“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.” — Psalm 107:1 (NIV)
“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” — James 1:17 (NIV)

I never want to forget where I came from.

Not just the weight. Not just the numbers. But the quiet mercies that met me along the road. I know this story is not mine alone. Every step forward has been a gift from God.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: I didn’t do this on my own. I didn’t lose the weight on sheer willpower. I didn’t run my first 5K or finish a marathon because I was especially strong. I didn’t wake up one day and suddenly have the endurance or faith I needed.

It was God. All of it.

From the first failed quarter-mile run to the long weekend miles in the sun, He was with me. From the moment a doctor said, “I can help you,” to the day I stood at the start line of my first marathon, it was His grace guiding me.

I think back to the early days when I couldn’t sleep well, when my health was slipping, when I was just surviving. And I remember how God began to build something new in me. Not through force. Not through pressure. But through steady invitations. One step. One change. One prayer at a time.

There’s a post I wrote not long after I began blogging. I was reflecting on the journey from 278 pounds to running 30 or 40 miles a week. I wrote, “I know all this came about because of the grace of God. Few people get the chance to do what I have done and believe me when I say, I am no one special.” That line still holds true.

Later, I shared the story of my conversion — how one summer afternoon, folding a sail after a trip on the Potomac, I prayed, “God, I love You.” I didn’t plan it. I didn’t expect it. But it changed me. That prayer became the starting line for everything else God would do in me.

Even in my running, even in the hardest miles, I carried that same gratitude. There were races where I pushed so hard I needed help after the finish. There were long runs that broke me down. There were days when I didn’t want to lace up. But even then, even in those quiet moments, I felt thankful.  Thankful that I could run. Thankful that I had a family cheering me on. Thankful that God had given me another day, another chance, another step forward.

And on the hard days — the ones when running felt like a chore, or when life pressed down too hard — I still tried to find something to thank God for. A cool breeze. A quiet road. The shade of a tree on a 90 degree afternoon. A prayer in the middle of mile three. Grace shows up in the details.

I changed the name of my blog to, “278 to Boston” not because I had all the answers, but because I wanted to remember the question: How did I get here and where did I want to go? The answer is always the same.

God’s mercy, patience and goodness.

I ran the miles. But He carried the weight.

I did the work. But He changed the heart.

And through it all, the miles, the mess, the moments of joy and struggle, He never left my side.

This chapter of my story isn’t about pace or medals. It’s about gratitude. It’s about seeing God’s hand in the ordinary and the extraordinary. It’s about remembering that every mile was grace.

And grace deserves thanks.

Because when I look back on all the miles behind me; the long ones, the lonely ones, the ones that nearly broke me – I don’t see just a runner pressing on, but a Father walking beside me.

He never wasted a step. He never missed a moment. And He never let go.

So I keep running, not to earn anything, not to prove anything, but because I have already received everything that matters.

Forgiveness. Hope. Purpose. Life.

All of it, grace.

Thanks be to God through the Lord Jesus!

“Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.”
Colossians 3:17 (NIV)