75- 100 Miles Taught Me This: Why Women Need to Choose Themselves First

In this episode of MilesFromHerView, Kat recounts her intense and emotional experience running a 100-mile solo race without a crew, highlighting the physical and mental challenges she faced. She discusses the intricate planning and preparation involved, the struggle of balancing family life with ambitious personal goals, and the powerful realization of her own strength and worthiness. This raw, unfiltered story serves as an inspiring message to busy women and mothers, urging them to prioritize their own dreams and well-being. Kat shares practical tips and motivational insights that encourage listeners to take small steps toward their own '100 miles,' reinforcing the idea that showing up for oneself is a vital act of self-love and strength.

00:00 The Struggle at Mile 68

01:00 Introduction to the Journey

02:39 A Day in the Life of a Busy Mom

04:21 Training and Sacrifices

13:08 The Emotional Drive to the Race

15:39 The Race Begins

19:33 Facing Physical and Mental Challenges

23:54 A Note of Encouragement

25:01 Mental Tricks for Endurance

26:23 Listening to Your Body

27:02 The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner

27:50 Running for All Women

28:39 The Final Push

30:55 Crossing the Finish Line

32:22 The Power of Small Acts

35:40 Challenging Yourself

36:55 The Magic of Showing Up

38:44 Conclusion and Call to Action

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Transcript

0:01

It is mile 68. I'm sitting at the aid station. My body is in full revolt Chills. One minute. Very, very hot the next, and my stomach is doing back flips. My period just arrived at mile 66, like an unwelcomed house guest. I've been alone on this course for a lot of hours. My sub 24 hour dream, it's slipping through my fingers like water, and I'm sitting there trying to get myself. Back online to get on that course. And all I can think is, did I really drive 455 miles by myself to quit? Now, did I really wake up in the wee hours of the morning, miss some of my kids' games, cook dinner at lunchtime so my family could eat while they had their sports in the evening? Did I really do all of that to give up now? Today I am sharing the raw, unfiltered behind the scenes stories of my 100 mile race without a crew for the first time, no husband at the aid station, no friends to pace me through the dark hours, just me and my drop bags and a goal that terrified me. But here's the thing. This isn't about running. This is about what happens when a woman who spent her entire adult life making sure everyone else has what they need. Finally, finally decides to show up for herself too. This is about the moment when you realize that all those times you said, I don't have the time, or maybe when the kids are older, or I'm not that kind of person, were just stories you told yourself, because somewhere along the way you started believing that your dreams mattered less than everyone else's needs.

Kat: 1:51

Welcome to MilesFromHerView, the podcast powered by KatFit Strength, where busy women like you find practical solutions to fuel your fitness journey with authenticity and resilience. I'm Kat, your host, a mom of two active boys, a business owner, and an ultra marathon runner and a strength trainer in her forties with nearly two decades of experience. I'm here to help you cut through the noise of fads, hacks, and quick fixes. This is a space where we celebrate womanhood and motherhood. All while building strength and resilience and reconnecting with you from a place of self-compassion and worthiness. Whether you're lacing up your running shoes to go out for a run, driving your kids to practice or squeezing in a moment for yourself, I'm right here in the trenches with you. Let's dive in.

2:39

Welcome back to MilesFromHerView. I'm Kat. And if you're a woman who does it all, but still wants more, if you're exhausted from juggling but can't shake the voice whispering, what if this episode is for you? Like I said, it's a raw, unfiltered story of the behind the scenes of my last race. It isn't all about running. It is about the woman who does it all. So let me really bring you inside my life, because I'm pretty sure it looks a lot like yours. There's gonna be some differences, but there's gonna be some similarities. It is Tuesday morning, my alarm goes off at 5:00 AM I'm immediately doing the math. And it's not the simple kind, you know, the complex calculus that every, every mom knows out there. You know, if you run for 60 minutes, that gives you 15 minutes to shower, 15 minutes to get ready. Another 10 minutes to make sure the kids are getting out the door and those 10 minutes are sprinkled in while you're getting ready in and outta the shower, trying to get kids moved along to get their buses. And then, you know, in those ever so waning moments, getting just a little bit of the house picked up breakfast, and then at your desk by 7 30, 8 o'clock. I'm getting up. I'm tiptoeing around the house so,'cause there's staggered wait times in our house and I want everyone to get their sleep. I'm stepping over maybe piles of laundry or shoes strewn about in the mud room and trying to get myself to my workout. My workouts are. Honestly, I mean, I can't stress this enough and I know when you hear I've run a hundred miles, you think, okay, that takes a lot of T training and it does. Compared to a lot of my peers, my training is a lot less. I run about 45 to 60 minutes. Monday through Wednesday and Tuesday's my speed workout, and that's the day I really pretend like I'm still that college sprinter I used to be. But my, my body likes to remind me that it was a lifetime ago. And Thursdays are my deload day, where I spin. And Fridays and Saturdays, that's where I need to put in bigger mile days. And those days require a lot of negotiation planning and sometimes a little guilt. Strength training happens Monday, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, and they're squeezed into the margins just like everything else is. That is just for me. By 7:30 AM I am pretty much at my desk. I'm seeing clients, doing client check-ins, and I am teaching other women how to get strong and prioritize their health, how to show up for themselves, and that irony isn't lost on me. By 4:00 PM that second shift starts. There are kid drop offs at sports, kid pickups. There are music lessons. The homework battles begin and dinner that sometimes I cooked at lunch. That needs to be reheated and put into containers so that people can eat them on the go. Other times it is. Cooking dinner in the midst of doing my strength training because that is the only time that it could fit in. And then the bedtime routines start around eight 15 to get everyone in bed. The kids in bed by nine, and then just the last 30 minutes before I fall asleep by nine 30, a quarter of 10 is really just downtime for my husband and I. I'm the head of the house. I am the one who holds the entire schedule in my brain, the one who tracks who needs to be where, when that permission slip is due, which kid has a test tomorrow, and whether there's milk in the fridge, and I have systems. So many systems. There are weekly chore charts where everyone knows their job meal plans are done on Sunday and a shared calendar that, to be quite honest, it is fine tuned down to the minute to keep everybody on track, and yet there are some weeks we have cereal for dinner. And that's a win. And there are some weekends. The house looks like a tornado. Hit it. And we all agree that we're gonna pretend not to see it because we need to breathe more than we need clean counters. So when I tell you I decided to run a hundred miles, I need you to understand what that really meant. It meant that, there were gonna be some Saturdays that I was going to be up early running. That meant missing one game, sometimes two games per season for my kids. And it's not because I don't love my kids, but it's because I finally understood that showing them a mother who could chase her dreams might be just as important as showing them a mother in the bleachers and the guilt, oh, there was guilt every single time. But here's what I learned about guilt. It's just fear dressed up in a socially acceptable costume. Fear that we're not enough. Fear that pursuing our own dreams makes us selfish. Fear that if we stop holding everyone else up for even a moment, everything will collapse. When I decided to go for the solo race, and yes, this was mostly about logistics. My husband couldn't be there because he needed to be home with the kids to get them through their schedules. We didn't have childcare. There were a lot of other things that were going on that just prevented people being there for me, and that is a hundred percent fine. And when I decided to do it alone, something shifted. This just wasn't about running a hundred miles anymore. This was about proving to myself I could take up space, that I could need things, that I could be the main character in my own story, not just the supporting actress in everyone else's the week before the race. I was in my dining room surrounded by drop bags. So if you're unfamiliar with ultra marathoning, drop bags essentially are placed along the course where you have your personalized necessities, where you have your gels, your calories, your food, your change of clothes, whatever you might need in there during the race. And every runner is allowed to have them. Whether or not they have a crew. A crew is friends, family, whoever that is personally there to support you in the race, aside from aid stations, aid stations are at certain mile markers and they have brilliant humans that volunteer their time to ensure you're getting nutrition support. Whatever you also need on the course. So when you plan your drop bags. It requires a level of executive function that is super detailed. For this race, there was going to be repetitive times that I would come back to the same drop bag knowing that. Over the course of a hundred miles, you're mentally gonna fatigue. You're going to forget what you need. It's gonna be harder to look for things in that drop bag. So I had to be super detailed because as amazing as the aid station volunteers are, I knew that I needed to show up for myself first, and they could be the support there if I needed them. I had one large, um, it was a wet bag because the race at the time called for rain. So we wanted to make sure I had a wet bag so that none of my stuff in there got wet each inside, each large wet drop bag. I had smaller bags in there labeled with the exact miles I would need them. And so then inside each of those bags were the gels and other nutrition I had, knowing the exact carb count caloric intake I would need for those miles premeasured electrolyte powder in, hydration flasks that would go in my hydration vest. I had, backup headlamps with fresh batteries in case I needed those on the course for when I got darker and change of clothes for different weather scenarios. Like I said, it was. Supposed to be cold and rainy for most of the day, and then a little bit cold overnight and rainy overnight. And then I also had,, ice bandanas for heat because weather can change, that's out of our control. And then I also had warmer layers for night, and then the medical supplies for blisters, chafing cream,, tape in case I needed that. And, muscle cream for any sore muscles. So each bag was a decision tree of possibilities. So what if it's hotter than expected? What if I'm nauseous? What if my feet swell more than usual? All the what ifs were packed in this bag so that I had it right there at my hands and I could troubleshoot to keep me moving on that course. But one of the most important thing that was in the bag was my boys and my husband wrote notes for me, their handwritten notes. On index cards and they are put in. It's certain miles. They know what miles they're gonna go in and they always write me messages. And how this habit transcended was when I first started ultra marathoning, they wouldn't be on the course when I was doing 30 miles, 40 miles, 50 miles. My kids were. Young, they were in, early elementary to preschool and it was a lot to ask for my husband to be there because it took a long time. I am not a fast runner, so. When I first started out, I was the back of the pack runner. It took me a long time, and when you're out in the middle of nowhere, there's not much that a preschooler or a young elementary school kid can do. They get bored. So to keep me motivated, I would have notes for them Let's talk about the drive. 455 miles is a long time in the car by yourself. It's a little over seven hours, and this was the first time a month I had been truly alone with my thoughts. Yes, I go running, but that's also filtered in with the daily to-dos, the thinking about a, program that I'm writing for a client, the, discussion I had with my. One are both sons. Or it's thinking about the workout and pushing myself. This was just unfiltered, just downtime. No podcasts, no audio books, just me in the highway. And every training run I'd ever been done was playing through my mind like a highlight reel. I thought about the first half marathon I ran 11 years ago. When my youngest was nine months old and my eldest was three years old and running felt like the only thing that was just mine. I thought about all the five ams, the four ams, and even the 3:00 AM runs and the miles that I logged during that when the world slept, when the world was so peaceful. And all the times I chose hard things, even when. The easy thing was right there calling my name. I thought about my track days in college, how I felt so connected to my body and how I trusted it completely. And then I also thought about how I lost that connection after having kids After postpartum PTSD rewired my brain and made me feel a stranger in my own skin. This whole year of training hadn't just been about building physical endurance. It had been about rebuilding trust on a deeper level. Learning to listen to my body signals again, instead of just pushing through them, understanding the difference between discomfort and danger. Remembering that I am stronger, but also remembering that strength sometimes looks like rest. As I pulled into the. Race check-in. There was a ton of runners with their crews. It was a celebration. Everyone knew everyone seemingly and giving hugs and super pumped up. There was just this excitement in the air and there I was with my drop bags in my car with my notes from home. And for a moment, just a moment, I wondered what the hell was I doing? Well fast forward, Friday morning before the race at the start line, and again, I feel like I'm just all alone. I saw a fellow runner who trains locally and we. Met for the first time the day before. So it was nice to have some familiar face there. I had spoken to my husband and the boys while they were getting ready for school in the morning, before I lined up on that starting line. Well, 7:00 AM the race begins and the first thing that hits you when you start running is just the beauty around you. This. Race was on the Virginia Creeper Trail, and it's a rail trail that winds through the country of Virginia rolling hills and a very, very loud creek that just was constantly babbling down there. Morning miss that was coming off the fields. The lighting was gorgeous and for those first 20 miles, it just was a celebration. My body remembered how to do this. All those training miles kicked in. I found my rhythm and it wasn't too fast. It was just the right pace because this wasn't about winning. I'm a middle of the pack runner and I'm super proud of that. It was about lasting. And I really wanna be clear about something. I have chased cutoffs. I have been down to the wire with cutoffs. I don't win age group rewards, and I'm not going to have photographers or sponsors at the finish line waiting for me. But what I am is stubborn, consistent, and willing to do the work when no one's watching. The aid stations are beautiful miracles that happen every six miles. Volunteers who didn't know me, cheered me on like I was their own daughter or sister or mother. They filled bottles, offered encouragement and told me I looked strong, even though that was all probably a lie. Saying things like, you got this looking good. Keep moving. You're doing this damn thing. I met incredible humans out there. We shared a few miles swapped stories, then drifted apart as our paces just diverged. But for those moments, we were connected by this absurd, beautiful thing we were all choosing to do. And that's when it hit me. Even when you show up for yourself, you are never truly alone. The universe sends you exactly what you need exactly when you need them, but, and this is crucial. They can only find you if you show up first. How many times have we missed those connections? Because we never took the first step. How many support systems never materialized because we never gave them the chance? We sit at home thinking, I can never do that without realizing that alone is just the starting point, not the destination, the heat. Oh my goodness. Arrived so strong. It started coming through mid-morning. The real feel was in the mid eighties, the humidity made breathing feel like drowning in slow motion. And the Nats, let me tell you about these things. They were out in full force sticking to every exposed inch of sweaty skin. I weighed my hands around my face like a mad woman, probably looking pretty absurd to. Any normal humans who happen to be using the trail that day, but I was still moving, still hitting my splits, still believing in that sub 24 hour dream. So the one thing that nobody tells you about ultras or motherhood, or being a woman over 35 who's trying to do big things, is sometimes your body betrays you at the worst possible moment, mile 66. My period arrives, and it wasn't due for a couple days, but apparently my uterus did not get the memo about the race schedule. The cramps hit like someone was ringing out my insides. I pushed, I felt awful. And then by mile 68, my body. Felt horrible. I grabbed my drop bag and where mile 68 was, it was at the start finish area, so you kind of came back. It was a bit of an out and back, out and back course. I grabbed my drop bag and I head to my car because in this course it was an out and back course and you would return to the start finish area a couple times and so your car was there too. And people who had crews could crew from the car. Individuals who didn't were able to go to their cars as well. I had made a PAC that my car would be my emergency, aid station. I would only go there if I absolutely needed. It wasn't that far of a walk. It was probably 20, 30 pieces off of the course, it was close at this time. When I came in, my body was not doing well. I had chills, and then suddenly I was super flush. My stomach was in full rebellion and I grabbed my stuff, went to my car, and I felt the mental spiral starting. And a special flavor of self-doubt that only comes when you're exhausted and hormonal and alone crept in. You are too slow. You didn't train enough. Who do you think you were for trying to do this? A real ultra runner wouldn't be sitting here. You're letting everyone down. You're letting yourself down. I pulled out my phone knowing at that time, my kids would be in the midst of their bedtime routine. I needed to hear their voices more than I needed oxygen. My husband answered and I could hear the boys in the background, the dogs running around, and he said, Hey, how's it going? I was holding back tears. I said, I'm at mile 68 and I'm sitting in my car and I don't know if I can keep on going. I could hear my kids rejoicing. You're almost there. You're, you only have 32 more miles to go. In my head, I'm like, 32 more miles. That's a 50 K more than a marathon. The optimism from my children believing in me that I could do anything. When I hear them cheering me on, using my own words reflected back to me was huge. Hearing them say they believe in me was huge. I was fighting. I was sitting there. I was trying to get my body back online feeling awful. Could I really do this? I wanted so badly to go sub 24, but my body just said no. Well, I had to get off the phone. I knew I needed to go. They loved me, and that I got this, and they couldn't wait to hear about it tomorrow, it was amazing hearing my family have such a regular Friday night and the complete confidence. In me that I was just running a hundred miles because that's what mom does. Mom does hard things. I hung up the phone and just sat there for another minute, breathing, pushing every negative thought out of the brain and just giving empty space to my brain. I watched runners who I had passed miles ago come in and head back out again, and I was thinking, can I do this? I stood up creaky, cranky, crampy, but upright. I grabbed my headlamp from my drop bag along with my notes from my family, and I stuffed them in my hydration vest. I read one note from my husband that I reread. It was a rereading of a note from earlier, and it says, I'm sure you're feeling it now. Don't let up. Don't give up. Now is when the real race starts. Get out there. Keep moving forward. You are strong and powerful. I love you. I smiled. It was the first time I smiled in hours, and then I did what we do, what women who do it all have always done. I took the next step, miles 68 to 85 were a blur of determination and negotiation with my own body. When the sun sets the trails, totally transform. Was farmland becomes shadow. The creek sounds louder in the darkness, almost aggressive and. There were spiders. Oh, these spiders, their webs stretched across the trail, like nightmare streamers. I'd run through them face first, then spend the next quarter of a mile doing the spider dance, convinced I had eight legged hitchhikers on my body and in my hair. And this is where mental tricks become essential. Not motivational poster nonsense, but real practical tools. The tree game. I had to make it to each tree. If I could just make it to that next tree, I knew I could get to the next one and I'd have to run to the next one. And I broke the infinite into bite-sized pieces. The Song Challenge, just one more song, just make it through one more song. Just listen to Lose Yourself by Eminem. One more time on repeat. Judge me all you want, but it works. The third person pep talk. Oh, I'm for real. I talk to myself out loud in the third person saying, Kat is strong. Kat trained for this. Kat doesn't quit at mile 75 just because her feet hurt. Talking to myself, I was my own coach because I needed someone to be there for me. Empower memories. Remembering specific training runs where I felt invincible. That 20 miler in the rain where I finished looking like a drowned rat, but feeling like a warrior. That track workout where I hit every split, the hill repeats that nearly killed me, but didn't. And around mile 72, something shifted. My stomach settled, the cramps eased to a manageable roar, and my body remembered how to do this. This is what I want every woman listening to understand your body is smarter than your brain. It knows how to heal. It knows how to adapt, how to endure, but we spend so much time overriding its signals, pushing when we should rest, resting when we should push that we forget how to listen. Mile 68 taught me that listening to your body isn't weakness. It's the ultimate strength. I sat when I needed to sit. I walked when I needed to walk, and when my body was ready. I ran miles 75 to 85. Were lonely. It's 2:00 AM I haven't seen another runner in an hour. My headlamp creates tiny bubble of light in an ocean of darkness. Every sound makes me jump. Was at a deer, a bear, a serial killer. My imagination is running wilder than my feet. This is where I desperately wanted a pacer. Someone to talk to me, someone to share the burden of forward motion. Someone to tell me I didn't look as bad as I felt, but there's something powerful about being alone with myself in the darkness. No distractions. No performances. No need to be okay for anyone else's benefit. Just me and the trail and the truth that I was doing this thing that scared me. I thought a lot about all the women I coach the ones who tell me they don't have time, they're too old. They're not athletes. They could never, I thought about the mom at school pickup who mentioned she used to run before kids. The moms on the sidelines of games who said she'd love to get strong but doesn't know where to start. My friend who dreams of doing a triathlon, but thinks that ship has sailed. I was running for all of us. Every woman who's been told by others or by herself that her time has passed, that her body is too broken from babies, from years from life that wanting more is selfish bullshit, all of it. Complete bullshit. Mile 85, the final aid station. Before the push to the finish, my left foot stopped cooperating around mile 80. I sat down to stretch it out and I chatted with the aid station volunteers trying to do the trail mat to see even if it was still possible. I knew I had a long way to go, and time was running short miles 85 to a hundred. The pain cave, the place where you truly meet yourself. My watch showed I could still make sub 24 if I kept the miles under 14 minutes. And for fresh legs, that's a very casual pace. For legs that have covered 85 miles. That might as well have been a sprint. I did the math, so much math, and if I were to run for five minutes or walk for one, what's my average piece? What if I ran for four and walked for two? I passed my L 95 and I started crying. Not sad tears, not even happy tears, just tears. Like my body needed to release something beyond sweat. Five more miles. A normal Saturday easy run, except nothing about this was normal or easy. My left foot was screaming. My quads had given up, complaining, and moved straight to the silent treatment. My stomach was empty, but the thought of another gel made me gag. But my heart, my heart was so full it might explode, and then I thought about my son's words. It has been there all along. Not just the ability to run a hundred miles. The worthiness, the deserving, the right to take up space, to have dreams, to be more than someone's mother or wife, or coach or friend to be Kat who does impossible things. Mile 98. I could hear the finish line before I could see it. Music cowbells, cheering. Mile 99. I passed the photographer and tried smiling, possibly looked a little deranged, but I didn't care. Mile 99.5. I could see the finishing. Arch mile 99.9. Time to check.. I crossed that finish line at 23 hours and 38 minutes and 17 seconds sub 24. The tears came harder I looked around for my family, even though I knew they weren't there, but old habits. The race director caught me in a big bear hug. You did it. That's incredible. Take it all in. I couldn't speak. I just nodded and tears were in my eyes and trying to remember to be a human who wasn't running. Finally, I took my phone off airplane mode, and it exploded with messages from people I didn't even know were tracking me friends and family messages were coming in. You did it sub 24. Amazing. I can't believe it. I called home and my husband answered. I told him I did it, and he said, of course you did. I was on speaker phone and I could hear my kids in the background. My older son said. Mom, I'm not surprised I expected this because it had been there all along. You just needed to dig deep and do it. 14 years old, he understood something that it took me 40 something years to learn. It had been there all along. So here's what I want you to understand. Really, really understand. I'm not special. I'm not exceptionally talented or gifted or genetically blessed. I'm a middle of the pact, middle aged mother of two who decided to stop waiting for permission to chase something big. Every single day I practice showing up for myself. Not in huge ways, not in Instagram worthy ways, in tiny, almost invisible ways. Getting up 15 minutes earlier to have coffee in the silence before the chaos starts saying no to the PT, A thing that would've put me over the edge, asking my husband to handle morning routines or dinner so I could get a run in or a strength train, putting my phone down and going to bed instead of scrolling until midnight, taking the long route home so I could just have five more minutes of music, eating lunch, sitting down instead of over a sink. These aren't selfish acts. These are acts of preservation. They're how we stay human and beautiful chaos of doing it all. I know what you're thinking right now. You're making a list of all the reasons you couldn't do something like this. I don't have time. Let me tell you about it. I found it at 5:00 AM I found it during lunch breaks. I found it by letting, so things go. The house wasn't always clean. We ate takeout More than I'd like to admit. I missed some school events. And you know what? Everyone's arrived. They more than survive. They watch their mother chase a dream I'm too old. I'm in my forties. I'm faster and stronger now than I was in my thirties. Your body is capable of adaptation at any age. The only expiration date is the one you put on yourself. I'm not an endurance runner, neither was I until I was, everyone starts somewhere. Your, something doesn't have to be running. Maybe it's lifting weights, maybe it's hiking, maybe it's dancing, maybe it's starting a business. Writing that book, going back to school. The what does it matter? The showing up does my family needs me. Yes they do. They also need to see you as a whole person with dreams and goals and needs of your own. They need to see that mothers are humans who deserve to be more than just support systems for everyone else's dreams. And here's what changed when I started showing up for myself consistently. I became a better mother. Not perfect, but better, more patient because I wasn't running on empty, more present because I wasn't resentful, more joyful because I wasn't just surviving. I became a better partner. I stopped keeping score of who did what because I wasn't getting what I needed. I stopped expecting my husband to read my mind because I learned to ask for what I needed. I became a better coach. I could tell my clients to prioritize themselves because I was actually doing it. I could push them because I was pushing myself. I could believe in their impossible because I was living mine. But most importantly, I became myself. Again, not the Preki version. She's gone and that's okay. But the version, who remembers that? She. Matters. Who knows that her needs are valid? Who believes that showing up for herself isn't selfish? It is necessary. So here's my challenge to you. What is your a hundred miles? What is the thing that scares you but also calls to you? The thing that you think about in the shower, in the car, in those quiet moments before you sleep, what would you do if you believed you were worth the time, effort, and space it would require start small. Start so small. It seems ridiculous like this. For example, week one. Lay out your workout clothes before bed. Don't even commit to working out. Just lay them out. Create the possibility. Week two, put them on even if you don't exercise, put them on. Feel what it's like to be dressed for yourself. Week three, move for 10 minutes. Walk around the block. Do stretches in your living room. Dance to three songs. Just move. Week four, add five minutes, then add another five the next week. Build slowly, build sustainably, build like someone who's in it for the long haul. But here's the real secret. It's not about exercise. It's about the practice of choosing yourself. It's about building the muscle of believing you matter. It's about creating the evidence that you can do hard things every time you show up for yourself, whether it's a workout, a boundary, a dream, or just a moment of rest. You're adding to the bank account of self trust, and eventually that account gets big enough to cash in on something that is once seemed impossible. Six months ago, if you had told me I'd run a hundred miles under 24 hours solo, I would've laughed or cried, or both, but I did it not because I'm special, but because I'm stubborn, not because I had more time than you. I made time, not because it was easy, but because I finally believed I was worth doing something hard for. Your a hundred miles is waiting for you. It might not be running. It might be starting that business you've been dreaming about since your thirties. It might be going back to school. It might be learning to lift heavy weights. It might be signing up for that dance class, that art workshop, that writing retreat. It might simply be deciding that you matter as much as everyone else in your life. The magic isn't in achievement. The magic isn't showing up day after day imperfectly, but persistently choosing yourself because here's what my 14-year-old son knew that I had forgotten. It's been there all along. The strength, the capability, the worthiness, the magic. It's been there all along. You just have to dig deep and do it if you are ready to start showing up for yourself. Not next month, not when life calms down, because honestly, when does that ever happen? But now I want to hear from you. Find me on Instagram at@katfitstrength.@milesfromherview. Tell me about your a hundred miles. Tell me about your first small step. Tell me about the thing that scares you but won't leave you alone if you're ready for support in building strength. Physical, mental, all of it. Checkout www.cat.fit. I offer one-on-one online training designed specifically for women who do it all strength training, cardio mobility, but really it's so much more than that. It's about remembering who you are beyond the roles you serve to the women listening. Who think her time has passed who believe her dreams matter less than everyone else's needs? Who's been putting herself on the back burner for so long, she forgot she was even cooking something. You are capable of more than you imagine you are worthy of the time it takes. You are allowed to want more. You are allowed to be more. The question isn't, can I. The question is, am I ready to find out what I'm made of? Thank you for joining me on this episode of MilesFromHerView. I'm Kat and I believe in you. Even when you don't believe in yourself. Now, go show up for yourself today, even if it's just for five minutes, even if it's just laying out those workout clothes. Start where you are. Use what you have, do what you can. The magic is already there. It's been there all along.

Kat: 41:36

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