I have spent decades in hyper-vigilant survival mode—keeping critically ill patients breathing, keeping a household running, and carrying the emotional weight of a marriage feeling completely unseen. In nursing, my identity is "the caregiver." At home, my identity has been "the anchor." Somewhere along the way, the actual me has been buried beneath everyone else’s needs. Losing running on top of that feels like a brutal blow. Running isn't just exercise; it's a moving meditation, a solitary high, and a valve to blow off pressure. When that physical outlet was torn away, it closed an essential door to my own head and body. I need to feel alive again and feel like I have purpose on this earth and in life. I don't need a passive vacation where I sit by a pool and stew in the quiet. I need grit and physical rhythm to push me and remind me of who I am, what I like, what I love and give me purpose.