This is me back in June of 2013. Age 36. Boy was I proud of her! This was one of those moments I will relish for my entire life. This photo was taken after the very first race I ever ran; Steamboat’s half-marathon (13.1 beautiful miles on a long and winding road right into the heart of downtown). Crossing that finish line made me feel like I was on top of the world; like I could conquer anything and everything! It felt like winning the lottery, but what I went through to get me to this day, were some of my darkest, and hardest moments that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Let me back up a little. It was the summer of 2012. My husband and I had been married for 12 years, and were the proud parents of two amazing kids, ages four and eight, with a little one on the way. This pregnancy was an unexpected blessing, and we were all feeling the excitement. I heard the heartbeat at 12 weeks, and it was strong, and beautiful. My daughter and I heard it again at 16 weeks, but my blood pressure was rising with time. A doctor prescribed me high blood pressure meds over the phone, and I reluctantly started on them the very next day. I hated the way this medicine made me feel. And worse then that, I grew increasingly concerned about the effects of it on our growing baby. I made a long list of concerns for our next appointment which would be our 19 week gender ultrasound. It couldn’t arrive soon enough, and it would become a day that would change our lives forever.
August 9, 2012 was a beautiful, and bright, sunshiny day! Our 8 year old daughter, Kaia, was hopeful to find out she would be getting a baby sister. Our 4 year old son, Korbin, was of course hoping for a little brother. We were giggling as we placed bets on what it would be just before leaving the house. To see Kaia beaming with so much excitement made my heart overflow with love and gratitude. It was uncontainable and contagious. It was such an exciting time that we went as a whole family even inviting my mom along for the fun.
The energy of the ultrasound room felt electric as the technician began to scan my growing belly. We couldn’t wait to see if we were having a boy or a girl. Our eyes were glued to the screen and then to the technician’s face unable to understand what we were looking at. As the minutes passed, I watched her expression slowly shift, and felt my heart beginning to race. The whole energy of the room suddenly took a dark turn. My body tensed up as I did my best to read between the lines. It was clear that something very serious was happening. My mom quickly gathered up our kids and exited the room quietly at the technician’s offer. What came next was every parent’s worst nightmare. I can’t find a heartbeat. Your baby has died.
I chose to deliver our baby the next day without the use of any pain meds because I wanted to be fully present in honoring the life that once was. I can’t explain why I chose this path as some might see it as unnecessary. What I can tell you, is, there is no right or wrong way to handle a loss of this magnitude. I can only tell you that I followed my heart and chose the path that felt right within my own spirit. It was the only option that made me feel some sort of peace of mind in my newly shattered heart.
The next day felt like the unfolding of a living nightmare. My husband, Toby, and I checked into the maternity ward where I was induced. I went through normal labor pains all day while doing my best to mentally prepare for delivery knowing it would be goodbye. Hearing the bell when other healthy babies were being born added salt to our wounds. The deep, guttural sobbing that came from the depths of my soul as our baby was born, felt far too heavy for anyone to bear. Dason Albert Childers was born sleeping on August 10, 2012 at 4:30 pm. He had all 10 fingers, and 10 toes, and was without a doubt a little baby boy, who was now our beautiful angel up in heaven.
The days that followed were a blur. I’m sure the sun was shining but I sure couldn’t feel it. The days felt dark, and heavy, and long. I would sleep and awake to thoughts and physical feelings of still being pregnant, and then having to relive the nightmare over and over once it registered that I no longer was. There were too many tears to count. I was struggling on so many different levels. Since it was baby number three, my body was ready to feed a baby and I had no baby to nurse. Postpartum depression set in, and this was the most depressed I had ever felt, and the extra baby weight I had gained didn’t help. I knew my body would eventually heal, but I wasn’t certain my heart ever would.
One week after I delivered our son, I had a follow-up appointment with my midwife at the same place where we found out our son had died. Sitting in the same waiting area surrounded by expecting moms felt like torture. My midwife was concerned that my blood pressure was still high. I felt like reminding her of the trauma I was reliving by coming back, but I didn’t have the energy to explain it. I was doing everything in my power just to hold myself together without bursting into a puddle of tears. She went on to tell me that I would likely have high blood pressure issues for the rest of my life. She also expressed that the only way to really ever get over a loss like this, was to have another baby. As I look back on this, I’m still not sure if I would describe her words as, “the truth hurts” or “completely out of line”, but I am grateful, and I do know this … she lit a fire in me that still burns today.
After 6 weeks post-delivery, I was finally cleared for exercise. I had two young kids to raise, and my body was healed good enough to get moving. I was on a mission of proving my midwife wrong, so I started going to Jenni’s strength training bootcamp with fellow moms and friends with kids. I remember showing up in ratty, super uncool gym clothes, and a pair of 10 year-old Nike athletic shoes that barely fit. They were more like plastic than rubber by this point, but it’s what I had at the time, and it was enough to get the job done. Jenni’s bootcamp was a godsend. It got me out of bed each morning and helped me to get out of my head and distracted me from my broken heart. After strength training at Namaqua Park, some of the moms would head over to the TVHS track and jog. They invited me to tag along one day and I giggled in response. I certainly wasn’t a runner in any way, shape or form, but I gladly joined in, and did what my out-of-shape body was capable of doing. I started walking and jogging really short distances. It didn’t take much to take my breath away in the beginning. As uncomfortable as it was, for some reason, I just kept going. And I continued going without much more thought. I wasn’t ever focused on how hard it was or how out of breath I was. I was just so grateful to be socializing with moms who were quickly becoming great friends all while our young kids got to hang out and play. Whether they knew it at the time or not, these women were carrying me through one of the darkest periods of my life.
Fast forward about a month and a half. I showed up to Namaqua Park early that day needing to fill my mind with something other than the sadness that haunted me. I arrived before everyone else, and decided to start jogging around the perimeter of the park to get warmed up. I was about seven laps in, and realized I could still breathe. I was in total awe. Maybe it was my first runner’s high? I have no idea, but I was the kid who didn’t like to run growing up because it would kick up my asthma, and make me wheeze. I was the young adult who had her right knee reconstructed twice from skiing and softball, and was advised to maybe take up golf. I was the person who couldn’t understand why anyone, in their right mind, would want to run. And here I was jogging and someone still breathing. In that moment, everything changed for me. I accidentally, and unintentionally fell head over heels in love with running.
Jogging grew to feel like some kind of super power. It was slowly becoming my super power; my fight song. And I just kept going. I would push through the uncomfortable moments when I wanted to quit, and I would shove every excuse I wanted to give into the backseat, and I kept going with every extra step I could muster. I think I can. I think I can. Before I knew it, I could jog four laps (1 mile) around the track without stopping. The excitement I felt with every small victory kept me going back for more. I tried to add a little distance each time I went or I would sprint, walk, and repeat. Slowly, I grew stronger over time. Slowly, I ran further over time. I’ll never forget the day I conquered 12 laps (3 miles) around the track without stopping. Almost a 5k. For me, that moment was HOLY SHIT!!! Here I was, 36 years old, new to jogging, and I remember thinking to myself, “there’s no way I just did that!!”. Talk about runner’s high. I was absolutely hooked. Hook, line, and sinker.
Running became the place where I could go anytime I needed to cry, pray, and to be with the son we lost. It was my therapy, and it quickly became my joy, my empowerment, rebuilding me physically and mentally from the ground up. If I woke up feeling depressed, I knew I just needed to go run and then I could be the mom I wanted to be for our kids. Running somehow physically altered the chemistry in my brain. After almost every jog, I felt more hopeful, more capable, happier, and less broken. I wanted to show our kids what a healthy coping skill for sadness could look like. On Thanksgiving morning that year, I ran 19 laps and dedicated every one to Dason who was born at 19 weeks. I felt him all around me. I always did. And I felt God carrying me through the darkness and showing me tiny glimpses of light and the rainbow waiting for me on the other side. Running made me feel alive again. I could feel the thumping of my heartbeat loud and strong, and the air I was breathing somehow became rhythmic, meditative and soul-soothing, I was healing emotionally with every step I took. It released the physical pain I felt so deep inside my heart that the tears I cried could never seem to reach. Running had this innate way of absolutely kicking my ass, and yet somehow, making me also feel the thrill of overcoming some huge victory all at the same time. It always left me feeling like maybe I could conquer anything!
Fast forward to March of 2013. My bootcamp friends were talking about a weekend in Steamboat to run in a race and enjoy a girl’s weekend away. Some moms were planning on running the full marathon. Some, the half marathon, and others, the 10k, but they were all going together in support of one another. I’ll never forget the moment they invited me to go along. Their gift made me feel this depth of gratitude that words will never be able to express. I was beyond grateful, eager, excited, absolutely terrified, but never more motivated or determined. I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I just knew that I wanted to honor our son by running a race for him, and I wanted to make it big, and I needed it to be a challenge. I decided on the half-marathon, and I was giddy with excitement.
One week before the race, we were strength training in preparation, and the unthinkable happened. I rolled my ankle good and hard. I felt it pop and my mind went numb. I couldn’t believe my luck, but I wasn’t willing to throw in the towel. I had been training so hard and this race and this trip meant everything to me. I decided to do everything in my power to help it heal as quickly as I could. I went to my chiropractor at that time, and had him adjust my ankle so it could heal as quickly as possible. Boy did that adjustment hurt like a … beep! He had me icing my ankle in an ice bucket 2-3 times a day for 10 minutes each time. I did it faithfully, and applied arnica inbetween treatments doing my best to heal.
The morning of the race on June 6, 2013, I awoke early and my nerves were off the charts. I brought along an ankle brace for the extra support, but knew right away that it wasn’t going to work. I decided to leave it behind, and I planned to just listen to my body that day. If I couldn’t do it, the volunteers would just have to drive me back into town – and that was that.
I’ll never forget the 13.1 mile bus ride from downtown Steamboat. What on earth was I thinking?! I thought it would never end. Turn after turn and mile after mile. Further and further from town. The thought of having to run that distance back was absolutely terrifying and completely daunting. Getting off the bus and standing in this massive line with a bunch of people waiting for the race to start was exciting, and completely overwhelming. My nerves had me shaking like a leaf. I did my best to stretch, and felt happy and relieved to be distracted by friends with moments of nervous laughter, and last minute photos as we waited anxiously to get started. And then the time had come. I put my ear buds in, turned my running playlist on, and thought to myself, “just jog slowly and see how your ankle feels, and if it feels okay, and strong enough, just keep running, and don’t stop for anything.” I melted right into meditation mode, and found my happy pace. I was in my zone, and I just kept running. The scenery was incredible. The people cheering us on along the way made me grin from ear to ear. Here I was doing it! The pit stops with water, electrolytes and a popcicle close to the end were such an awesome mental boost. The sun was warm. The mountains and hills were breathtaking. My soul felt totally at ease. I felt Dason with me in my heart and all around me in spirit. I felt God smiling down as I continued to forge ahead. I ran every bit of the 13.1 miles back into town that day and crossed that finish line with the biggest smile on my face! Pace doesn’t matter. Finishing does. And then I got to put the most beautiful medal around my neck. It wasn’t what it looked like. It was everything it represented. I came and I conquered. I was on cloud nine. It wasn’t just a race. It was SO much more. And I did it surrounded by some of the most amazing women I have ever met, and I will cherish those moments and that weekend for my entire lifetime. I became a person I never thought I could or would be. I accidentally became a runner. In honor of our son. For my health. For our kids. For this beautiful life, and to be here for as long as I can for them. And because God placed the right people in my life, at the right time, to help me rise up after my world went dark.
I will never be able to express my gratitude to Dason, to God, and to all the amazing women who were a part of setting me on the path of becoming a runner. They took me under their wings when I was broken, and taught me how to fly. And they had no idea then, how much I would continue to need that inner strength in the years to come.
Jogging has helped carry me through a 6-month marriage separation, a 2nd miscarriage, loss of loved ones, our third child, postpartum complications, and more recently breast cancer, chemotherapy, and multiple surgeries. I often feel like the queen of starting over and beginning again … but jogging has become my super power. It reminds me of my inner strength, my why, and what matters most. It’s my favorite fight song, and I will continue running until my legs no longer can.
You are stronger & more capable than you realize! Keep your heart open, and be willing to push through the uncomfortable moments. That’s where the growth begins. If you have the courage to go there, you will undoubtably grow there! Keep going, and don’t ever give up!
-Tanielle Childers ©️ 5.14.26
TANiELLE ART 