🏃🏽‍♀️The race I almost didn't tell anyone about

What's happening: I ran my first 5K on Saturday with zero training, months of injury behind me, and major surgery ahead. My body surprised me in ways I didn't expect.

What you'll find here: The story of how I learned to trust my body again after a year of it letting me down, and why showing up for my community made crossing that finish line even more meaningful.

The real talk: Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is give your body permission to surprise you—especially when you've spent all year being angry at it.

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Hey {{first_name}},

I woke up at 6am this past Saturday and honestly? I almost forgot why my alarm was even set.

Then it hit me: I was running a 5K. My first one. Ever.

I dragged myself out of bed and started getting ready, moving slowly through my morning routine while having a very stern conversation with myself: Just showing up is enough. You can walk the whole thing. You can tap out if you need to. This doesn't have to be perfect.

Ya see, since buying my treadmill, I'd secretly been dreaming of running a 5K. But, I never felt "ready" enough, and with all my health woes this year, I really thought that dream was farther away than ever.

Then a few weeks ago, a couple of girlfriends sent a note in the group chat about a 5K supporting our community. Without thinking too hard, I hit the register button because... well, what if this was my last chance to hit this goal? What if my recovery took longer than expected?

I kept my expectations low. Really low. I planned to do zero training (for fear of injuring myself before I even started). I figured I'd probably walk most of it. After all, the only cardio I've successfully been able to do without too much problem is daily 2-mile walks.

But now it was Saturday morning, and there was no backing out.

The morning was gloomy and chilly—the kind of Chicago November day that makes you want to stay under the covers. But here we were! A crowd of hundreds buzzing with hope, surrounded by our music, our culture, our people.

The funds from this race were going directly to small Latino businesses and families impacted by the increased 🧊activity in the area. It wasn't just about running—it was about showing up for our community. About taking up space con orgullo even when the world felt heavy.

As they directed us towards the starting point, I got my headphones on and told myself, Okay, you're gonna walk this, and no matter what, you're going to finish.

But when the crowd started running around me, I thought... what if I just try?

I started a slow jog. I pulled up my running playlist (because if I'm doing this, we're doing it RIGHT), and I just kept going. My goal was simple: finish mile 1 in 20 minutes.

When I hit that first mile marker at 13 minutes, I almost stopped in my tracks.

I hadn't run since January. I'd been so limited in physical activity all year. My body had been the source of bad news, limitations, and frustration for months. And here it was... not only running, but running WELL.

My body and I? We have NOT been getting along this year. It has tested my patience and truthfully, my pride. I've been so angry at it—how could you let me down? Why can't you just work as intended? Why do I have to deal with all these health issues at 31?

But in that moment, running through the neighborhood with reggaeton blasting in my ears and community all around me, I wasn't angry anymore.

I was grateful.

My body was moving like it hadn't all year. It was giving me this gift—the joy of running, the strength to keep going, the reminder that I'm more resilient than I give myself credit for.

Yeah, a few times I got frustrated that I couldn't run just a little longer without needing a walk break. But then I'd remember: it's beautiful that I'm running at all. And I'd keep going.

That last stretch? Oh man, I went IN.

My legs were feeling it. The chilly air had my nose all stuffy, and I was struggling a bit to breathe. But I pushed through, eyes on those folks handing out medals at the finish line.

When I crossed it—46 minutes after I started—I wanted to cry. Through all the huffing and puffing, I felt this overwhelming sense of pride and joy.

I had done it.

I had shown up for my silent goal (the one I barely admitted I had) and actually achieved it. Despite the brain tumor. Despite the hip pain. Despite the surgery looming in a few weeks. Despite a year of my body seemingly working against me.

1. Start with low expectations and permission to adjust: I gave myself full permission to walk, to tap out, to just "show up" as the win. That took the pressure off and let me be present with what my body could actually do in the moment.

2. Listen to what your body CAN do, not just what it can't: For months, I'd been focused on limitations—what I couldn't do anymore, what hurt, what wasn't working. But when I started running, I shifted to noticing what felt good, what was possible, how my body was showing up for me.

3. Let your body surprise you: I expected 20-minute miles. I got 13-minute miles. I expected to walk most of it. I ran most of it. When we release rigid expectations, we create space for unexpected strength to show up.

4. Trust is rebuilt slowly, one mile at a time: I didn't magically trust my body again after one good run. But finishing that 5K gave me something precious: hope. Hope that if my body could do this NOW, imagine what it could do after I take time to heal properly.

5. Community + personal goals can fuel each other: Running for myself AND for my community made every step more meaningful. Celebrating my roots while celebrating my resilience reminded me that all parts of me matter—my physical strength AND my cultural identity.

Pro tip: Trust isn't about your body being perfect or never letting you down. It's about believing that even with limitations, even with setbacks, your body is still capable of surprising you with its strength.

This race wasn't just another item checked off a list for me. It was a life highlight. Something I'll carry with me always, especially during those hard recovery weeks coming up post-surgery.

Because here's what I keep coming back to: if I can run a 5K with zero training, months of injury, and a body that's been "misbehaving" all year... what will I be capable of once I actually take the time to heal? Once I give my body the care and rest it needs? Once I stop treating it like the enemy and start treating it like the resilient, strong, beautiful thing it is?

That thought? That fills me with hope. The kind of hope I haven't felt in a while.

And being surrounded by mi gente while experiencing that hope? Chef's kiss. We were all there that gloomy Saturday morning, taking up space, celebrating our community, running (or walking!) con ganas y sin pena. Despite all the hardships our community has faced, there we were—choosing joy, choosing pride, choosing to show up for each other.

That's the energy I'm carrying into my surgery and recovery. That's the reminder I needed.

What silent goal have you been holding back on because you're not sure your body (or mind, or circumstances) can handle it?

What would it look like to give yourself permission to try—with low expectations, with grace, with the understanding that showing up IS the win?

And here's the real question: what might surprise you if you just... started?

If you're comfortable sharing, reply and tell me about a time your body (or life) surprised you in a good way when you least expected it. I'd love to celebrate that with you.

_{¿Qué dijo? / What did she say?}
Ya sabes - You know
Pero - But
Con orgullo - With pride
Mi gente - My people
Con ganas y sin pena - With desire and without shame