a long overdue recap
Hello! I write to you from what must be one of the greatest porches in the world, at this little chalet in the Alps where I’m staying with some Brooks teammates. I arrived here two days ago, and now that I’ve gotten the chance to sleep two consecutive nights in the mountain air rather than that of a stuffy jet, I finally have a clear head.
The Mont Blanc Massif towers over the little town of Pre Saint Didier, Italy, in a way only Mont Blanc can. I felt immediately inspired this morning when I was awoken by the sun creeping down the canyon walls towards our chalet. I rolled away from the open window and covered my eyes, in an attempt to squeeze a few more hours of sleep out of the night. But my brain was far more awake than my body—contemplating all the people already high in the mountains, the two big Golden Trail World Series races I have coming up, and how I can possibly move here. Alas, I rolled out of bed to seize… my weekly rest day.
Last night, I felt tortured by the idea of being in a gorgeous mecca such as this and having to take a day off from training. Especially considering that my housemates were headed out to run for 6 hours on the UTMB course, in preparation for their races in a few weeks. What a waste it would be for me to sit around! Today though, I feel great about it. My mind is alive right now in a way that it hasn’t been for some time. My training load has comparatively lessened in preparation for Sierre-Zinal and Tatra Skymarathon, this weekend and next, leaving me with a little extra umph. And it’s truly peaceful here on the porch, listening to the river gush through the bottom of the canyon and gazing up intermittently at the rocky, glacial behemoths before me. I am reminded today that it’s not just the running in the Alps that’s amazing. It’s the existing.
I had every intention of promptly sharing the details about what it was like competing at the Broken Arrow VK and the US Olympic Trials back-to-back… There were so many truly epic moments, and it was one of the coolest weeks of my 25 years for sure. But the weeks since the end of my track season became jam-packed, and they also became an emotional rollercoaster I admittedly didn’t have the energy to share. At this point I’ll spare you all the minutia. But I will say that it was pretty profound competing in what feels like the pinnacle of trail running in America just 6 days before competing in what I know to be the pinnacle of track. It was as iconic of an experience as I imagined, if not more.
A few things were especially notable.
one
The time between the events and the time after the events felt like far more of an emotional game than I anticipated. After placing 2nd in a world-class field at Broken Arrow and spending time with my family and so many friends, I was riding a high. I quickly went into hibernation (which I recognize as a type of low) because my body and mind instinctually knew that that much hype was not sustainable for an entire week. I battled my self-talk. Broken Arrow had been epically fun but also more demanding than I accounted for. So many friends to see! So many new people to talk to! So much time in the sun! So many things to take in! Had I committed to too much? Had I overextended myself at Broken Arrow to the point of self-sabotaging the Trials?
It felt like the first round of the 1500m was when everyone would find out whether doing track and trail at the same time was possible or not, depending on my result. I had chosen to be an experiment in human performance when I signed up for this. If I succeeded, I could be the reason why other people believed they could down the line. And if I failed—well, I tried not to think about that. The doubts marched in, but they also retreated like daemons humbled in some great battle.
There weren’t many daemons left in my head by the time the 1500m actually began because I was so busy enjoying the shit out of the experience and trying to do my best that I completely put Broken Arrow behind me. Tahoe felt like another world away, once I got into track mode. Things got especially fun after I qualified for the semi-final, and all that pressure of proving what I wanted to prove subsided. I was just like everyone else out there, competing as hard as I could for a spot on the most competitive Team USA my event had ever seen.
In hindsight, I am proud of my 18th place finish. In the moment though, I was disappointed in not qualifying for the final, and I was disappointed in not running the several-second PR I was certain I had in store. I had been balling out in workouts, and I was READY. So of course, I wondered after the semi whether I would have had more in the tank had I not accumulated so much mountain fatigue earlier in the week. But pretty quickly (like within 5 minutes of the finish), I recognized that I may not have even made the semi in the first place had I not been on the high from Broken Arrow. So ultimately, I wouldn’t change a thing. I would do it all over again (and probably will sometime)…
After maintaining composure and being acutely focused for days on end, I became an emotional scrap of myself. I cried lightly over stupid things in the weeks after, and I cried extra hard over things that weren’t stupid too. It was evident that I had used up every ounce of emotional energy I had within me. It took a while to feel fully like myself again. And that actually makes me proud. There’s something satisfying about knowing you gave your all, not just physically but in every way.
two
I was delighted by the outpouring of love and support I received from people near and far over the course of that week and the weeks afterwards. My partner Ren was selflessly by my side for everything, making sure I had what I needed and keeping life as seemingly normal as possible. My whole family came to watch. Ren’s family and many friends came to watch. My coach David flew from Colorado to Eugene to be there for me and keep things light. We had an absolute ball. And a few random people even stopped me in the streets, like “you’re that girl that just did that trail race”!
My phone was flooded with messages from close friends and complete strangers. I had people wishing me luck, hyping me up, and congratulating me over email, Instagram, text, and phone calls. I have never felt so genuinely loved and supported in my career. All that encouragement is still motivating me, many weeks later.
It’s not the recognition that I like about this. It’s the fact that I know my people are behind me. That this isn’t just about me, but about everyone that is part of the journey in some way. That anyone who reached out got to experience a slice of my experience. That maybe I made someone smile, jump up and down in front of their computer or TV, or feel proud or inspired to run up a mountain. Knowing people are excited—that fills my cup more than any performance outcome ever will.
three
If you’re still reading, you’ve gotten to the part that it has made writing this take a back burner. While running was lighting up my world this last six months, I was also dealt some really hard times. There’s nothing I’ve experienced as painful as watching someone you love struggle, not knowing how to help. I’ve cried a lot of tears and spent a lot of nights tossing and turning.
For years, I had this notion that if something big in my life was going wrong, my running would go wrong too. This season, though, I’ve learned the important lesson that this isn’t necessarily true. Training (including the people I do it with) has been the best thing in my life these last few months. It’s my happiest place, it makes the rest of my life better. I understand now that whatever you’re experiencing outside of sport—whether it is something related to yourself or the people you love—it doesn’t necessarily mean that all aspects of your life will turn south. You have to find and lean into the places where you feel loved and alive and compartmentalize them from the places where you feel sad and stressed and out-of-control. Joy and challenge can, and many times do, coexist.
an ode to the alps
So it’s my third year in a row visiting the slice of runner’s paradise that is this area of France and Italy. My first trip, I was barely aware that the Italy side existed—my whole world revolved around Chamonix. I had a delightful 10 days that summer, even in light of the fact that I tested positive for Covid 5 days in and had to stop running and hole up alone in a condo (come to think of it, one with a similarly excellent porch with a similarly excellent view). The next year, I discovered Courmayeur, Italy, and ran the iconic Ponte Helbronner, a technical 7000-foot ascent, with my friend Christian. That day was so spectacular it will forever be imprinted in my mind. And this trip, we are just down the road from Courmayeur, where I will remember staring at the mountains with a clear mind on the-day-before-the-day-before my very first Sierre-Zinal.
