon. The other day, I saw an Instagram reel that said: It’s always “Why do you run so much?” and never “What mile can I meet you at with snacks?” I laughed. Because — true story. At the start of this year, while discussing leave, I mentioned that I’m planning to run a marathon at the end of February. A colleague looked at me and asked, quite sincerely: ...
My foot caught on a lip of uneven concrete, and before I could even comprehend what was happening, I was down. There is a specific, jarring shock to falling at forty-four. It’s not quite like falling as a kid, which was already bad for me; it’s a heavy, bone-rattling impact that leaves you winded on the side of a busy road, traffic blurring past while you check for blood and broken pride. I sat there for quite some time, brushing grit off my palms, wondering why I do this at all. ...
Wow, this year has started with a bang. My father-in-law passed away the day before my husband and I were due to return to work after our December and January leave. Although he had been ill for some time, it was still a huge shock for all of us. I have already lost both my parents, but for my husband, this is his first experience of losing a parent, and it’s been heartbreaking to watch him go through this. And don’t let me start on what it’s been like for our children. ...
I took a long break from writing. It was necessary. It was good. But I’m ready to start again — carefully, intentionally, and hopeful that I’ll find the rhythm I managed to hold over the last two years. 2025 wasn’t a year of big ambitions. I stepped back from marathons to focus on shorter distances and gave cross-country a try. My only real target was a mileage goal: 2,600 km. ...
Way back when I wrote my learner’s licence test, things worked differently: you first wrote the exam, and then you did your eye test. I remember sitting down for the eye test, relieved that I had passed, only for the instructor to look at me with a seriousness I didn’t expect. “I’m sorry… I can’t give you your licence.” I felt my stomach drop. “Why?” “Because you cannot see.” I was seventeen when I learned that I had been walking around in a world I couldn’t see clearly. I still remember putting on my first pair of glasses and staring at the trees outside. I stood there completely still because for the first time in my life, I could make out individual leaves. I had genuinely believed everyone saw trees the way I did: soft green smudges. It never once occurred to me that my “normal” wasn’t actually normal. ...
This past week, our weather hasn’t been great. On Tuesday, I got properly soaked during my track session, and afterwards, I had to rush straight home — no coffee, no lingering, just wet shoes and that quiet frustration you feel when the day starts too fast. Then on Sunday morning, when it was time for my long run, it was pouring again. And for once, instead of pushing myself out the door, I realised I actually had the space to pause. So I decided to get another cup of coffee, catch up on some speeches I am writing for next year, check the weather later, and told myself that I’d run from home if the day allowed it. ...
Can you feel the end of the year approaching? I can certainly feel it, and that feeling usually gets me thinking about goals again — not just big ones like marathons or life milestones, but also the small, steady ones that quietly shape who I become. As you might’ve noticed by now, I usually write my newsletters about the one thing that stood out most to me in the past two weeks, and this time it was a moment that reminded me exactly why goals matter so much. ...
Stepping into our house the other day, I caught the tail end of a conversation between my husband and our youngest son. They were discussing some computer game he was playing, and the sentence I overheard—completely out of context—was: “If everything has priority, then nothing has priority.” A revelation and a half for a thirteen-year-old, I thought. But then again, this is the same child who, a few years ago, at a resort displaying the sign “We’re proudly cashless,” asked, “Is that just a fancy way of saying they’re poor?” So I’ve come to expect his bright little flashes of insight. ...
Now and then, I hit a wall. It feels like I’ve tried everything, thought through every angle, and still nothing works. The problem before me becomes heavy and immovable — and I feel stuck. I’ve learned that the way out isn’t always to push harder. Sometimes, it’s to speak. Out loud. A colleague many years ago showed me this in the quirkiest way: he kept a tiny rubber duck glued to the top of his computer screen. Whenever he got stuck on a problem and couldn’t find a colleague to listen, he’d explain it to the duck — a strange thing to witness! More often than not, he’d already uncovered the answer by the time he’d finished talking it through. ...
MCM runs a couch-to-5k program, usually twice a year. The idea is simple but powerful: take people from the couch to running 5 km in just eight weeks. The latest program kicked off recently, and on their first Saturday, those of us at track got to meet some of the new group. That morning, one woman arrived early. She didn’t want to walk alone, so I offered to walk with her. At first, I set off too fast, but soon slowed to her pace. Just starting is a tricky thing; I’ve forgotten what that feels like. ...