“F_ck,  Come on, you can do this,” I shouted to myself, pushing through the mini triathlon I took on last weekend. My legs ached, the cold bit through my skin, and I was already exhausted after swimming nearly a kilometer and biking 16 kilometers. But I kept going.

Alone with my thoughts, surrounded only by the river and the trees in the valley I call home, I felt waves of emotion and sensation crash over me. A real tsunami.

And then, I took a deep breath and told myself: “Pace. Me. Life.”

Random words to anyone else, but to me, they were a lifeline. They helped me continue until I finished the race in 2h08min.

How often have you felt the weight of life’s waves crashing into you, sweeping you off your feet? How many moments have wondered if you could carry on?

I’ve faced those moments many times. It’s funny how silence—just your heartbeat and your breath—can invite memories you thought you’d left behind. On Sunday, as I ran, I reflected on the many waves I’ve faced:

• Childhood bullying.
• An abusive relationship.
• Social anxiety.
• Disordered eating.
• Losing people I love.
• Changing jobs.
• Asking for help.

The list could go on, as it probably could for you, too….

But as I ran, I also saw something else. I saw how I paced myself to overcome. How I made baby steps when leaps of faith felt impossible. Like on Sunday, I slowed down, looked inward, and found both the answers and the courage to keep going.

At times, overcoming has meant testing my self-limiting beliefs—challenging the stories I tell myself. 

Other times, it’s been about asking for help. 

And sometimes, it meant falling apart entirely, only to pick up the pieces and, like the Japanese art of kintsugi, put myself back together—different, yes, but whole. Every crack, every break, made more beautiful for having been repaired.

Have you ever thought of your life that way? As a story of resilience, of rebuilding?

Sunday felt like that, life in a snapshot.

An ordinary human story of struggle and triumph. Yet, in that moment, it felt extraordinarily powerful to run with my thoughts, to own my journey, and to embrace every wave I’ve faced.

I often remind myself: I want to die looking back on a life I loved, with as few regrets as possible and countless memories to cherish.

Today, I invite you to do the same. Own your story. Look back, look inward, and recognize just how much you’ve truly lived and experienced. 

And the next time life’s waves crash into you, remember: slow down, pace yourself, and find the words that will carry you forward. Whatever they may be.

As Kay Ryan wrote in her stunning poem Spiderweb: “It isn’t ever delicate to live.” But, as I reminded myself on Sunday, “F***, you can do it.”

With love,
R