Blog

Twelve years. Twelve teams. 213 everyday, unique, amazing runners coming through America’s longest relay run, helping me shape what works and what does not. 

This weekend marks the completion of another year leading runners across the U.S. and I sit firmly at the helm, both leading it all and also witnessing in awe. 

I can attribute the many accomplishments of this organization to one, singular moment when I decided to be open to an idea that dropped into my mind to run by myself across America for my mother and the MS cause. I think about that moment a lot – me on a cruise ship in Barcelona, running on a treadmill in the fitness center on the top deck of the ship while it pulled into port. In the early morning dawn, the harbor lamp-posts twinkled like cafe lights strung across the shoreline and the treadmill hummed steadily beneath my feet while my mind drifted from one thought to the next, then simply to this – to run across America for my mother. 

In an instant I knew that the idea had been waiting for me to come upon it all along. And without thinking much about the details or what would come after, I blindly stepped into an adventure that would grow to be much larger than I ever imagined at first. 

I have been called brave and fearless many times over. These are easy adjectives given the size of what’s been created. I don’t reduce the amount of work that goes into my role, but mostly I find that I am committed to imagining the best possible outcome, and that I have a willingness to see what I am made of in the process.

When I was in third grade, I came home from school one day and my mom had surprised my two brothers and me with the cutest, most precious miniature dachshund puppy. I cried. Not because of how cute she was, or because I was overjoyed, but because I felt emotionally unprepared for this life change. I should have been consulted! I was 8.
Hi. My name is Regan, and I’m a control freak.  Anyone else like to be the one in charge? Of life, of meetings, of grocery lists, of dinner choices, of vacation plans, of ALL THE THINGS? I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. 

I cried many times through my adolescence and into my 20s over things I wish I could control — dance tryouts, breakups, bad grades, the loss of loved ones. But nothing prepared me for the loss of control I would experience being diagnosed with an autoimmune disease of the central nervous system, multiple sclerosis (MS), at age 26.

I am pregnant, my belly swollen in front of me with a full term baby while my husband and the whole labor and delivery team linger on my periphery, anxious for action. “When is the baby coming?” they ask in anticipation. The pressure increases between my legs and I, too, am confused as to why the baby has not emerged. I know what it feels like when it’s time to push, and this is not it. 

“Soon,” I say, swatting them away with one hand and cradling my belly with the other. “Soon.”

The harpsichord chimes of my alarm vibrate, and in a sleepy haze I awake from a dream of pregnancy that has nothing to do with a baby. I swing my feet onto the plush carpet of my bedroom floor and know instinctively: it’s about my book.

I have been pregnant for some time now with my memoir about running across America by myself and creating MS Run the US, growing the pages and my platform as steadily as I have all three of my children. I desire nothing more than for the story to be on bound pages within the hands of readers. And yet, the pathway to get there has many options and no clear rule book to follow.

I had the honor of writing a piece for the National MS Society’s Momentum Magazine — an article about my mom’s MS and experiences as a carepartner (which is currently being featured on their homepage!). I am excited to share a section of the article here, while linking to the full piece on their site below. My mother passed seven years ago, and I wrote this in first person from my late teens.

In Her Shoes: Reflections From A Morning Run

It is not lost on me. I get to do this.

I pick up my running shoe and shove my foot into it, then the other. To tie the laces, I prop my foot up against the bottom step of the staircase and make them snug enough to run but not so snug that my feet go numb. I wiggle my toes to test the tie. It’s just right, so I turn to leave.

My mother’s shoes, scattered about near the door among the others of my family, are all slip-on. A pair of worn Dr. Scholl’s are her favorite, with their slide-on ease and slip-resistant soles. Laces, buttons and zippers are all fastenings that her fingers can no longer wield. I side-step the footwear and pull the front door open.

At the sound of my alarm, I open my eyes to a darkened hotel room. I stand to turn off the harpsichord chimes and stretch my arms above my head. It’s 4:30am and I have a flight to catch back home, a place where the suburbs of Milwaukee are a stark contrast to the New York City skyline that hums through the sheer hotel curtains. Quickly, the should-have-dones from the day before flood my mind.

I’m in the city for an event; an in-real-life meet up of Robin Arzon’s lifestyle membership club. Robin is an absolute force, and she and I met over a decade ago when she ran 5 marathons in 5 days along Segment 4 in Utah in my nonprofit’s inaugural relay run. She was a force back then too, still finding her way within the fitness space after leaving a successful law career. This was when she had a couple thousand followers on Instagram and 3 years before she was hired as one of Peloton’s first instructors. I too was finding my way, sleeping on a powder-blue couch in a 1994 Ford motorhome, feeding runners bananas and capturing my vision on an old Canon Rebel. A lot has changed for both of us since then, but we’ve remained connected over the years, so when her Swagger Society tagged me in a post to get to the event, I realized I should and booked a ticket.

You readers are the best. You did such a great job this summer with my Title Quest that I am sharing the first chapter of my book and listening to what you have to say about it! 

For many reasons, Chapter One starts at the inception of my idea to run across America. But the book isn’t published yet, and there are many ways to present a story. It’s important to me to hear what you enjoy (or don’t) because you, dear reader, are a very important piece of publishing this story and how well it travels.

And I do want it to travel! Not only for me, but for the good it will do. It’s my parents’ legacy to me, yes. And it represents countless hours of my work, sure. But also, there is deep value here for a greater audience — a message of being open to the unexpected, taking action, creating purpose from pain, and finding a community.

My greatest lesson from building my charity and writing a book is that we are better together, a fact that pains me to discover (time and again) because of the plethora of years I’ve spent working to not need others. But I have found that with the right foundation, I can trust you, too. So, welcome to my writing staff! 

Send me your suggestions if you feel excited to do so, or just stay and read if that’s your jam. What sentence(s) jump out at you? Is the beginning interesting or would you rather see a different part of the story first? What is unclear or too obvious (so it doesn’t need to be said)?

I am so interested in what you have to say. My deepest gratitude to you for reading my work and giving me your input, if you choose to do so. Either way, enjoy!

I never intended to start a nonprofit business. I intended to run across America for my mother, who was living with MS, and raise $500,000 for charity while finding sponsors to fund the motorhome, gas, food and lodging for the entire venture. I was twenty-four years old and hadn’t run a marathon yet, nor had I done any fundraising. Never mind those details. Upon completion, after having successfully met my goals, I would frolic off into the sunset like a leprechaun skipping down a rainbow.

I learned quickly that what I imagined would happen was too simple and that there was more to discover. My initial conversations with established nonprofits were supportive, meaning they would gladly accept my fundraising, but leveraging their tax-exempt position for my forthcoming sponsors proved to be a rather steep and unproductive pitch. Weeks and months later, I would create my own nonprofit. 

I taught myself how to build a website. I created a budget for the event so far off that my skin prickled the first time I filled the motorhome tank with gas. Routes across America that were roads when viewed on Google maps were actually highways unsafe for pedestrians, and I naively believed that every person I came across was there serendipitously to help me, which led to thousands of dollars being stolen from my charity (I got it back!) as well as other incredible and distressing stories. I finished my own coast-to-coast crossing, then was so short on my fundraising goal that I felt disappointed in the effort, something of which I didn’t have words for within the bustle of celebrations, interviews and congratulations for my athletic achievement. Others seemed elated for me, while I wondered ‘Why run all the way across America for only$56,000?’.

I was in the last set of a 20 minute workout –10 pull-ups, followed by a 14-pound medicine ball toss to a nine-foot target 20 times, followed by 30 calories on the rower. All that four times over within twenty minutes. Or, that was the goal and I was deep in it. Deep into counting reps. Deep into focused breathing. Deep into the earned pain of an endurance workout. The timer ticked up past 17 minutes and 39 seconds. 40 seconds. 41 seconds…I moved from the ball toss to the rower. 

Breathing heavy, I tucked my toes under the foot straps. A bead of sweat ran from my forehead down my nose, then plunged off my face onto the machine like I wished to do onto the floor. Instead, I took a deep breath. I pushed hard with my legs while pulling the bar toward my chest, and the unit’s display flashed to life. Calorie one. 

Finishing a workout on the rower is tough. It’s easy to get sloppy with the motion. There’s a place to sit and the equipment naturally pulls you into a hunched position. You can move and feel like you’re accomplishing something, but if your form isn’t dialed, you’ll make sluggish progress. Even when you’re not exhausted, it’s important to tighten your core, straighten your spine and drive with your legs while also pulling with your upper body. There’s an ideal range of motion, too. You coil your body together like a spring under tension at the short, then you explode off the platform through the middle, and tighten, tilt and pull at the length. Changing the form makes you inefficient, costing you precious time and energy per stroke. You’ll be there longer if you coil too tight or shorten the range or slip into any number of things that happen when you’re tired and don’t will your body to do what’s best, rather than succumbing to its relentless aching. Add in the rhythm of your breathing and cadence, and that’s a lot to manage.

Forged is a word that keeps coming up for me this week. As in, sturdy; fortified; tested. That’s how I feel about myself now. Stronger. I Googled the word for its meaning because I love to know the root of words and names. “Copied fraudulently; fake.” I winced....

I am growing. I feel it in my thoughts and actions. I can’t say that I’ve always welcomed it, because its come from difficult challenges, but I can’t deny the results. And in acceptance I wonder if this growth is exactly what is needed for what’s ahead. I know it is....

In the twilight hours of a Saturday morning I raged at God, calling him an unyielding bitch. I told him that I didn’t care that his ways are greater than mine; I didn’t give a fuck about his ways. I wanted what I wanted. I wanted my niece to live. Twenty miles north...

I slept on a velour futon couch for six months. The sofa was located inside a 1994 Ford A-class motorhome. You know the kind—one of those bus type vehicles with a massive picture window at the front that you see driving down the interstate with a pair of retired folk...