The stadium is quiet again.
The glitter has settled, the finish line arch is packed away, and somewhere a pink tutu is still twirling in someone’s living room.

I’ve led more than twenty seasons of Girls on the Run, but this one felt different.
Maybe because I came into it a little tired — okay, A LOT tired.
Maybe because the world still feels heavy.
Or maybe because life off the field has felt heavy too. My husband’s recent health challenges have changed a lot about my rhythm and routines, and there are days I’ve felt stretched thinner than ever.

Or maybe it’s just that joy has started to feel like something I have to earn. I tell myself I can have fun after I finish my ever-growing to-do list. But honestly, is the “list” ever done?

I missed most of this fall season — something that hasn’t happened EVER. Not being at the sites, not seeing the girls and coaches each week, weighed on me more than I expected. Visiting teams has always been where I refuel. Some things didn’t get done that I wanted done. That’s hard to admit. But maybe that’s part of the lesson too — that sometimes grace looks like letting go and trusting that joy can still find us, even when the list isn’t finished and the picture isn’t perfect.

Then came 5K day.
Despite long nights of planning, things went sideways — a partner didn’t show, water cups ran short, and snacks had to be rescued last minute.

But during all of it, I saw magic happen. Tabitha zipped supplies to the water stop on the golf cart, Helping Hands in Healthcare LLC teens pivoted and became our finish line heroes, and Marie and Jennifer made a quick run to Wegmans while the Able Heating & Air crew raced the snacks they purchased back to the stadium.

And through it all, our coaches never noticed a thing. They stayed focused where it mattered most — celebrating their girls. Laughing, cheering, encouraging, fully present in the joy of the moment.

When things go wrong and the community steps in to make them right, that’s Girls on the Run Piedmont at its best. We practiced what we teach: teamwork, resilience, and joy that rises even in chaos.

But I’ll be honest — I felt very frustrated. We had worked so hard, and things still didn’t go as planned. I wanted everything perfect for the girls, the families, our team. Later that afternoon, one of our partners looked me in the eye and said, “This is amazing. Things happened. Nobody noticed. Give yourself grace.”

She was right. Grace isn’t just what we extend to others — it’s what we have to learn to give ourselves.

In many ways, this 5K was what I’ve started to call a successful failure. Things didn’t go perfectly, but I did. That night, I replayed every moment in my mind, beating myself up at first. But by morning, something had shifted. I realized it worked out — not because I controlled every detail, but because I finally let go long enough for others to step in and shine. And they did shine. THANK YOU!

Standing at the finish line, I watched girls cross with tears and laughter, and I felt it:
joy that didn’t ask permission,
joy that didn’t wait for perfect conditions,
joy that simply showed up.

As I’ve shared in earlier posts, I’ve been thinking about joy a lot — how to make room for it, how to trust it again. Maybe it’s not something we learn once. Maybe it’s something we need to keep relearning.

During one of our GOTR for Grownups lessons, the younger women in the group spoke of joy freely, while those of us who were older admitted it often came with a price — a “what if” or a quiet fear that something bad might follow if we stopped to feel it.

When we launched our Path to Possibility campaign, I imagined a road lined with new opportunity — new sites, new sponsors, new girls discovering their power. But along the way, I’ve learned that possibility isn’t just about growth; it’s also about grace.

Grace when things aren’t perfect.
Grace when it takes me longer to respond.
Grace to delete things from my list that maybe don’t matter as much as I thought.

Relearning Joy keeps us moving along that path. It reminds me that our work must also make space for lightness, laughter, and hope. The to-do list will never be done — but my daughter still needs me to carve that pumpkin and laugh with her and to help her with her Latin.

This year, we set out to make it possible for 500 girls to cross their own finish lines.
We haven’t reached that number yet, but every girl who did cross reminded me that progress is still powerful.

I can’t reach every girl, but I can reach my daughter. I can reach myself.
And I can reach the women beside me — building friendships, community, and hope in the process.
Because through those sparks, we’ll ignite a fire that changes this community — and maybe even the world. (Everyone knows I like to think BIG.)

This season we’ve also seen more families needing support and more payments fail as budgets tighten. The need has grown — and so have we.

Every budget cycle, our board wrestles with the same question:
Should we raise our registration fee? (We never have.)
With so many families needing aid, the need is greater than ever.

We just quietly write off failed payments, trusting that compassion matters more than collection notices. For years, I’ve said our financial aid is built on trust — and if a family ever scammed us, then that girl probably needed this program even more. But as the need grows, what does it look like to balance grace with sustainability — to keep saying yes while ensuring this mission keeps going strong, and to make sure we can continue to grow and serve more girls?

I’m determined to make sure every girl who wants this program gets it — no matter what. I’ve joked that I’d stand in front of Target with a tin can if that’s what it took… thankfully, I haven’t had to go quite that far yet. Though let’s be honest — if it came to that, I feel like this community would fill that can in minutes.

The joy in that stadium, the determination in those faces — it’s proof that the mission is working, even when the math feels really hard.
It’s a reminder to lead from an abundance mindset, trusting that what we give freely always multiplies.

Let’s be honest: big funders love big, shiny projects.
But sometimes change is quiet.
Sometimes it’s steady.
Sometimes it looks less like a headline and more like a big, comfy couch — the one everyone trusts will always be there when they need a soft place to land.

That’s Girls on the Run Piedmont.
We may no longer be the newest thing, but we’re here for the long haul — staying to support these girls as long as we can.

At Girls on the Run Piedmont, our ROI looks a little different — I recently heard someone call it a Ripple of Impact, and I loved that. Every dollar, every sponsorship, every act of generosity extends far beyond a single season. It strengthens schools, families, workplaces, and communities.

If your business or organization believes in that kind of return, I’d love to connect. There’s room for everyone on this Path to Possibility — because when we invest in joy, confidence, and community, we all grow stronger together.

If this message resonates with you personally — if you’ve ever found yourself running on empty or searching for your own spark of joy — I’d love for you to join us on the Path to Possibility.
Your gift helps keep that path open for every girl, no matter her family’s financial situation.

Because every girl deserves a chance to discover her strength, her confidence, and her joy.

 www.gotrpiedmont.org/giving/team-possible