Back in November a friend of mine sent me this message: “So I was listening to Serena Williams on a podcast and found the best language for you to describe this year…she talked about having an evolution away from professional tennis instead of retirement…I love the word evolution, I see it kind of like postpartum and not getting back to your body but going into a new one…you are evolving and it is beautiful. And that evolution isn't done yet! Have a great run today and I'm so proud of you…mainly for all the things you're doing in your life outside of running, but the running is pretty sick too…”
Thanks to her message I find myself evolving--without reason, or explanation, or making sense in every way. I sat here one year ago typing out a blog that scripted out my last year, what I believed to be my Grit Finale. See at the end of 2021, I had discovered a heart condition that I’ve had since birth--BAVD. My running felt like it was on a downward spiral. My mother had died, and I found myself re-evaluating everything in life. I lost my dad in 2002, when I was 18, and now my mom in 2021. At 38 I felt very adult and very alone. I tell you this for some context as to perhaps why I was driven to make the decision to retire. I was diagnosed with Bicuspid Aortic Valve Disease and without family history, or my parent’s advice, I thought maybe this whole running thing wasn’t right for me. Yet I had a successful trip to MedStar where my sports cardiologist, Dr. Ankit Shah, reassured me, “Your heart is doing beautifully. If you decide to retire it need not be because of your heart.” But I was still torn. My body hadn’t been serving me well and I thought these were the signs one might be nearing the end of a professional athletic career. In hindsight, perhaps it was simply that grief had not been serving me well.
I launched into 2022 optimistic and relishing every opportunity to train, to be on a starting line. My workouts were consistent and many times I was knocking them out of the park. I ran a road mile PR at altitude of 4:47 in practice. At age 38? Each race I shared with my community of followers, and meet and greet runs, and friends and family came out to watch. What was this success I was having? Was it magic because I said it was my last everything? Or was this simply the athlete I still was and the cloud of grief from the year prior was lifting?
The rest of the year was action-packed, with a coaching shift from Ben to Alan and Jenna, a 12th-place finish at the Boston Marathon, 100-mile weeks, a 10k road pr, a trip to Australia for the Gold Coast Marathon, a NACAC 10,000m victory--followed by an epic dance party in the Bahamas like I was 24 again. It was filled with a National Title at the 10k road champs in Cow Harbor, beautiful articles, and videos, and stories written about me--highlighting my career. I capped off what felt like an amazing fall by finishing 13th-place at the NYC Marathon. Not the race of my dreams from a performance standpoint but so much love surrounding it. So I began to question. I began to feel guilty that maybe I had changed my mind. That I wasn’t sure I was ready to retire. But can I do that? I mean Coach Ben was writing a book on “my last marathon at NYC,” this would surely derail his work and vision? (But actually he pivoted beautifully and we’re really excited to release this book for a more intimate look into last year).
To those people and races, and agents and teammates and friends and competitors and family -- I do owe, a genuine thank you for letting me play out 2022 as if it was my last,- and also for accepting that -- after a period of deep reflection -- now I have had a change of heart. I am not ready to hang up my racing shoes.
When you get to where I’m at in my career, the moments and victories are no longer just for you. They are for everyone in your corner. Yet my corner had just celebrated me. They had put a lot of emotional investment into me this last year. But I feel that the fire was still lit. When I spoke of retiring from the sport in early 2022, a big factor I missed was wanting to leave this sport when the fire is out. Not necessarily when it makes sense in life, or to others, or even to myself. But when I don’t want to head out the door and train in 25 degree temps and freezing snow/sleet like my 16-miler last weekend. Or when I don’t want to feel sore from lifting 125 lb deadlifts that make my tendons and ligaments stronger and able to kick like crazy at the end of races. Or when I get to the last mile of our 3 x 3 mile workout and don’t think in my head, “Oh you wanna go right now? Let’s go!” So what does this mean?
It means I’m not going anywhere yet. With HOKAs still on my feet, NAZ Elite teammates by my side, and my family behind me, we’re gonna keep it rolling. My family has been everything in this process. We even sat at the dinner table a few weeks ago asking everyone’s opinion on changing course. How it affects Ben’s training, pacing, his goals in life, juggling household duties, traveling for the boys’ youth sports, growing our family, my heart, and much more.
I can’t say for certain what my goals or racing schedule will look like beyond my next race, which I’m thrilled to say is the USATF Cross Country Champs on January 19th. I wanna choose wisely in this pivot part of my career. It’s not he Grit Finale (P.S. if anyone who bought a Grit Finale sweatshirt wants a refund please reach out and I’ll gladly send one over:). I can say that I will continue writing the next chapter of my story. And I will continue to share my heart on my sleeve for those interested.
My hope is to always carve my own path, leave behind an imprint on this sport, where I made a meaningful difference and maybe gave people permission to chase the impossible, to shake things up, to not be afraid to pivot. I believe my desire to share myself authentically will always open me up to vulnerability, but I don’t know any other way to live. I guess I am just foolish enough, but maybe brave enough, to take you along with my dreams and goals, even if I don’t know how they may play out. So thank you for being here and listening. Here’s to the next chapter of my professional running career, and pivoting.
Steph Bruce
