It Started with Thirty Seconds
- Oct 3, 2025
- 2 min read
By Robyn Godfrey
It started with thirty seconds. That tiny, almost laughable amount of time cracked open a doorway. I couldn’t define it yet, but it pulsed with possibility.
I worked as a corporate sales rep who projected a flawless image. Banana Republic dresses, Stiletto heels. Manicured nails. I darted between airports and conference rooms, hosted client dinners, closed deals over cocktails, and smiled for every handshake and photo. On the outside, I looked like success.
Inside, I ran on adrenaline, caffeine, and pinot noir. The pace crushed me. Late nights bled into early mornings. Somewhere along the way, I lost the woman who existed without the business card and travel itinerary.
One morning in a Tampa hotel room, after three hours of sleep and too much wine, I dragged myself out of bed. I woke up groggy, foggy, and admittedly probably still drunk. My head pounded. My mouth scraped dry. I caught my reflection in the mirror. Matted hair. Mascara smudged into dark half-moons.
The truth hit hard like a punch in the face. I no longer recognized the woman staring back.
Shame. Exhaustion. Disgust. Those words bounced around in my head.
I did not have a plan. No vision board. No motivational playlist. Just instinct. I walked into the hotel gym, climbed onto the treadmill, and ran. I had not run since middle school track when I was thirteen. Thirty seconds was all I could manage. My legs burned, my lungs screamed, and I stepped off gasping for air.
The effort barely registered in the moment but a flicker of pride cut through the shame. I had moved. I had acted. And that was enough to make me keep at it.
Over months, thirty seconds stretched into a minute. A minute pushed into a mile. A mile carried me to my first 5K. I rebuilt trust with myself, keeping one small promise after another.
Then life blindsided me, my husband’s stage 4 cancer diagnosis hit like a punch in the face. Overnight, our world turned into hospital rooms, scans, and surgeries. Fear moved in and unpacked its bags.
I fought back by running. On the road, I could breathe, cry, and remind myself I could still move forward. Some days, I shuffled through a single mile. Other days, I pounded pavement until the heaviness loosened its grip. But I kept going.
Over the years, those thirty seconds propelled me across finish lines in New York, London, Tokyo, Boston, Berlin, and Chicago, and earned me the Six Star Medal for completing all the World Marathon Majors. I racked up seven marathons, four triathlons, and even an ultramarathon.
But the medals don’t tell the real story. The real story lives in how I became my own best friend. I showed up for myself, no matter how hard, messy, or uncertain the path.
Hesitation still taps me on the shoulder. It always will. But I’ve learned not to wait for courage to arrive. I move forward in the smallest way I can, even when doubt lingers.
Sometimes, thirty seconds is all it takes to change your whole life.
Connect With Robyn
@beachy_runner
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