12 Athletes Thriving in Their 27th Mile
Losing running can feel surprisingly lonely.
As the miles disappear, so does the rhythm of your day, your identity for years, and perhaps your closest circle of friends. Interviewing athletes for The 27th Mile, I was struck by how many women told me they hadn’t really talked about it. Not casually with friends or training partners, and not in a more clinical setting with a therapist. They navigated their tears and the transition on their own, which is really freakin' hard.
If you are in this spot, let be me clear: you are not alone in figuring out life off the road.
More than 50 women opened up to me about their running highlights, the complicated transition, and how they found their next athletic chapter. They spoke about pride and loss, relief and longing, reinvention and rediscovery.
Meet 12 of the women who shared their journeys in The 27th Mile. This is just the beginning; we'll showcase more of them in the next few weeks. In other words, you are definitely not alone.
Degeneration in Stacy Bruce’s lower back and a meniscus-free left knee ended her twenty-seven years ofrunning, which included plenty of ambitious trail races. Even as a triathlon coach, she waited a few years before returning to the race scene. “I had to do quite a bit of mental preparation before I could attend a race,” she says. “I knew the emotions would come—and they did.”
“I really counted on my morning run to set my day,” says Paige Sato, who pulled back on her running after she had a few serious falls. “When I stopped, it felt like adult-onset ADHD took over.” When she was running most days of the week, she could run 5 miles, get home, walk the dog, make a few lunches, drop her kids off at school and her husband at the train station before 8 a.m. “Now, for the life of me, I am late to 10 a.m. appointments.”
In high school, Angie Melton was in a car accident that broke one of her legs, required multiple surgeries, and created chronic osteoarthritis in both knees. Despite her compromised joints, she started running to get back in shape after having three kids. “It was my solo time to process things, so I kept it up as long as I could,” she says. “But I felt like I was running on borrowed time.”
Jana Resch had to cut way back on her weekly 20 miles after suffering through two bouts of COVID as she also underwent menopause, which can wreak havoc on joints. When she’s asked about her running, she says she’s slowed down and is not racing anymore. “Sometimes I feel the need to add that I’m doing run/walks, but as I’m adjusting to my new identity of being ‘into fitness’ instead of being ‘a runner,’ I say that less and less,” she says.
As a child, Arielle Rosson began running with her father, a marathoner. She excelled at the sport, competing at the national level. Three knee surgeries in three years forced her to stop. While yoga and other activities have (somewhat) filled the void, she continues to deeply miss her favorite sport. “I often think, ‘If only I could run again, I would never complain about anything in life ever again.’”
It took Julie Baker, a runner for nearly a half century, a year for her mind to accept that her body could no longer run. “I would think, why don’t I just sign myself up for another race? I was imagining myself five years ago,” she says, “I wasn’t imagining myself realistically: potentially tripping and not feeling comfortable running.” Julie now does long hikes and walks daily with her former best running friend.
“I don’t know that I’m going to ever be able to run the way I used to,” Heather Escaravage explained in a therapy session, adding that running was how she identified herself and was the only way she, as a working mom, saw her friends. “Saying that out loud felt like I had just literally cleaved off a leg.” She now backpacks with her daughter, among other things.
Lisa Payne Kirker suffered a heart attack at age 44. While she’s grateful for her healthy body, she also misses everything about running: the freedom, the time to herself, the pride of knocking out a marathon training run in summer heat, the sculpted legs running gave her. (“Kind of not kidding.”) Knitting, which, like running, requires hours of repetitive movement, is one of Lisa’s current passions.
A severe case of sciatica took Barb Eisner down after her ninth marathon. While the pain itself was hard enough to bear, the thought of losing her running group, which she’d been part of for nearly three decades, was even more difficult. Barb continues to shows up, walking while they run. “It’s bittersweet,” she admits. “But then I remember that what matters most to me is my friendships.”
Ruthie McCartney, who started running at age 40, realized her running days were over when she rode the pre-race shuttle back to her hotel; she opted not to run a half-marathon. “Who goes to a starting line but doesn’t start? I did,” she says, “I didn’t have a choice. I just knew my knee couldn’t handle 13.1 miles.” Ruthie now coaches high school track, among other things.
Stopping running gave Megan the chance to try skinning, or climbing up ski hills. She’s hooked. “I love it: my heart rate is elevated, I’m working hard, I’m sweating, I’m outside. I just feel really alive; it’s very similar to the high I used to get while running,” she says, “And it’s like running in another way: if I can’t skin for some reason, I feel disappointed and a little antsy.” Her son is now her steady skinning companion.
When Ann Callarman moved to Arkansas, she realized the roads weren’t great for running, but the mountain bike paths were plentiful. She bought some fat tires and was all in. Still, the comparison to the sport she did for twenty years lingers. “I’m never working as hard mountain biking as I did running,” she says, “I think that’s an incorrect statement, but it’s automatically where my mind goes.”
