***trigger warning: pregnancy loss***
Everyone needs a gentle nudge in the right direction at key moments in life. For Sarah Olson, a therapist's simple suggestion to try jogging completely changed her path. What followed was a transformation—Sarah became a marathon-crushing mental health advocate who discovered that sometimes the best way to overcome your struggles is to run straight through them.
A closing door, an opening heart
Sarah’s life would feel familiar to many of this blog’s readers. She lives in West Fargo, North Dakota with her husband and a teenage stepdaughter whose dance team activities keep the family calendar vibrant. Two dogs and a chinchilla add some extra love to their home.
Five years ago, though, that life took a heavy blow when Sarah and her husband faced a harsh reality about their hopes to grow their family. After years of treatments, her doctors gave her a frustrating diagnosis—“unexplained infertility”—words that would send Sarah into a deep depression. “I was absolutely heartbroken,” she recalls.
After a particularly difficult night with friends, Sarah decided to seek help, ultimately choosing to begin therapy. Initially, she struggled with the stigma of mental health treatment. “At first, I was embarrassed. I was ashamed. I didn’t want anyone to know what I was going through,” she remembers. Looking back, she questions what she was so ashamed of—her infertility, her depression, or simply asking for help. Through that help, though, she came to understand that none of these things were worthy of shame.
Going the distance…and then going much further
It was Sarah’s therapist who first suggested running as a form of exercise to help cope with anxiety and depression. The idea was initially met with skepticism. “Honestly, when she said I should try it, I thought she was out of her mind,” Sarah admits.
What started as a reluctant attempt at self-care would eventually transform into a powerful tool for healing. Her first run was abbreviated; she only made it to a stop sign halfway around the block. She felt defeated. But she had a feeling that she needed to persist. Each new attempt took her a little further, and she eventually built the stamina to attempt a race.
“Back then, I thought running a 5K was the longest distance I would ever go,” she says. That first race turned out to merely be an appetizer. Sarah has now run 21 5Ks, three 10Ks, a 10-miler, seven half-marathons, a 25K, and three marathons. “All I do is run, apparently.”
During this journey, Sarah discovered Still I Run while searching online for others who, like her, used running to cope with their mental health challenges. The organization’s Facebook group became a sanctuary where she could be open about her struggles. “It was just this huge relief to see that I could be honest there,” she says. “I often felt more comfortable telling things to these complete strangers than I did my own friends and family.”
“2020 me would have laughed in your face if you said I would be running marathons.”
Marathons became a part of Sarah’s journey as a profound response to a significant new challenge. Life took another unexpected turn when she experienced what seemed like a miracle—she became pregnant—something doctors had deemed virtually impossible. “The second you see those lines you instantly start to plan your life with this child. You see everything you thought you were going to miss,” she remembers.
However, her joy was tragically cut-short when the pregnancy was lost. “Everything was ripped away from me again. It was a brand new wound and I felt like all the progress I had accomplished was just washed away.” Thankfully, Sarah had running and her Still I Run community as beacons to help guide her through the darkness.
She made a powerful decision in the wake of her loss: “My body may not have been able to do *this*, but my body *will* do something that only 1% of the world has done: I am going to run a marathon!”
As her first 26.2 miler, Sarah chose to run for Still I Run at the Twin Cities Marathon, an especially meaningful race for her as the location meant her father and friends could be there to support her. “It was one of the toughest things I have done,” she says. “Some runs went great, some runs I struggled, and some were truly mental health runs, and I cried the entire time thinking about what I had lost.”
“When I crossed that finish line, I had never been more proud of myself. It was the best feeling. I did it for me. For our baby. For Still I Run.”
Finding community in Chicago
Sarah’s connection with Still I Run later deepened when she was selected to be part of the team running the Chicago Marathon. Throughout her training, she shared her journey openly on social media, raising awareness and funds. The response was overwhelming. “I didn’t care if I annoyed people. I posted on Instagram and Facebook about my training progress and all the amazing things Still I Run does,” she says. “Throughout the training block, I was absolutely humbled and shocked by the responses. People donated more than I could have ever asked for.”
She was also surprised by the number of people who reached out to share their own stories, including old friends who had been inspired to take up running as a means to improve their own mental health after following her journey. “I was reaching people I didn’t even know were listening.”
The Chicago Marathon weekend proved to be transformative for Sarah, as she achieved a personal record, and finally met her Still I Run friends in person. “People on the sidelines were shouting my name and cheering for me. It boosted my energy and pushed me to keep going. Those people were the Still I Run folks!” she fondly remembers. “It’s hard getting to know people all over the country and only being online friends. Getting to meet them in person was simply amazing.”
Feeling gratitude in every step
Sarah maintains her competitive spirit by always training for something, whether it’s a race or a personal goal. She has expanded her fitness scope to include swimming and strength training, and of course, she continues to find peace in the quiet, snow-covered landscapes of her winter runs in North Dakota.
Her perspective on becoming a runner is to exercise patience. “Give yourself grace. Give yourself time.” Sarah proudly considers herself a “back of the packer” who uses a run-walk-run method, embracing the fact that there is no single way to be a runner. “I have had great runs, okay runs, and even horrible runs,” she says. “But a run is a run, and I can say I have never regretted a run, ever.”
