Every October, my phone lights up with the same text from a different client. “Woke up with a scratchy throat. Do I cancel?” Some of them want permission to skip. Most of them want permission not to — they’ve spent months building momentum, and the idea of losing three weeks to a cold feels like watching their progress evaporate. So my coaching team and I built a system for it, the same one I’ve refined over fifteen flu seasons: three lights, one thermometer, and a rule about coming back that saves more fitness than any workout ever will. Here is…
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Every September, around the time the school buses reappear and the morning air gets that first cool edge, I put a reminder on my calendar that reads like a riddle: “The sun is leaving. Act accordingly.” My husband thinks it’s dramatic. My clients think it’s funny. My bloodwork disagrees with both of them. Here’s the part most people never learn: the sunlight that returns after Labor Day is not the same sunlight. The equinox is a week out, we’re hemorrhaging daylight at close to three minutes a day here in the Northeast, and the sun is arcing lower across the…
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September almost ended my track career before it started. I was twenty, two weeks into fall heptathlon training, and I couldn’t finish a set of 400-meter repeats without stopping mid-lap, eyes streaming, sneezing so hard my teammates started timing the fits like they were part of the workout. My spike bag carried more tissues than energy gels. My coach kept telling me to “run through it,” and I did — straight into the worst month of my athletic life. What nobody told me then, and what I’ve spent two decades coaching clients through since, is that ragweed season is a…
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Every August, without fail, something shifts in the air. The light changes. The mornings get a hint of crispness that wasn’t there in July. My body feels it before my brain registers it — a subtle signal that the lazy, sweaty, endless-seeming summer is slowly winding down. And for years, I ignored that signal. I’d ride summer right into September, then wonder why I spent the first three weeks of fall fighting a sore throat and crushing fatigue. It took my track coach back in college — a woman who’d trained Olympians and had zero patience for my excuses —…