August, 2026
A reflection from the Bubble Run.
The week before the Bubble Run, I learned my daughter and grandson wouldn’t be able to join me. My grandson is autistic and non‑verbal, and the foam area posed too many risks — disorientation, separation, panic. We chose caution over participation, and I was at peace with that.
Until the night before the run.
That’s when the chatter started — the kind that doesn’t whisper; it rattles.
What if it rains.
What if the foam is slippery.
What if you fall.
What if it’s cold.
What if you’re alone.
What if something happens to you.
I had three race numbers. I could have asked a friend. But when you’re tired and depleted, your mind doesn’t think clearly. It focuses on danger, not possibility.
By morning, I felt uncomfortable, insecure, and strangely apprehensive. My tank was already low, and the “what ifs” made everything feel heavier.
But at 6:30 a.m., I got up. Had coffee. Ate breakfast. Dallied. Contemplated. Got dressed. And finally said, “Just drive there.” I arrived late to my 9:00 a.m. start — and so did a lot of other people. The line was long. I sat in my car and told myself, 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. Don’t let the chatter run the show.
And here’s the part that surprised me: Once I started walking, I realized my grandson would have been perfectly fine. The late start time meant families were everywhere — kids laughing, running, weaving in and out of the foam. And they had it set up so you didn’t even have to walk through the foam if you didn’t want to.
All that fear the night before… it wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the full picture.
It reminded me of how often our minds try to protect us by imagining every possible danger, only for reality to be gentler than expected.
As I walked, I remembered something from my 60‑mile Breast Cancer walks in my 60s: Movement is how I come back to center. Movement is how I refill my tank. Movement is how I reclaim myself.
In my 70s, that yearning is still there. My spirit needs movement more than company.
So I walked the Bubble Run. Alone. With a tired tank. With a noisy mind. And with a quiet determination that felt like coming home.
CLOSING REFLECTION
What things have you said “no” to that didn’t actually benefit you? Where have you doubted yourself instead of imagining how proud you’d feel afterward?
Just reflections from yesterday — but maybe they’re reflections you’ve had too.
