Love on the other side of a Transcon

This post reflects on the four months Shan and I were apart when he ran across the country in 2020, and gives a peek into the thoughts and feelings I’ve carried with me since then. This year marks our fifth holiday season together, our second as husband and wife. ❤️ We’re living our happily ever after—but it took some patience to get here.

Once upon a time, in August 2020, after months in our little COVID lockdown bubble, I watched Shan climb into his campervan and drive away. He was heading to San Francisco, the starting point of his transcontinental run. He’d lost his job during the pandemic, and while many people were retreating inward, he was setting out on a journey of a lifetime.

It was hard to watch him leave. We agreed it wasn’t goodbye, just “see you soonish,” but I still felt a mix of emotions: admiration, pride, uncertainty, and worry. The scope of what he was about to do felt overwhelming. I knew the run would be a success, but I wasn’t sure what it would mean for us. I tried to ignore the possibility that time and distance might change things between us.

As Shan ran, his crew chief handled the day-to-day logistics, driving the camper van and supporting him along the route. From home, I focused on being his emotional anchor. I wanted him to know that someone was in his corner, cheering him on, and keeping a light on at home. I sent messages full of love and unwavering support. It may not have looked like much from the outside, but I like to believe my steady presence helped him keep going.

But the journey wasn’t without complications.

Shan’s daily runs went largely as planned, but the dynamic between him and his crew chief—and between me and his crew chief—created unexpected tension. Plans for me to meet up with them in the Midwest quietly fell apart. Instead, I doubled down on my role from afar: helping him stay focused on his mission, celebrating milestones, and counting down the miles until we’d see each other again. His calls lifted both of our spirits, and tracking his progress, via social media, Strava, and FaceTime, added a beautiful, aching energy to our eventual reunion.

When Shan crossed the finish line in Connecticut, I was there smiling proudly and cheering for him behind my mask. I was dying to embrace and kiss him, but was forced to watch from a distance due to COVID restrictions. He ran to the ocean with his crew chief, news cameras following them as they celebrated his amazing accomplishment. He had run across the country! It was the end of his run and the start of our next chapter. I was bursting with pride for what he had achieved and for what we had endured. The distance hadn’t broken us. If anything, it strengthened something deep and unshakeable. When he finally made it home, it felt like we had both crossed a finish line. I knew he was my person when he started that run—and he’s still my person today, reading a book on the couch beside me. 🥰

I still think about his run with a mix of awe and wistfulness. I wish there had been no tension. I wish I had been there with him (and I know he does too). For a long time, I thought that our shared cycling and running adventures would help me move past the stress and sadness I carried. But no matter how memorable our new adventures are, they can’t erase the past or overwrite the nonsense from those months. The conversations and texts I’ve tried to forget, the posts and photos that made me feel left out, those are part of our story, too.

The weird and uncertain moments of Shan’s 2020 run aren’t meant to be forgotten. I hold onto them, not to dwell (although I admit I do that more than I should), but to remember, to learn, and to embrace. What we went through was raw, imperfect, and real. It revealed our vulnerabilities while leading us to discover what our love is made of - patience, forgiveness, and acceptance. His run became an unexpected and bittersweet test of endurance for both of us, a reflection of the deep connection we share. It had been right there all along; all it took was an epic run across the country (a dream of a lifetime), the commitment of a handsome ultrarunner, and the patience of a crazy-in-love girl.

Instead of grieving those months apart, I am slowly learning to honor them. Because when I pause, take a deep breath, and look around, it's undeniable: life on the other side of the Transcon has been pretty *bleeping* amazing.