Story & Lesson Highlights with Beth Connolly of Hampton, NH

We’re looking forward to introducing you to Beth Connolly. Check out our conversation below.

Beth, we’re thrilled to have you with us today. Before we jump into your intro and the heart of the interview, let’s start with a bit of an ice breaker: What do the first 90 minutes of your day look like?
Full disclosure, I am not innately a morning person. If you do not believe me, feel free to survey anyone who has had the pleasure of witnessing my morning demeanor. I prefer to more naturally rise well after the sun and absolutely divorced from the unpleasant tone of an alarm. Adulting, unfortunately, has not afforded me such charm, however. Therefore, I have a system that includes one permitted “Snooze” rotation followed by a 60-second countdown to the semi-resistant bed exit launch. The sound of my feet hitting the hardwood floor is inevitably preceded by the gentle landing of four clawed paws as Archie lands (likely holding a ball in his mouth, ready to party). The day always gets better from here. Because now it’s time to shake things up in an effort to settle them down.
Not only has movement become part of my job, it also forms the foundation for other parts of my life. The first 90 minutes of each day almost always include activity intended to set my mindset toward presence, success, peace, and grounding all the while creating connection with my physical self.
The manifestation and pace of my movement varies from day to day; variety is, in fact, the spice of life. Some days my movement requires a tight, pink swim cap and involves the kicks and splashes of an unconventional stroke as I repetitively move up and down the lanes at the local pool. Other days, the click of my helmet signals the start of my personal Tour de town chauffeured by the grit of my quads, two thin wheels, and a set of well-worn handlebars. A teal yoga mat, sweat towel, and a 94 degree room become the stage for gentle stretching and much-needed reminders for self-compassion and balance at least a couple of times per week. And finally, while many of my miles are now shared with clients, I reserve some personal and treasured strides for myself. My happiest paces are shared with my two fur-besties who remind me to stop and smell the grass, mark my territory, and bark with joy.
Regardless of how my motion takes shape, it is precious time and instrumental to the progression of my day. The days where I do not make space for movement stand out in ways that reinforce my reasons why I do. Those 90 minutes are my mental planning period, my release and reset. They are my visit to the metaphorical gas station for a fill-up. My movement forms a flashlight into myself; I plug my mind back into the outlet of my body. My morning movement awakens my senses, fills me with strength, and reinforces my capacity to face the challenges of the day ahead.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Beth Connolly and I am a clinical psychologist. I have completed 127 full marathons and have the calluses and occasional blisters to prove it. I run with wings strapped to the laces of my sneakers and have a tattoo on my shoulder that reads, “Head Up, Wings Out.” I generally prefer the company of trees, waves, and animals. I read 12 books last month, most of which were psychological thrillers.
I am a daughter, a wife, a sister, and an aunt to seven of the coolest humans I know; they call me “TT” and light up my life. My camera roll is overflowing with photos of my two favorite subjects, Charlie and Archie- the doodles whom I call my sons. I once won a wetsuit in the dance contest following a triathlon. I went skydiving to celebrate my 30th birthday and one of my most treasured life moments was performing the ceremony for the union of my brother and his partner. I drive a Jeep Wrangler and the decision to do so was primarily influenced by the desire to drive with the wind in my hair and to play the Jeep duck game. I love to give gifts and this game allows me to make random, positive exchanges with Jeep-owning strangers. My Dad’s nickname for me beginning early in life was “Sweaty Betty” and I believe that it may have developed into a form of self-fulfilling prophecy that you would better understand if you ever saw me at the end of a marathon or a workday at this point. I work hard and love to play.
I would say that I have big feelings. Some might even argue that I care too much. I have learned to accept and value my sensitivity and emotionality as part of my life’s gifts. My brother once said about me: “She is good even when no one is watching.” I desperately want to be part of positive change. I cope by doing, helping, and trying to be a better version of me every day. Hope forms the foundation of my choices in life. It was early on, around age 11, in fact, when I decided that I would one day turn these parts of me into a career. After many years of schooling, I eventually earned the four letters behind my name that unlocked the door to the path I have been on for the past 15 years. The eventual confinement of the four walls of an office and clients restricted to the standard therapy couch stifled my full potential to be helpful. It was the desire to move change along combined with my firsthand experience of the healing power of running that eventually translated into taking literal action with my clients in practice. I got out of my seat and asked them to do the same; I asked them to run and talk with me. It is my belief that if you want to go forward, you must literally take steps forward. This was part of the thinking that evolved into my practice, This is My Happy Pace: Therapeutic Running Services, PLLC.
If you run into me on a Happy Pace workday, you might give me a onceover after hearing that I am a psychologist and observing my seemingly nontraditional attire: a pair of yoga pants and a technical shirt accompanied by a pair of purple Hoka sneakers. Running and walking therapy takes on a very different look than office-based therapy; the tears and sweat are not always the result of the content but may rather be exacerbated by the process. Where lights and computers end in the office, sunshine and wind begin in a running session. My office now consists of fresh air, the sand, and views of the sea. My desk has taken the form of my Jeep’s trunk and is packed with water, sunscreen, rain ponchos, tissues, and a variety of clothing attire (New England has a lot of seasons).
As my practice approaches its sixth anniversary, I continue to learn and grow with each client and every pace I encounter. I am inspired by the strength I have the pleasure to observe. I am grateful for the opportunity to walk or run beside my clients as they uncover their resilience and settle their minds and bodies. I feel fortunate to share something that has helped me with others who might benefit. And I appreciate the ways nature heals just by holding space when you need it. My practice and goals are ever-evolving and I would like to find ways expand the impact of this movement movement. Stay tuned for more dreams coming to fruition. I hope to one day take the Happy Pace initiative on the road and visit schools across the nation. Archie will soon be my official sidekick as he continues to master his therapy dog training. And please keep your eyes peeled for my children’s book series and self-help book coming to a shelf near you.

Amazing, so let’s take a moment to go back in time. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
During a recent travel experience, I had the opportunity and unexpected gift to encounter a young girl by the name of Evelyn. My husband and I had arisen before the sun and arrived to the local airport for an early morning flight. We both stood bleary-eyed in front of the Southwest Airlines gate; we each clutched our Dunkin’ coffees as we stifled yawns between sips of caffeine. Despite my drowsy demeanor and low level of alertness, I suddenly became aware of an animated voice speaking excitedly to a fellow underwhelmed adult. As the voice moved through the crowd, it eventually found its way toward my location, allowing me to view its source: a young girl of under five years with blond hair.
The character whom I would eventually learn to be named Evelyn was well under 48 inches tall and wore a bright pink “Kindness” T-shirt to match her sparkly, pink cowboy boots. Evelyn greeted each party by which she walked and chatted away seemingly without concern for response from her environment. While I could not hear all details of her monologue, it was impossible to miss the joy and energy that were expressed through her words. It was as she neared the gate that Evelyn was observed to stop abruptly when she spotted a human of similar stature who was waiting alongside his parents and siblings.
Evelyn immediately took the opportunity to introduce herself while inquiring about the name of the young boy with whom she was talking. She shared her plans for travel, including her eventual destination to see her grandparents in Utah. The two young children proceeded to talk and laugh together until we were cued to board the plane. Evelyn’s demeanor and behavior were magnetic and I found myself observing her with a sense of awe and appreciation.
My husband and I were coincidentally seated only rows behind Evelyn, and within proximity to her new friend, “Henry.” Evelyn had immediately assigned Henry her friendship and proudly introduced him as such for the remainder of the flight. Evelyn narrated the flight movements and takeoff while joyfully engaging with Henry and anyone else who was interested in listening. The in-flight snacks and choice of beverages brought Evelyn to giggle with excitement while she complimented the earrings worn by the flight attendant. While Evelyn eventually succumbed to a nap during the long flight, her personality fully restored and I had the chance to experience her sparkle as she told me about the special trip she was taking with her father.
While this story may seem fairly typical or unremarkable in many ways, it landed in an important place within me. Evelyn represents an important openness, curiosity, genuineness, and energy that many of us possess early on in life. Children oftentimes shine unapologetically and contagiously. It is through experience that we may learn to dim aspects of ourselves or hide these traits or habits the world so desperately needs. This seemingly simple series of exchanges at the airport caused me to reflect on my own proverbial pink, cowboy boots and my own sparkle. The emergence of self-consciousness is an appropriate developmental milestone during childhood; it is also one to be delicately navigated. The preservation of the true self and the celebration of difference without judgment is a dying art. While I experienced some grief and sadness over my reflection on the separation from this part of me, the experience cued me to reconnect with my inner shine and love. Evelyn reminded me that there is a place for raw excitement, connection, and openness even when not matched externally. She showed me that displaying authenticity and joy can create a positive spiral of transformation of energy. She reminded me to allow my younger self to be unafraid; to come out and play. Evelyn was a symbol of the need to appreciate community; to enjoy small blessings; to get excited about your snacks; to authentically share a compliment or positive thought; to see things like it’s the first time you are; to look up at the sky and to enjoy the liftoff.
BONUS ESSAY:
WHAT PART OF YOU SERVED A PURPOSE AND NOW MUST BE RELEASED?
I am made up of so very many parts. My parts have developed out of experiences and events; many are protective of me and all have served their function in one way or another. Some parts are newer to my awareness and others are as familiar to me as my knees and toes. One of my most prominent parts for most of my years is a part whom I lovingly refer to as “Mrs. C.” Like so many of her co-parts, Mrs. C. developed out of a combination of experiences and emotions shaping my early self. While her role has historically been to head off rejection and mistakes while keeping me alert and focused, her services have become ineffective and disruptive to my sense of well-being and peace.
It took some work on my part to recognize that Mrs. C. was not actually me. For many years of my life, her near constant criticism and incessant bullying overshadowed any hint of internal or external input of a different nature from hers. She would show up to make fun of my appearance, interfere with my performance at school or work, and even sabotage relationships when she would convince me that I was not worthy of love. While instinct may suggest that Mrs. C. deserves to be estranged from my world, I alternately possess deep gratitude for her.
Mrs. C. recognized danger and vulnerability in my life and her full-court press of beratement came from a place of preservation. She always wanted me to succeed and to establish the resources I needed to survive, and she learned her tactics in the only way she could. She got me through some difficult moments and helped me to persevere in unfavorable conditions. But I am taking the wheel from here.
Years of laborious effort have taxed Mrs. C. and I have taken it upon myself to release her of her duties for criticism, patronization, and mocking. Her job duties have been completely altered and it is my hope that she will rise to the challenge. She now connects with love and light; she preaches restoration and calm; she reminds me to have compassion left over for me. While the old Mrs. C. periodically lapses into action, she is making significant strides in her new role. With each day she aligns more effectively with her original intentions for safety and protection while wielding a brand new set of tools for sculpting success. Where shame and contempt once existed, Mrs. C . now offers hugs and deep breaths, reassurance and soothing statements, cheers and confetti.

What fear has held you back the most in your life?
The fear that has most profoundly held me back in my life is one made up of layers not unlike an onion. The outermost layer of fear is that of failure, of not succeeding. Fear of failure, however, has only gained its power because it protects against the next layer of fear, that of judgment. The fear of judgment feeds off from the fear of rejection and disappointment, and ultimately loss of connection resulting in loneliness and isolation. These fears only exist because they are fed nutrients from the core of the onion: one giant knot of shame. Shame tells me stories rooted in untruths. It tells me that I am not enough; that I can’t. It weaves a web of narratives intended to instill fear and stunt growth. It breeds compliance and submission; it limits. Shame encourages us to hide and convinces us that exposure will result in alienation. And it is here where I have struggled most.
Shame’s primary source of strength comes from judgment and criticism. Our internal garden where judgment grows was likely tended before we possessed the will to choose its crop. When awareness and choice are cultivated and exercised, we begin to wield the tools necessary to reseed and weed out unwanted roots. We also learn to take responsibility for the care and nurturing of the garden. This is how I began to counter my fears.
As I trace back to the earliest times in my life where fear overpowered me, I can now see its roots so clearly. And as I evolve developmentally, I have also come to recognize that I have the capacity to choose how I respond to judgment and shame. I further recognize that the judgments most harmful to me originated from places I could not ultimately control at one time, but that I no longer had to experience. This insight offered me the power I needed to rewrite my story and shift the judgment from the inside out. Replacing inner judgment with compassion, love, and patience permits healing and the release of shame, ultimately disarming my onion from its core out.

Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. What do you believe is true but cannot prove?
While physical connections and life may cease to exist, energy is ultimately transformed and relationship can be maintained after loss. Memorialization occurs both within the life of the recipient of the connection and externally in the life that is dispersed in the natural world. Receptivity and openness are prerequisites for this truth of mine to occur; but I have experienced it and witnessed it bring great peace and comfort to many. Confirmation bias suggests that we seek out or attend to information that confirms what we already believe to be true, therefore, I can appreciate the skeptics who might be now curious about my credibility and mental status.
We share collective cultural symbols of this truth I reference; many people believe that cardinals symbolize visits from their deceased loved ones. Dragonflies are another representation of life transformed following loss. Some reference receiving “pennies from heaven” and associate found pennies with a gift from above providing them with a sense of connection to an otherwise absent being.
I recall having a conversation with my grandfather well before his exit from this Earth but during a period in his life where the concept of death was a regular visitor to his mind. “Believe” was a word that I regularly attached to across aspects of my life; it provided me with strength during times I felt limited. It fueled me to persevere and seek support outside of myself when it felt empty within. I vividly recall him asking me about my conviction to “believe”– not with skepticism but more in awe and curiosity. I assured him that it was more of a felt sense or intuition than something more tangible than that.
One of my fondest memories of my grandfather was shortly after the aforementioned conversation. I was competing in a half Ironman event not far from where he lived. Despite being well into his 80’s at the time, he maintained his independence and frequently drove his gold Cadillac around town. He caught wind that I would be competing and decided to come out to support his granddaughter. You can imagine my surprise when I realized the commotion ahead of me on the run course of the event was being caused by a man driving his Cadillac near the athletes. My grandfather was focused on finding me and nearly lifted me off my feet as he pulled me into a hug through his car window. His pride that day was palpable and pure. I called him after I finished and he continued to gush over the achievement I had completed.
My grandfather passed away in 2018 and I have seen more gold Cadillacs, and Cadillacs in general, than I ever saw before. I see them most often during moments when I am struggling with something inside, in need of strength and reassurance. I have seen them when I am running marathons; it sometimes causes me to catch my breath and stifle tears. To this day, I wave to the driver of the Cadillac and say, “Hi, Grampa.” This serves as my evidence and that which I believe.
Years ago, I experienced an unexpected and tragic loss of a young life to which I was distantly connected. The death of a teenager with a full life ahead is an event that shakes the core of most individuals even when not directly impacted or related to the child. This individual possessed a precious light and life touting wisdom beyond her years. Illness overpowered her body and I struggled with the senselessness of her death.
I was working at a group practice during the time of her services, which were several hours away from my home. I was the provider on-call for the clinical providers after hours (outside of business hours). It was important to me to attend the services and offer support to her grieving family. I attended the morning service and traveled the distance with my passenger seats holding the weight of sadness and grief. Her image and questions about life, our connection, meaning, and spirituality dominated my brain as I made the midday drive toward home. It was during this time that my pager (yes, I am aware of the archaic nature of such a “tool” even for ten years ago) alert went off. While a typical page would include the number at which to contact a given client, the message read only three numbers: “113.” Given that I was driving and due to the vague nature of the message, I did not immediately respond. It was moments later when a second page came through, again reading “113”.
Upon establishment of a safe place to investigate, I reached out to the agency to inquire about the page. I quickly discovered that it had not originated from the agency and immediately wondered about a more abstract meaning. I took my curiosity to Google and discovered two things: the code 113 communicates that someone is lost or in need of assistance, as I was, and Angel 113 symbolizes new beginnings and motivation overseen with guidance. I then had more evidence.
My spouse recently experienced the loss of both of his parents in close succession. His mother and father wished to remain in their home as each walked their differing paths through the end of life. As his mother approached her final moments she was held by the sunlight and tree framed within the window overseeing her bed. It was within those last hours that I observed a plump, cardinal sitting peacefully on a branch behind her. Six months later, on the way to attend the services for his father, my partner and I exchanged looks of disbelief as we traveled behind a truck transporting the very boat his father had selected for himself just before his passing. We shared comfort in the belief that these signs were proof of continued presence and connection in absence of physical selves. This too is my evidence.
Your truth is what you believe. While I possess evidence in the form of experiences aligned with my truth, science and logic can be applied to undermine it. I am therefore left to my instincts and emotions to guide my beliefs. It is here where I settle into knowing that what once existed will always have a place while its form may shift shape.

Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. What is the story you hope people tell about you when you’re gone?
A regular exercise from the field of positive psychology is to write your own eulogy. While many clients react reluctantly to the perceived morbidity of the assignment, its intention is to evaluate an individual’s motivation and values as they are playing out within their current life. The eulogy intervention can highlight both alignment and discrepancy between what one values and how they are actually living out their days. The posed question above has sparked me to reflect on my personal completion of the assignment. Please find my eulogy below:
Beth Connolly lived a full and honest life devoted to positive change and the promotion of kindness. Her love for others led her to decide at an early age that she would pursue a career in the helping profession, eventually earning her doctoral degree in Clinical Psychology. While Beth’s sensitive and empathetic nature resulted in a heavy heart at times, Beth viewed her occupational endeavors as some of the greatest gifts offered to her. She experienced a profound sense of gratitude for the bravery and strength she was privileged to witness in her clients, many of whom were facing the darkest moments of their lives. Beth strived to create an environment of acceptance and safety within which others might uncover assets possessed within themselves well before entering her office. She was inspired by the resilience of humankind and treasured connections made through her work. Beth felt honored to receive and share important moments listening to the stories of others. Her purpose and meaning existed in helping others to author the stories matching their truths.
Beth’s primary devotion and commitment to others had its roots in her family and Beth would consider her four siblings to be her world’s “built-in best friends.” Her family connections and definition of family expanded with her own growth and development. Beth’s love for others and desire to help formed the foundation of her identity across environments.
Beth lived life to its fullest and was most recognizable while laughing or sharing a joke. She sought adventure and possessed an innate curiosity. She jumped in rain puddles, climbed mountains, and baked one incredible chocolate chip cookie. While you may not remember specific quotes or achievements of Beth’s, she hopes that you recall how you felt when you were with her. Her meaning and purpose were centered around genuineness, patience, compassion, and trust. Beth’s legacy and honor can most effectively be memorialized by random acts of kindness, shared laughter, seeking adventure, and occasionally ducking a Jeep.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.thisismyhappypace.com
• Instagram: this_is_my_happy_pace
• Linkedin: Beth Connolly
• Facebook: This Is My Happy Pace: Therapeutic Running Services