Every runner, if they stay in the sport long enough, comes face-to-face with injury. It is not a question of if, but when. And when it happens, the real challenge is often not physical – it is mental. We have plans, goals, races circled on the calendar. We build momentum. Then suddenly, something changes, and we are forced to adjust to a new reality we did not choose.

Last August, I got a very personal reminder of that.

I traveled to the Jack and Jill Marathon in the Seattle area with my youngest son. It was his first marathon, which made the trip especially meaningful. Like many of you, I have shared countless miles with family and friends, but there is something unique about lining up for a big race with your child.

A few days before the race, I noticed some pain in my foot. Nothing dramatic at first – just enough to raise concern. I rested, hoping it would settle down. On Saturday, I tried a short run, but the discomfort was still there. By Sunday morning, standing near the start line, I knew something wasn’t right.

I told my son I didn’t think I could do it.

He looked at me and said something simple but powerful: if I didn’t run, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

In that moment, I made a decision that many runners will recognize. I chose to start despite my best judgment.

For most of the race, the pain faded into the background. Adrenaline, focus, and the energy of the event carried me forward. It wasn’t until the last few miles that the discomfort returned in a serious way. I made it to the finish line in what was strangely a good time, but as soon as I stopped, I realized something was very wrong. I couldn’t take another step.

That race ended with a wheelchair at the airport and a direct trip to Tallahassee Orthopedic Clinic. Somewhere along the course, I had ruptured my plantar fascia. It is an injury that, in some cases, is even done surgically – but when it happens unexpectedly, it changes the structure and support of your foot in ways that are hard to predict.

What followed was not a quick recovery. The rupture led to broken bones that fall. Instead of building fitness, I was trying simply to walk without pain. Running – something that had been a regular part of my life – was gone for four months, and permanently changed.

That kind of forced pause has a way of clarifying things.

When you cannot run at all, you stop thinking about pace, mileage, or race goals. You just miss it. You miss the routine, the movement, the time outside, and most of all, the people. I missed running with my oldest son every Sunday morning. I missed Geoffrey– my best friend according to Strava. Running is often described as an individual sport, but for many of us, it is deeply social. It is how we connect.

Now that I am finally back, things look different. I am running shorter distances. My pace is slower. The goals I once had are no longer the goals I am chasing today.

And that is okay.

In fact, it is more than okay – I am genuinely happy. I enjoy being out there again, even if “out there” looks different than it used to. I enjoy seeing familiar faces, sharing miles, volunteering at races more than running them and simply being part of the running community.

Injuries force us to adjust, but they also give us perspective. They remind us why we started running in the first place. For most of us, it was not about hitting a specific time or distance. It was about how running makes us feel.

As we head into the summer, I am looking forward to reconnecting with that side of running. I am excited about being out at Phipps Park with the SMIRFs youth program, helping younger runners discover the sport. I am looking forward to spending time at the Summer Track Series, where the focus is as much on community as it is on competition. And I am especially excited to be back on the single-track trails during Bobby York’s Summer Trail Series – moving a lot slower than last summer, but appreciating every step.

If you are dealing with an injury right now, or adjusting to a setback, you are not alone. It is part of the journey. Plans will change. Goals will shift. Sometimes you have to let go of what you thought this season would look like and accept something different.

But different does not mean worse.

Often, it just means you are being reminded of what matters most. I hope to see many of you out there this summer – on the track, on the trails, or just enjoying an easy run with friends.