Catching My Second Wind

I think I’ve finally caught my second wind.

That realization didn’t hit me all at once. It came while I was listening to one of my favorite artists, Maren Morris. In one of her songs, she sings about finding a second wind just when people think you’re finished. I couldn’t stop thinking about that phrase because it perfectly describes where I am right now.

It’s been a few months since I’ve written, and there really isn’t any dramatic reason why. If anything, I’ve been busy living a life that, for the first time in a long time, feels genuinely good.

That wasn’t always the case.

The past year and a half has been full of highs and lows.

This time last year, I was recovering from a painful social fallout. People I believed genuinely had my best interests at heart turned out to be people I couldn’t trust. At work, I had a boss whose own insecurities often showed up as constant criticism and attempts to undermine me. And even in running—a place that had always brought me joy—I felt lost.

I’d set personal records that I had once dreamed about, but instead of celebrating them, I convinced myself they weren’t enough. Every accomplishment became another benchmark I had to surpass just to prove I was a “real runner.”

Looking back now, I realize how exhausting that mindset was.

There’s something to be said for getting older, gaining perspective, and giving yourself permission to pause long enough to decide who you actually want to be.

Maren Morris also writes about building people into idols only to watch them fall. It reminded me that reinvention often makes other people uncomfortable. A comeback story isn’t always easy for the audience.

Why?

Because people like certainty. We naturally try to understand others by putting them into neat little boxes. It’s easier to believe someone is one thing than to watch them become something new.

When someone steps outside the version of themselves you’ve grown comfortable with, it can feel unexpected. Different. Sometimes people even resist it.

For most of my adult life, what other people thought of me mattered far more than it should have. People-pleasing is a difficult habit to break.

Looking back, 2025 was one of the more transformative years of my life. It brought heartbreak, the loss of friendships, the decision to leave a job that nearly crushed my mental well-being, and plenty of uncertainty about whether I’d already reached my peak as a runner.

But here’s what I’ve come to realize:

If none of those painful moments had happened, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

I wouldn’t have found my second wind.

I rediscovered what makes me a good friend. I intentionally made my circle smaller, creating space only for people who genuinely want to see me succeed and who put in effort back to see our relationship grow.

I found a new job that gives me purpose, direction, and a team that supports me while encouraging me to be myself.

And I rediscovered running—not as a constant pursuit of personal records, but as something I simply love doing. Running became fun again. It became about movement, community, and embracing competition in a healthy way instead of using it to measure my worth.

Earlier this spring, I had an idea.

I wanted to start a running club at my office in Washington, D.C.

I’ve experienced firsthand how much running and community have changed my life, and I thought that if I could give my coworkers even a small piece of what this sport has given me, it would be my way of paying it forward.

I worked with my company’s HR and officially proposed the idea about a month ago.

The concept was simple.

I chose a local fall race that felt approachable for runners of every experience level while still being exciting enough to feel like a shared goal. I landed on the Marine Corps Marathon 8K, which takes place the day before the marathon itself.

Anyone interested could sign up, and I’d provide a training plan. I created one for beginners and another for more experienced runners. We started a group chat to share motivation, advice, and encouragement, set up a Strava group, and began hosting monthly coffee meetups at the office to talk about training, running, and life.

To my surprise, nearly 30 people signed up.

Now I have coworkers stopping by my desk asking about breathing techniques, recovery, stretching, and where to buy their first pair of running shoes.

Since I already coach and lead training programs for my local run club, it felt like a natural extension of something I already love doing. Now I get to help my coworkers discover the same confidence and joy that running gave me.

A year ago, I don’t think I would have had the courage to put myself out there like this.

When you’re the person with the idea, there’s always the possibility that no one else will see what you see. Rejection hangs over you like a leaf clinging to a tree, waiting to fall.

But maybe that’s exactly why we have to try.

I think back to last year often.

Even though I was smiling in photos, I’d lost my spark. I’d let other people determine how I felt about myself—whether it was a difficult boss, unhealthy friendships, or a community I no longer needed to belong to.

Once I let those things go, I was finally able to reconnect with what makes me... me.

The qualities that make me unique. The things that bring me joy. The reasons people connected with me in the first place.

That’s what gave me my second wind.

These days, I’m not searching for validation from other people.

I’m finding it within myself.

And if becoming the most authentic version of myself is what draws the right people into my life, that’s all the proof I’ll ever need.

Maybe that’s what a second wind really is. It isn’t becoming someone new. It’s stripping away everything that was weighing you down until you remember who you were all along. I don’t know exactly where this next chapter leads, but for the first time in a long time, I’m excited to find out.