I almost didn’t run this race

How I’m learning to choose hard things without burning out

The only race I could find was called Birmingham’s Toughest 5K.

344 feet of elevation gain. A steep climb before you even hit mile two. And I hadn’t really been running much lately.

Back in January, I set a goal: run 12 races in 12 months.

And by the time I realized I hadn’t signed up for anything in May, I was about to be out of town for the weekend, sore from Pilates, and staring down a hill I didn’t want to climb — literally and figuratively.

I laughed when I saw the name. Then immediately spiraled.

I almost didn’t sign up.

I talked to my therapist about it. Told her I felt ridiculous even considering it.

She asked me a seemingly obvious question that honestly melted my brain a little: What would happen if you didn’t run the whole thing?

My brain had other opinions:

“You need to run the whole thing.”

“You should be getting faster by now.”

“You’re going to look like you don’t belong out there.”

(Shoutout for that unhelpful feedback loop.)

My therapist reminded me that as a high performer, I tend to create all these rules that no one else actually expects me to follow. And she was right. Once I accepted that I could walk if I needed to, it changed the entire decision.

A slow, messy 5K is still a May race.

So I signed up.

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It was hard. I don’t know how else to describe it.

I had ChatGPT break down the course and analyze the elevation changes by mile, because of course I did. I overprepared out of pure anxiety.

The race had maybe 90 people in it. Probably because the name scared most folks off. Honestly, just showing up was my first win.

I started off feeling strong. I knew it would be challenging so I paced myself. I leaned into the early hills—they weren’t too steep yet—and kept running.

Then I hit a corner, looked up, and saw a steep incline straight out of a nightmare.

I could’ve run it. Maybe part of it. But I hadn’t even hit the halfway mark yet and I knew if I pushed too hard now, I’d blow up later.

So I walked. And that was my second win.

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Burnout for me used to look like constantly raising the bar. Nothing I did was ever enough. Every hill needed to be sprinted. Every task needed to be exceptional.

Slowing down? That felt like failure.

But walking up that hill? It felt like trust. Like, for once, I actually believed I’d still be proud of myself even if I didn’t push through everything.

And the cool part is I actually paced it well. I had enough left in the tank to pick it up near the end. I ran a negative split on a hilly course!

And I enjoyed the last stretch. (Listening to Defying Gravity as I dramatically ran downhill definitely helped.)

It reminded me of something my manager told me recently. I’m new in this role, and he said:

“This is the only time you get to really learn without being buried in tactical work. Enjoy it.”

And yeah. That’s the same mindset I brought to this race.

I’m still showing up. Still doing hard things. But I’m not sprinting every hill just to prove I can. I’m choosing how I want to run them.

Success isn’t always faster or better than last time.

Sometimes it’s just being proud of how you got through the hard parts—and still had enough left to enjoy the rest.

That’s not quitting.

That’s recovery.