Ok, I didn’t think of writing your own obituary as super mortal until I mentioned it to a few friends, who collectively gasped. So it might be a bit darker than I thought, but a quick search shows that prematurely writing your own obituary is one way to discover what means the most to you.

As I approached this exercise, I know what meant the most to me: running. As part of The Final Miles: Transitioning Out of Your Running Years (published by Balance in spring 2026), I’m encouraging readers to write their own running obit to honor their running careers and to gently ease them into their next athletic chapter. Give it a read, and let me know what you think: too mortal or helpful?

Prior to actually choosing to run, Dimity has two distinct memories of running: one, in middle school gym class, when her gym teacher, whistle and stop watch around his neck, chastised her to, “use those long legs for something,” as he stood at the end of the 100-meter dash. She was easily three seconds slower than her competition, a top gymnast. The other was a few years later in high school, when she accidentally left her shiny marching band hat, which she needed for a football game that night, in the back of her mom’s minivan at school drop-off. “I’ve never seen you run so fast,” her mother proclaimed as Dimity sprinted across the parking lot to stop her mom from driving away.

Her first real run was in college, likely a slog past the frat houses of Colgate University and up and down the hills of tiny Hamilton, New York. Truthfully, she doesn’t really remember her inaugural run, but the roads of upstate New York were definitely the setting for her running origin story. Rowing was her main sport, but while the lake froze over in winter, the roads did not. (“Line your sweatshirts with newspaper,” one crew coach told the team when a few members complained of being cold.)

Her first spark to actually train for and run in a race happened while watching the 1996 New York City Marathon. She and her friend Kathy stood in Central Park, about a mile before the finish line, and just couldn’t get enough of it: the energy, the variety of runners, the way runners smiled and picked up their shuffle when they cheered for them. When the duo arrived at work as interns the following day at Sports Illustrated for Kids, neither of them had a voice.

She entered the New York City Marathon in 1997—way before it became ridiculously hard to get into—and followed a New York Road Runners paper training plan she tacked to her bedroom wall. She’d rise early on Sunday mornings, and run all over the city to get in her miles: across the Brooklyn Bridge, through Chinatown, to the World Trade Centers while they were still standing. Calling home to report on her training, she mostly remembers her mother being concerned that she was running for two or three hours at a time. Is that safe for your body?

Dimity bought her first pair of running shorts—royal blue, made by Moving Comfort—at Lady Foot Locker. The first few times she put them on, she couldn’t believe she didn’t need to wear underwear; such a change from her Umbros, the only sporty kind of shorts she previously owned. She wasn’t loyal to any shoe brand: She wore everything from adidas to Altras, and loved when the spring and fall editions of Runner’s World Shoe Reviews would land in her mailbox.

There are a few routes that stand out to Dimity as her favorites: the Big Block (about 3.5 miles, near her Minnesota childhood home); the Big Loop #1 (6-ish miles, Central Park, including the hills at the north end); the Big Loop #2 (5 or so miles, hilly, in Santa Fe); the Highline Loop (crisp 10 miles, in Denver). She preferred hills over flats, loops over out-and-backs, and an easy run over one with speed elements. One trail in Winter Park, Colordao, was her nirvana. Her dog Mason would often cover 10 miles to her 5 as they loped together through pine forests and by a rushing river, where Mason would stop for refreshments. She often fantasized about taking the final run of her life on that loamy, quiet trail under blue Colorado skies. Alas, that didn’t happen.

There were two things she loved about running more than the actual act itself: completing a run and writing about running. The former set up the rest of her day to be a downhill coast: Endorphins coasting through her system, she could step in the house and knock out breakfast for two kids, empty the garbage and get the cans to the curb, and, sports bra still wet, answer a few emails from editors. Four or five miles in the morning air, she’d think, and I’m set up to handle whatever the day throws my way.

Writing about running was the impetus for many of her miles; she was fortunate enough to be able to build a professional career around her running, despite the fact that she never stood on a race podium, and she sustained injuries as frequently as her young, off-the-char kids outgrew their shoes. While her feet ran beneath her, her mind bloomed with creativity and possibility, allowing her to dream and wonder without reservations or apology. Running connected to her emotional and spiritual sides, perspectives that she was unable to access as deeply, if at all, standing still. This inward perspective is the legacy of her running career she remembers—and misses—most.

Highlights of her career, marked by participant medals that currently hang above the dog food bin in the garage, include 2007 Nike Women’s Marathon, where she and her business partner Sarah Bowen Shea, fortuitously planted the seeds for Another Mother Runner, and the 2014 Coeur d’Alene Ironman, which felt like her wedding day: a long day that goes by so quickly! She also adored Ragnar races—12 teammates taking on one extra long race—even if the actual event depleted her for weeks afterward. (Nine miles at 2 a.m., chased by Chipotle and Twizzlers? What’s the problem?)

Her final race that included running was the 2018 Casco Bay SwimRun, which she did with her beloved friend Katie, an ultra runner who always encouraged Dimity to chase after her adventures. Her final true run—actually, it was a run/walk—was on January 18, 2020. A lunch run: 2.93 miles, 10:30 average pace. Nothing extraordinary about it, except that it was the culmination of three decades of her running, and three years of trying to manage pain in her right hamstring, lower back, and glute so she could continue to do what she loved. The salve of time, combined with relentless support from the Another Mother Runner community and acceptance of the fact that prioritizing her physical health was mandatory, allowed her to finally come to terms with the end of her running days.

Dimity’s running career is preceded in final rest by stints in various youth sports, four years of high school tennis, zero years of basketball, despite being pestered almost hourly by the high school coach, and an unexpectedly successful rowing career that she has no interest in revisiting, even if her husband loves his current Masters rowing club. Her running career is survived by hiking adventures with good friends, cycling for miles soaking up sun and fresh air, and cheering for and encouraging everybody around her to go for it, no matter what that looks like for them. She plans on moving forward, in some way, shape, or form, until she’s the subject of a real obituary.

Donations can be made in her name directly to yourself: If you’re able to run, go enjoy a few miles for her.

If you’re not, get on a bike, go for a hike, or do squats until your quads shake. If possible, she’ll be right there with you.

Okay, please weigh in: too mortal, too dramatic, potentially helpful—or a little of all?