Growth Beyond Obstacles

It’s wild to say this, but I’m officially deep into training for my 5K on June 14, and this week was the first time it really felt real. I’ve been posting every single day on TikTok under @kavanhorn with updates, insights, and everything that comes with being post-VSG, training hard, and choosing to run toward the life I’ve worked so hard to rebuild. There’s also a link in my bio that has all my social handles for anyone who wants to follow the journey more closely.

This week wasn’t just about distance, pace, or trail conditions. It was about healing, about remembering where I came from, and realizing just how much I’ve transformed—not just in weight, but in worth. And as I reflect on my recent trip to Virginia, I can’t help but sit with the deeper meaning of all of this. Healing, movement, community, and spirituality have all collided into one very personal but very public race: the race back to myself.

Daily Dedication: A New Kind of Discipline

This week, I hit a rhythm with my 5K training. Not every day was easy, but every day happened. Some days I walked fast, other days I jogged or did intervals. One day I went out and hit the trails—real dirt, real inclines, real sweat. It was 75 degrees and sunny, and I felt the burn in my calves in the best way.

What’s new this time around isn’t just the consistency—it’s that I’ve been documenting everything. TikTok has become my digital accountability partner. Every morning or afternoon, I post a check-in, whether it’s a recap of my run, a thought that crossed my mind while walking, or even a glimpse at what I ate or how I hydrated post-workout. I call it my 53 Days to 5K series, and it’s one of the most honest things I’ve ever shared online.

Why? Because it’s not just about finishing the race. It’s about showing up for myself every single day. When you’ve lived through what I have—battling chronic illness, navigating surgery recovery, experiencing body dysmorphia, and relearning self-worth—you learn that showing up isn’t always glamorous. Sometimes, it’s messy, slow, and tearful. But it’s also transformative.

Virginia: The Place That Broke Me, and the Place That Brought Me Back

Last month, I returned to Virginia for the first time in four years. It was emotional, overwhelming, and healing in ways I still haven’t fully processed. That trip was a homecoming—not to a place, but to a part of myself I’d buried. I went there to honor a friend’s passing, but I left with something even more sacred: peace.

You see, Virginia was the site of some of my deepest wounds. It was where I experienced spiritual abuse, rejection, and the kind of pain that drives someone away from the Church. For years, I carried shame and grief like a second skin. And yet, going back this time, I didn’t feel broken—I felt whole. I reconnected with people who once knew the old me. And to my surprise, they saw the new me and celebrated her.

Being back in Virginia reminded me that healing doesn’t erase the past—it redeems it.

The 99 and the 1: A Message That Hit Home

During my weekly coaching call last week, I brought up something that had been sitting heavy on my heart. It came from a conversation about community—specifically, how we treat the people who drift away. In the Bible, there’s a parable about the shepherd who leaves the 99 sheep to go after the one that is lost. It’s a beautiful picture of grace, pursuit, and love that doesn’t give up.

But what happens when we are the 99? Are we willing to leave our cozy bubble to go after the one who’s hurting? Too often, we don’t. We stay in our little social circles, comfortable and safe. We tell ourselves, “They’ll come back when they’re ready,” or “God’s got them.”

But here’s the truth: you might be the one person they’re waiting for. The one text, the one call, the one “hey, I noticed you’ve been quiet lately” that shifts something in their spirit.

This realization struck me hard, because for years, I was the one who disappeared. And no one came. No one asked. And that silence felt like abandonment. I don’t want to be that person to someone else. I want to be the one who goes after the one—even if it’s uncomfortable, even if it’s messy, even if they don’t respond right away.

Post-VSG Perspective: A Journey of More Than Weight Loss

Since my gastric sleeve surgery (VSG), I’ve lost over 160 pounds. That’s not just a number—it’s a whole person. But what’s more significant is the emotional weight I’ve shed. The guilt, the fear, the self-loathing, the shame. They’ve all started to fade, little by little, mile by mile.

Training for this 5K has given me a new sense of purpose. It’s not about being the fastest. It’s about honoring the body I have now, treating it with love, and seeing how far it can go—not in spite of surgery, but because of healing.

Some days, my joints ache. Some days, I’m tired and frustrated because the scale doesn’t move. But then I lace up my shoes, hit the pavement, and remember why I started. This isn’t about the finish line. It’s about showing up for this moment.

The Healing Marathon: Lessons from the Last Few Months

Healing has been my greatest project this year—not just physically, but spiritually and emotionally.

Healing looks like:

Drinking more water, even when I don’t feel like it Saying “no” to people who drain my energy Saying “yes” to new challenges like 5K training Releasing bitterness from old church hurt Choosing connection over isolation Sharing the journey, even when it’s vulnerable Letting God in again—even after years of pushing Him away

I’ve learned that healing isn’t always a single breakthrough moment. Sometimes, it’s a thousand little decisions to keep moving forward. It’s asking for help. It’s letting someone in. It’s going to Virginia, facing the past, and choosing to write a new ending.

Running Toward the Life I Deserve

I don’t run for the applause. I run for the woman who couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs without gasping for air. I run for the girl who cried in dressing rooms and canceled plans because she felt like a burden. I run for the woman I’ve become—strong, healed, and finally free.

This 5K is a metaphor for everything I’ve fought for. It’s about reclaiming my health, yes, but also my joy. It’s a way of telling myself: You’re not who you were. You’ve come too far to stop now.

If you’ve been following my TikTok series, you’ve seen it all—the sweat, the slow days, the trail adventures, the treadmill victories. Thank you for cheering me on. Your comments, encouragement, and support mean more than you know. And if you haven’t joined the journey yet, now’s the perfect time to start.

Follow along at @kavanhorn and check out the link in my bio for all my platforms. I’ll be posting daily as we count down to race day—sharing the hard, the healing, and the hope.

Final Reflections: You’re Not Alone

If you’re reading this and you feel like the one who’s gone missing—please hear me: You matter. We see you. You’re not forgotten.

And if you’re part of the 99, take a moment to look around. Who’s missing? Who needs your reach? Healing isn’t just a solo act—it’s a community effort. It takes all of us being willing to leave our comfort zones and pursue the ones who’ve wandered.

This week reminded me that I’m no longer running from pain—I’m running toward healing, connection, and purpose.

One mile at a time.

Thank you for reading.

Kaylee Ann.