8 AM// Another Letter to the Red Covered Bridge


Dear Bridge (& by extension, Valley Green),

I’m not really sure when I’ll see you next– throughout 2018, I’ve had the privilege of coming back here countless times for weddings and races and high fives and hugs.  

But as for 2019, on verra.  

We shall see.

2019 looks to be like “one of those years”–

meaning lots of change, lots of movement, lots of unsuredness.  

It’s kind of funny though because no matter where I’ll end up, I always imagine this as the one mile marker– the final stretch– in any situation I encounter.  

The last mile of a race, the last hoorah of a semester, the last few feet until my doorstep.  

All of those moments, I find myself chanting–

“Turn into the curve. Pick up your feet.  Move your arms. Breathe. One more mile. One more mile. One more freaking mile.”

Find my eyes straining, looking for the blip of red signalling almost there, almost done.


Six months ago, I left another letter here in a golden envelope thinking it would probably get washed away by the creek.  That I would leave it here and nothing would come of it.

As you can see, that letter has gone 360 degrees–evolving into a place for others to gather, to reflect, to write, to connect.  It has led to meeting wonderful people and hearing and reading others’ stories and more deeply understanding how people are so inextricably bound to one another.

But maybe The Bridge has been that kind of a place– a place connectedness– all along.

For me, this idea of connectedness has followed me into grad school where I’ve had the privilege of steeping my thoughts in theories about place and people and community and vulnerability and belonging and then see it play out– IRL. In real freaking life.

It has also given me the privilege of literally (and metaphorically) holding other people’s stories about places and communities and belonging in my very own hands. I don’t think I’ve read a single letter without laughing or crying — or sometimes both– in wonder and astonishment at how people are just so fundamentally human. In the best possible of ways.

Not sure if it’s the rush of endorphins or the sentimentality of nostalgia or the fact I’m about to hop on a plane–yet again–and won’t see this place for who-knows-how-long-time– but


I am in total and complete and utter awe of how this place can bring people together in the most special and strange and spectacular of ways.


In any case, I have one more mile til I’m done with today’s rainy run. Leaving this letter here in the meantime to say “THANK YOU, Y’ALL!” for reminding me that no matter where we might go in this big crazy world, there are places like this that keep drawing us back, keep drawing us home while reminding us that no matter how hard or difficult something may be, we’ll always have enough guts to get through one last mile–

one more mile one more mile one more mile.

Here’s to kicking some serious butt in the last mile of all of our projects, work, relationships, lives, and places.

Bonne année!

❤ Kat

10.7.18: Mile 22 Chicago Marathon


It is somewhat of a weird miracle how memories resurface.

How they are remembered, retold, rehashed.

How biking or walking or running or sitting in one place can have the kind of magic that lures and pulls you back to another time, another place, another person— a glimmer of Orion’s belt, the snap of a wine cork, a faint whiff of toasted hazelnut.

In French and Creole cultures, this kind of remembrance encapsulates the magic of déjà-vu— the sense that what you are experiencing au présent, you have already experienced au passé.

The sense that you are living in this shadowy yet glimmering place between past and present.

9 AM EST//Goucher Woods


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.

7 PM//Streets of New Orleans


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

Anytime//Youth Run NOLA


Dear Youth Run NOLA,

I have endless, bountiful, SO MANY thank you’s for the ways in which you have changed my life, and most of all, how you reminded why I love to run.

Reminded and taught me that running=  

joy + community + endurance + people + glitter + red beans + long talks about zombie apocalypses + long talks about life + singing weird songs + jumping up and down at random moments + race day pep talks + tutus + beignets + king cake + music blasting at full tilt + pride in myself + pride in my team + pride in my city + not taking myself too seriously + exploring new places + putting down roots + supporting others + feeling supported + endorphin creator + ritual + team + family + TOGETHER.