The Floor Moment: Birth of Runnaisance

April 26, 2026. Brooklyn Half Marathon—my first ever!

Same weekend, April 24th - 26th: Super Art Fair in Brooklyn, where I'll be exhibiting a new series of paintings.

Two arenas. Two scoreboards. One weekend!

The plan was to train quietly, paint quietly, show up prepared, and see what happened. No announcements. No documentation. Just execution.

And then yesterday, I ended up crouched on my floor, laughing.

The Seven-Mile Trigger

The run itself was fine. Seven miles on the treadmill—technically an "easy" run according to my training plan, though seven miles has never felt particularly easy to me. I've been managing some glute pain this past week, working through it with targeted exercises and recovery protocols. But I had the long run scheduled, and I knew I needed to do it.

So I did.

When I came back upstairs, the pain was flaring. I sat down by my desktop, trying to massage it out, stretching, adjusting position. And at some point, the absurdity of the whole thing hit me.

I burst out laughing.

Not the light, amused kind of laughter. The laughing-crying kind. The what am I doing with my life kind.

I've paid money to do this to myself. I've voluntarily signed up for physical discomfort, creative exposure, and the guarantee of being evaluated on two completely different scoreboards on the same weekend. I've structured my life around a self-imposed deadline that requires both physical and creative endurance.

And my husband—wonderful, supportive man that he is—walked in, assessed the situation, and immediately grabbed his phone to start recording to add to the books and share with friends and family for a good laugh.

That's when it clicked!

Why Document This

I've always been private about my challenges. I'm comfortable with visibility after success, less comfortable with it during the messy middle. But sitting there on the floor, physically exhausted and emotionally questioning my choices, I realized something:

This process deserves documentation. Not despite the discomfort—because of it.

Here's what's actually happening over the next 10 weeks:

I'm building physical capacity I've never had. Training for 13.1 miles when I've never run more than a 10K. Learning what my body can handle under structured strain.

I'm preparing to exhibit work publicly, which means ego exposure. My paintings will be on display. They might sell. They might not. People will judge them either way.

I'm managing two completely different disciplines simultaneously—running and art—which means recovery strategy matters. Sleep matters. Mental stability matters. Systems thinking becomes non-negotiable.

I'm choosing voluntary discomfort in service of building identity. Not the identity I claim in conversation, but the one that emerges from consistent behavior under pressure.

That's worth documenting honestly.

What Runnaisance Actually Is

The name came to me a few days ago: Runnaisance. The convergence of running and creative renaissance. Physical endurance meeting creative endurance. Preparation meeting exposure.

This isn't about inspiring anyone or building a personal brand or going viral. It's about honest documentation of what happens when you voluntarily choose two hard things and commit to finishing both with integrity.

Two scoreboards:

• The clock: 13.1 miles, whatever time I finish in

• The market: Art sales, whatever happens or doesn't happen

Both are forms of evaluation I can't control. I can only control preparation.

So here I go, let the Runnaisance begin!!!