Community, stories and inspiration for active women

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Many Stories, One Movement
On a journey? Then you belong here. Every woman has a story, and Fellow Flowers is the space for sharing them. We started as a group of women training for a race, and ended up running ourselves into a nationwide movement. Now, we’re a virtual sisterhood united through story, strength, celebration, and one powerful symbol—the flower we wear as we pound the pavement. Over 30,000 women have joined Fellow Flowers so far (and a few supportive men, too). Now it’s your turn to put your best foot forward. You can do it—we know, because we did. And we’ve got your back. Learn More
 
So, What’s with the Flower?
The flower you wear gets to the heart of why you run. We have 13 different colors, each offering important messages that fuel the purpose behind your miles and workouts. By wearing it, you gain the opportunity to honor your own story while connecting with other women owning theirs. We all run our own race in life and on the pavement, but the flower lets us find fierce friendships and encouragement along the way. Learn More
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Stories, Style, & Inspiration from the blog

are you the arrow or the ocean waves?

I ran a 10-mile race on Saturday. Completely unplanned. Spur of the moment. No goal in mind. I woke up Saturday morning with a capable, prepared and ready body where running a 10-mile race felt like an invitation. Even with my hubby out of town and three soccer games staring me down, I had a window

It’s probably you.

It’s probably you. I know you want to place it out there. I know you want to blame something or someone. I know you want to justify inaction with unfair circumstances. I know. But maybe that resistance you’re feeling is because facing change is hard. Maybe that anger you’re feeling is about a boundary you

Ladies, grab your buckets and find the flames

I love when people who have been through hell walk out of the flames carrying buckets of water for those still consumed by the fire. – Stephanie Sparkles This is motherhood to me. This is the beauty and brokenness of Mother’s Day. This is the real, unspoken ‘can we be honest’ version. Not flowers, not