Running Through Loss and Light

Erin lives in the Mojave Desert in California with her family, though she and her husband both grew up in Illinois. They moved west after they married for his job. Over time, running has become far more than a sport for Erin. It has carried her through loss, new beginnings, community, motherhood, and the constant work of taking care of her mental health. Her journey shows how movement can become a lifeline when life shifts in unexpected ways.

How did you get into running?

I have pretty much always been a runner. I tried cross country in 5th grade and stayed with it through my freshman year of college. I was never the fastest, and most of the time my personal goal was not to be last, but I liked being part of a team and doing something I knew I could keep improving on.

Outside of running, I was a theater, music, and art kid. But running felt like something I could always come back to. As an adult, after being diagnosed with ADHD and anxiety, it makes sense why it helps me so much. Running settles my brain and keeps me out of the depression that comes from being too still. I have had seasons where I stopped due to injury, pregnancy, or lack of motivation, but looking back, those were the times when I probably needed the movement most. Somehow, I always find my way back.

What are you currently training for?

Right now, I am training for the Ventura Marathon in February. I ran my first half this past February at the Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon in Vegas. Before that, a friend heard I was training for a half and invited me to run the Two Cities Marathon in Fresno and Clovis in November. I said I would decide after the half, and the night I finished in Vegas, I signed up.

There was a lot of growth and emotion in that training cycle, and I knew that could not be the end. I also felt that if I was only going to run one marathon in my life, I might regret it being in Fresno. So I signed up for Ventura, which I imagine will be more picturesque, mostly downhill, and something I would be proud to call my last if life ever took me away from long-distance running.

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What is your favorite sports memory?

This one is hard. My dad is tied to so many of my sports memories. He passed away at 47 from a brain aneurysm when I was 22.

There has always been a thought in our family that maybe he had some sense that time was limited. In the years before he passed, he pushed himself to complete some big physical goals. He did 500 mile hikes, rode his bike long distances daily, and trained for and completed a cross country ski marathon months before he died.

Beyond his own training, he showed up for everything we did. He was always the one screaming at the finish line, no matter my time or place. He went to every show, concert, or exhibit I was a part of. He has been on my mind so much during this recent training, especially on the days when my brain says I cannot or my heart is not in it. On those days, I think of the people who wish they could be out there, or who are not here to be able to anymore.

During the Two Cities Marathon, my family and friends tracked me on RaceJoy, which lets supporters send audio cheers. Most of the sounds repeated throughout the race, but one came through only once. It happened after I hit the final mile marker, when everything in me wanted to stop. The song was “Country Roads” by John Denver, my dad’s favorite. Tears streamed down my face. I knew he would be at the finish line if he could. That was enough to get me there.

Does your family support you?

Support shows up in a lot of small ways. Letting me run. Reminding me that running helps when I am stressed or anxious or sad. Encouraging me when I do not feel like it. Celebrating even the short runs. Giving kudos on Strava. Liking my stories. Asking to see my medals. Sending my dad’s favorite song at the exact right moment.

Recently my oldest and I ran a 5K “together.” He finished several minutes ahead of me, which can be humbling because I have been running longer and he is a teenager who thinks he knows everything. Not being able to keep up is a reality check. But seeing him want to run, and knowing it helps him see the value it brings to my life, is its own form of support.

Some days, the support comes from people who are not related to me. Friends I do life with help carry me in the same ways my immediate family does. On the days when the people in my house cannot give me what I need, I am grateful for the extended family I have built.

When did running shift from a hobby to something meaningful for your mental health?

The shift happened in 2020. It was a strange year for everyone, but it was also the first time since moving to Edwards AFB that I felt like I belonged. After weeks of isolation, my husband came home and said the commander he worked with was hosting a family dance party on Zoom. I did not want to be on camera dancing with strangers, but when it ended, it was exactly what I needed.

I reached out afterward, and he asked if I wanted to help create more events. I said yes, and through that, became close with him, his wife, and their family. We helped bring other families together and built a work family I did not know I had been missing.

In March 2021, I suffered a miscarriage. The Goodpastures were there without hesitation. Rebecca encouraged me to run again because she understood how movement helped her own mental health. When they left Edwards, they gave me a Fitbit to keep me accountable. Goody added me to the Strava group, and from then on, I ran not just for myself but in gratitude for what they sparked in me.

Since then, every time I let running slip, I feel the effects. When sadness or stress or anxiety shows up, my husband, friends, or family remind me I need to get outside.

Conclusion

Erin’s running story is shaped by family, community, loss, and the steady return to movement when life gets heavy. Running has become a tool she relies on for her mental health and a connection to the people who have lifted her up. Her journey is not about perfection or speed. It is about the resilience that comes from putting one foot in front of the other and recognizing that every mile holds a piece of the people who helped her find her way forward.

You can find Erin on Strava or Instagram. 

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