11:47 - My Heart Stood Still

Honoring My Best Friend

February 5, 2026, just before noon, my oldest brother transitioned from this life to the eternal arms of the Most High God.  

He Was My First Friend

I find myself remembering the oddest things. Like him pushing me down the hill on the Big Wheel. Or making me give it up so our younger siblings could ride. I remember when he and my younger brother went racing down the hill in Mount Winans, near Grandma Mayme and Grandpa Martin's house, and crashed my Big Wheel. I cried so hard and beat on his back. I got in trouble for being violent, but I was sure I was right because he had promised not to destroy my Big Wheel. 

I remember us making igloos during winter storms when we lived in Westport. He hid in one, and I couldn't find him. Because he wasn't just my big brother but my first real friend, you guessed it, I cried, convinced the snow had eaten him. 

I remember him taking me to the bus at the top of the hill, not a school bus, but the one converted into a grocery store run by a man named Mr. Doc. We loved him because sometimes we'd buy ten pieces of penny candy and he'd throw in a few extras, or slip some penny cookies into our bag. 

The Boy Who Took Care of Us

My brother was responsible (sort of) at a young age. He knew how to pay bills, buy groceries, and take my siblings and me to school. He had to. My mother worked, and my father had already passed away. 

Our Games, Our Music, Our Joy

I loved playing basketball with him, honestly, any sport. He loved having me on his team because, well, I was something of a superstar athlete. I was shorter than he and his friends, but I had a mean arm. I could throw a football and pitch a wicked curveball. He was athletic too: tall, always pretending he could dunk (he couldn't), but I cheered him on anyway. 

We loved singing together and yes, he really could sing. Then he got into rap and tried to get my siblings and me involved. His early rap name was Special Ed at one point. I think he also had a DJ name. My younger brother was Brainy B, my middle sister was Special K and my baby sister was MC Nae. I think I was Puddie-E. Those were fun times. 

Me and my brother used to win all the dance contests and the Avon bags that went along with them. 

We played WWE SmackDown, dressed up like superheroes, hung from things, jumped on and off dressers and trees, built nunchucks from scratch, shared skates, and rode down hills with one foot each in a skate, holding hands and hoping for the best. 

The Man He Became

My brother was a pride-filled man. He loved dressing nicely and doted on his siblings with new shoes and sweats when he could. He worked three jobs in high school so he could "stunt," yes, but also so he wouldn't be a burden to my mother. He saw how stressed she was and wanted to help.

He was a knucklehead and a jokester who loved his family ferociously and would go to war for us. He loved business and entrepreneurship and loved learning, but just not in school settings (school was my job). 

He made me an aunt with my first nephew, who looks just like him. 

He was stubborn as hell, which is part of why, in my opinion, he left this life far too soon. We didn't know he was sick, seriously sick, until it was too late. 

He Cheered Me On

He cheered me on at every stage of my life: through being a teenage mother, going to college, writing my books, and, most recently, running my first marathon. In fact, I FaceTimed him the day I finished my first race of the new year: She Power. I told him how I improved my pace by nearly three minutes per mile and finished sixteen minutes faster than last year. He was so proud and even, through his pain and discomfort, he cheered me on. 

He carried my mother's smile and her hearty laughter, which still makes me smile, and I'd say he carried my father's adventurous spirit too. 

I miss him already. 

If he were reading this, he'd probably laugh, shake his head, and tell me I was being extra and then hug me anyway. He loved my corny jokes, laughed at them, poked fun at me, and somehow still let me keep telling them. That feels important to remember. 

I don't have anything profound to say to close this. I just know that my big brother...my first friend mattered. I don't need closure right now. I just need space to remember, to laugh, to grieve, and to keep going. 

Today, I miss him. Tomorrow, I'll probably miss him differently. For now, this is enough. 

With tears and a heart of gratitude because I've learned multiple things can be true at the same time. 

Stacie J. 

From Spirit to Mind to Body:

 A Thank You Across Borders

This week, I paused again in awe.

The Embracing Me blog has now reached 84 countries and territories worldwide, with over 97,712 lifetime views. In the last seven days alone, readers from Guatemala, Honduras, and Panama have joined this growing global community. 

To each of you: thank you. 

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for staying.

Thank you for seeing yourselves somewhere in these words. 

As I sit with this moment, just shy of 100,000 views, I find myself reflecting not on numbers, but on movement: internal movement, spiritual movement, human movement across time and seasons. 

The Journey From Spirit to Mind to Body

When I began writing nearly 20 years ago, I was a wounded woman trying to survive by naming my pain. My words were raw, searching, and often heavy with questions I didn't yet know how to hold. I leaned deeply into spirit, sometimes over spiritualizing, because faith felt like the safest place to land when life felt unsteady. 

Over time, something shifted. 

Without realizing it, my writing began to move from spirit to mind. I started examining belief systems, patterns, trauma, leadership, and meaning. I questioned what I had been taught, what I had inherited, and what no longer fit. Writing became a space of unlearning and relearning. Where faith and reason met, and where reflection became a form of healing. 

And then, more recently, another shift emerged. 

The body entered the conversation. 

Rest. Recovery. Breath. Nervous systems. Movement. Boundaries. Wellness.
The truth that healing does not live only in prayer or thought, but in how we inhabit ourselves fully—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. 

Looking back now, I see that this evolution of spirit, mind, and body was never accidental. It mirrors the human journey. It mirrors our journey. 

Embracing Me was never meant to be a story about me alone. These words were always about people across cultures, continents, and experiences—finding permission to see themselves fully. To remove the mask. To honor their stories. To reconnect with who God created them to be, not who the world demanded they perform as. 

A Space to Belong, Reflect, and Grow

If you are new here, welcome.
If you've been reading quietly for years, thank you for trusting this space.

If something you read helped you name a feeling, shift a perspective, or take one step toward wholeness, then this work is doing what it was always meant to do. 

And if a post stirred discomfort, challenged a belief, or touched a tender place, know this: you still belong here. Discomfort is not a sign of exclusion, nor a reason to turn away. Often, it is an invitation to pause, to reflect, and to examine what is being revealed. Growth rarely arrives wrapped in ease, but it does arrive with intention. 

As this community continues to grow, I remain grounded in the same intention that guided the first words I ever wrote: truth, compassion, reflection, and faith expressed through a lived, embodied life. 

I invite you to stay connected. You can follow the Embracing Me blog and be among the first to receive new posts as they are released. 

And if someone comes to mind as you read, consider inviting them to join you here. This work is meant to be shared, not rushed, and not walked alone. 

Becoming who we were designed to be is sacred work. And every step toward wholeness creates space for others to do the same. None of us grows alone. 

From my heart to yours, across borders and beyond numbers: thank you for being part of the Embracing Me journey. 

With love and gratitude,

Stacie J

She Powered Through & Then She Recovered

Why recovery is not a reward, but a requirement

If She Powered Through was about honoring endurance, this chapter is about celebrating what comes after: recovery as a strategic practice for performance, resilience, and wellness. Crossing the finish line of the She Power race was powerful, but what followed taught me even more about intentional living. 

"Crossing the finish line, fully present and proud."

I ran my fastest 10K, rode the runner's high straight into work, and felt proud, grounded, and accomplished. Planning ahead, I had taken Monday off: a strategic choice that allowed me to recover, reset, and prevent burnout. By Tuesday, I was back at work: moving slower, yes, but still clear-headed, balanced, and fully present. I even offered to come in on my day off, Wednesday, to finish some things, only to wake up and hear my body say, "Not today." 

I honored it. Recovery first, so I could continue to show up as my best self. 

Recovery as Leadership: Bridge Wellness Center

During the race, I met the owners of Bridge Wellness Center, Drs. Matt and Tiffany. They invited me to experience their space, so I did, and from the moment I arrived, it was clear this is a place built with intention, care, and respect for the whole person: mind, body, and spirit. 

After changing into my bathing suit (the changing facilities are thoughtful and welcoming), I began with red light therapy, a gentle yet increasingly researched modality used to support recovery, performance, and overall wellness.  

Some of the commonly cited benefits include: 

Muscle Recovery & Pain Support 

• Supports muscle recovery and tissue repair 
• Helps reduce inflammation and joint stiffness
• Stimulates cellular energy (which may accelerate healing)
• May reduce pain by supporting the body's natural inflammatory response

Skin Health

• Helps calm irritated skin
• Supports wound healing and tissue repair
• Stimulates collagen and elastin production 
• Improves circulation, which may enhance tone and texture

Nervous System & Whole-Body Support

• Encourages relaxation of the nervous system
• May support mood regulation and stress reduction
• Emerging research suggests potential benefits for sleep quality and mental well-being

What stood out to me most wasn't just the list of benefits, but how restorative and grounding the experience felt. This wasn't indulgence; it was an intentional recovery, allowing the body to do what it's designed to do. 

These are just some of the potential benefits, as research in this area continues to evolve. 

Gentle Disclaimer: As with any wellness practice, individual experiences may vary. I encourage readers to conduct their own research and consult a healthcare provider to determine what is appropriate and safe for their personal health needs.  

"Trying compression boots at the She Power Race. Intentional recovery in action."

Next came the sauna. The goal: 15 minutes. Around minute five, I felt the discomfort and briefly questioned myself, but I stayed. Leaning into that discomfort was a small exercise in resilience, mindfulness, and self-trust; practices that carry over far beyond the sauna.

After the sauna, I moved to the hot tub for another 10-15 minutes, allowing my nervous system to calm, muscles to relax, and mind to reset. 

Finally, I approached the moment I had been mentally preparing for: the cold plunge. 

Power in Presence:  The Cold Plunge

The cold plunge is where discomfort meets mastery. I took a breath, squatted, settled in, and stayed five full minutes. I was present, breathing through the intensity, and trusting my body's capacity to recover. That moment perfectly summed up this entire experience: intentional recovery is a practice in discernment: choosing when to advance, when to pause, and how to maintain strength for the journey ahead.  

 

"Trusting the process, embracing discomfort, and finding presence."

Finishing strong, in the race and in the cold plunge, is not about ego; it's about strategy, presence, and self-respect. 

Lessons for Leadership, Wellness, and Life 

Recovery is not a reward for finishing the work; it is the discipline and the requirement that allows us to continue with sustainable strength. In leadership, wellness, and life, the ability to pause with intention is not weakness; it's wisdom. Whether on the racecourse, in leadership, or in life, how we recover often determines how long and how well we live AND lead. 

I powered through the race. I recovered with equal intention. And, in doing so, I continue discovering what it means to show up fully; globally, consistently, and whole. It's less about performing and more about embodying presence, humility, and intention in everything I do.  

I'd love to hear from you: 

1. Where have you learned the power of pausing, restoring, or listening to your body to keep going? 
   
   
2. What has resilience looked like for you in this season? 

Resiliently, 

Stacie J.

She Powered Through

She Power Race Recap

Let's Celebrate

There are moments worth pausing to honor, not because everything went perfectly, but because we showed up with intention, grace, and courage. This is one of those moments. 

The She Power race wasn't just about miles, minutes, or medals. It was about listening, trusting, pacing, community, healing, encouragement, and the quiet power of continuing even when the path leading up to the starting line wasn't smooth. 

And truthfully? The story began long before race morning. 

Preparing for She Power: Honoring the Pause

The two weeks leading up to this race were anything but ideal. 

Workouts were inconsistent. 

Walks were off rhythm. 

Runs felt forced, shortened, or skipped altogether.

Sinus pressure lingered, heavy in my head and body, reminding me daily that strength doesn't always show up as speed or stamina. 

So instead of pushing through just to say I did, I paused. 

I rested. 

I listened. 

I chose care over guilt.

Because sometimes the most disciplined thing we can do is stop long enough to heal mind, body, and spirit without attaching shame to the pause. 

Powering through doesn't always look like grinding nonstop. Sometimes it looks like joy after a long workday. Laughter that shakes loose stress. Boundaries without apology. Trusting God with what we can't control. Showing up anyway: not perfect, not fully healed, but present and willing. 

If you've had a disrupted rhythm, a rough season, or a body that needed grace instead of pressure, this run was for you too. 

We were still strong. 

We were still called. 

And we honored the pause before the push.

The Night Before: Race Eve Rituals & Restless Energy

Saturday night, I fully expected to sleep straight through until my alarm. I had family visiting, playtime, and I was deeply tired. Surely rest would come easily.

Nope. 

I lay down early and didn't drift off until after 11 p.m., knowing full well my alarm would ring around 5 a.m. I slept deeply until 2:30 a.m., then I was wide awake. 

Not because I wasn't tired, but because this always happens before a race. That familiar feeling. Like the night before the first day of school. A new job. Stepping onto a stage. Wedding jitters. 

I don't fully know how to name it, but I know this: I rarely get a full night's rest before a race. 

So I stayed still. 

I prayed. 

I played Mahjong. 

I checked in with family that was headed to the airport. 

Eventually, I eased out of bed and began preparing:

• A leftover slice of pizza for fuel (because balance 😁)
• Post-race snacks
• My pre-race drink with vitamin B
• An early departure to pick up my race packet

The drive was peaceful. Almost too peaceful. My sinuses and post-nasal drip were still trying to make themselves known. I thought about pace. About last year. About this year.

And seriously, what is it about race day that makes you need to pee every ten minutes? I went to the restroom three times before the race even started. 

I laced up my favorite racing shoes, my Sauconys (game changers, truly). And as I stood there, a familiar truth settled in:

I'm not here to compete against other women. 

I am here to compete against myself. 

Long Before the Starting Line: This Journey Didn't Start in 2025

Although I officially joined races last year, I've been walking and trotting my way through this wellness journey consistently for three to five years. 

I've watched my waistline shrink.

I've released more than 45 pounds. 

And I'm no longer pressed about the number on the scale.

Especially after learning what so many women experience during the change, or should I say, the changes. 

Pre-pause was rough. 

Perimenopause was worse.

Post-menopause? A beast compared to both, until I learned how to support my body, balance my hormones, and listen instead of punishing. 

To the women reading this: 

You are beautiful, no matter your size or shape. 

To the men: 

Please be kind to the women in your lives. These body shifts are real: brain fog, mood swings, restless nights, skin changes, hair thinning, cravings that make no sense, and that's not even the full list. 

We judge ourselves enough already. 

Support matters. 

Sunrise Sisterhood: Women at the Corner

At 6:30 a.m., in the cool quiet before the sun rose, I met a small group of women on the corner. All of us were headed toward the same place, even if our journeys looked different. 

One was a vendor who warmly invited me to find the compression booth after the race. Another was a runner. Then Jill, Valerie, Ruth (I think), and Samantha joined.

Strangers, and yet, not strangers at all.

We talked about life. About stress, hormonal shifts, injuries, aging, and bodies changing in ways no one fully prepares us for. 

One woman shared she was grateful to meet me, and admitted she felt a little jealous that I could run, because a herniated disc meant she could only walk. 

There was no comparison. 

No pity. 

Just mutual respect. 

We laughed together in the cool morning air, swapping stories and encouragement, holding space for one another before the world fully woke up. 

Women witnessing women. 

That, too, was powering through. 

The Race: Mile 4.65 & Gentle Push Forward

By the time I reached the starting area, nerves had arrived right on cue. Fingers still tingling. A low hum of anticipation running through my body. 

Still, I reminded myself:

I wasn't racing against anyone else.

I was honoring my own body. 

My own timeline. 

My own becoming. 

Around mile 4.65, (yes, I clocked it), my left shoulder began to ache. My right knee followed. My pace slowed. 

Instead of panicking, I checked in gently (with myself of course): 

"Come on, Stacie. Let's keep going. We got this." 

I found rhythm alongside two other runners, and we encouraged one another quietly, steadily. 

No rushing. 

No forcing. 

Just presence. 

That invisible barrier I've written about before showed up again, not to stop me, but to be noticed, assessed, and moved through. 

She didn't power through by ignoring her body. 

She powered through by trusting it. 

The Finish Line: Proof, Tears, and Chocolate Cake

When it was over—when I crossed that finish line, something beautiful happened. 

A young woman I had checked on during the race found me. She told me that if it hadn't been for my encouragement, she wouldn't have finished. She introduced me to her family. We took pictures together. 

And, I cried. 

Because this race wasn't just about time. 

Though yes, I finished 16 minutes and 13 seconds faster than this same race last year. 

It was about proof:

• Proof that I am safe in my body
• Proof that I can pace myself and still finish strong
• Proof that power doesn't always look like pushing
• Proof that presence matters

Later, there was water. Oranges. And then, unexpectedly, the most amazing chocolate cake.

And listen...that cake was everything. Sometimes joy shows up exactly where you need it.

I also tried post-race leg and foot compression for the first time. At first it felt strange, but afterward? My legs felt grateful, supported, and cared for. 

Another reminder: 

Recovery is part of the work.  

Familiar Rhythms & the Drive Home

This race was hosted by 131 Events, and I realized I've run most of my races with them since last year. There's something comforting about familiar organizers, familiar rhythms, and familiar excellence. 

And then there was the drive home. 

Salt stains streaked my face from sweat and tears. 

My body was tired, but strong. 

My spirit was overwhelmed in the best way. 

I sat with the emotion instead of rushing past it. 

Because again, this wasn't just a race. 

It was community. 

It was witnessing. 

It was pacing. 

It was encouragement given and received. 

It was learning, again, that power doesn't always roar. 

Sometimes, she laughs on a street corner at sunrise. 

Sometimes, she walks when she can't run. 

Sometimes, she pauses at mile 4.65 and keeps going anyway. 

She powered through. 

Not alone.

Not by force.

But together, with wisdom, grace, and heart.

2026 vs. 2025: The Numbers Tell the Story

When I finally sat down and looked at my Apple Watch data, I had one of those quiet, grounding realizations: 

This wasn’t just “a little faster.”


This was real, measurable growth. 

Overall Time 

• 2025: 1:38:58 

• 2026: 1:22:45 

⏬16 minutes and 13 seconds faster on the same 10K course. 

Not a shortcut.


Not perfect conditions.


Not a fluke. 

Just a body that has learned how to show up differently. 

Pace Breakdown: Mile by Mile 

Mile 1 

• 2025: 15:23 
• 2026: 12:30
• ⏬2.53 faster

Cautious became confident. 

Mile 2 

• 2025: 14:58
• 2026: 13:02
• ⏬1.56 faster

Effort increased, but so did control.  

Mile 3 

• 2025: 16:11
• 2026: 13:11
• ⏬3:00 faster 

Fatigue gave way to steadiness.  

Mile 4 

• 2025: 16:11 
• 2026: 13:49
• ⏬2:22 faster 

Survival became rhythm. 

Mile 5

• 2025: 15:18 
• 2026: 13:28 
• ⏬1:50 faster

Consistency replaced strain. 

Mile 6 

• 2025: 17:29
• 2026: 13:47
• ⏬ 3:42 faster 

Where I slowed last year, I held strong this year. 

Cadence & Effort: The Invisible Wins 

• Average Cadence 2025: 136 
• Average Cadence 2026: 154 

That shift signals: 

• Better running efficiency
• Less over-striding
• More sustainable mechanics
• Stronger pacing awareness

Last year: moderate effort. 

This year: hard, but controlled. 

Higher effort. Far better outcome. 

The Takeaway

I didn't just run faster in 2026. 

I removed the slow miles. 

I trusted my body. 

I stayed present when it got hard. 

And that's what 16 minutes of progress really looks like. 

She powered through. 

Not by force. 

But by faith, wisdom, and choice. 

And yes, I would do it again.

Actually...I plan to do it again. 💛

With joy and gratitude,

Stacie J

The Invisible Barrier

Throughout my life, I've heard people talk about the frustration of reaching a certain point only to be met with an invisible barrier that seemingly stops them in their tracks. A wall you didn't see coming. A resistance you can't quite explain. 

I know that barrier well. I've met it more times than I care to count.

One example I rarely talk about is my educational journey. When I first began my associate's degree, I was met with health issues, marital challenges, and family struggles. The weight of it all felt relentless. Still, I pressed on and earned my Associate of Arts. 

From there, I pursued my bachelor's degree, first in vocal performance, then later shifting gears to Community Studies and Civic Engagement (the long way to say Nonprofit Management). But not without almost quitting altogether. 

Yes, you read that right. 

I was only weeks away from applying for graduation when everything in my life began to unravel.

I was exhausted—spiritually, physically, mentally. I told several professors that I planned to quit because I simply had nothing left to give.  

At the same time, my home was slipping into foreclosure. I felt exposed. Ashamed. Like a fraud who had somehow convinced everyone else I was holding it together. 

But clearly, God had other plans. 

Some of the most unsuspecting professors came alongside me. They sat with me. They listened. They didn't rush to fix anything. They simply stayed. And in their staying, they helped me find my footing again. 

Together, we created a plan to finish strong when I no longer believed I could. I applied for incompletes in a few classes. I was still allowed to walk the stage during the Spring of 2008, but my degree would not be released until every requirement was fulfilled by the final deadline. 

And I did it.

I finished.

I'm writing about this now because the world feels like it's on fire — and so does my own life. Once again, just as I am preparing to elevate, I'm being met with obstacle after obstacle. Challenge after challenge. That familiar resistance. That invisible barrier. 

This brings me back to The Dream Giver by Dr. Bruce Wilkinson, a book I reread nearly every year. Each time, it reveals something new. It reminds me of how Ordinary was called to leave what was familiar. How family and friends tried to convince him to turn back. How giants rose up to stop him. And the moment that always stands out most to me is when Ordinary encounters the invisible wall of fear. 

It wasn't something outside of him. It was within him. The barrier wasn't meant to destroy him — it was meant to be confronted. To be pushed through. To stretch him beyond comfort and into calling. 

If I could offer a word of encouragement to my future self, or to anyone reading this, it would be this:

You have overcome invisible barriers before.

You did not break under the weight of the unknown. You rose. You healed. You grew stronger and wiser. What did you learn then that carried you to where you are now?

And if you must look back, do so only to remember how far you've come, not to return to old patterns, old thoughts, old people, or old places. 

You are more than a conqueror.

You have a proven track record of doing hard things and of pressing forward when quitting felt easier. 

So go ahead; do it again.

God is with you. 

Faithfully,

Stacie J. 

The Holy Trinity of Self-Care

Why Mind, Body, and Spirit Are Essential for Sustainable Leadership and Wellbeing

The Arrival

2026 arrived not with chaos, but with a calm, catalyzing momentum, quietly preparing us for the presence and perception of what lies ahead. Like every New Year, it entered with loud celebrations:  bangs, cheers, laughter, dancing, and hopeful hearts. And like so many Januaries before it, it also arrived carrying grief; a cluster of losses, familiar names now held in memory. 

Honoring Love

Today, I pause to honor my loved ones, past and present. Thank you for living. For loving. For fighting. For caring, sharing, and building. Your lives mattered. Your imprint remains. 

The Holy Trinity of Self-care

As I reflect, my thoughts turn to the Holy Trinity. Yes, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And, also to what I've come to call the holy trinity of self-care: mind, body, and spirit. 

This framing reminds me that care is not separate from faith; it is an expression of it. 

As a health and wellness coach and a fierce advocate for whole-body wellness and policies that support it, I am continually reminded that we are not separate from the divine. 

Scripture reminds us, "Don't you know that you yourselves are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in your midst?" (1 Corinthians 3:16).

Sustainable Leadership and Wellbeing

To be human is to carry both burden and beauty, along with the responsibility of stewardship, not perfection, but care. To care for our mental health, physical bodies, and spiritual alignment is not indulgent; it is sacred. 

Sacred Work

Care. Intention. Reverence for the bodies and lives we inhabit. If we truly believe that God lives within us, then tending to our mental health, physical well-being, and spiritual alignment is not optional; it is sacred work. 

Invitation

This year, I invite you to reconsider what self-care means for you. Not as a trend. Not as a luxury. But as an act of devotion to your calling, your community, and the life entrusted to you. Honor the temple. Tend the whole. And move forward with intention. 

If this resonates, I'd love to continue the conversation through writing, coaching, and community. 

With loving care,

Stacie J.

From Intention to Finish Line

The Journey of Miles, Milestones, and Memories Part IV

One Decision I Did Not Quit

On November 16, 2025, I joined a small global community: the 1% who have completed a marathon. 

I did not fully understand how powerful that moment would feel until I crossed the finish line. 

I kept going. I finished. I became a marathoner.

This was not just a test of endurance. It was a living, breathing lesson in commitment, self-trust, and follow-through. Below is how my marathon unfolded, mile by mile, and what each stretch of pavement taught me.

My Pace

• Mile 1: 13:13
• Mile 2: 13:38 
• Mile 3: 13:24 
• Mile 4: 13:30 
• Mile 5: 13:20 
• Mile 6: 13:50 
• Mile 7: 16:15 
• Mile 8: 13:40 
• Mile 9: 14:46 
• Mile 10: 16:00 
• Mile 11: 15:09 
• Mile 12: 15:07 
• Mile 13: 15:37 
• Mile 14: 17:04 
• Mile 15: 21:30 
• Mile 16: 16:25 
• Mile 17: 18:03 
• Mile 18: 19:11 
• Mile 19: 18:18 
• Mile 20: 17:50 
• Mile 21: 17:36 
• Mile 22: 17:01 
• Mile 23: 17:31 
• Mile 24: 15:50 
• Mile 25: 16:21 
• Mile 26: 14:37 

What the Marathon Taught Me

• I paced the early miles with discipline, not ego. 
• I met the wall and climbed over it. 
• I stayed consistent when comfort disappeared.
• I finished my final full mile faster than miles 14-23. 
• I completed my first marathon in 7:00:18, with an average pace of 16:03. 
• I started in Wave 7 at 7:24 AM and crossed the finish line at 2:34 PM: On time and on purpose. 
• Most importantly, I never quit on myself. 

This was more than a race. 

It was healing. It was discipline. It was my declaration that entering 50 would be intentional, grounded, and powerful. 

The Moments I Didn't Expect

• I stopped 3-4 times to use the restroom and released the need to rush. 
• I paused to check on other runners, offering encouragement, sharing Biofreeze, and teaching stretches.
• I experienced painful cramps between miles 15-17 and chose wisdom over force. 
• I danced Miles 18 and 19 because joy carried me when muscles could not.
• I climbed brutal hills between Miles 20-22 and did not stop. (Although I did question my decision-making skills and why I decided running a marathon was a good birthday gift idea).
• I refilled my water bottles at every hydration station, and my running belt definitely mattered.

These moments slowed my pace, but they strengthened my purpose. They made my finish richer, deeper, and more aligned with who I am. 

What Finishing Changed

This marathon was not about proving strength, winning, or being the fastest bunny on the trail (pun intended because we all know that story about the Tortoise and the Hare). It was about the honoring process. It was about listening to my body, trusting my preparation, and choosing perseverance again and again, long after the applause faded. 

• I finished what I started. 
• Not perfectly. 
• Not quickly. 
• But faithfully.

And here is what I know now:

• You do not have to be fast to be faithful.
• You do not have to be loud to be powerful. 
• You do not have to be fearless to finish, only willing. 

Whatever race you are running: physical, emotional, spiritual, or generational, commit to seeing it through. Pace yourself. Rest when needed. Ask for help. Offer help. Choose joy when the miles feel long. 

And when you reach your finish line, stand firmly in this truth:

• You kept going. 
• You finished. 
• You honored your word to yourself.

This is The Journey of Miles, Milestones, and Memories. 

And it is still unfolding. 

With joy, resolve, and a finishing spirit,

Stacie J. 

Mindset Shift

Choosing to Challenge Myself 

The Journey of Miles, Milestones, and Memories - Part III

A Golden Year Decision

Last year was my golden year. It was the year that I made radical decisions to meet this new season in my life with movement, courage, and curiosity rather than caution. 

Setting An Intention Bigger Than Fear

So I set an intention for 2025 that felt both bold and improbable, and that was to tackle three 5Ks, two 10Ks, and one marathon, with more than a decade from any previous running. It was not about proving anything to anyone else. It was about listening to the part of me that wanted to see what was possible when I stopped negotiating with fear and started honoring my capacity to grow. 

Training as Exploration, Not Punishment

I began training in the fall of 2024, not with rigid rules or punishment, but with exploration. Training became an invitation to move more, breathe deeper, and rebuild trust with my body. I registered for the She Power 10K in Chandler, Arizona, and suddenly the journey had a destination, but the real work was happening long before race day. 

Finding Strength Through Variety and Community

I had joined ClassPass and said yes to new experiences: yoga, barre, Pilates, cycling, kickboxing, HIIT, boxing. Each class taught me something different, not just about strength or endurance, but about rhythm, recovery, and resilience. I found spaces that felt like home, like Urban Yoga, Jabz Kickboxing, CycleBar, and Title I Boxing with Mr. Frazier. These were places where community mattered as much as performance.

Learning to Adjust Without Quitting

On days when motivation faded, I adjusted rather than quit. I walked indoors while watching my K-dramas because sometimes outdoors felt unreasonable, especially on 100+ degree days. I tracked my movement in ways that felt encouraging, not obsessive. Closing my rings, meeting my steps, and showing up became quiet promises I kept to myself. 

When the Shift Became Visible

Slowly, something shifted. 

My pace improved. My confidence followed. What once took nearly an hour per mile began to settle into something steadier, something stronger. I ran when I could with the Black AZ Run Club, and even when I wasn't consistent, I was inspired, especially by women my age reclaiming their speed, their stamina, and their joy. 

The She Power 10K: Testing the Edge

Then came January 26, 2025. The She Power 10K.

It was my first 10k EVER! I hadn't even completed an official 5K before, but something in me was ready to test the edge of what I believed I could do. The rules were clear: complete the first 5K in under 45 minutes to qualify to continue the full 10K. I started near the back of the pack, which meant I had to move with intention from the very beginning. 

I jogged.

I walked with purpose. 

I breathed through discomfort. 

I listened to my body and kept going. 

Witnessing Myself in Motion

This race was not about winning. It was about witnessing myself in motion; legs trembling, knee aching, spirit steady. It was about discovering that I could do hard things without rushing, without comparison, without abandoning myself in the process. 

A Mindset Shift That Reaches Beyond the Road

This was a mindset shift. Not just in running, but in life. 

The journey taught me that growth doesn't require perfection, only presence. That progress is often quiet. And that the most meaningful victories are the ones that change how you see yourself long after the finish line fades. 

Still Becoming

This is the heart of Miles, Milestones, and Memories: learning to enjoy the journey, honor the body you're in, and trust that every step, no matter the pace, counts!

And, I'm still just getting started. 

Mindfully, 

Stacie J. 

Eyes That See

There is no denying it, the world feels loud right now. 
Wars and rumors of wars. Political unrest and public unraveling.

Battles over land, power, resources, narratives. 
Families divided. Communities strained. Fear fed daily, hourly, endlessly. 

And, if this is all we see, exhaustion makes sense. 

But for those with eyes that see, all is not as it appears. 

Although the headlines shout conflict, monks continue to walk for peace. Mothers are still gathering in prayer. Fathers are still rising, quietly, steadily, into leadership and care. Strangers are still walking and running side by side, encouraging one another through breath, stride, and shared humanity. 

Love still stands. Peace still walks. Kindness still wins. 

These stories don't trend like the others. They don't incite outrage. They don't keep us scrolling. But they are no less real. 

We are being asked daily to choose what we consume, what we amplify, and what we allow to shape our inner world. 

Fear is loud, but it is not powerful on its own. It requires attention to survive. 

Love, on the other hand, is quieter. Like honey, it draws without force. As flies are drawn more readily to sweetness than vinegar, so too are hearts drawn to compassion, humility, and truth spoken with care. 

This is not a call to denial. It is a call to discernment. To look beyond the flames stoked for profit and control. To notice where peace is already at work. 

To participate, not in panic, but in presence. 

The call to action is simple, and yet profound:

See differently. Choose what you feed your spirit. Be a carrier of the very qualities you wish the world had more of. Because when enough of us decide to see, truly see, fear loses its grip. 

And what remains is the quiet, unshakable truth: Even now, especially now, love is still at work in the world. 

May you have eyes to see, and a heart open enough to change the narrative with love, despite the noise. 

With gentleness and love,

Stacie J.  

Before The Noise

The quiet ripple of peace

Last night, I slept. 

Peacefully, held by the distant thunder of fireworks and celebration. The sky spoke in bursts of color and sound, and at first, the dogs startled at every kaboom, their bodies tense with confusion. I drew them close, arms wrapping reassurance around their trembling frames. I whispered calm without words. Eventually, their breathing slowed. Mine did too. We slept. 

When I woke at 3 a.m., the house was still; sacred in its silence. The dogs lay tangled together, somehow curled and sprawled all at once, bellies exposed, paws twitching in dreams. I smiled. I gave thanks for their peace and recognized the quiet truth resting there with us: my calm had become their calm. My rest, their rest. Peace is contagious when it's embodied. 

I drifted back into sleep and woke again to morning light slipping softly through the cracks of the window; gentle, unannounced, patient. For a moment, instinct urged me to rise quickly, to move, to do. Then I remembered: how I begin matters. 

So I stayed still. 

One hand on my heart. One on my stomach. I checked in. I slowed my breath. I calmed my nervous system. I cleared the static of thought and gave thanks for this day, for their peace, for mine. I smiled toward heaven, grateful for being carried through 2025 and welcomed into 2026. Gratitude settled me into my body like an anchor. 

Then I rose and stepped into the world. 

My first run of the new year was unhurried and present. Each step met the earth with awareness. Each breath welcomed the air as if it were new. Scripture passed through my mind, not demanding attention, just offering companionship. I acknowledged it and kept moving. 

When my thoughts tried to rush ahead to lists, responsibilities, and expectations, I gently redirected them.

We move with grace. 
With calm.
With peace.
With ease. 

All is well. All unfolds in divine timing. There is nothing to chase. There is only this moment to inhabit fully, this breath, this body, this now. 

And that is how the year began. 

Let your presence be the atmosphere you carry. 
Let your peace lead your steps. 
Let your beginning be shaped with intention, gratitude, and God. 

Welcome to the first day of a new year!

With love, 

Stacie J.