Lacing up for 2026

Happy New Year! I know it’s late to mention it, but I started my wonderful year off in New York City, volunteering with the NYRR and working the Midnight Run in Central Park. What a beautiful experience.

I started the year off again with running and signing up for trail races, on another mission to challenge myself and deepen my love for running.

Doctoral studies in special education don’t stay inside the classroom. It follows your home. It sits with you at dinner. The workload of research and writing wakes you up at 3 a.m. when your mind replays research questions, student needs, and the responsibility to do meaningful work for learners who deserve advocacy and understanding.

In between being a mom and a student at my age, I have used running to help me hold it all together. As much as I hate the first mile or two, I somehow find redemption as soon as I hit the finish line.

I have a route I choose to run or walk, depending on the mood and the scene I need in the moment.

Feeling the Miles

At first, it was about scene, now it's about distance and challenging myself, which scares me. The work and all the responsibilities await me after the run.

When my program started in January, the course was familiar, and I was working on self-concepts about time management, along with the excitement of completing my doctoral program. Now, I am in control of my own feelings and can go for a run when I need a break. I focus on the first mile of running, the raw feelings, and physical feelings.

Learning to Share Space

In special education, we talk about access versus belonging. A student can be placed in a classroom but still feel separate. Belonging happens when effort is accepted, not judged.

Running taught me that lesson physically before I ever put it into words academically.

The path accommodated every level of ability at once — and it worked because no one required perfection to participate.

Repetition Builds Confidence

Doctoral research teaches patience. Progress happens slowly, quietly, and often invisibly.

Running works the same way.

One day, I ran a little farther and chased nature. Then one day, I stopped worrying about my pace. Eventually, I stopped worrying about fitting in on the racecourse with other runners.

The confidence didn’t arrive dramatically. It accumulated.

Exactly like learning. Exactly like teaching. Exactly like growth.

Being Seen While Learning

The hardest part of running wasn’t endurance. It was transparency while I was still learning.

As educators, we ask students to try their best in front of others. To risk mistakes publicly. To practice without mastery.

Running made me live that experience rather than just teach about it.

I realized most people weren’t evaluating me. They were just doing their own hard thing.

Shared effort creates quiet respect.

Parallel Paths

Working toward a doctorate in special education and becoming a runner began to feel connected.

Both required humility and consistency, believing that improvement would come before evidence proved it.

Some days I feel strong, and on other days I struggle through every step. Both counted.

Expanding the Map

My routes slowly grew longer. The hills are hell, but I promised myself I would never quit. Push yourself (I said).

Each time I finished, I felt the same realization: I was capable of more than my fear predicted.

What 2026 Means to Me

At first, 2026 was a finish line — the year I committed to work on my doctorate.

Now it feels different.

It represents a version of me who kept showing up before confidence arrived. A version of me who understood that belonging doesn’t come after competence — it grows during effort.

Both my running and my studies ask the same commitment: trust in gradual change.

Lacing Up Again Tomorrow

Every time I tie my shoes now, I’m not trying to prove I’m a runner. I’m practicing courage.

On the sidewalks near my home in Santa Clarita, I learned that shared spaces become inclusive when we allow ourselves to exist in them while still learning.

My future students deserve an educator who understands what vulnerability feels like — not just in theory, but in experience.

So, I’ll keep running. Not because it’s easy. Not because I’m fast. But because growth happens when we show up imperfectly and stay anyway.

2026 isn’t the end.

It’s the year I am transforming myself into someone with confidence and grit.