Jen, back in her running years.

Today, I’m coming in with a Case Study, one of handful of personal stories in The 27th Mile, my book about how to handle the speed bumps as you transition from running to the next chapter of your athletic life. Other Case Studies include walking an ultra, giving up running to join a convent, and quitting the sport to improve your body image.

[If you want other potential excerpts, here’s my Running Obituary, What I Miss About Running, and Hold It Lightly: A Spring Bike Ride.]

Jen Rucker knew she was in trouble when, about halfway through the Brooklyn Half Marathon, her left knee blew up. “The pain was excruciating,” she says, “I could hardly put any pressure on my leg.” The former collegiate soccer player staggered to the finish line, dragging her left leg as best she could[1]. “I knew I pushed it too far.”

About five months earlier, a lightning rod of pain went through her hamstring as she was sitting at the dinner table. She visited her doctor, who suggested the pain might be stemming from her back, not her hamstring, but Jen wasn’t convinced. A steroid pack calmed things down enough for her to continue to run–and not check in with him again. She trained with no memorable pain for the Brooklyn Half[2], a bucket list run; her dad was born and raised in Brooklyn, and Jen is a native New Yorker herself.

At that point, Jen, an elementary school reading specialist, had finished twelve marathons—and plenty of half marathons during marathon training cycles—in seven years. Five of those marathons were the Marine Corps, a favorite near her hometown in Maryland.

Some might consider that schedule a little aggressive, but Jen found her people, purpose and connection in the Montgomery County Road Runners, particularly its First Time Marathon program (FTM). She was a runner with FTM for five years, then became a pace coach. Along the way, she bonded with three other guys—fellow coaches Jeff and John and runner Jason—and the four of them branded themselves the J’s. At their prime, the J’s road tripped to Corning, New York for the Wine Glass Marathon. “I had a monster marathon PR of 17 minutes,” she remembers. They celebrated with a group dinner on a day that happened to be Jen’s birthday. “All the gifts were running related, of course.”

Back home in Maryland, the doctor she ghosted a few months ago got her into see to a back specialist, stat. Turns out, a disc was pressing on a motor nerve, and she had surgery to repair the issue.

She tried to return to running after surgery, but it didn’t feel great. Although she was mentally ready for a gentle ease back into the sport, her nerve-damaged heel was still healing. Her fellow J’s were in similar situations; their bodies needed breaks. “We all just did too much,” she says, “We got burnt out.”

Six months after surgery, an advertisement for a Pure Barre class caught her eye. She reluctantly went. “I never thought I’d enjoy studio classes.” The fifty-minute class was surprisingly challenging for a marathon runner, and she loved the variations of classes. Over time, she found a new community. “It took a little longer because you’re not really talking during class like you can on a run,” she says. Now 46 years old, she’s hitting the barre at least three times weekly.

Fast forward seven years, and the J’s get a group text from Jeff: Should we get the band back together? Marine Corps[3] one more time? The query arrives the same day Jen’s soon-to-be ex-husband is moving out of their house. “Our divorce is amicable,” she says, “Still, it felt serendipitous.”

She takes a day to think it over, then texts back: she’s in. In fact, they’re all in, and the J’s are so excited about it, they all pay the Marine Corps registration fee before one of them even runs one training mile.

Jen signs up for a half marathon, ready to repeat a training pattern that worked for her in the past. Except that she doesn’t really embrace the preparation like she used to. “My training was not consistent or fun,” she says, “I felt like my body was rejecting running.” Barre had made her feel strong, fluid, and whole for seven years, and just a few months of running nearly broke her.  “My feet and knees were almost in constant pain,” she says.

Still, she cobbled together enough runs to get to the half marathon start line, where she felt pangs of joy. “I definitely missed the energy and anticipation of a starting line,” By the finish line though, her mood had taken a downshift. She realized she was done with her second chapter of running. Her sixth Marine Corps Marathon would not happen.

She texted the Js and told them so. Two followed in her not-going-to-run-it path; only Jeff took a 26.2-mile victory lap around Washington D.C. The other three J’s volunteered at a water stop during a July training run. She loved handing out Gatorades and chatting with Jeff and other FTM friends, but she didn’t leave with a feeling of regret for the choices she made.

“Some of the biggest benefits were the friends and memories running brought me,” she says, “and I still have those.”

[1] Yes, she finished a half marathon without being able to lift her heel. Not recommended, of course, but racing can sometimes elicit in-the-moment behaviors that, in hindsight, you realize weren’t super healthy.

[2] “Despite how horrible I felt, I still consider it one of my favorite races. The course and crowds were fantastic.”

[3] If you run the Marine Corps Marathon five times, you get an annual guaranteed entry.