Yoga on the Run: How the Cabot Trail Relay Became My Post-Surgery Pilgrimage

 

Good morning and happy Monday, everybody!

Now, let me be upfront: this isn’t really a yoga blog post. It’s about running. But I’m going to pull the yoga philosophy card here (again), and say: yoga is not just poses on a mat. It’s a mindset. It’s a way of living, breathing, moving, and healing. So yes, I’ll say “yoga” here and there, but this story is really about what happens when you literally listen to your heart.

Nine Weeks Ago

Nine weeks ago, I had a 24-second cardiac pause—the final diagnostic straw that led to me getting a pacemaker. The surgery happened quickly, with little time to process what it would mean for my lifestyle.

In the recovery room, high on hospital meds, my surgeon (who happened to be a runner) told me:
"No running for six weeks."

To which I replied, “Is that negotiable?”
(It was not.)

I told him I was already registered for the Fredericton Half Marathon and the Cabot Trail Relay—a dream I’d been holding onto for years. The surgeon understood. He has run CTRR. He knew what it meant to have your heart set on a race and your heart (literally) say no.

A Beautiful Yes

Earlier this year, when the opportunity came to join a Cabot Trail Relay team, founded by my partner, I said YES. Roy is no longer the captain. That role is held by the lovely Sara. It was an absolute honor and joy to run with Roy and the other impressive humans on the team called They Might Be Runners.

Oh boy, am I glad I did.

But that left me with exactly two weeks to prepare for the race after my recovery window.
Two. Weeks.

In that time, I ran short, fast intervals (3K at a time) and relied deeply on my yoga mindset. I meditated on my goals. I practiced pranayama (breathwork). I visualized myself strong and steady even if I wasn’t hitting long distances.

Meeting the Mat (or Not)

For context, the Cabot Trail Relay is no joke. It's 17 legs of pure, wild, Nova Scotia beauty and very challenging. Runners are expected to maintain a 5:50/km pace to avoid “missing the mat.” Literally. They roll up the timing mat and move to the next leg.

I gave my team captain, Sara, the option to cut me from the team. I told her my training was limited, and I might not make the mat. She said, “No pressure. Just do your best.”

But then I found out that only three runners per team can miss the mat before it jeopardizes their spot in next year’s race.

Pressure? Oh yeah. But yogi mindset? Still intact.

My Leg of the Race

I started strong on Leg 3. First kilometer: 5:11/km.
I was crushing it.

At the 5K mark, I was well under the cutoff pace.

But then… came the hills. The rolling, unrelenting hills before Cape Smokey (the legendary Leg 4). Each rolling hill got steeper. My pace slowed. And just before I rounded the final bend toward the finish—they rolled up the mat.

I missed it by 1 minute or so.

I didn’t even see it happen. My partner did—standing at the corner, watching me come in strong, but just a hair too late.

And yet—I have never been prouder.

Finding My People

After my leg, Sarah told me about Dan, another team member who had a cardiac event.
I found him and we had an “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” moment. I placed my hand on my chest, and said:

“I had a pacemaker implanted nine weeks ago.”

He pulled up his sleeve and showed me a tattoo: a red heart, a runner inside, and the date of his own cardiac event.

We didn’t have time to talk so he said just two words to me:
“Cardiac Athletes.”
Well, maybe a few more words than that. But that’s all that stuck.

I looked it up Cardiac Athletes on the drive home. And I found them.
I FOUND MY PEOPLE.

These are folks like me—runners, cyclists, triathletes—who’ve had cardiac interventions and keep going. Some have to adapt. Some actually perform better. But all of them, like me, refused to stop moving.

The Yoga of It All

Where was yoga in all this?

It was everywhere.

• In the mental training: meditating on goals, shifting expectations, staying present.

• In the physical resilience: twisting myself into a human pretzel in the backseat of a car between two six-foot runners.

• In the connections: the conversations, the kindness, the shared breath of anticipation at each leg.

• In the pranayama before my run that made my cheer squad laugh and helped me fly out of the gate like a gazelle with a pacemaker.
  

Even in the smallest ways like toe yoga (yes, it’s a thing!) or the shared stories of daily practice, yoga was the quiet thread that ran through everything.

Reflections from the Road

Now, back home, I’m reflecting.

What went well? What could I improve for next year?
How will I train differently? (Answer: hills. So many hills.)

But mostly, I’m sitting in awe and gratitude.

I was the only new person on the team. The others have been running together for decades. And yet, I was welcomed, cheered, and celebrated.

I’ll be back next year. And the year after that.
And for 25 more, gods willing.

Will I run Cape Smokey? Probably not.
But will I show up, heart-forward, pacemaker-beeping, yoga-fueled?

You bet.

To my team, to Dan, to cardiac athletes everywhere, to my breath and my body, to yoga, to the road: thank you.

And to my fellow humans reading this?

Don’t let your heart stop you.
Let it lead you.

—Kris Murphy