New Blog Posts Here....

For the latest blog posts and new information visit, 

http://www.arianacarruth.com/

A Jump Into More Truth & Advocacy

I can still taste the Kahlua in my coffee. I can still feel the touch of his tiny hand on my own. I can still feel the rush of adrenaline, the intense heat, the fear and then the silence, calm and peace as my body took on the fight to survive.

It’s been five years, one month and four days.

I’m asked often, “how did you cope?”

“How were you able to get out of bed?”

As honestly as I wrote in my book, what I didn’t follow up with is that years later it is still difficult.

Those moments are so much a part of me and my cellular memory that it only takes a brief sensory reminder to bring those emotions to the forefront.

That is the truth of surviving affliction. You conquer, you put one foot in front of the other, but the wounds, memories and even the grief is forever a part of you. It’s the beauty of survival. For we have seen the darkest, outlived it, and can now see the glimmering stars within it.

I move the little white egg a few times a week— just over a nudge to make room for my coffee (without Kahlua these days). I touch it as if it’s decorative, but as I do so there is a slight tingle in my hand. I know what’s inside, I remember the day. I know the sacredness of the egg, it’s contents, the memories and the loss.

I sit down, coffee near, thinking of the Kahlua that was my crutch, thinking of my own survival, the boy that I couldn’t keep— and then I look over and see my Zev, my sweet sweet boy that did survive.
This is what life after affliction represents— a mostly present and successful existence in the now with a fingertip extended to the past.

Two feet in the present with a fingertip reaching back to another life is okay. Those of us that have survived the worst days of someone’s imagination are the ones that have truly lived, loved, risked, embraced, celebrated.

As I remind myself that I was only in my twenties when life tossed me so many curve balls of affliction— of loss, I can’t help but feel fortunate. I was shaped, painfully molded into a better more, well rounded person with a deeper sense of life, love, conflict, resolution and empathy.

In turning thirty-five this week, I find myself reminiscing of my thirtieth birthday, the party, and the breakout it was for a new life post the traumatic loss the month before. I wonder who was that girl. I wonder how she did survive, both physically and mentally. She seems so young to me now— so vulnerable, and even with affliction, still so naive.

I imagine in another five years I will look back to who I am today with the same perplexity. For I know I will grow, take on more in life and my threshold for normal, achievable and survivable will have changed many times over.

There will still be our little white egg, a fingertip reaching back to the past, deep memories of affliction and new challenges. What I hope continues to exist is our optimism— which at times has seemed inexplicable and even certifiable.

I hope there is truth and honesty within myself over the years to come as well. As much as we survive, our successes in life are not achieved with ease, so we must stop pretending they are.

Being a special needs parent isn’t effortless, and as it may indeed be a gift, it’s a mixed bag of blessings and undeniable losses.

As I move into another age category, I think it might be time to blog as honestly as I wrote in my book. It might be time to shake up old viewpoints, rock the boat for advocacy and bring special needs children and their parents out of the dark hallways. It might be time to readdress old stigmas, old players and reinvent the game a little—- or better yet, stop playing games.

Embracing and surviving afflictions is the work, and the responsibility afterwards is ours to not just keep surviving the day but to advocate, express and awaken. Our afflictions lie within us just beneath the surface as a reminder, but possibly as a push to create the change that is needed so that we can all walk out from the shadows of affliction.

Here's to another year of literal survival, to growth and to more honesty and advocacy.

My Letter to Every Middle School Student

She walks the halls, head hung low and eyes on her shuffling feet below. She is a million things and yet self-defined by one: the impression of others. She is ripe with insecurity and unsure, even repulsed, in her own skin. Afraid to look up, afraid for anyone to see her, she carries her head low hoping to navigate as invisibly as she feels. 

The rise and fall of her day rests on her social network. Will she have a friend today? 

Her face, her body— normal, yet she feels if she looks up and someone meets her gaze they will be as sickened by her as she is of herself. Looking down, swiftly and quietly navigating the crowd is her only saving grace. 

She is a middle-schooler in the throes of pubescent adolescence. Years from now she will be a fulfilled well adjusted adult, mother of an adolescent, but today she is only twelve. Today, she is alone. Alone to navigate the mine filled fields of the sixth grade social scene. The haves, the have-nots, the popular, the unpopular. The defining lines are quickly being drawn all around her. Friends of the summer, friends from kinder are suddenly friends no more. Without warning, without reason there stands the self-proclaimed “popular” kids, and you find yourself for the first time looking in from the outside. 

You are now defined in a new way. The lines are drawn. The reflection in the mirror is only more difficult to like. The social hierarchy has now consumed your existence as it has consumed everyone before you. It’s hungry for more, hungry for every bit of your confidence and self-assuredness. It’s hungry for more definition even within your group of “popular” or “less than” popular friends. Everyone is struggling, scrambling desperately to the top. To the top of what and for what no one really knows. Insecurities are abound, growing and manifesting daily. Your friend of yesterday becomes your foe today and often for no other reason than their own loss of self. 

The chaotic redistribution of the social hierarchy is fueling the desperation for ownership— ownership of friendships, “this my seat, not yours” at the lunch table, party invitations and even the desperation for a following of friendship groupies. Who is in and who is out— no longer the produced reality of “Survivor” or “Project Runway” but the reality of your own life…. the life of a middle schooler. 

I was that girl. I was that girl with her head hung as low as humanly possible as she walked the halls to class, and I’m here— not to say it magically gets better— but to say that “you’ve got this!” 

You are strong, more beautiful than you can imagine, smarter than you give yourself credit for and not at all alone. You see, the most insecure around you are often the ones hurting others the most. The “popular” kids are having all of the same self-doubt and awkwardness of adolescence. In many ways, they are the ones struggling the most. They are feeling the social desperations so badly that they are doing whatever it takes to hang onto friends (even if that means playing unfairly, being cruelly selective and painfully critical). 

Closer within your own group of friends, the ones that seem to be “changing” the most are often dealing with the same issues. They are scrambling to the top, desperate to hold on to their status within the group or within the school. They are trying to define themselves and their friendships so exhaustively and desperately that they lash out at the slightest “threat”. And at times you are that “threat”. 

Confidence, likability, beauty, athleticism, intelligence, kindness—- these attributes are all “threats”. Subconsciously or consciously. 

Sixth grade is a social battle field, but the dust will clear. Hold your head high. Be kind. Befriend someone. Scoot over at the lunch table and enjoy the company of new friends. Be a friend to everyone— be bold enough to redefine the group and the boundaries. Be aware— of you as the problem and as the solution. Be confident enough to friend a foe. Be strong enough to look in the mirror and like what you see. 

And if all else fails, remember this— over a life time we will all experience moments where we peak in life (socially and beyond)…. trust me, you don’t want to peak in middle school or high school. There is a whole world and life waiting for you. 

The Cost of Empowerment

Woohoo! Hands up in the air… the breeze blowing thru our hair… we are in the first free fall of the plunge to greater empowerment! 

After blogging about my new endeavor with the young intimates company, Peach, and my continued journey and mission to help women, I received many touching messages of encouragement. 

I could feel the rallied forces of womanhood. We were standing tall and confident as we reached out to grasp our new beginnings. 

Bras, or more to the point, the freedom and empowerment of a really great fitting bra (for the first time ever) was symbolic for taking on anything in our lives. The foundation to not just our outfit for the day, but our armor in life! 

Taking this step with Peach had become the next incredibly organic and authentic step in my journey to inspire others as I have been inspired, and to continue to learn and grow with every person and from every experience. 

We often, however, learn the most from the friction to our own ideas, experiences and beliefs; so when I received my first message of dissent to my new journey, I welcomed it into my heart and mind. Every voice needs to be heard, and its those voices of rebuttal that really need to sit and resonate. 

The message began…. 

“I find myself asking all of those same questions as a woman, but the thing that I keep coming up against is money...and the lack of it. I can not afford a personal trainer.  I can not afford the gym and club membership.  I can not afford a whole new wardrobe much less the LuLulemon gear that everyone these days seems to need.  I don't have time during the day to do all of these 'me' things because I have a full time job.  And I can't afford a stylist or a custom bra...I'm lucky if I get to Target.  So, as someone who has gone the course of empowerment, can you translate how to make these things come to be for folks who can't afford to go the route that you have gone?”

As I paused to take in this powerful rebuttal to my blog post, immediately I thought of three words “perspective”, “anger”, “blame”. Followed by these admittedly harsh words, I thought “this is something I really needed to hear, rebut and explain.” 

Never represented with a disclaimer, my posts have always been a record of how my story unfolded. My perspective was never meant to be an exact roadmap to achieve your own goals, but an account of my past so I could maybe inspire someone else on their journey.

Truthfully, there are a hundred different avenues one person can journey towards the same goal. We each have our own unique story, situation, path and limitations. 

Additionally, as open as I am, all facets, events, circumstances of my life are not shared. 

This, is where I want us all to pause with an open mind and heart as we look under those scary bandages hiding our own flaws. 

Too often, we put ourselves into boxes of categories, and as we place ourselves into these narratives, we create a narrative for everyone else. 

Seeing someone is often seeing what we want to see. The woman standing in the flattering Lululemon gear before us becomes an easy target in our rationale for her perceived success over our own. Maybe we feel envious of her figure or envious of what we perceive her income to be to afford that branded clothing. In split seconds, we assume a dozen things about this one person, while ignoring any truth that doesn’t fit into the narrative that we’ve just created in our minds. 

Perhaps, her Lululemon gear was a gift? Perhaps she is a store employee working for the employee discount? Perhaps she purchased it all second-hand from her neighborhood garage site on Facebook? Perhaps, the fit frame you see today is a fraction of the person she once was before she changed her life? 

Maybe she's a great person whom you would love getting to know? Maybe she has a story, like we all do, that is her very own with her very specific path to that moment? 

Or maybe she’s that dreadful human being with all the riches, luck, genetics and closet full of Lululemon gear you’ve imagined her to be. 

The latter is most unlikely though… 

And there is where our scapegoat for our own failures is debunked. 

If the Lululemon wearing fit woman before us is everything we’ve imagined them to be in our narrative, we can attribute all of their success to their fortune in life while scapegoating our failures on everything we don’t have. 

Putting them into a box is the only way we feel better. 

But, if we continue to cloud our path with worry over everyone else, we are robbing ourselves of the obtainable successes we can achieve if we dig deep and admit what is really holding us back in life. 

No one should have to wear their battle scars on their sleeves so that they receive the benefit of the doubt. Everyone has a story and each of us is our own creator of our journey. 

The harsh and uncomfortable take-away is that YOU are in charge of YOUR path. The only roadblock is YOURSELF. 

Not money, not the lack-of, not the personal trainer, the athletic gear, etc. We each have tools that we use, but it's the creativity in the use of those tools that matters. 

It’s the dedication. 

Although, I had a personal trainer, the secret to fitness success is accountability. My personal trainer held me accountable no matter what. Find a friend, a spouse, a family member that will hold you accountable to your new routine, whether to your new workout regime and/or eating habits. 

Secondly, google body weight exercises and circuit training plans online. The raw ugly truth of the matter is that all you need is your own body weight, free plans from the internet, self-perseverance and someone to hold you accountable. 

It isn’t about a large investment, the gear, the trainer, the gym, or any other fitness marketing hype. We can utilize those tools, but we don’t need them. 

We need to want it bad enough! We need to be strong enough to embrace difficult change that takes work. 

And change takes time. Time that you don’t feel you have, but time that exists if you are willing to gift it to yourself. With a full time job, a spouse, children, friends, volunteering, etc.,— I promise, if you want it badly enough there is 30 minutes to an hour that you can take for yourself. It isn’t about having copious about of “ME” time, but it is about having the dedication to create time in your schedule in spite of the inconvenience. It might mean waking up at 4am which stinks. I know, I have done it. But if 4am is your only time in the day to workout, you wake at 4am. 

The cost of empowerment is your own dedication. The cost of empowerment is ripping the ugly bandages off to the truths of your failures to identify them and creatively approach a new way towards your dream. 

A perfectly fitting bra is only the symbolism, a tool, for such empowerment. If you have boobs, you need a great fitting bra, and with that foundation/tool there is a physical shift in confidence that happens. The nitty gritty monetary cost of such symbolic empowerment starts at $30 with an average cost around $60 for the more structured. 

The comfort, fit, beauty and confidence of a bra using an algorithm of ten measurements to size you just right starts in a very obtainable price range for every woman. It will be a bra that outlasts discount ill fitting bras, and it will soon replace everything you once purchased. It will become your treat for yourself that you look forward to wearing as it truly empowers you in the way you feel because Peach is all about YOU and YOUR beauty. Just as your journey is yours, your beauty is yours. Embrace it. Embrace your differences. Embrace what you see as imperfections. Embrace your change. Embrace your empowerment—- whatever that means for you and in whichever way gets you there. 

Just remember, YOU are the key. And as you are on your journey, that Lululemon wearing woman before you is also on hers— as tortured, secret, difficult as it might surprisingly be of a journey. 

If you want to talk to me about your own armor fitting of a beautifully fit bra, or your journey to become a runner, lose weight, the difficulties of parenting a special needs child, or anything else I’ve written about in my book or blogs; my door, my heart, my mind and my phone is always open/on. Please message me. And if you are interested in joining me as a stylist with Peach, message me too! It's never too late to switch professional gears. 

With warm regards & well wishes for your very own empowerment and change, 

Ariana Carruth

That "One" Decision

Often, I write about our afflictions and how they shape our lives, but I have also recently written about those “one” decisions that we make that set us on a new course— a course of empowerment over our own destinies. 

These “one” decisions are often a result of a larger course correction of several decisions that keep narrowing our path towards where we need to be in our next chapter. 

Is it our higher sense of self leading us? God? The universe? A guardian angel? Or is it just coincidence?

Whatever you may believe the end result is the same. We can make empowering decisions in our lives that forever change our course— shaping who we are, what we will become and sending a butterfly effect of change into the universe.

In one of my recent blog posts, I discussed how my “one” decision to call a personal trainer from a flyer placed me on a radically different path in life regarding my health, fitness, confidence, and so much more. 

That one decision keeps playing out in my life in larger ways. It has placed me on a path of health with a new love of fitness (specifically running), it has altered my existence, my appearance, my mind, soul, my travel plans. 

Now on this path, opportunities that weren’t visible before suddenly appear in my range of sight. Relationships develop. 

This is where some of my readers might be sighing in frustration that this is another “running” blog, but hang on for just a moment more…. 

It’s not about running, fitness, weight loss, a new look, etc. 

It is about empowerment. 

It is about change. It is about all of the incredible dominoes that begin to fall in sync as we make just “one” bold decision. 

We decided to move. Hating where we lived, destined (in our minds) to be expats again, we were dreadfully out of sync where we lived. Our restless souls needed so much more than the area could provide.

So we moved. 

New friends were made. We joined a club nearby. The personal trainer flyer presented itself. I found a new me, a new life. 

The path of the past is now so far away with so many past intersections of choice that we could never go back, even if that was our wish. 

Enter today. 

Today, I’m on the precipice of more decision making— more empowerment. 

What one may see as several random choices, events, interactions; I see as a guide leading me down a narrowing path towards the next chapter I need to write. 

And write about boobs, I will? 

After taking another risk, largely involving in letting go of insecurities, doubt and feelings of inadequacy (is that not a theme or what?), this afternoon I sat down and discussed a new business opportunity.

I’ve blogged about my struggle with an outside identity from motherhood. When I ask myself, who am I, the answer of “mom” is often first. Before, woman, wife, runner, friend; I think of myself first as a mother. I am a mother 24/7 for the rest of my life. That is a fact, but does “mother” have to be my first identifier every hour of every day? Can I wear another hat, too? 

Perhaps, I wake as “woman” or even more spiritual “a soul”. Perhaps, I am just there to be for a small moment before my eyes open. As the first child cries out, I am “mother”. As I make my husband his morning coffee, I am “wife”. Later in the morning, I am “runner” and perhaps I can even be “author” in the same day. 

Woman, wife, mother, runner, author— it’s time to add another meaningful identifier to my life; to this chapter. 

After all, I am the author to my own story— and a self-identified cliff jumper. 

The free fall into this new opportunity probably began much longer ago than I realize, but one of the most difficult first steps was just picking up the phone to make an appointment. 

In losing 50 pounds, I needed a new wardrobe— all layers from top-to-bottom. I wanted quality. I wanted to embrace this new person that I saw in the mirror yet hadn’t fully recognized or accepted. I wanted to feel good in what I wore. I wanted to exude confidence and own this new body of mine. 

Still, when the stylist rang the door, my heart skipped a beat with anxiety. I wasn’t sure I was ready for a bra fitting, 50 pounds lighter or not. Overwhelmingly insecure, I knew I still needed well fitting undergarments for my changing body and disappearing boobs. I knew I needed a proper foundation to conquer my outfit, to conquer my day. 

The experience was—- well, I don’t want to say “surprising” because that word seems unfair as if I shouldn’t have expected the stylist to be professional, knowledgeable and kind— yet, it was a surprising experience for me. 

The stylist made me feel comfortable in a way that I didn’t think possible. She made me feel confident and beautiful. As I tried on bras that fit perfectly (because they were measured on this incredible 10-pt measuring system I had never before experienced), I could feel myself straighten in confidence with strength, empowerment, and beauty. I loved the feeling! It was addicting. I didn’t really want to take off the sample bra and return it as I awaited my own order fulfillment. 

How can a bra change my demeanor and my outlook? Throughout affliction, I’ve had some dark days where circumstance striped my sense of self. I’ve been utterly lost. All confidence gone in who I was, what I could offer, what I looked like. 

Would a great bra have changed any of my circumstances? No. 

But there is symbolism in a great bra. It is not just the foundation for our outfit, but it can be the foundation for empowerment.

My new bras soon arrived in the post— much to my delight, I might add. They were soft, perfectly fitting, a little indulgence to anything I had previously done for myself. I soon moved out all of my ill fitting bras, and found myself feeling as if I was dressing in symbolic armor when I put on my Peach bra each day. 

And that is why I decided to take this leap. 

Those feelings of empowerment, beauty, confidence all stemming from a perfectly fit bra is something I desperately want to pass onto others. Never owning such a proper set of foundations before, I hadn’t realized their importance or the simple symbolism of a bra in where my day could go. It sounds ridiculous yet it has become so true in my own daily routine. 

We can’t avoid our afflictions, but I am determined to armor women with a perfectly fitting bra and clothing so that in the very least we can all look and feel amazing as life throws us for another loop. 

Life will change. Great days will follow bad days and vice versa. It’s the same adage that I always try to live by—- we can’t control the affliction but we can control how we feel about it and how we react. We can control our outlook and part of that outlook, I contend, is faking it until you make it. 

We put on a smile, we focus on the positive (while editing out the negative), we mold our worst days into better ones with sheer stubbornness and willpower—— and, if you take this journey with me, a really amazingly soft and perfectly fit bra that armors you with confidence for the day while still allowing you to be YOU— a mom, a runner, an author, a wife, a friend, a business woman—- whomever you want to be— because you are still writing your new chapter as much as anyone. 

Warmest regards, 
Ariana Carruth 

Magically Painful Miles in Life's Journey of Transformations

What happens when you take your own happiness, rewrite your chapters and keep promises to yourself—- maybe for the first time ever? 

For the last nine years, I’ve embraced this notion of “creating my own happiness.” Throughout affliction, I realized my day, my outlook and yes, even my happiness, was decidedly on me. I could truly embrace the adage of “the glass is half full” or be my own 

worst enemy and wallow in everything I couldn’t control in my life. 

There might have been tears, dreadful days of grief, confusion and heartache, but what burned continuously was perseverance and hope. I had blind faith and an undying stubbornness to construct my own ending to the story. 

As life ebbs and flows, the challenge, however, is preventing complacency. What was good for me yesterday might not be good enough for me today. It is a constant metamorphosis. I am a constant metamorphosis. 

Part of my own transformation is constantly trying to be a better person for others and for myself. My flaws and inadequacies could fill a book, and it is more difficult to see and address those failures when we are further from center. 

In the last 18 months, gaining a deeper center and exploring a new level of perseverance and change has been a more focused mantra within my continuous growth. I had worked on my marriage, myself emotionally and intellectually, my faith, my family and it was time to work on my health (cardiac, endurance, strength, weight loss and activity). 

I was, after all, in a state of inactivity—never really exercising in my adult life. Six pregnancies, five months of bedrest and a general love for food had altered my physical state inside and out. As a special needs parent with the responsibility of lifting and carrying for an non ambulatory growing child who will become a non ambulatory adult some day, it was time to change— time to be better for her and for me. 

With impending change in the air, I always sense the universe prodding me in the right direction. Sometimes, however, I don’t want to listen or I really dislike it’s message. But when we are open, ready, and willing to experience a true transformation the tools are right at hand. 

For me, this tool was a flyer from our club about a free first session with a personal trainer. With insecurities, fear, and dragging feet I went. This one decision was the first step to an entirely different life. This trainer would become a friend, a mentor, a punisher, a redeemer, and the key holder to a new future. There would be tears, pain, moments of failure, doubts, and constant challenges—- mostly to keep my promise (to myself) not to quit. 

Fast forward 18 months, and I find myself a new person (physically dramatically different inside and out) and running my third half marathon. It was during this third half marathon, a RunDisney event at the Disney World Marathon Weekend, where I had to renegotiate with myself on where my true limits lied and how the story was going to end— pushing myself again beyond new limitations, new expectations and into a positive outlook. 

It was less than 20 hours before I found myself on a very painful mile ten of this race that I had the great (yet very characteristic) misfortune of falling off an Expo bus. Sheeting rain had soaked the ground and unfortunately the steps of the bus. With caution I put my son behind me and grabbed the railing. That was the last thing I remembered before feeling the impact of the stairs. 

Within nanoseconds the pain reached my brain and the swelling began. Thankfully, I was wearing a backpack filled with diapers for the little ones which prevented me from hitting my head, back, kidneys. Not so fortunately, however, was that I hit my right elbow and upper right thigh on the edge of the stairs. Swollen, bruised (body and ego) I painfully and slowly limped to find a medical tent. By the time I was with a medic the injuries had swelled to the point where walking was too excruciatingly painful, and I was unable to bend my arm at the elbow. Ice and Ibuprofen were my new best friends—my two hopes for enough rehabilitation to run a half marathon by early morning. 

As my alarm sounded at 2:45 the morning of the race, I was relieved to be able to walk relatively pain free. As we journeyed the mile or so to the corral for the start of the race my muscles felt warmed up and ready to conquer the 13.1 mile course. 

Here I was— standing in corral with 22,000 other runners embarking on a dream to run the magical miles of Disney. I was injured, but upright. It had been a year of dreaming and training. I had taken my body from 50 pounds heavier to a much more fit and trim frame. I became a “runner” in my mind and in the minds of others. No longer was I the woman who couldn’t run thirty-seconds without stopping. I had become a twice half marathon non-stop runner about to conquer a third in just eight months time. The magical lights of Cinderella's castle awaited me. The exhilaration of crossing the finish line in Epcot was only a couple of hours away—— if. 

If… 

We train, we run. We mostly choose our run days and run times. I love running in the cold, for instance. I choose to run on days without injury. I normally run on a decent night’s sleep. I run in my own climate, on my own terms and in my own altitude. I run flat. I run strong. I run consistent. 

Race days, especially destination race days, are runs that are completely out of your control. The date, time, location are set in stone. The weather is unpredictable. The course is new to you, and in some instances nothing you could prepare for. . . a little like life?

That’s the challenge.

And challenged, I was. The race started off crowded but beautifully. I was running a Disney Half Marathon!! The first few miles were easy. It was humid, warmer than anticipated and the fog limited visibility but I was still in the zone. The crowds prevented me from setting my usual pace, but with injuries I wondered if that wasn’t a godsend. 

As we approached the first massive ascent, however, I could feel my bad knee (snowboarding injury from years ago) inflame and my recent injury from the fall was becoming quite noticeable. Still, I pushed through and mile two quickly became mile four. Approaching Magic Kingdom filled me with excitement and anticipation of seeing the castle, running the park before opening and all of the magic that awaited. 

Before setting my eyes on the caste, however, I had to first conquer a dreaded, steep and lengthy underpass that I feared would be on the course. Steep descents are my achilles heel in running because of my bad knee and as most of my fellow runners gained speed on descent, this was when I had to slow my pace to protect my knee. Relief came inside the level ground of the tunnel but as we ascended out again I could feel my knee, my fresh injury and encroaching doubt about finishing my half with a personal best time. 

Believing I had just overcome one of the greatest challenges of the course, I was disheartened as we further approached the park and entered a part of the course that was on an extreme slant of an uneven path. I couldn’t have trained for such terrain and given two healthy knees and no injury from falling off a bus, I most certainly would have felt better. Running high on the exaggerated slope was painful. Running low on the slope was equally painful, and unfortunately running straight in the middle of the slope didn’t offer any relief either. Any healing that had happened in the last few hours from my fall had vanished back into a sea of painful inflammation. 

And then we turned the corner from behind the side gates of Main Street into Magic Kingdom…. 

The magic of Disney and the accompanied adrenaline of the moment as we turned onto a lined Main Street with cheering spectators vanquished all pain. Before sunrise and still illuminated with Christmas lights, it was a magical and emotional sight of an otherwise empty Magic Kingdom. 

We ran down Main Street with an illuminated Frozen lit Cinderella’s castle in our sights. This was by far the most emotional, fantastical, pain-free moment of the race. The experience is mostly beyond words. It was euphoric. My body just moved—glided, as my mind disconnected from every bit of angst, doubt, pain, and thought. 

Turning right off Main Street, the course took us through an empty Tomorrowland and around into Fantasyland, thru Cinderella’s castle and eventually out Frontierland 'behind the stage' so-to-speak of Magic Kingdom. As we departed Magic Kingdom we crossed the railroad tracks with the iconic Magic Kingdom steam train whistling with encouragement. 

It was everything I had wanted, dreamed and wished for—- it was the magical miles of a Disney run. 

Leaving Magic Kingdom was another seven miles or so to the finish line which would take us back to Epcot. Mile seven, eight, nine all went by quickly. I was in the zone— a painful zone from injury, but a manageable zone thanks to the flat surface and the emotional high from Magic Kingdom. 

Somewhere along the course after mile nine, however, the ascents/descents, slopes, injury, bum knee (in which I had re-injured just two weeks before the race) and lack of sleep caught up with me. Manageable pain wasn’t so manageable anymore. It had morphed into an agonizing level of pain never before felt, and with every step I doubted my continuation, struggled with my pace and had to argue with myself over whether to walk a few steps or even stop at a medical tent for medication and/or icy hot. 

In those miles, I wished for my running partner by my side. I dreamt of the finish line. I convinced myself I hadn’t yet reached my threshold. And I promised myself that slowing anymore, walking or stopping at a medical tent wasn’t going to be the way I finished this race. I could run half marathons, and now I was going to prove it to myself that I could run one with a fresh injury to the leg. 

I had to adjust my expectations while still pushing my limits—

Isn’t that what we need to do every day--in life, in our afflictions and in our pursuit for our own happiness? 

Epcot finally came into my view. It would mean the finish line was finally near. I wanted to finish strong in spite of feeling anything but. As they say at my gym, “empty your tank” and it was the “all-out” of all ‘all-outs’ as I ran the last half mile. 

Crossing the finish line was nothing short of glorious. I was done. My tank was officially empty. I had kept moving in its entirety and in the end I was only ten minutes slower than my personal best time. After being awarded my medal by a volunteer, I headed straight to the medical tent. It was much needed and slightly overdo, but it came on my terms. 

Like anything in life, we set forth a plan and God laughs. This race was no different. 

I had fallen two weeks before the race and then again just hours beforehand. There was no plan for that. The weather was, for me, worse case scenario for the time of year and the course itself was more difficult than anticipated for a runner with injuries whom solely trains on flat terrain. 

My running life gave me lemons, and I demanded my medal anyway. 

Transform or bust. Almost anything we can dream for ourselves is within our reach— a moment of happiness in affliction, a new ‘you’, a different life path. We just have to decide we are worth it. We owe ourselves kept promises for change and for happiness. We owe ourselves our dreams and the perseverance to reach out and take them. 

Happy New Year! What will be your accomplished change in 2016? How will you ‘create’ your own happiness?