If you’re here, welcome — you’ve officially stumbled upon a small part of my world. A place where chaos lives, sweat is welcome, and the slightly delusional are more like family.

Here is where I plan to unlock the next chapter of my life and document it along the way; the miles, the meltdowns, and the triumphs that follow.

Let’s get one thing out of the way upfront:

I’m not the fastest. I’m not the fanciest. I’m not the girl gliding effortlessly through a sunrise run with a perfect ponytail and a matching set that never rides up.

I’m the girl who:

• Has argued with her Garmin like it’s a toxic ex
• Has eaten a gel that tasted like regret
• Has cried at every milestone
• Has laughed at her numerous blunders
• Has failed more times than she can count
• And still wakes up every day ready for the next big adventure.

Because running?
Running is my therapy.
Running is my chaos.
Running is my comeback story — every damn time.

My story isn’t the only one that matters here. I want to hear from you — the reader, the runner, the wanderer, the comeback artist, or the curious soul who somehow landed on this page. How did you find me? Did something here resonate with you? Share a piece of your journey, big or small. I’d love to know more about who’s out there running their own damn miles alongside me.

Post 2 — Every Damn Mile

During the week, I’m a machine. I’m up at 4:30 a.m. — not because I’m a morning person, but because that’s the only time life hasn’t started demanding things from me yet.

Weekdays are where I do the real work:

• Running
• Walking
• Lifting
• Yoga
• Hydrating
• Pretending I have my life together

I’m disciplined. I’m focused. I’m borderline impressive.

And then the weekend hits.

Weekends are where the wheels fall off — loudly, dramatically, and usually with tequila involved. Suddenly I’m sleeping in like I’ve never met a sunrise. Suddenly fitness is… optional. Suddenly I’m making choices that Past Tammy would absolutely judge.

It’s:

• Too much alcohol
• Too little water
• Too many “I deserve this” moments
• Not enough “my body will hate me for this” moments
• And a complete abandonment of the weekday version of myself

But here’s the thing: I always come back.

Monday morning, 4:30 a.m., I’m right back at it — running on regret, electrolytes, and the kind of determination that only comes from knowing you did not treat your body like a temple over the weekend.

I’m not perfect. I’m not consistent. I’m not even pretending to be.

But I am showing up — every damn mile, every damn week, even when the weekend tried to take me out.

And honestly? That’s my superpower.

“Weekday me is a warrior. Weekend me is a liability. Running is the only thing keeping the peace between us.”

And if bad decisions burned calories, I’d be an elite athlete by now.

“Some miles are fueled by electrolytes. Others by regret. This is both.”