What If You Knew It Was Your Last Breath?
On mortality, healing, and the version of myself I want to meet at the end
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Hmmm. I’m curious how this one is going to land with you today lol.
First: this isn’t a post about running but it starts there.
The last time I ran was August 9th. It was one of those muggy but oddly beautiful mornings where the air felt thick but clear. The sun was already high, and the sky had that washed-out kind of brightness that makes you squint just to think. I was surrounded by friends. Smiling, yapping away.
But limping inside.
What I remember most from that run is the way I lied to myself. I told myself I could push through the last few miles. That the pain in my heel wasn’t real-real. That it was just a little flare-up. That I’d try again tomorrow!!!!
The classic internal gaslight reel of any endurance athlete who is both disciplined and delusional.
I didn’t know then that a fracture was quietly cracking in my heel.
I came home, cupped my calves, stuffed toe spacers between my tired feet, curled up on the couch, and did what we humans do best when we’re desperate for distraction disguised as healing: I turned on the TV.
A friend had mentioned Limitless on Disney+, and I figured—sure, why not? Chris Hemsworth doing some health experiments. Sounds like a solid, half-distracted watch while I rot and recover! And it started how I expected—fasting, breathwork, cold plunges, mental endurance.
But then came the final episode. And here we are :)
The episode is about death.
Specifically, accepting it.
Chris wears an aging suit, meets with those who live in the shadow of death daily, and simulates the physical deterioration of the body. You know, light stuff for a Sunday.
There’s a woman. Young, with stage 4 breast cancer. She speaks with a clarity I haven’t been able to forget. She aches to age. To experience the very things we complain about. Her relationship with time is not abstract. It’s sharp. Counted. Real. And something about her words cut through me in a way no morning affirmation or podcast ever has.
Naturally, my mind spiraled to the people I’ve lost. The ache of wondering what it feels like to know your breath is one of your last. Whether acceptance is possible. Whether it comes quietly or not at all.
And then—what trulyyyy got me—was the episode ending with exposure therapy. Chris lies on a stretcher in a white room. A simulated final moment. A guided meditation asks him to let go of everything: his name, his body, his wife, his children.
It’s not haunting in the ghostly sense. It’s haunting in the truth sense. With the kind of truth that makes you sit very, very still...
That scene made me realize: I live with a lot of fear.
Fear of messing up.
Fear of not doing enough.
Fear of missing out, missing people, missing the point.
But if I knew I was dying?
I wouldn’t care about most of it. And a lot of those fears would suddenly feel… pointless. And back to honesty, this is where I debated ending today’s piece. I thought, “I’ve made my point. Let them sit in that.” But a main reason I’m writing in the first place, sharing something so tender, awkward, and real…is because that episode reminded me how rarely we let ourselves go there.
Not just think about death.
But feel the life we’re living right now.
Because something about that episode reminded me how easy it is to overcomplicate this whole thing. This life. We’re all so busy—trying to be everything and know everything and optimize everything. We try so hard to plan perfectly, to control…and yet simply: time takes… time.
And if we don’t pause to reflect to ask the uncomfortable questions, how will we know if the life we’re building actually feels like ours?? This isn’t a plea to live every day like it’s your last. That’s not realistic lol. We’re human. We have meetings and groceries and moods. (And we’d all be broke and emotionally depleted by next Wednesday.)
Buttt what I am realizing is that reflection isn’t a one-time event.
It’s brick-by-brick.
Choice-by-choice.
Return-by-return.
And it's about remembering. Returning. To the fact that time is soft and slow and sacred. And that reflection is required.
When I think about death, yes—of course I think about those I’ve lost. But in this season, I’m thinking about myself, too. Because I want the version of me who takes her last breath to be proud.
Proud of the titles I earned, the goals I chased, the things I built. AND proud of the quiet moments I chose not to rush. All the love I allowed. All the presence I practiced. All the days I lived not just to accomplish something, but to feel something.
So here’s the moment we all pretend not to scroll past.
A Prompt For You:
What would shift if you knew your time was finite?
I made a list below in hopes it helps you make yours. It’s raw duh. A bit messy. Painfully honest yikes. And no, no NO, this is not me telling you to “live like you were dying” in Tim McGraw’s voice. Just a gentle reminder, for your Sunday read, that we can live some days like we finally remembered what matters.
With grace,
EGE
24 Shifts I’d Make If I Knew I Was Dying:
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