To the Goucher College Woods:
If you’re here, meandering or sprinting or sleeping amidst these trees, hopefully you find the same sense of calm, the same sense of respite, the same sense of connection I found here, everyday, for four years.
I still come back, once every few years, tracing my fingers over the Heart Trees, feeling my legs tense up at the sight of Rocking Chair Hill, sensing myself calm down seeing the waves of buttercups laughing and bobbing in the breeze of the Back Jump Field.
To the Krewe of the 504th:
This is how I feel when I get to run with y’all:
This is how I feel because of the impact you’ve had on my life–
each and every one of you crazy runners:
This is how I feel, knowing now the power running has to ignite change and to bridge the gap between different people, places, and communities:
And this is how I feel leaving y’all after this final crew run before heading North for a while:
Thank you thank you thank you for welcoming me into the BTG Familia and for somehow always *magically* sending out some crew love whenever I need it most.
See y’all in Chicago for Marathon Sunday!
❤ ❤ ❤ Kat
After approximately 888 hours amidst the Mississippi mud and mosquitos, here’s what I’ve learned from a place where I’ve spent the past 3 summers dancing, running, singing, and throwing face paint around:
*Formally known as Juan’s Flying Burritos
Burritos all day
Margaritas through the night
Heart, so v full
Dear Magnolia Studio (and all of the lovely glowing people within),
Thank you for being more than a space or a place– thank you for being a refuge.
Thank you for being a place where my body, and any body, can enter feeling welcomed and at ease.
Thank you for knowing my name and recognizing me every single day, at every single class– and for doing this for everyone who walks through your door.
Thank you for guiding and teaching me to believe that yoga is more about practicing— over and over and over again– and less about doing— walking in one time to check off a box.
Thank you for helping me to understand that building strength in my body does not mean necessarily mean “no pain, no gain”– that sometimes strength means being gentle, taking a break, and remembering to breathe.
Thank you for reminding me to breathe. Even when I am curled with my head between my toes.
Thank you for igniting in me, and in everyone who practices here, a belief that I have the power and beauty and strength and love within me that can go out and move mountains and dance with my arms overhead and show kindness to everyone I meet.
Thank you thank you thank you.
Sometimes I wish I could take what I’m seeing– the exact curvature of the sky, the faint rippling of the water, the line of light casting shards and shadows– and be able to record it.
Not with a camera or binoculars or a video– but real time.
Exactly through my eyes.
Through the squinting of my pupils.
There are certain moments where I find myself pausing and thinking to myself, “Wow. Wouldn’t it be great if I could remember this moment, right now, for the rest of my life?”
Watching the sun rise over the Mississippi was one of those times.
Sometimes, I am completely gobsmacked by how COOL and AMAZING and AWE-INSPIRING the world can be.
This past fall, I found myself in the midst of marathon training and unable to hold a straight face while watching a movie. A movie, any movie, forced me to tears– I’d wind up, curled on the sofa, bawling.
I wrote this sitting under a sky turning to stars, feet propped up on a porch railing, swaying back and forth in an Adirondack chair, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, Georgia.
Here is the typed out version of the letter, which will hopefully be more legible than my IPA-fueled scrawl.
“OHMYGOD IT’S JUMPING OUT OF THE WATER!!” my friend says, shrieking and jumping and spinning in a burst, “OHMYGOD IT’S THE SEVENTH GATOR!!!!”