Why? Seriously. It is the question any sane person might ask themselves prior to lacing up for a long run. Yet, I, like thousands of other Mother Runners, keep doing it.

In 2011 I ran across northern Wisconsin and crossed the finish line of my first half-marathon. The race itself was uneventful but marked a pivotal milestone in my life. A before and after moment. The pre, non-running Probst and the post-runner Probst. IYKYK.

Since then, I’ve had the privilege of crossing dozens of finish lines of varying lengths in various cities. I’ve consistently finished countless races in the back of the pack, securing my place as a casual runner who takes picking out the color of my shoes and what hat to wear more seriously than stretching. 

That said, I’ve never signed up for a race and not finished. Then again, I’ve also never been a middle-aged mama dealing with the after-effects of a global pandemic, perimenopause, and making a significant career change during the height of training.

Sure, I’ve battled other self-doubt demons in my closet, many of which I’ve shared here. The weight, both literally and figuratively, of attempting to navigate my plus-sized running career while building a bold and beautiful life on my terms. 

This fall was no exception. In the height of summer, my coworkers and I committed to a run along the corridor. A simple 10K framed by blaze red and golden yellow fall foliage, minimal spectators, and a flat dirt packed trail with a finish line near the greatest of the great lakes, Lake Superior. It seemed simple. An easy way to add some more hardware to my medal rack while chilling with some of my favorite peeps. 

But, as the universe likes to remind me, nothing is simple.

Soon after signing on the dotted line and paying the entrance fee, life threw me an incredible but unexpected curveball that resulted in a major career shift. After 20+ years of marketing and over a decade of rural healthcare experience, I bounced for an incredible opportunity at an organization dedicated to empowering entrepreneurs. 

For me, this meant an all-consuming career focus while I tied up loose ends with one employer and did my best to prepare myself for this next chapter in my life. I don’t know about you, but I find job changes, let alone jumping into a totally new industry, terrifying. This transition pushed training down on the priority list – something someone my size knows is a risky compromise to make. 

When I finally found time to ramp up my training miles, my plantar fasciitis did too. By the time those final three weeks of critical long runs hit my calendar, I was waddling slower than a turtle and needing days—versus hours—of recovery time.

The simple (or in some respects, sane) solution would have been to quit. To acknowledge the setback and say there’s always next year. The Sisu (or stupidity) in me refused. Not because I had any crazy notion I would pull off a PR or cross the finish line feeling like a champion, but rather because I made a promise with myself to put my health first. This race represents that. It is my annual reminder that I can and do finish hard things. Only this time, I’d have to do it differently.

As race day approached, I reset my expectations. I acknowledged wholeheartedly I’d be walking. Not jogging. Not run-walking. Not saying I was going to walk with hopes of jogging. I went as far to inform my co-workers there would be no running on my end – and dressed accordingly. Sweatpants and a comfy cotton sweatshirt replaced my standard running tights and wick-away quarter zip, prioritizing comfort over function. 

I awoke on race day with the simple goal of completing a walk in the woods with friends, enjoying the occasional laugh, and savoring a maple latte at the end.

If you’re wondering what happened – I achieved all of that and more. Gorgeous weather, a kaleidoscope of fall colors, and kind volunteers paved my journey to downtown Ashland, Wisconsin. My earbuds never made their way to my ears, allowing me to catch-up with friends and say thanks to volunteers.

I get it. This isn’t exactly how conventional runners approach races. A few years back, I would have proclaimed to myself I hadn’t earned the right to be in this race. That I was an imposter taking up space on a course designed for real runners. Some folks might agree. 

But here’s the thing: we live in a world where we get to define success.

Marketing guru Simon Sinek once said, “no one likes to lose and most healthy people live their life to win.” Makes sense, right? But, there’s more to this quote. He goes on to say, “the only variation is the score we use. The metric is relative but the desire is the same.”

The great thing about running is winning means different things to different people at different points in their life. For me, not quitting mattered. For me, having fun and crossing that finish line mattered. For me, continuing to show up at 50% was better than sitting on the sidelines saying maybe I’ll get back out there next year. 

For me, the question is no longer why but instead why not? 

Turns out, the hardware, t-shirt and finish line are exactly the same.