I believe that everything happens for a reason. I may not agree with that reason, or even know what it is, but if I were to describe my life’s philosophy, that would be it. I am not positive if that is a very Catholic point of view, the religion I grew up in, and then fled when I had the chance, yet still measure any religions up against, but I do believe it is my definition of faith, to believe that there is something bigger watching and guiding all of us.
I certainly would not have chosen certain events that have happened in my life, but I could not imagine, or want to imagine, any other way my life so far would’ve turned out. There are choices I have made that no doubt were head-scratchers to many, far more difficult than the typical path I could have chosen, but I believe were the right for me, then, and now.
However, I have been genuinely perplexed as to what reason, sign, and/or meaning God, the Universe, my subconscious, was trying to deliver by hurting me in two scenarios while doing two of my my favorite things, getting hit by a rogue scooter rider on my bike during Ironman Arizona in November 2023, and then being hit by a car while running in the middle of the day by an uninsured senior citizen less than nine months later. I have said in my head and out loud plenty of times over the last two years, “What is the Universe trying to tell me?” I have been open to any and all feedback, leaning deeper into my faith more ever, because throughout all this time I believed I didn’t want any of it to happen, but that it was all meant to happen.
I let my heart and instinct take the wheel immediately after the car incident by changing my mind on staying in California while Marion was working in Vancouver, Canada on a job that had an eighteen month production schedule, and promised to move up there to be with him as soon as I was recovered from the injuries to my hand, leg, and foot from the car pummeling into my body, and processed through therapy the trauma my mind endured during the car pummeling into my body.
Throughout 2025 while living in Vancouver, I sat in solitude, often, most hours of every day, and I ran, enough, I walked, a lot, and I listened, mostly to Marion unload about his busy days on set, and to my close friends and family members who didn’t forget about me, and to God, open to receiving what he was trying to teach me through all of the pain.
I began to feel the tug of relationships loosen, and instead of tightening my grip, I allowed them to unravel; relief outweighed disappointment every time. I enjoyed my own company more as time progressed, soaked up serene walks with our aging dog, Blue, struck up conversations with strangers, nourished new friendships that proximity would challenge to last once we left, but felt worth the effort. My injuries healed. My left hand and wrist transformed, my entire arm looks, feels, and simply is different than before, molded by an internal strength and external chagrin that I both respect, and oddly enjoy. My right arm is gnarly, too, lashed and chiseled with scars, and still numb from nerve damage incurred while trying to tie up deep wounds that left an impression of unfeeling, felt every day since. Everything works. Again. Almost like it did, just with more stories to tell.
I may not know the reason I was interrupted, painfully, doing my favorite things, riding a bike, and running, but I do know that I needed to be still in order to find out why I want to keep going. I wouldn’t have changed on my own, I needed help, guidance, something felt off, then life introduced an opportunity to be still and listen, which didn’t quite click, and then it gave me another one. “Aha!”
My body has lived. It has broken, bled, been laughed at, wailed, and forgiven, but my faith has kept it humming all along, and it’s ready for more, of all of it.
Next up, the Harding Hustle 50K trail race one month from today, 7/18/2026, let’s GO!