Lily Writes

At a certain age, I got hit with a completely irrational desire to run a marathon.

Not watch one.

Run one.

This was particularly absurd because I was, at the time, a dedicated couch potato. I didn’t run. I couldn’t even do a 5K without feeling personally betrayed by oxygen.

But there was this strange pull inside me. A tuning fork humming somewhere deep in my chest telling me: You need to do this.

My family was… skeptical.

There was a lot of “Well. We’ll see about that.”

Fair enough.

So I did what I always do when I become obsessed with something: research.

I built a training plan around my work schedule. Some mornings started at 4 a.m. with strength training before work. Other days meant walking in the door exhausted, immediately changing into running clothes, and forcing myself back outside for three miles. Five miles. Hill repeats.

I ran those hills so many times an elderly neighbor once came outside to ask if I needed help.

Nope.

Just voluntarily suffering.

Somewhere along the way, though, the training became addictive. Not the running exactly—the progression. The tiny milestones stacking on top of each other. The slow realization that impossible things become possible if you keep showing up long enough.

I targeted Disney World for my marathon.

Flat terrain? Check.  (Gravity sucks—hills are the worst!)

Visual landmarks? Check.

People running in costumes? Absolutely check. (I have a Cinderella running costume—of course I do.)

To prepare for the “race atmosphere,” I signed up for a local 5K with my brother-in-law and nieces.

That was it.

I was hooked.

This first training plan required eleven months to complete. Couch potato to marathon.

Around month two, my husband started getting nervous about me running alone on roads and trails, so he offered to train too.

Important note: also a couch potato.

Soon it became our thing.

Then my girlfriends talked me into doing the Princess Half Marathon weekend at Disney. They would “support” me from the sidelines while drinking cocktails and cheering.

Traitors.

My older sister—still deeply amused by this entire personality transformation—agreed to do the 5K part with me.

The photo of her holding her first medal?

Priceless.

And then she got hooked.

Which became mildly annoying because she had more free time for training and significantly cuter workout clothes. In no time she was stronger and faster than I was.

Sisters.

Over those marathon years, I learned things that had very little to do with running:

• Big goals survive by being broken into small ones.
• Rain, snow, and sleet are terrible excuses.
• Twenty miles on a treadmill is psychological warfare.
• The medal was never really the point.

The joy came from the training.

From becoming someone who showed up consistently.

Someone willing to do hard things.

I loved those years.

And then the stress fractures started.

So I stopped running.

I still go to the gym.

I still hate treadmills.

Some things never change.

So why am I thinking about marathons right now?

Because yesterday felt exactly like one.

I wrote almost 20,000 words in a single day.

Started at 6 a.m.  Didn’t close the laptop until almost 10 p.m.

Absolute insanity.

Yes, I took breaks. Sat outside in the sunshine for a while. Walked around the block. Ate food like a responsible human.

But mentally?

I never left the story.

Love Hold has been building in my head for over a year. Notes. Snippets. Emotional scenes. Playlist songs. Little fragments waiting for the right moment.

I knew Casey and Jay’s story was going to hurt a little.

The good kind of hurt.

This is my third MM romance and somewhere along the way I’ve apparently become deeply attached to emotionally complicated rockstars.

No regrets.

But this one feels different.

Special.

It’s emotional. Intimate. A little angsty. Deeply romantic. The kind of story that grabs you by the throat and refuses to let go until the final page.

Honestly? I think all those marathon years prepared me for writing days like yesterday.

Because writing a novel sometimes is endurance training.

You show up.

You trust the process.

You keep going even when your brain is tired and your sentences wobble and you’re not sure you can make it to the finish line.

And then suddenly…

You do.

Check out the playlist that fueled my accidental writing marathon and helped shape Love Hold.