Stupid to Beautiful

 

Stupid to Beautiful

This blog is a little late, but I guess a little late is better than never.

At the beginning of 2025 (yes, you read that correctly—2025), my kids and I started a challenge. We decided to run at least one mile every single day. We could run more, but one mile was non-negotiable. The challenge officially started on January 1st, 2025, right in the middle of winter.

Those early months were tough. Running in the cold, snow, wind, and below-zero temperatures made some days far more challenging than others. But it was new, and we checked in with each other often, which made it more tolerable—even motivating.

As we entered the summer months, running became much easier. The weather improved, and it’s always nicer when you don’t have to battle snow and wind just to get out the door. On the flip side, the check-ins became fewer and farther between. We were all on our own.

As my runs continued into the last three months of the year, the weather turned again. Winter returned with a vengeance. At times, it felt like the weather knew I was trying to finish this challenge and was throwing everything it had at me to defeat me.

Around that time, I started calling my runs “the stupid run.”
“I still need to do my stupid run,” I’d tell my kids or friends.

December brought a stretch of especially cold and snowy days. My runs kept getting later and later—not by design, but by procrastination. Like many nights that month, I waited until the evening to head out for yet another one of my so‑called stupid runs.

That night, everything changed.

I put on my boots, layered up, and headed out like I had on every other snowy run. But somewhere along the route, I realized something: I was the only one out there. I was making the first footprints in the fresh snow. It was quiet. Peaceful.

And it was beautiful.

Yes—I’ll say it again. It was beautiful.

In that moment, I realized how lucky I was to be out there, to be able to do what I was doing. Everything about my run changed. I stopped calling it my stupid run. It became My Beautiful Run.

I started looking around more instead of focusing on the finish line. I noticed the world around me—and how fortunate I was to move through it. From that day on, I changed my language, and my perspective changed with it.

As of this writing, on April 30, 2026, I am still doing My Beautiful Run. And I’m finding much more joy in it.

Don’t get me wrong—some days I still wait until late in the evening. But now, I genuinely appreciate it. I enjoy it. I see the beauty in it.

Change your language, and your view just might change too.