Can we all agree that running 250 miles straight is objectively insane? Runners pay good money to endure blistered feet, hungry bellies, and a lack of horizontal rest for days on end. 🫠
Last week, I got a front row seat to this madness. Our family was the support crew for my cousin-in-law, who ran the Cocodona 250. Because we homeschool, the four of us turned it into a little road-schooling action. While my husband paced our runner for 26 miles, the boys and I enjoyed outdoor school at the campsite before fishing for the afternoon and eventually picking my husband up the road in Sedona.
Every time I watch events like the Cocodona 250, it inspires the hell out of me.
For a split second, I imagine doing the thing (then remember how many headaches I get while running and how scared I get running in the dark outside 🤪). Still, I want to be a part of it. I want the challenge. Not necessarily the physical carnage that happens while running long distances, but the spirit of it: being outside, opting for a dirt nap, gathering a crew to rally around a massive goal, and pushing your limits just to see exactly what you’re capable of. THAT is some inspiring stuff right there.
But watching someone run 250 miles is a reminder that we are allowed to be more than just fine. We are allowed to be audacious.
We’re told that adulthood is the place where big, scary, exhilarating dreams go to be replaced by sensible routines. We’re taught to play it safe, to stay within the lines, and to listen to the cautious whispers of friends and relatives who warn us not to rock the boat.
One of my mentors asked me years ago to consider a question deep in my soul: “What do you REALLY want?”
The surface-level answer was easy—a healthy, happy family and a decent income. But it’s taken years of digging to find the grit underneath. This week, the real answer finally surfaced:
I want to do more cool stuff as a family.
I want to travel on our terms.
I want to live without the heavy burdens that keep us tethered to a desk so we can cheer people on, write creative essays in the dirt, and live out science lessons at a state park lagoon.
I want to stretch my limits in a new sport at the ripe age of 42.
I want the margin to sit with my 105-year-old grandma every Thursday for lunch.
I want the space to go roller skating for PE or hike a new trail or visit a new playground.
I want the freedom to sip coffee from new locations while hearing other people’s stories.
Life is happening now. Not when the kids graduate, not when the bank account hits a certain number, and definitely not when we finally feel qualified to try something new.
And if I want my kids to be brave, curious, and resilient, I can’t just hand them a textbook about it. I have to model it.
Since starting to homeschool, I’ve fallen in love with archery—not because I had a lifelong burning desire to be Robin Hood, but because it offers a personal challenge alongside a calming environment. The boys love it too for the same reason.
And it’s not just archery we’ve discovered. Suddenly, through our adventures, we’re talking about hunting, camping, and seeing more of the world together. It’s opening doors to music, too (and weirdly, I’m feeling a magnetic pull to learn the drums of all things).
The win isn't just the finish line of a 250-mile race. It’s the character built during the hardship. It’s the realization that when we trust our own intuition over the warnings of the world, we find a level of joy that a predictable life simply can't offer.
Homeschooling, for us, is the vehicle for that audacity.
It’s not about avoiding worksheets (because oddly, I still love a good worksheet). It’s about making the learning process an actual, high-definition adventure for both the teacher 🙋♀️ and the student 🧍♂️🧍🏼.
It’s about the memories, the lack of soul-crushing overwhelm, and the inherent wisdom that only comes when you’re brave enough to just go.
Starting soon (after Maycember finally ends for us all), I’m kicking off a daily series about exactly this: how to do more cool stuff with your kids. It’ll be a one-minute read about finding the fun again, trusting your gut, and building a life where the learning happens in the gaps between the great stuff.
Because as homeschooling families, we might not be running 250 miles, but we’re definitely going somewhere one adventure at a time.