Welcome to Muir Rock

The last few weeks have given me a lot to think about. Between dear friends facing cancer, Muir Rock turning one, Ironman training, relationships, and questions about what this next season of life is supposed to look like, I’ve been reminded how quickly things can change. I’m learning that not everything in life can be fixed by trying harder. Sometimes growth means letting go, trusting God with the outcome, appreciating the ordinary, and being grateful for the people we get t

After years of grief, routine, and staying close to home, I traveled to France to race Ironman 70.3 Aix-en-Provence and visit one of my closest friends who recently moved to Paris with his family. What started as a race trip became a reflection on friendship, ambition, healing, faith, and what it means to fully live again. The biggest lesson? Consistency over intensity applies to far more than triathlon.

Three years after Teri’s passing, I’m reminded this story isn’t about us, it’s about Jesus. Reflecting on Joshua 1:9 again, I see how comfort has kept me from doing hard things, even in a good life filled with friends, training, and purpose. Teri’s life pointed to Him, not herself. This Easter, I’m learning to depend on God daily, choosing courage in the small things, because He is with me wherever I go.

I hosted a Paint & Wine night on Valentine’s Day to align with my class theme of “Embracing Change.” It looked fun in the photos, and it was. But afterward, I walked away discouraged. Why do I rush into big ideas, give 80%, and then feel the crash? This night exposed a pattern in my life, in leadership, and even in marriage. It also revealed something unexpected: grief can soften, seasons can change, and life can feel lighter without forgetting love.

This Christmas card reflects a year marked by both deep loss and meaningful growth. After losing my dad in January, I stayed grounded through movement, faith, and community, racing, teaching yoga, opening Muir Rock Fitness and Yoga, and sharing time with Teri’s family on a much needed cruise. It’s been a year of rebuilding and remembering, learning to notice the light even in the rain, and moving forward with gratitude, grace, and hope.

Life has been full in ways I did not expect, and I have avoided the quiet required to write honestly. I still miss Teri deeply and the life we built together, especially during the holidays. At the same time, my life now contains laughter, work, fitness, and moments of real joy. That joy sometimes confuses me. I wonder if it is possible to move forward without leaving her behind. I am learning to hold both grief and gratitude at the same time, trusting God to shape what com