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When my mom began hospice care in July, I believed she would die within a month—not because I’m naive to how long the hospice period can last, but because the hospice nurse said as much.

During our initial meeting with the nurse and social worker, they walked us through a binder of information and asked us if we had any questions. Of course, we wanted to know if they had any idea of how long she had left—and, of course, they declined to estimate. Hospice is for people who likely have six months or less to live, but I wanted all the answers I could get. Nobody has a crystal ball, though, so fair enough.

That changed once the nurse got a good look at my mom. As my mom slowly paced the memory care dining room with Don trailing to make sure she didn’t trip over anything, the nurse quietly said to me: “With how frail she is, I don’t expect this to go on very long.”

“Do you mean months or weeks?” I asked.

“Weeks,” she said.

I believed her.

At 97 pounds, weak and hunched over, it seemed miraculous my mom was still alive at that point. She hadn’t eaten a full meal in several months. When her weight dropped drastically earlier in the year, we gave the okay for her facility to obtain a doctor’s order that would allow them to offer her an Ensure shake with each meal, and that became her primary source of nutrition. But at 220 calories a bottle, it wasn’t enough to help her gain a significant amount of weight, even if she drank every last drop. She ultimately qualified for hospice due to malnutrition.

In the spring, we made some changes to my mom’s medication after many long discussions and consulting with her doctor. We decided to taper her off the Alzheimer’s drugs she’d been on since she received her diagnosis. They are intended to improve mental function and confusion related to Alzheimer’s disease, but are by no means treatments or cures. The hope is that they can slow the progression, but there’s really no way to know if they do. We had reached a point where we no longer wanted to slow the progression, as it would only prolong her suffering.

Her doctor also prescribed an antidepressant to help with my mom’s mood. She sobbed every single time we visited, which was just horrible. I worried about medicating her into oblivion, but the doctor assured me an SSRI would simply level her out.

Changes in medication can affect appetite, so once she was off the Alzheimer’s drugs and on the SSRI, the doctor adjusted the dosage to see if she could find a level that would help boost her appetite—or, if that didn’t work, she would determine the lack of appetite was unrelated and make the hospice referral.

We know how that turned out.

The decision to stop the Alzheimer’s drugs was agonizing. Then, with hospice, came the question of whether we should continue with the Ensure. I understood Ensure to be a nutrition shake you could buy without a prescription at any grocery or drugstore—and I ordered a month’s supply at a time to be delivered from Costco to her facility—but they treat it as a medication and keep it locked up with the other drugs. Hospice considers it to be a life-prolonging supplement, and therefore does not cover the cost of it like it does her hospital bed rental and supplies like briefs and wipes.

“Life prolonging” and hospice don’t really go together. Our goal had changed. But the idea of cutting off my mom’s near sole source of nutrition, and thus being responsible for hastening her death, weighed on me. The decision belonged to three of us—Don, my brother and me—but I was the one starting these conversations, determined to do the right thing for my mom—what she would have wanted if she could have chosen.

I pored over her advance directive, which, unsurprisingly, addressed none of these intricacies of the final stage of dementia. I recalled a conversation we had after her breast cancer treatment, where she regretted only doing a single mastectomy and worried about the cancer coming back in her remaining breast. Chemo had ravaged her. “I won’t go through that again,” she told me. At the time, I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t pursue treatment, wouldn’t jump at the chance to live longer and spend more time with her family. Now, I understand some things are worse than death.

Many conversations. Research. Soul searching. Tears. We decided to stop Ensure. The hospice team seemed relieved. They didn’t want to give their opinion, but it became clear after the decision was made.

“Weeks,” she said.

I believed her.

It was one thing to start hospice. It was another to come to terms with the fact that my mom could be gone so soon.

I shifted into survival mode, thinking about what I needed to do in the weeks leading up to her death and the weeks after. I notified close friends and family in case they wanted to plan any last visits. I looked in dismay at the trips I had planned over the next few months, not sure whether to cancel or wait and see.

My therapist and I discussed what a “good death” would look like; what I wanted to say to her before she went, whether she could understand or not; whether I wanted to be there when she died; whether she would want me to be there when she died. I ordered and devoured a book by a hospice nurse, which brought me great peace. I started looking on the bright side: if my mom were to die soon from malnutrition, she (and we) would skip some of the most agonizing steps of her dying from Alzheimer’s. Yay, I guess?

I thought about how beautiful that summer had been, and felt comforted by the fact that if my mom died soon, I could still go into my backyard and lie down on the toasty patio pavers for a few minutes, turning my face up toward the sun and letting its warmth seep through my skin and into my bones—something I often do after therapy.

I’ve noticed the seasons and weather have had a greater impact on my mood these past few years, and I have no doubt it’s because of this prolonged experience of losing my mom. Everything is sadder when it’s gloomy; everything feels more hopeful when the sun shines. I’d give anything to warm my bones on the darkest days.

A week into hospice, I wrote this through tears in the middle of the night:

I hope you die on a summer day

so your last breaths aren’t shattered by raindrops

but harmonized with birdsong.

I hope your body is drenched in light

impossibly aglow

a celebration of life

and whatever comes next.

I hope you ascend on a sunbeam

migrate with the butterflies

tumble along a breeze like a dandelion seed

look down on the world in all its beauty and think

how lucky was I to be alive

just a little bit

and see myself out amid clear skies

75 degrees

a high like no other.

That’s me projecting what I think a “good death” would look like. It’s also me working to accept, to look on the bright side, to find a way to make this very sad thing feel kind of beautiful. In any case, it’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever read that starts with “I hope you die.”

My mom did not die on a summer day.

You know what she did do?

She started eating.

Maybe my mom’s body finally squared up with the medication changes. Or maybe it’s an example of us making plans and God laughing. Or maybe, like the badass she always has been, she pulled an Arya Stark and said, “Not today.”

I don’t know how to explain it, but the day after her supply of Ensure ran out, she ate three square meals like it was her job—and she has ever since.

You’d think this would be a happy turn of events, but it’s a real mindfuck to go from “weeks” to “???” I had accepted, looked on the bright side, found a way to make it beautiful. It felt like a relief to have an end to this nightmare in sight. But still, we go on.

Just because my mom is eating doesn’t mean everything is peachy. She has only gained a few pounds and is still slowly descending through this final stage of dementia. All of those most agonizing steps of dying from Alzheimer’s loom before us. She has become very unsteady on her feet, but still walks up and down the halls of her facility constantly—a recipe for disaster that has caused many falls. I worry I’ll get a terrible phone call one of these days.

She was recently reevaluated and recertified for hospice, for which I’m grateful. The team’s support has been invaluable, and I’d hate for her to graduate from hospice only to have to inevitably reenroll. It’s a trauma I don’t wish to repeat.

I still struggle with uncertainty. I worry about getting through the holidays this year. I worry about her dying on a winter day; where will I find the warmth to get through it? Maybe she’ll die next spring. Maybe next summer. I don’t get to decide. I just need to gather the strength.

The good news is: we didn’t kill her. We agonized over the Ensure, but maybe stopping it was actually the best thing we could have done. I know we made the right decision with utmost love for her. Maybe this is her way of lifting that burden from us.

The other good news is: she doesn’t cry anymore. The SSRI indeed leveled her out, so her mood ranges from placid to happy. Despair seems to be a thing of the past. That, too, feels like a huge burden lifted. I used to need the rest of the weekend to emotionally recover from our Saturday visits. Now, the sadness is manageable.

Seeing her is still tough. I notice her physical appearance changing week by week. Although she’s a bit stronger and more energetic than she was in July, her temples and eyes now appear sunken in. It’s getting more difficult, too, to physically and verbally direct her when I’m helping her in and out of the car, or feeding her, or helping her in the bathroom. A few months ago, I offhandedly said “Janet” and she whipped her head around toward me in a way she never did when I said “Mom.” So now, she is Janet, which makes sense because that’s who she was long before she was Mom. And it helps me a bit to separate the two. Mom has been gone for a while; now I’m helping Janet through this last phase of her life.

Despite the hard parts, I treasure my time with her. We listen to music in the car—her same favorites, over and over—and she still loves the Backstreet Boys. We watch romantic comedies. She recently stayed awake through the entirety of “Crazy, Stupid, Love” and laughed her mostly silent laugh at all the funny parts, of which there are many. She gets a kick out of me good-naturedly making fun of Don. In those moments, the light comes back into her eyes, and she’s Mom again.

Aaron, Evie and I recently visited Leavenworth on one of those trips we didn’t have to cancel because my mom is still alive. On the drive there, I always look for landmarks that indicate we’re nearing the Bavarian-themed town. One of them, if you’ve come over Blewett Pass, is Rollercoaster Road, just to the left before you reach Highway 2. I’ve never been down Rollercoaster Road, but I always thought it must be fun.

“I’ve ridden it on my bike,” Aaron told me. “It’s not fun on a bike.”

That makes sense. I imagine relentless ups and downs, probably some twists and turns. It’s like this Alzheimer’s journey. It’s like life. Fun if you’ve got the right equipment, if you’ve willingly gone down it. Not so fun when you’re pedaling as hard as you can, when you’re not sure where it’ll go next or when it’ll end.

For now, I’m still on my own Rollercoaster Road. After so many ups and downs and twists and turns this year, it feels like I’m cruising through a fairly level section, with no idea what comes next. I’m doing my best to hang in there. Next week is November 1, four years since my mom’s diagnosis. I’ll have earned my bachelor’s degree in Alzheimer’s, and I guess I’ll be going for my master’s. There’s certainly much more to learn.

I’ve also got the New York City Marathon coming up on November 5, which has been a powerful beacon through all of this—something to work toward and look forward to. A reason not to drown. A bout of runner’s knee threatened to take this race away from me, but nine weeks of physical therapy and a bit of determination saved my training. I hope reaching the finish line will feel like a real triumph—physically, mentally and emotionally. I worry about what comes after, but I try to put that aside so I can just enjoy.

I tell myself that someday, Rollercoaster Road will once again just be a thing I drive past on my way to somewhere better.

Thank you for reading. I’m 82% of the way to my $10,000 fundraising goal for the Alzheimer’s Association. If you’d like to donate, you can do so here before the NYC Marathon on November 5. Thank you so much for your support. ❤

First of all: WOW. I’m overwhelmed by the response to my previous post and the support you’ve shown for my NYC Marathon fundraiser for the Alzheimer’s Association. The fundraising commitment to earn my spot on the team was $4,200; you all exceeded that in nine hours! 🤯

Given that more than six months remain until race day, I’d be remiss not to increase my goal and create space for more donations. My new goal is to raise $10,000 by November 5. If you haven’t already donated and would like to, you can do so here.

To everyone who already donated: thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! I wanted to create a tsunami of funding to help wipe out Alzheimer’s; you all did that and then some. Your support means more than I can put into words. 💜

So many of you reached out via Instagram DM to share kind words or your own stories about parents lost too soon to Alzheimer’s, cancer and other illnesses. Each story touched me deeply. This lonely journey of losing a parent is made better by connecting with and learning bits of wisdom from those who’ve walked it before. I have found it so therapeutic and freeing to write about the hardest parts of this experience and then release them into the world; it’s almost a physical relief to gather up these things that weigh on me—grief, guilt, helplessness—and get them out of my body. Thank you for reaching out and trusting me with the things that weigh on you, too. I’m happy to help carry your load.

I’m so excited to share all about my NYC Marathon training once it begins. After my very flat half marathon on May 6, I’m going to start running hills like there’s no tomorrow. I’m thrilled to have access to the Alzheimer’s Association team coach, Amanda LaVergne, for all the info and training tips I need to run my best race.

NYC isn’t the easiest course, but make no mistake: I will be running for a PR. I want to soak in all the sights and sounds and excitement of one of the greatest marathons in the world, and I want to absolutely crush it. I ain’t flying across the country for a fun run!

I know I haven’t reached my full running potential yet, and I’m excited to chase it. I still want to qualify for the Boston Marathon someday. I’ve got 13 minutes and 26 seconds to chip away at over the next marathon (or two, or three, or more), at least until I turn 40 in 2027; then I get an extra five minutes. It seems quite doable to me if I put in the work, and I’m laser focused this year on working harder than I ever have before.

With the support of the Alzheimer’s Association team and all of you who’ve given me such a boost with your donations and words of encouragement, I’ll have the metaphorical (and hopefully literal) wind at my back on November 5. Plus, my mom will be with me every step of the way. For her, I’ll run like hell.

“No matter how prepared you think you are, nothing prepares you for the death of someone you love. No amount of time. No amount of suffering. No amount of wishing for the end to come. It still feels unexpected. It still seems sudden. It still hurts like hell.”

Lauren Dykovitz, When Only Love Remains: Surviving My Mom’s Battle with Early Onset Alzheimer’s

Before Christmas, I talked with my therapist about my mom’s drastic decline in 2022. Shortly after we moved her into a new memory care facility in March, she lost the ability to feed herself and required an aide to feed her at every meal. In the fall, she became incontinent.

“I haven’t been keeping close track of her progression,” I said. “What stage would you say she’s in?”

My therapist, who previously worked for the Alzheimer’s Association, referred me to the Global Deterioration Scale for primary degenerative dementia. As we read through the characteristics of each level, we agreed that my mom was transitioning from stage six to seven—out of seven total.

I was shocked. My mom was diagnosed three and a half years ago, in November 2019. The neurologist told us that people with Alzheimer’s can live from two to 20 years after diagnosis, and the younger they are, the longer they’re likely to live. I’ve met a handful of Alzheimer’s daughters online and their parents seemed to live about 10 years beyond their diagnosis. I’d been gearing up for a long haul.

The realization that she might die much sooner, maybe even in 2023, smacked me across the face.

Death aside, the deterioration that occurs in level seven is incredibly sad:

All verbal abilities are lost over the course of this stage. Frequently there is no speech at all—only unintelligible utterances and rare emergence of seemingly forgotten words and phrases. Incontinent of urine, requires assistance toileting and feeding. Basic psychomotor skills, e.g., ability to walk, are lost with the progression of this stage. The brain appears to no longer be able to tell the body what to do. Generalized rigidity and developmental neurologic reflexes are frequently present.

The Global Deterioration Scale

Of course I don’t want my mom to die. But she is going to die—there’s no way around that—and this is no way to live. My feelings are complicated.

Is this the year my mom will die? Maybe. If not this year, then certainly the next, or the next after that. The disease is progressing so quickly. How do I prepare for the end?

Should I pre-write her obituary? It feels wrong to write about her in the past tense while she’s still alive. But in many ways, her story has ended; there are no more achievements to come. In an episode of the hilarious and moving Apple TV+ series Shrinking, Jason Segel’s character pages through a scrapbook his late wife made chronicling their relationship. He’s looking at the photos with tears in his eyes when, suddenly, he flips to the first of many blank, unfilled pages. “I guess that’s all we get,” he says.

Should I start going through the boxes and closets of her things that we didn’t move with her into memory care, that sit untouched and remind my stepdad every day of her absence? Or should I just try to live in the moment, enjoy the time I have left with her, and not wish it away by jumping forward to the inevitable end?

My instinct is to work ahead on the things I know will hurt more to do after she’s gone. But it hurts now, too. The worst is finding unused items in those boxes and closets: a brand-new Clinique eyeshadow palette; a woven leather handbag with the tag still attached; so many pristine three-packs of her favorite socks ready to replace the ones with holes in the bottoms. All emblems of the life she won’t get to live.

I have an unworn black dress in my own closet, still wrapped in plastic. I won’t open it until I need to.

I steeled myself for Christmas. I was determined to be present, take lots of pictures and videos, and soak everything in on what could very well be the last Christmas we’d celebrate with my mom at her house. Once she’s unable to walk, it might be too physically and emotionally stressful for her to travel. We can visit her in memory care, of course, but it won’t be the same.

In reality, that Christmas celebration was a stark reminder of all that had been lost. We still enjoyed a nice dinner and exchanged gifts and admired the Christmas tree, but my mom—previously the orchestrator of festive fun—was a blank-faced bystander to it all. Rather than being present and soaking everything in, I felt myself mentally curl up into a protective ball.

When my mom is gone, I’ll try to skip over the memories of that evening and live instead in the warm glow of Christmases past. My job, now, is to create that magic for my own daughter, so that her holiday memories will be just as wonderful as the ones I cherish.

The longer my mom is ill, the farther away the mom I used to know—my Real Mom—seems. I hope when I do sort through her things, I’ll be able to piece together who she was through the things she loved. I hope to find her in her vast collection of quilting fabric, her books about English gardens and the royals, her memorabilia marking her time as a tour guide at Disneyland. I hope to find things she’s written, things that will help me see her in a new light and answer questions I can’t ask her anymore. I hope, instead of despairing over the emblems of her stolen years, I will feel something akin to happiness sitting amongst piles of evidence of the life she lived.

“How will she die? “I asked my therapist. “Will she forget how to swallow and just starve to death?”

Maybe, she said. Often, people with Alzheimer’s have more and more difficulty chewing and swallowing, and will aspirate a piece of food into their lungs, where it can lead to pneumonia—the ultimate cause of death.

My mom frequently coughs after being fed bites of food. Every time she does, I wonder: Is this it? Is this stupid chunk of chicken the one that will end it all?

So far, she’s made it through our Saturday lunches unscathed. But each time I see her, she is noticeably thinner.

Before we first moved her into memory care in 2021, she’d wasted away to 99 pounds—frightening for her 5’5″ frame. She ate well after the move and packed on nearly 30 pounds. She continued to do well in early 2022, then began to eat less once she needed to be fed at every meal. Over the past few months, her weight has dropped precipitously. We’re back to where she was when she first forgot how to prepare food, whether she had already eaten or not, and whether she was even hungry. Her caregivers report that she only takes a few bites at each meal.

We used to be about the same height, but I’ve noticed her head drooping lower and lower, and her neck and shoulders hunching farther forward, so she now looks primarily at the ground. My mom, who was once roughly my physical equal, is shrinking in every direction.

How long until she disappears?

My mom is going to die, probably much sooner that I thought, and it’s going to be horrible to watch. What I want more than anything is for the end to be as pleasant as possible for her, on the inside. When the time comes, I hope she will slip into a coma and go on a nice journey, like Rebecca Pearson does in the penultimate episode of This Is Us. I hope it’s like “The Train.”

For my part—and I’m painfully aware of how self-absorbed this sounds, worrying about surviving this thing when my mom is the one suffering and dying—I hope I feel at peace. Maybe even happy for her. Her confusion, aimlessness, loneliness and frustration over not being to hold a thought long enough to properly express or act upon it are completely gutting. She sobs every time we visit. It is heartbreaking to the highest degree, and the best I can do is hold her hand and tell her that I’m here, that everything is going to be okay.

Nothing is okay about any of this.

I knew 2023 was never going to be the best year ever. If my mom survives it, she’ll be a shadow of the person she was even at the end of 2022. She may be in a wheelchair. She may not be able to communicate at all.

The thing I feared most—my mom forgetting who I am—may never come to fruition if she completely loses the ability to indicate recognition or the lack thereof. Her communication is limited as it is. She may very well already think I’m a kind stranger who makes her lunch and paints her nails on weekends. I don’t ask, and I don’t care. As long as she feels loved and comforted by me, that’s enough.

It turns out that bearing witness to her ongoing physical and emotional suffering is far worse than that clichéd Alzheimer’s milestone anyway. Despair threatens to drown me some days; lately, more often than I care to admit.

I need to keep busy to stay afloat. I’ve got a lineup of fun trips to look forward to this year—LEGOLAND with my little family, a Scottsdale spa weekend with my best friends, and more—plus some big running goals to tackle. I’m training to PR in the half marathon at the Snohomish Women’s Run on May 6, and I’m thrilled and honored to be part of the Alzheimer’s Association team to run the TCS New York City Marathon on November 5.

It was last fall, while listening to an Ali On the Run Show episode about the NYC Marathon, that I was moved to tears by the guest’s experiences at the race and vowed to run it myself. My mom’s decline has given me a hunger for more challenges, more adventures, more life. The NYC Marathon is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, at least for this West Coaster. I don’t want to wait until I can no longer run 26.2 miles and always wish I’d made that journey on foot through the city’s five boroughs.

Fundraising for the Alzheimer’s Association adds meaning and purpose beyond measure. When I ran the California International Marathon in 2021, I had an amazing experience raising money for HFC—Seth and Lauren Miller Rogen’s charity that supports Alzheimer’s families and caregivers with support groups and respite care grants. I set out to raise $2,500 and exceeded $5,000 by race day, thanks to so many generous Internet friends and real-life loved ones. I felt my mom with me through every mile of the race, and finished strong with nearly a six-minute PR.

The Alzheimer’s Association is tackling another side of the disease. As the largest nonprofit funder of Alzheimer’s research, the Association is committed to advancing vital research toward methods of treatment, prevention and, ultimately, a cure. It’s also the leading voice for Alzheimer’s disease advocacy, fighting for critical Alzheimer’s research and care initiatives at the state and federal level. And, like HFC, the Association helps provide care and support for those affected by Alzheimer’s and other dementias with support groups, a 24/7 helpline (800.272.3900), and more.

I know donating to nonprofits like this can feel like a drop in the bucket toward tackling a massive problem. But for my mom, for families like mine, for your grandparents and parents, and eventually for you and your kids and grandkids—every donation counts. Let’s make it rain and build a tsunami of funding to wipe this thing out for good. Nobody should have to suffer like my mom, and I have to believe treatment methods and a cure are out there, waiting for a team of neuroscientists to hit the jackpot. I’m happy to throw money at that if it means other families won’t have to walk this devastating path in the future. More life for everyone.

I’ve made the first donation toward my $10,000 fundraising goal (extended since we exceeded my initial $4,200 goal in 9 hours!). If you’d like to join me—in support of my NYC Marathon training, in support of my mom, in honor or memory of someone you love, as a big FUCK YOU to Alzheimer’s, or all of the above—please donate here.

If it’s not within your means to donate right now, I’m also accepting good vibes for a successful marathon training cycle and a beautiful NYC Marathon experience. Bonus points if you can manifest perfect running weather for me and approximately 49,999 other runners on November 5.

No matter how you show it, thank you, as always, for your support.

For me, 2023 is a year of pain and uncertainty. It’s also a year of endurance and resilience. I’m determined to feel all the feelings, the unimaginable lows and the euphoric highs—all the things that make up this singular human experience. I want to navigate it in a way that would make my mom proud. She’s the one who prepared me for this life. In honor of her, I refuse to drown.

Aaron and I usually do Whole30 and dry January to reset our eating and drinking habits after the holidays, but this year I suggested we try going vegan.

Ever since my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease at age 61, I’ve done a lot of reading about how to maximize my healthspan, and nearly every resource has encouraged eating more plants and fewer or no animal products. I wanted to commit to a month of eating vegan to find out how it made us feel and whether it was a sustainable way for us to eat long term.

I believe everyone needs to find their own way of eating to feel their best. No matter how desperately I wish I could enjoy dairy, it will always make me feel miserable the next day thanks to increased phlegm and post-nasal drip, so I choose to avoid it while many people can eat it and feel just fine. Food is a touchy subject and I’m not here to advocate for a single best diet for everyone; I’m just exploring for my own health and happiness.

There are also plenty of moral arguments around eating animal products, but for the purposes of this experiment and post, I’m not going to touch those. I welcome you to do your own research and do what you think is right.

I’ll also say that I wasn’t 100% perfect and did eat a few animal products in January, but I didn’t stress about it; the perfect is the enemy of the good. But for transparency, here’s what went down:

• On January 2, we went out to happy hour with friends and I had tomato soup that probably had cream in it.
• I had a bunch of Superhero muffins in the freezer that I made in December with eggs in them, and I wasn’t about to waste those; I typically eat one first thing every morning before I walk the dogs. It helps get things moving, if you know what I mean.
• I made a triple batch of Superhero muffins in January and used eggs again since I didn’t want to experiment with flax eggs and potentially ruin them; all that almond flour is expensive!
• On January 29, we celebrated a friend’s birthday and I ate beef and pork at the catered taco bar. The margaritas were flowing and it was nearly the end of the month anyway. Sue me!
• On January 31, I majorly craved a salmon filet and made one from our freezer for dinner. It was so, so good; no regrets.

When we went out to eat, I also didn’t go so far as to question whether vegetables were cooked in butter or if French fries were fried in beef fat or anything like that. We didn’t eat out often, so it wasn’t much of an issue.

HOW I FELT

In short: great!

I didn’t feel depleted or lacking nutrients. I didn’t even crave anything non-vegan until the very last day, when that need for salmon took me out.

I felt energetic, well-fueled and light in the sense that no meal felt like a brick in my stomach afterward the way a meal with meat sometimes can.

I had no trouble ramping up my running in January from less than 15 miles a week to 25+ miles a week. I noticed it was easier to keep my heart rate low (under 145 bpm) on easy runs than it had been previously. I have no idea if this is connected to the way I ate, but wanted to note it since it was unusual for me.

My, um, bathroom output was fantastic.

I did not lose weight, nor was that my intention.

I embraced processed carbs in a way that I haven’t in a long time. I got on a grilled-vegan-cheese sandwich and tomato soup kick for a while, and started eating bagels with vegan butter a few times a week to fuel longer runs.

I also tried (and really liked) some vegan processed foods, like Impossible plant-based chicken nuggets. It’s probably not something one should eat every day, and I sometimes went a little hard on processed stuff as comfort food when I was feeling low. Just because something is vegan doesn’t mean it’s healthy, and you can certainly follow a vegan diet but eat like total garbage if you want. The more I stuck with whole plant foods—like stuff from the produce section—the better I felt.

HOW I’LL EAT GOING FORWARD

I continued to eat mostly vegan through the first half of February since I felt so great. Then we went to Phoenix for a week, and I wanted to try all the delicious foods at a bunch of restaurants, as I always do on vacation, without any limits. That kind of reset me to an anything-goes (minus dairy) mentality ever since.

But ideally, I would like to eat a plant-based diet—which is different than vegan, I discovered, even though I feel like the terms are often used interchangeably. According to the fine folks at Harvard:

“Plant-based or plant-forward eating patterns focus on foods primarily from plants. This includes not only fruits and vegetables, but also nuts, seeds, oils, whole grains, legumes, and beans. It doesn’t mean that you are vegetarian or vegan and never eat meat or dairy. Rather, you are proportionately choosing more of your foods from plant sources.”

Katherine D. McManus, MS, RD, LDN

That sounds great to me. I couldn’t say I’ll never eat meat again, and I wouldn’t want to live without seafood (salmon! sushi! yum). I avoid dairy, but I’ll often have a slice of regular birthday cake at a party or eat regular ice cream on vacation. Being strict about not eating something feels so restrictive, which will ultimately not work for me personally. Again: The perfect is the enemy of the good.

I would like to eat mostly vegan at home, and sometimes eat seafood and less often eat meat. When I eat at a friend’s home, I’d like to eat what is served and not make a bunch of requests. When I go out to eat at a restaurant, I’d like to eat whatever sounds good to me; probably something I wouldn’t normally prepare at home.

People really like to identify with and advocate for the specific way they eat, which is fine. My approach is: You do you, I’ll do me, let’s all mind our own business and be happy. (Should I put that on a T-shirt?!)

WHAT I ATE

When it came to planning meals, I really only had to figure out dinner since my go-to breakfast and lunch are already vegan (aside from the aforementioned Superhero muffins).

BREAKFAST

After my morning workout, I’d make a green smoothie. See recipe below in the Instagram caption!

I switched to vegan protein powder for January, and I liked Four Sigmatic plant-based protein powder in Creamy Cacao so much that I continue to order and use it today.

My favorite non-dairy milk for smoothies is Milkademia macademia milk or So Delicious unsweetened coconut milk (both found at Costco), but choose your own adventure!

I also started adding Kuli Kuli moringa powder after I heard about its brain benefits on the Huberman Lab podcast. You can read more about it on Good Housekeeping as well. It’s important to note that you shouldn’t use it while pregnant or nursing.

Finally, sometimes I use blueberries instead of strawberries, or a combo of the two. You could also substitute your favorite fruit, like pineapple, mango, raspberries, etc. Go wild!

I didn’t track calories or macros in January, but one day I input all my food into My Fitness Pal to see how much protein I was getting. I discovered this smoothie is indeed a meal in itself with 610 calories and 31 grams of protein. I find it very filling. If I have a lighter workout or am not super hungry, I leave out the almond butter, and then typically eat almond butter with an apple as a snack between lunch and dinner.

LUNCH

I’m a creature of habit and have eaten the same salad for years.

Some of the veggies vary, but it usually consists of:

• 1 small head Romaine lettuce, chopped
• 1 carrot, grated
• 2 ribs celery, chopped
• 1/2 bell pepper, chopped
• 3-4 white button mushrooms, chopped
• 1/2 avocado, mashed
• 2 Tbsp hemp hearts
• 2 Tbsp nutritional yeast
• 2-3 Tbsp homemade lemon Dijon dressing
• Salt to taste (I do 5 turns of a sea salt grinder)

Specific! I’ve honed it to perfection.

The homemade lemon Dijon dressing is based on the lemon-miso dressing from Run Fast, Eat Slow. I used to make it as written, but discovered in 2019 that garlic gives me terrible intestinal gas pain and was the reason I felt bloated and like I needed to lie down after lunch every day. So, I started leaving that out, and the dressing was still delicious. Then I did Whole30 and had to swap Dijon mustard in for miso to be Whole30 compliant, and I liked it so much that I kept it.

Here’s my version of the recipe; I always double the following amounts so I have a lot on hand:

• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 1/3 cup fresh lemon juice
• 2 tsp Dijon mustard
• 1/2 tsp sea salt
• 1/4 tsp ground pepper

I use an immersion blender to combine the ingredients, but you could also whisk vigorously or shake in a jar to emulsify.

The dressing is pretty tart, and the key for my salad enjoyment is mashing up the avocado and mixing all the ingredients well so the avocado, nutritional yeast and dressing combine to make more of a creamy/cheesy/lemony dressing. Hard to explain, but trust me, it’s good!

The salad pictured above also contains a serving of black beans (1/2 cup), which I added the first few days of January to get extra protein, but it made the salad way too filling. It’s hard to tell in the photo, but this salad fills a medium-sized mixing bowl, so it’s already quite satiating due to the sheer volume of food. If I were in the middle of marathon training and running a ton, the addition of black beans might be just right. Again: choose your own adventure.

DINNER

This is where it was fun to try new recipes and make some of our old faves vegan. I usually double recipes to make a ton of leftovers so we can eat the same dinner 3-4 nights in a row.

Clockwise from top left:

• Beyond burger patty with Greek lemon roasted potatoes and roasted Brussels sprouts.
• Half-Baked Harvest summer coconut chickpea curry with crispy tofu.
• Burrito bowl with cilantro-lime rice, sauteed bell peppers and onions, tofu crumbles, salsa and guacamole.
• Paleomg cannellini bean soup with Beyond spicy sausage. Aaron says it’s one of his favorite soups I’ve ever made! I had previously made this with regular spicy sausage and we thought it was just as delicious with the Beyond sausage.

Pinch of Yum red curry lentils. This has been a favorite for years! I like to stir in chopped kale at the end.

Figs Not Pigs unstuffed pepper skillet. My vegan friend Hallie recommended this and it’s so good! We’ve made it multiple times. Aaron isn’t a huge fan of vegan cheese, so I leave it off of his half.

Minimalist Baker tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich made with with Violife vegan cheese slices and Miyokos spreadable oat-milk butter. This combo is the ultimate comfort food for me; I crave it on rainy days and after a hard workout or long run. The tomato soup recipe is top notch and even drew wild compliments from my picky Italian stepdad. The Violife cheese slices get nice and melty and approximate real cheese just fine for this former cheese lover. I could (and for a few weeks in January did) eat this every day.

With so many amazing food blogs out there dishing up free vegan recipes and plant-based food products tasting better than ever, it’s never been easier to be vegan (or vegan curious). If you have any vegan favorites you’d like to share, please send them my way via a comment below or on Instagram. I always love to try new things!

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I’ve run the Lake Sammamish Half three times before (2013, 2014 and my 1:46:00 PR in 2018) because it’s flat, fast and falls at the perfect time to give me a reason to keep slogging through cold, rainy winter runs: the beginning of March. In previous years, it’s also been dry and sometimes even sunny, with the promise of spring just around the corner.

This year we were missing the “flat” and “dry” elements I loved so much, but that’s okay! We can’t get too greedy.

After I ran the Cascade Express Marathon in September and got Covid for the first time in October, I really struggled to get back into running regularly. Once I recovered from everything, it was the holiday season and food and wine and blah blah blah. I take an “off season” every year—usually the month of December—to just relax, indulge and work out whenever I happen to feel like it, but last year’s was a bit longer than usual and I entered 2023 feeling out of shape and ready to recommit to running.

I jumped right into the Snohomish Running Company’s 100-mile challenge for the month of January, as well as half-marathon training using a modified version of Hal Higdon’s Intermediate 1 plan. I went from barely hitting 15 miles a week at the end of 2022 to 20+ miles a week, eventually peaking at 34 miles two weeks before the race. Since I started on January 1, I really only trained for nine weeks.

That said, I’m super proud of how fit I was able to get in that amount of time. I started training with very low expectations for the race; sub-2:00 felt like it would have been a huge win. But as the weeks progressed and I began to do some speed work, I was pleasantly surprised with the paces I was able to hit during goal-pace runs. My goal time began to creep lower and lower until eventually I was convinced I could PR (sub 1:46/sub 8:05 average pace).

I went into race day feeling confident, but not pinning all my hopes and dreams on a PR. I had already signed up for the Snohomish Women’s Run half marathon in early May (because Des will be there!), so I knew I had that coming up as another chance to PR if this one didn’t work out. I really just wanted to run strong and have a great race.

Finally: race day! I woke up at 5:00, ate a lemon chia blueberry Superhero muffin and an everything bagel with oat milk butter, and left the house at 6:00. I carpooled with my friends Chelsea and Beth to the finish at Lake Sammamish State Park, where we picked up our friends Kyra and Brad to drive to the start near Redmond Town Center; we left Kyra and Brad’s car at the finish so we didn’t have to take the shuttle afterward.

Race morning is always more fun with friends! It was in the 30s and lightly snowing as we drove, so we were all nervous about exactly which layers to wear and how wet we might get during the race. I wound up wearing a thermal pullover hoodie over a merino wool base layer, which was perfect.

We parked at Redmond Town Center at 7:00, which I thought was perfect for the 7:30 start time (lol, no). I even stayed warm in the car for five minutes since I figured I had plenty of time to go to the bathroom and warm up. But after I said goodbye and good luck to everyone—they all stayed in the car even longer, since they were just running for fun—and walked five minutes or so to the start, I found a super-long porta-potty line and immediately jumped in since I really had to go. I must have spent 10-15 minutes in line, munching on two sheets of graham crackers the whole time. By the time I did my business, I had only five minutes until the start time, which wasn’t nearly enough to do the warmup run and dynamic stretches I’d planned to do. NOTE TO FUTURE SELF: leave plenty of time for these important things!!!

On top of that, the narrow start corral was already packed with runners. There were little offshoots of people lined up just to get into the corral, but there was no room for them to do it until the race started and pockets of space opened up. I could have and should have squeezed my way into the corral, found the 1:50 pacer and made sure I was ahead of them. However, my PNW politeness and deference convinced me that wasn’t fair, and I should wait my turn to feed into the corral once the race started. (What?!? No!)

The result? Once I started running, I was well behind the 2:00 pacer. Disaster! Not only was the field super packed for the first mile or so, but I was behind people running much slower than I intended to run. I guess the plus side was that I hadn’t warmed up, so the first mile (9:21) served that purpose. However, it immediately put me over a minute behind on my time goal.

I simultaneously tried to weave around and pass people, but not waste too much energy in the first mile. I was also mentally split between losing hope for a PR and convincing myself I could make up the time with several sub-8:00 miles later on. I just decided to run my best and see what would happen.

One new thing I did in this race was keep my Garmin on the screen that shows only the pace/time of the mile I’m currently running. In training, I did this during my goal-pace runs to more accurately pace each mile and found it worked really well.

In the first few miles, I tried to keep my pace in the neighborhood of 8:05 and not too far under. I didn’t want to do sub-8:00 miles quite yet and risk blowing up later.

Mile 2: 8:08
Mile 3: 8:02
Mile 4: 7:58
Mile 5: 8:06

I took an orange UCAN Edge energy gel just before mile 5 and another just before mile 10. I also sipped Nuun throughout the race from both of the bottles in my hydration vest. I felt perfectly fueled and hydrated and didn’t need to use the aid stations.

Mile 6 is where the course diverted from the flat East Lake Sammamish Trail up to the shoulder of East Lake Sammamish Parkway. The trail was formerly all dirt/gravel, but has been in the process of being paved, section by section, since 2011; three miles of the trail are currently closed for that reason. I knew there would be a short, steep hill to run up to get to the parkway, and I powered up it as best I could, having done zero hill training. Once I was up, I figured I was good and only had a downhill to look forward to once we rejoined the trail in a few miles.

Mile 6: 8:20
Mile 7: 8:05

While I’m intimately familiar with running the trail, I have only ever driven the parkway (and biked it once) and didn’t realize there was a pretty decent hill (117 feet) in mile 8. Ruh-roh. This is the part of a half marathon where I kind of start hating running anyway, so the hill wasn’t great for my mental game. Again, I just did my best, but my legs were gassed after reaching the top.

Mile 8: 8:36

But I should be able to make up time on the downhill, right? I’m a terrible downhill runner, so no. 😂 For some reason I’m unable to let my stride open up and take advantage of gravity; I tend to put on the brakes instead. I suppose I’m afraid of losing control and falling. Anyway, we lost 104 feet in mile 9, but I didn’t have a great split to show for it.

Mile 9: 8:12

Here’s where I needed to really kick into gear and run all sub-8:00 miles to even come close to a PR, but I didn’t have it in me after that hill.

Mile 10: 8:03
Mile 11: 8:05

It started raining with two miles to go—big, fat, freezing-cold drops—and I wanted to give up, but instead resolved to get to the finish as fast as I could so it would be over sooner.

Mile 12: 8:03
Mile 13: 8:05

Those last miles seemed to take forever, per usual. I finally caught sight of the 1:50 pacers and used them as my rabbits. I passed them in the final stretch and was super proud of that.

Final 0.1: 7:32 pace

I had no clue what my time was until I stopped my watch and was pretty happy to see 1:47:54 (official time was 1:47:50)—only a minute and 50 seconds off my PR! If I had warmed up, seeded myself with the correct pace group and maybe done a little hill training, I probably could have PR’d. I’ve got another shot at the distance in May, so we’ll see.

Once I collected my medal, water and a few snacks, I took a quick selfie and hightailed it to Kyra and Brad’s car to change into dry clothes and shoes. Then I went back to the finish to cheer as all my friends finished—so fun! They had to endure the brutal rain for longer and crushed it. I’m so proud to have such badass friends.

The half remains not my favorite distance. I’d much rather run a 5K, 10K, 15K or even a marathon. But it’s great for its accessibility, and the training feels like so much less of a lift than marathon training.

I underestimated my recovery for this one, though; my quads were very sore for three days, so even easy recovery running didn’t feel like a great idea. I went into the office to work on the fourth day, so my day felt too busy for a run anyway. I finally ran an easy three on day five, and whew, it was not a picnic! Even a week and another easy three-miler later, my body still feels a bit beaten up. I guess that’s an indication I gave it my all, so I’ll take it.

I have fresh determination to see what I can do at the Snohomish Women’s Run in eight weeks. Let’s go!

RACE GEAR

Merino wool base layer: Rapha
Top: Brooks Notch Thermal Hoodie (old; current version)
Leggings: Zella Live-In Leggings (old; current version)
Shoes: New Balance Fresh Foam 880v11
Sports bra: Brooks Dare Strappy Run Bra (old; current version)
Hat: Oiselle Runner Trucker
Hydration vest: Ultimate Direction Ultra Vesta (old; current version)
Hydration: Nuun
Fuel: UCAN Edge

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Aaron and I had a deal: when Evie turned 18, he could get a motorcycle and I could get a dog.

I’ve been firmly anti-motorcycle since 2010, when I met him in the midst of his recovery from a horrific accident. He was extremely lucky to survive, and still experiences pain and discomfort from the injuries he sustained.

I wasn’t about to lose him to another motorcycle accident—especially once we had Evie. Over the years, he asked dozens of times if he could get a motorcycle, and I always answered that he could once Evie was fully grown.

As for the dog, I figured I’d need to get one when Evie (presumably) moves out so I’d still have someone to take care of. I’ve always been a dog-lover. Aaron… has not.

He had a bad dog experience as a kid and at his former office, which allowed dogs that would apparently whine and bark and annoy him while he was trying to work. He also hates slobbering, shedding, wet-dog smell, etc.

So it seemed like a fair compromise for Aaron to get the thing I hate and for me to get the thing he hates in the distant, hazy future, circa 2034. Yay, marriage!

Then my mom got sick, and I began to rethink everything about how life should and would unfold.

My mom should be planning to retire soon so she can spend time enjoying her hobbies: quilting, gardening and more. It breaks my heart that she’ll never be able to do those things again.

I realized 2034 isn’t guaranteed, and I didn’t want to be the one who held Aaron back from one of his life’s greatest passions because I was afraid.

In October 2020, he bought a motorcycle—a project to take apart and rebuild more than to ride.

In August 2021, he ask if he could get another motorcycle—and I thought, what’s one more?

In December 2021, he asked if he could get a third—and I threatened to get a dog if he went through with it. It was a bluff that I felt sure he wasn’t willing to risk calling.

Well, meet Wally.

I began searching Petfinder for rescue dogs before Christmas. We went to the Humane Society to see some dogs in person (in dog?), and even met up with a 40-pound dog who needed to be re-homed due to the family’s baby developing a dog allergy.

We realized that we couldn’t handle a big dog, but didn’t want a super tiny dog either, so I narrowed our search to dogs between 18-30 pounds. I chatted on the phone with a few rescues and discovered a terrier mix or poodle mix would be ideal to keep shedding to a minimum. I also wanted a young or adult dog, not a puppy; I’ve been catching up on my sleep ever since Evie was born and didn’t love the idea of more sleepless nights. I saved searches on Petfinder for all my criteria and checked for new arrivals several times a day.

After losing out on a few dogs and submitting other applications that went unanswered, on December 29 I searched “terrier mix” in our area and clicked through pages of dogs until I found one named Rocko who’d been on Petfinder for 19 days. He only had a single photo: a closeup of his face with one ear flopped back.

His description said:

Rocko is 1.5 years old and 20lbs. Up to date on vaccines, microchipped and neutered. Good with other dogs, kids and cats. Rescued in Tijuana. Arrives 12/17.

It was very little info and I had no clue what his body looked like, but his coat looked wiry so I figured he wouldn’t shed a ton. Why not submit an application and find out more?

This was my first time applying for a dog through Casa Dog rescue, and I was shocked when they reached out to the friends and family I’d listed as references within hours of submitting my application. I heard from a volunteer later that same day, who answered a few questions and put me in touch with Rocko’s foster, Karen, a kindly woman in her 60s who lived alone. She spoke glowingly of Rocko, telling me how loving and calm and quiet he was. He was potty trained and had been sweet with her five-year-old grandson on Christmas. He sounded perfect.

We had a huge snowstorm right after Christmas, and Karen lived an hour away, but we made plans to meet Rocko once the roads weren’t so icy. It took a week and a half, and I used the time to buy dog supplies and make sure our house was ready in case we took Rocko home with us. I was terrified someone else would swoop in and take him, but Karen and I kept in touch and exchanged photos and videos, and she felt certain we were the right family for him.

“I’m so glad he’s going to have a whole family to love,” she said.

I was so nervous on January 8, the day we met him—nervous he wouldn’t be anything like I thought he was and we’d walk away disappointed, and also nervous that we’d take him home and discover we were in over our heads. Most of all, I was nervous Aaron would hate him.

I can’t say it was love at first sight once Karen opened her front door. He was shaggy and unkempt looking, with wild hair sticking straight out from both sides of his neck like a lion’s mane. But as we petted him and took him on a walk around the neighborhood, I saw he walked so well on a leash and was the perfect size for then five-year-old Evie to handle. He had a long neck and body, a curled tail and short legs that made for the cutest little trot. It was a no-brainer that we’d take him home for a two-week trial adoption.

Karen was the sweetest and packed up a few of his favorite toys and treats to take with us. She was sad to see him go and offered to watch him for us if we ever had the need. She asked if we had a new name in mind for him and was delighted with the answer: Wally.

The ride home was when I fell in love. With Wally awkwardly curled up in my lap, shaking, I knew as I snuggled and comforted him that he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

To be continued!