However, that’s only part of the story. I kept coming back to: But why didn’t I have any energy?

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The best part of my race was probably between Crown King and Whiskey Row. I started to have a little fun, I chatted to a few runners, and ran with Jeff. The best moment was a gorgeous sunset, dancing along on the trail by myself, singing to my playlist.

But as I left Camp Wamatochick, things just felt hard. Yes, I had 60+ miles on my legs, but I just felt empty. Nothing to pull from. My right shin hurt a little, but I mostly ran slowly because I couldn’t get a good extension going in my form, and I was tired. And hungry.

At Whiskey Row, I ate a wrap with avocado and veggie sausage…I taped up my shin. And I still didn’t want to run. Jogging made me feel a bit lightheaded. I stopped to sit and eat another sausage, “Sometimes just one thing at a time,” I told my pacer. I wondered aloud as we walked along a perfectly runnable path, “Am I slowing down ‘cause now I have someone to support me, and I don’t have to make myself run?”

I won’t rehash every step of my ~190 miles again, but these past few weeks I kept coming back to the same question above: Where was my energy? It wasn’t just that I mentally lacked motivation to run or that I had no heart to push myself. I genuinely couldn't fathom the thought of running more, and when I tried, I would feel tired, nauseous, and empty. I never got too lightheaded or dizzy (thought I certainly had bouts of both), mostly just Bleh. Depleted.

As the tears dried up and I started to run again, I felt terrible. This made me stop and think. Wait a minute, haven’t I been stiff since at least February? When I say stiff, I mean STIFF. As in, get up off the couch after a couple of minutes of sitting and be limping on the first few steps. Oh yeah. That’s not normal for me.

And wait a minute, didn’t I get sore just from carrying a backpack on one shoulder? Sore for DAYS. The simple act of carrying something wrong wrecked me. I had no reserves with which to recover from some tiny muscle tears, I just didn’t pay attention at the time. I thought maybe I was just getting old. I was tired, I was stressed.

Hmmm…

I posted in Women in Ultrarunning and got some good feedback (try magnesium and creatine!) And when I finally put it to my coach, we realized: Overtraining Syndrome.

From the Cleveland Clinic. Reading this was like a checklist for me the past couple of months.

Wait a minute, I’ve also been sleeping poorly for weeks. I’ve been anxious and annoyed*. I haven’t been eating as much as normal because I’m not as hungry. Didn’t I get lightheaded during the Cocodona training run? Oh yeah…

All of these things crept up on me, and I didn’t put them together or pay them the attention they deserved. That is a huge lesson for me. It’s ok to be stiff after a long run, but hardly being able to stand upright after a rest day? Yeah, not good.

One or two nights of poor sleep, ok that’s life. Most nights being up for 2-3 hours in the middle of the night? Not good either.

Some say there is no such thing as overtraining, only underfueling. And while I do try hard to eat enough, I could easily count big efforts in recent months that I just didn’t eat enough after. I didn’t plan ahead and bring more food, I didn’t advocate that I needed to eat, and I just let it go. I could eat later. I was tough enough to wait.

Recognizing that I was likely between Stages 1 and 2 of OTS was good. And hard. (I say “likely” as this is a self-assessment; I have not been to see a doctor yet, or had recent blood work done. If I continue to feel poorly and don’t improve with more rest and nutrition, I will make an appointment.)

Good because now I have things to work on and I’m already feeling better! Amazing what sleep and a couple extra snacks in a day will do for you (on top of more rest days and reduced volume, more cross-training, etc.) It’s like those times when you are so sick you can’t remember what it’s like to feel well. I forgot what it was like to not be exhausted and locked up in my body. I keep telling people, “Wow, I just feel normal again.” I remember, “Oh yeah, running is hard, but it’s not THAT hard.”

What has been hard is admitting this “weakness” (in my mind) of overtraining. The voices of comparison are hard to block out. But other runners crush races while working in an ER. You can’t handle working a job AND training? How lame are you? Other people run 100-mile weeks or get up at 3am to fit in workouts. I seemingly can’t manage serious training with a job at a small school. Wow, I must suck.

In an effort to combat these voices, I try to remember: everyone is different. It IS a big change to go from fitting work around running to running around work. That is new to me, and I need to adjust to it. I also remind myself of what I put in some of my previous posts. I was not only working full-time and training for a major race in a pretty full-time capacity, I also volunteered with four nonprofits and tried to maintain other extracurricular activities with friends.

For at least ten months, I’ve been pouring time and energy into other people, their projects, groups, activities, and events. Yes, many of them I love and was happy to do this. Some, not as much. But I find it hard to say no and kept piling on commitments. I said to one friend in March, “I’m almost at capacity.” I can look back and see I was already well underwater.

So the overtraining comes more from over-living. Too many commitments and people asking for my time, and me giving it to them. I have gotten way more comfortable post-DNF saying, “No, thanks.” Or “These are my rates for that work.” Or, “Actually, I need to prioritize rest right now, so I won’t be around until the afternoon.”

Wow! People are understanding of this! Who knew!

Because it’s not about whether I have an extra 20 minutes each day to do some task or make another phone call, it’s about the mental space and energy that takes up. Or that those 20 minutes belong to me and I can use them for me.

I am still 100% confident in my choice to stop the race. It is clear now that the reason I was struggling is that my body was signaling my brain, “We need to stop. We have nothing more to give. This is not sustainable.”

With a super-strong mental game, could I have pushed through this? Possibly. Would that have been a good idea? Who knows. Right now, I am thankful I am not 60 miles deeper into a hole. I finally listened. And now I’m paying much more attention to what I need to do to take care of myself.

Was the DNF for a physical reason or a mental one? As my dad used to say, “Probably six of one, half a dozen of the other.” Also, it doesn’t really matter. I am learning from both and getting stronger in both. So that is a 100% win.

I am back to looking forward to a run instead of feeling like, “Gotta go do this thing.” I am being slow, gentle, and intentional with every workout. Snacks and good meals are a focus. Not feeling guilty for watching Netflix or listening to a podcast in bed when I have time to rest is a challenge, but I’m working on it. It is ok to slow down. To rest. To reset. To make sure there is joy in the things we do.

Overtraining (undereating), whatever, can really sneak up on you. I slowly descended to the point where I forgot I could feel good, and it was my right to make that happen. There is a challenge in that this feeling is entirely subjective and experienced by me. I look fine. I was hiking 3 miles an hour easily before I stopped. But I didn’t feel fine. After the race, a gentle swim sent my legs into so much pain I could hardly fall asleep. A steep downhill turned my legs into Jell-O. I know that this is not how I should feel after such efforts. So I am making changes to heal.

Pay attention, listen when your body is speaking to you. And honor what it says.

As part of my looking forward, unless there is a major update, this will be my last Cocodona 2026 post. I don’t want to wear out a subject or come across as complaining. But I do want to highlight my experience for others so they can be on the lookout for any of these symptoms! For now: Onward and upward.

*As an anxious and emotional person generally, it is hard to know how much more my mood was affected by OTS, but I do feel more relaxed and focused on this side of recovery.

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This past March, I took part in a Robin Hood concert. With just a week of rehearsal and all new-to-me music, it was a big challenge. The concert was part of the impetus for me to purchase a keyboard on Facebook Marketplace. I don’t play piano much, but I know enough music to plunk on the melody I’m trying to learn, check my pitch, and warm up. Having a keyboard back in the house, while not used daily or even weekly, is a bit of a comfort. I can always turn it on and sing a few songs. Singing almost always brings my mood up (and it’s been low for a few weeks).

Love Flew in at the Window

A week ago, I had the chance to sing at our local County Rest Home. The residents love hearing everyone play or sing, from beginning piano students to adult vocal students like me. Singing is a gift, and I love sharing it with others.

Vanilla Ice Cream from “She Loves Me”

I recently got a soapbox, too: Stop saying you can’t sing! Singing is a muscle, like anything else; if you want to learn, you can. You may not have great pitch or the nicest vocal tone, but anyone who is taught properly can learn to sing.

Also on my mind is a group I was part of in Los Angeles. What started as a fairly typical workshop spot for actors to meet casting directors turned into an incredible nonprofit community of performers. The Collaborative was created when many of the regular attendees wanted to create a different type of workshop space. We became an audition-based group, a place where strong and serious actors came together with other strong and serious actors to sharpen our skills.

We began to make our own short films together (and guess who headed up the production side of things?) and hosted forums not just with casting directors, but writers, showrunners, and directors. (This is how I got my showrunner assistant job and worked in TV for 7 years).

But it was the people who made it special. We all wanted the best for each other. Unlike other spaces in Los Angeles, there was little competition and comparison. We were excited when others got auditions or booked jobs. We jumped at the chance to help others make a great self-tape in our studio. I vividly remember getting ready to head to a workshop one night when I got a phone call from a number I didn’t have saved. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Alex. My printer isn’t working. Can you print out a copy of my resume for me if I email it to you?”

“Of course!”

How he knew to call me, I have no idea, but I got his resume printed and ready for class that night. Our contact sheet paid off, and our community shone brighter.

A member took such serious black-and-white photos of all of us for publicity.

There are lots of things I don’t miss about LA, but the people are not one of them. The friends I made in that group are near and dear to me, even if we talk infrequently now.

Something about performing together creates a deep bond of trust. I’m so grateful to be finding those people and places here in Bozeman. Because I do adore running and am not stopping anytime soon. But there is also something so magical about a dark theater and a bright light. I am so lucky to have these passions and the ability to pursue them among amazing people who push me to be better every day.

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I’ve been grateful to receive so many kind and supportive notes from friends, fellow runners, and even people I didn’t know, all of whom were affected by my recap. I’m honored to see more subscribers joining this journey with me, and it reminds me that life is always best lived authentically. If we cannot share our true selves, there is no point.

Still, I’ve been seeking a balance between feeling like I’m complaining, or trying to place blame on a certain moment in the race, and instead looking holistically at what I can take from the miles I did spend out there. I am working towards getting back to running, and trying to ensure I do so sustainably to keep my love for the sport and its people intact.

One common refrain I’ve heard is “I wish you didn’t have to learn the hard way.” Well, unfortunately, I do not think there is another way to learn. I understand the sentiment, but the truth is, if it isn’t hard—challenging, difficult, trying— we won’t learn. This is one of the reasons I remain happy with my choice to stop. If I had kept going, I would have repeated the same mistakes of the past and deepened the groove on “pleasing others” rather than making a bold new move and choosing myself.

As my coach asked before I left the last aid station, “What is the emotional damage of stopping? And what is the emotional damage of continuing?” I am as certain today as I was that night that the emotional damage of continuing was markedly higher.

So what did I learn from this? I have the question mark in the title because only time will tell if I can take these lessons to heart and apply them in the future, truly learning from them. I sincerely hope that I can, and that my awareness of that helps too.

1. I needed a stronger mindset and mental toolkit. I have never before struggled mentally with finishing a race. I have always been able to pivot to grinding it out for a finish, focusing on something positive, or changing up a time goal to keep myself moving. I’ve even joked with friends, “I’m maxed out on mental toughness, I don’t need any more.” Clearly, this is no longer true. With more items vying for my time and attention, I need to make sure I quiet the noise before heading to a big event. I need to honor that long races are hard, no matter what, and be prepared mentally to handle the slowness, pain, and self-judgment with good tools.

   1. I wanted to note somewhere that I was super excited for my Cocodona: The Musical playlist headed into the race. I had to stop myself from listening to it too much beforehand! And yet I left the start line with no headphones. I wanted to save it, but not having the option meant I had no choice but to listen to other runners or get lost in my thoughts, and there was no distraction from my increasingly painful toe. (It was breathtakingly painful, but finally faded around mile 75). Later in the race, I listened to a new-to-me podcast I hated for about 3 hours straight. That is how miserable I was and how unwilling/unable I had become to change things. A mental toolkit must include: good music, good company in podcast or audiobook form, and the ability to access it or change it as needed instantly.

2. Honestly, I spent too much energy comparing myself to other runners. This is something I have worked on in the past, but I didn’t do so as much heading into this race. I allowed myself to think I could rest on the previous work, and that I was a good enough runner not to stress over being passed by others. I was wrong. In future races, I will remind myself that I am executing my plan, and what others do is not something I can control. I know this, but I needed to live it more.

3. My crew document needs to be updated. I wanted more flexibility and pivoting, and while I addressed that in our single pre-race meeting, my document still has a lot of “DON’T LET ME” in it. That is on me! I push myself very hard (perhaps harder than anyone else can) so I want a crew space that has more softness. Although I did learn it’s helpful to have pacers push you, setting a pace, vs following me, so that will update too. These are things I could only learn by doing and experiencing different setups. Yes, I want to be in and out of an aid station quickly, but without feeling rushed. A tricky balance!

4. Fueling better. I was probably a bit underfueled heading into the race, and was certainly underfueled for the first 37 miles. Despite eating what I could, my energy was low from night one, and I found it very challenging to get my legs turning over. I passed into the stage of fueling where I could eat very little at once, but knew I needed more. Eating enough became a challenge, and one that was hard to turn around. Was this the only cause of my low energy? Probably not. Could it be different in future races? Probably. Carrying more options and eating plenty the week before should help.

5. Hope. I was utterly hopeless at many points during the race, including the last day. While many tried to help me turn it around, I just wasn’t resonating with “it might get better, it can turn around, you don’t know what the next section will hold, you just need a positive mindset” For some reason (fatigue), I couldn’t process and hold onto this sentiment. Post race, I think it might have helped if it were put in terms of hope. “Can you go forward on the hope that it might get better?” Hope seems easier than positivity in those all-is-lost moments on the trail. Reminding myself to hold on to hope is going to be a new mantra (in the new crew document)

   Thanks for reading Allison’s Substack! This post is public so feel free to share it.

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Ultimately, there are so many small things: pains, mistakes, choices, and tiny moments, that I am sure there is no one thing that led to the race not being a “success” by conventional standards. Which, in some ways, makes it harder. In others, it keeps the door open for many small lessons and improvements to be made. Could I have done this or that differently? Yes. Would that have changed anything? Who knows. We only get to live in one direction. So the only thing to do is continue the recovery process with grace and apply these lessons to the next event.

Thank you to everyone who has reached out and shared messages of support and encouragement. It means so much to me! We all face different challenges, but we are all sufferers of the human condition, and we are not alone. Thanks for being with me.

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With the hindsight of a few days, I can see now that my head was not in a good space from the starting line. The fact that when people asked me leading up to the race, “Are you excited?” I didn’t feel that excited, but I pretended I did, should have been a big clue that I wasn’t ready to cover 250 grueling desert miles. I wasn’t Unexcited. I was just sort of “Yes, sure, but I have 800 other things on my to-do list, so I’m mostly excited to escape my inbox for a week.”

Cocodona 2026 was my first time repeating a race, and my first time racing over 200 miles since working a “real” job. Having been in charge of my own schedule for over a decade, I have found it a real adjustment to have working hours. As I’ve mentioned previously, trying to maintain my same level of extracurricular activity and 200 miler training while working has been stressful and overwhelming.

I felt fit post-Barkley Marathons, but not at the level I was at before my single loop. My legs never seemed to turn over as well. I was tired and often felt like I had no spare moment to breathe or shower.

Again, I thought this meant it would be awesome to get on the starting line and be out of touch. My legs often paradoxically feel better after a huge effort. Perhaps the long days would help?

My goals heading into the race were a super ambitious ~70 hour finish. Barring that, lean into the fun and be whimsical! I also wanted to work on advocating for myself. I, as the runner, wanted to be the decision maker, not my crew. (Hindsight: if you are tired of people asking you for help and wanting your opinion, don’t try to be the decision maker for 3 days straight…)

The day before the race was fun, sure I stood in the hot sun at the expo, but I was having a great time saying hi to friends. Though I did the official shakeout run out of obligation… I had my usual calzone and hung out with my crew, Jeff, and his crew. We had a blast!

Two crews, twice the fun

One of my values this year is to be authentic. So let me also say, leading into the race, I had a chip on my shoulder. Very few people seemed to note me on the start list. Ok, I’ll just do my thing and maybe surprise some people. I will be better than last year at least!

I think I overestimated my hypothermia as a factor and forgot that no matter what state you are in, running 250 miles is hard. I didn’t mentally prepare enough. I was too busy to come up with themes and tattoos; I just made a fun playlist.

Starting a race feeling like you have something to prove and overwhelmed by life obligations, tired, stressed... Uh, yeah, not a good idea (Hindsight!)

I really felt ok at the start line. The first several miles ticked by, I was staying steady, the pace I wanted, not concerned with others around me. Until, I just got annoyed. Everyone was talking about running. Training and nutrition and soft bragging (or hard bragging). Ugh! Just go away, please.

At mile 11 I stubbed my left pink really hard. This toe is my nemesis and I tape it before every race as it gets destroyed otherwise. However, this time the tape seemed to make the issue worse. It felt like all the skin and toenail were ripped and pulled by the tape. The technical descending on that section was agony. Twice, a rock pinched the toe again and I gasped in pain so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.

Still, I made it into Crown King a bit ahead of my scheduled time. I was out of food and feeling hungry, I had my crew examine my toe while I ate and we decided not to remove the tape, trying to pop a blister under the tape already on it as best we could.

I left, enjoying the new section and praying for my toe to go numb. Finally, it did. I chatted some with other runners and left them to jog the downhill into Prescott. I listened to show tunes and finally started to have some fun! I ate well at mile 50 and headed out to see if I could find Jeff, having heard he left puking 20 min ago. I said, “Well, if he’s puked already, he’s moving faster, so we will see!”

I did catch him at Camp Kipa (ok, he waited for me) and we had a blast running to the next aid station together. He told me I was a witch and his stomach was already feeling better around me. When we saw other runners, he would call out, “This is my fiancée! We’re on a date!” Jeff is always kind, but he can be his most genuinely sweet in the woods. I was so happy other people got to witness that!

He started to feel better and left to chase down a top 10 finish. I hung back to eat, feeling low energy (from not eating enough earlier?). I got into Whiskey Row, startling a javelina who made me jump like a scream queen.

Leaving Whiskey Row with a pacer, things started to slow. Was I feeling this way because now I had someone to complain to? I didn’t have to be strong and get myself moving well? Dunno. I ran less of that section than the year before. I tried not to panic. I’m being smart, I’m staying steady, I’m like 1-2 hours behind where I was last year, it’s fine.

At Fain I ate, rested about 20 minutes, and headed up Mingus, hoping all of these would bring my energy back up. (Hindsight: I had no energy because I had no heart to make an effort) Chrissy and I crushed the climb in the heat, and I ate quickly at Mingus before missing three basketball shots and heading out. I was feeling tired and kinda cold, but I kept moving.

Katie, a pacer I met through a friend last fall, was incredible as I slowly fell apart on the descent off of Mingus. It is my least favorite type of terrain and I slowly got colder, dizzier, and more nauseated. I ate. I drank. I finally sat on a rock to troubleshoot, taking a salt pill. Two runners came by and suggested I needed more sodium. I took what they gave me and continued forward.

Phlegm I coughed up on Mingus.

Hail moved in—twice. I had on all my layers. I was dizzy, out of body a little, and wheezing. I coughed so hard it felt like I would vomit. Damnit, this is exactly like last year. It’s fine. Keep moving. Get to Jerome.

We finally made it into Jerome, and I wanted to talk to medical, a move I didn’t make last year and regretted. But there was no medical team there. Thankfully, I had two Wilderness First Responders and a doctor on my team, so I had lots of good intel. We decided, I was fine, maybe just some more hot tea for my throat. (Oh yeah, the sore throat also made it challenging to talk to pacers and runners = few fun convos to be had).

I told my crew that the descent had been awful and I did not want to do the race miserable, I did it miserable last year. Could I sleep til the morning and then do two 60-mile days? Something to pivot into the goal of whimsy?

The pushback was swift and strong. They made good points about making such a radical change (it might be hard! Why?), and sleeping so much might make me stiff. I was exhausted and wasn’t sure the right move. We agreed to two hours of sleep and then go. I didn’t sleep, but laid and coughed and panicked for two hours. The classic, “If I fall asleep now I will get 75 min of sleep…Now I will get 45.” Eventually, I got up, put on my shoes, and angrily ran to Dead Horse.

I was falling behind my time goal, behind my time from last year, not having fun, AND not advocating for myself well. A triple failure.

Sleeping 90 minutes at Dead Horse (despite the rest in Jerome) turned things around for a bit. I ran all the way into Sedona and had a great time! Even with an aid station miscommunication, I stayed steady and moved well.

Getting into Sedona I was hot, tired, and it felt like the exact same time I arrived last year (*Hindsight, really needed to not focus so much on the past! If I ever repeat another race, this will be a big part of my prep!)

Leaving the aid, I was slow, unsteady, tired, and unfocused. Damnit, this is exactly like last year. I promised myself I would get to a certain spot before calling both my coach and my mental performance consultant. I don’t think I realized how much The Hangover trail section was hanging over me (ha). I was actually excited to do it! I thought. But I wanted to do it feeling awake and moving well, not like a sad, sleepy little runner for the second time.

Eventually, I decided to head back to the aid station. I felt so much better with that choice. I just wasn’t ready to do that section and probably should never have left the aid station in the first place. I wanted more real food, I wanted more sleep, I just wanted to feel confident.

Clearly, my heart was not in it. I left the course for over 12 hours. I showered, I ate, I slept a full night. I was trying to turn things around. Instead, I woke up and looked at my puffy face in the mirror and thought I do not want to be doing this. But I texted my crew to get ready to hike to Schnebly. I picked up my tracker, tears streaming down my face. I have never not wanted to finish a race, even in deep pain and fatigue. This just wasn’t fun. I couldn’t see the point.

I wanted to do the Hangover Trail to prove to myself I could, and then I would be done. I didn’t need to keep going. I was just so sad, so deep in a negative headspace, and not coming out. I got a hug from Scott Rokis at the top and he said, “You’ll have more energy at the finish!” and I thought I’m not finishing this. But I kept moving.

Jeff and his aunt and her friend came to Schenbly with my crew. He had finished in style a few hours prior. I finally smiled and laughed, I was so happy to see them and grateful they took the time to come as sleep deprived as they were, but I got rushed out of the aid station.

Fine, I’ll do this pacer-less section to prove I can, then I’m done.

Along that 13 miles, I did try a few times to turn things around. Was I really letting the course beat me, when I wanted to came back and beat it? I called Jeff, I ate chick’n nuggets. I listened to my playlist and whispered along to the lyrics through my tears. I just hated every step. What was the point? What was I learning from this? My time would be slower than the previous year. Ok, it’s not about time or place, pivot to other goals.

Self advocacy? Failing still. Didn’t want to leave the two previous aid stations and was rushed out before I felt ready. Leading to a major backtrack.

Whimsy? Absolute zero. The ice pack on my head made a funny shadow, and I just took a photo. I didn’t laugh or play with it.

On any other day, this would have me giggling and making different shapes.

I tried eating, chewing gum, water, soda, a few sit breaks, and a really basic two-syllable mantra. Every step was just “love. you. love. you. love. you.” Who was I loving? Jeff, my friends, my family, my donors to the charity bib.

The struggle was REAL. I just didn’t want to be out here doing this anymore. What I was I learning? What was I gaining? What was the point? How could I make it tolerable? Again: I have never not wanted to continue and push no matter what. This race, I just didn’t care. The thought of the finish line was “meh.”

I finally made it to Munds and told my crew (and Jeff) I wasn’t leaving until I said I was leaving. I needed a freaking break.

Another round of phone calls to Chris and Patrick. It felt like everything I normally trust during a race was just not there: My tape had messed up my toe, not helped it. My anti-chafe didn’t work (I considered KT tape on my crotch at one point), I was over my go-to gel, and my favorite sunscreen had me breaking out in heat rash. Anything that I wanted or asked for just wasn’t there or got ripped away. I literally lost my nuggets on the previous section somehow! And my phone died despite being plugged into a battery bank!

I kept looking for a way to make things fun (or at least tolerable) and kept facing a “time to go, take the bluetooth speaker and a pacer and we will see you later.” I finally said I would leave with Katie and talk it out. I was waffling. I wanted to stop, but I’ve never quit. What was the right choice? I felt little empathy and more pressure to finish no matter what.

Walking out of Munds with Katie under the stars I thought, This isn’t so bad. But then I ranted to her all of my frustrations and struggles and annoyances. Why was I doing this? Why did no one seem to care I hated every step for the past 48 hours? Katie asked why I ran the race last year and I said, “To see what I was capable of. That’s the problem. I know I can finish the race by hiking. So why should I do it?” She asked why I signed up again and I said “To do better. Which, I’m not. That’s not a reason to stop though…so I guess that’s why we are out of that aid station walking to the next.”

My crew chief told me to think about the Why and the Why Not. I had no idea the why or why not. I just felt lost and sad and angry and exhausted and disrespected.

Katie said, “If you’re ready for some observations…this makes me think of our conversation on Mingus. Where you said you were raised to act that ‘you are third.’ That everyone else’s needs come first.”

The moment she said that, I swear a puzzle piece (or broken pottery shard) clicked and healed in my chest. A weight was lifted. I said, “Yep, we are turning around. At this point, I’m only moving forward because others want me to. Stopping is for ME. We are going back.”

On our return trip, we talked more. I know people will think I quit because I was slower than the year before, or I wanted a better place, or some other vain reason. Firstly, I don’t owe an explanation to anyone. Secondly, I’ve pivoted many races that weren’t going my way to still finish. The fact I was slower was maybe 2% of the reason for stopping.

This one wasn’t about the finish. I finally realized what the point was. The point was picking me, my needs, my wants. I went in wanting to prove I was better than my result last year to other people. Not really to myself (well, some to myself, I think.)

All of this is still fresh and needs to continue to be unpacked. There were a million tiny things that went wrong and a million choices made that could have been made differently. The only decision I don’t regret is stopping.

The past few days I’ve hosted a lot of “what if” parties in my head. What if I had pushed through at Dead Horse? Or Hangover? What if I kept hiking with Katie and turned things around somehow? What if I packed different stuff? We can “what if” to death. And I have to play both sides:

What if it didn’t get better? What if I finished angry and hating running? What if my frustration made me slower and slower till I made myself miss a cut off? Or get injured? Ultrarunning is a fine line between empowerment and trauma. I took empowerment.

I had a great talk with a friend at the finish line who did push through last year to please her crew. She said she regretted it. “What is the choice someone who loves themselves would make?”

This choice has been emotional, but not unsure. Whenever the voice pops up that says, “We failed. We didn’t finish and we could have.” Another voice comes in right away, “We did NOT fail. We picked ourselves. That is HUGE. We didn’t fail ourselves.”

I have gotten so much understanding and encouragement from others when being open about my reason for stopping. The growth is bigger than a belt buckle.

“I am honored that you asked me to be the one to take that moonlight stroll with you when you decided it was time to choose yourself. I could not be more proud of you nor more grateful to call you a friend. As a recovering perfectionist and people pleaser myself, I am inspired by your tenacity and authenticity.”

A note from my final pacer, it makes me cry.

“I remember you saying you were taught to be third…” I am not third. I do not have to value my time or my energy less than others. I don’t owe my work or my effort to others if there is no reason or no value for me.

I am working very hard to be less busy and to take time for myself and my relationship. This race felt like the “microcosm of the macrocosm” as my friend likes to say. I made a major step in my life healing journey by stepping off course. Some were narrowly focused on the finish line, but my life is bigger than the 0.5 second it takes to cross a timing mat.

SOME LESSONS

200+ miles is always hard, don’t skimp on prep and mental work!

Be more bitchy. If I ask for something, I can keep asking until I get what I need.

Learn more tools! I felt like I had emptied the toolbox to turn things around, but I didn’t pretend I was on a quest, or put on a costume, or hike with a giant mocha overnight…

Protect the mental space heading into a race. I said yes (ha!) to too many work events, friend meet-ups, and meetings. I was fragile mentally heading into this, putting way too much on just “be better” as a goal, and so any small thing felt insurmountable rather than a fun challenge.

SOME SUCCESSES

I ran on day 2 and 3, (not the whole day 3) but I had movement and didn’t get stiff!

I ate decently, even when I didn't want to.

I chose myself.

There is a lot more to say on this I’m sure. But I am grateful beyond words for the power of the trail and ultra running community. Outside is where we become our best selves. That is a win every day.

As I run Cocodona 2026, I thought it would be great to reflect back on the lessons learned from Cocodona 2025…my race recap is here!

Thanks for being on this journey with me, a new race report will be out next week! Who knows what will happen??

The lead-up to a big event is challenging. For weeks, you’ve been demanding your body run, lift, heat-train, and more. Then suddenly, it’s quiet. An hour run feels like forever. There’s no plan lifting session at the gym. There’s just a lot of time to sit and get worried excited about the race ahead.

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This week, I’ve got things to do with my new job at Bozeman Field School, so I need to fit in packing my aid station bags among creating a festival booth for a big fundraiser on Thursday.

But my biggest focus is in a few areas:

1. Heat training. Last year, the week leading up to Cocodona, I upped my sauna sessions from 3-4 times a week to daily from Friday to Friday before flying down. This year, I’m going a step further by doing hot water soaks, which is more beneficial for building “midichlorians” (not the real name, but a way more fun way to think of heat adaptation!) It’s also been wonderful on my sore legs and hips!

2. Eating plenty. When I dial back training, I often feel hungrier. I have to remind myself to eat more, and that it’s perfectly ok to do so in the lead-up to a massive effort. Nagging voices that we “didn’t do that much today” and “already ate lunch” take a moment to see out the door, but once they are gone. Oh yeah, a bowl of cereal mid-afternoon is great!

3. Finalizing my plan with my coach and crew. I have a call with my coach on the books to make final adjustments to a race plan, and a whole spreadsheet shared among my amazing crew already. After I chat with Chris, I’ll send out some final texts to confirm travel details and that everyone has what they need to succeed.

4. Testing my race playlist—but not too much! You know you’ve made a good playlist when you struggle not to play it all the time. But I know the songs will hit harder if I save them for race day.

5. Eventually, I need to charge my battery banks, pack my aid station bags, and send a few larger items down earlier with Jeff.

6. Then I’ll sleep as much as I can! Trust the voice that says I Can and lean into the Whimsy. I may not be as fast as some of the other runners, but I’m going to try and win the “fun” category as best I can—while moving quickly too!

I want to try my best and see what I am capable of out there. If I surprise some people (including myself), that would be an awesome bonus. At the end of the day, I want to embrace the silliness of running so far and have a blast while pushing my limits. I hope you’ll follow along and don’t forget to check out the nonprofit I’m running for, Runners for Public Lands!

See you on the trails!

The momentary distraction caused me to go too deep into the press, and my knee instantly twinged. Shit. I thought. That was stupid.

I took it easy, rolled it out, and thought positive thoughts. It’s fine.

And it was, through running Tuesday, a speed workout Wednesday, another set of workouts, but mid-run Thursday, my hip seized. Badly. I stopped running and tried to stretch it out. The right side popped easily, the left…stayed tight.

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As a running coach, I always encourage my athletes to lean into rest days. If something feels off, better to take a day or two off, than run through the pain and end up with a week plus off. I often tell them, “Don’t end up in a situation where you have to call an Uber to get home because you can’t walk anymore. Ask me how I know.” And we laugh. But it’s true. I’ve called for a ride because the pace I can maintain with whatever injury I have will not get me home in time for work.

Why is it so hard for us to take a break? To give our bodies rest?

I had planned to run a silly Run Club road marathon on Sunday. Why do I feel like a failure for choosing not to do that, and instead, give my muscles time to heal as I prepare for Cocodona 250?

When did pushing our limits become pushing past the breaking point?

This past Saturday, I could have run, and it probably would have been fine. I felt weak and silly for taking a second unplanned rest day in a row. But I also reflected on the fact that I’ve been trying to maintain the same level of activity I did before having a full-time job, while now having a full-time job. (And by reflected, I mean, I rolled around on the floor, complaining to Jeff before eating a snack and slightly calming down.)

I was just upset with myself for getting injured so close to an A race and not having the final long run I wanted, and for getting injured because maybe I was distracted by too many things on my plate and not taking care of myself or setting boundaries or slowing down or or or (yeah, I really spiraled for a bit).

The truth is: we can’t know. Maybe the knee twinge and the hip strain are unrelated. Maybe the hip came from wearing cute heeled boots too much, or tensing at the dentist, or running faster than felt good on that day. I can get very hung up on the past on things I could or should have done differently.

But the only thing to do was to handle the present better. To rest when I was called to rest. To stretch, relax, and sleep. To be ok with not doing everything for everyone all of the time. The body often finds a way of forcing us to slow down if we aren’t taking the initiative ourselves.

It reminds me of the people who brag about how little they sleep. Why are we celebrating working to the point of exhaustion all the time? Shouldn’t we celebrate the people who take care of their basic human needs like eating and sleeping?

Again: When did pushing our limits become pushing past the breaking point?

I love pushing my limits. It’s why 200s are some of my favorite races. You are always dancing in the unknown. How long without sleep? How fast can I maintain? What food can I keep down? Unlocking that next layer of grit or persistence is exciting.

But we are not meant to live this way every single day of our lives.

The human body is not designed to be pushed constantly, ignored when hungry, fed caffeine when exhausted, and belittled when sick.

We should also remember that being sick or injured doesn’t last forever. And it will be even shorter if we take the time needed to recover. If we see it as valiant and heroic to go easy sometimes, rather than weak to “give up”.

We must find the balance—the grace in taking care of ourselves and treating our bones with respect.

Push your limits, sure, but not so deep into the press that the knee gives out.

And take those rest days with pride. Celebrate taking care of yourself and relaxing.

Sure, this post is maybe mostly to myself to make myself feel better and follow my own dang advice for once. But it’s a reminder we can all use. Be gentle with yourself.

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As an adult, I’ve started to read less and less. There seems to be so little time, and what pockets of time I do have are ten minutes or less. Reading doesn’t seem to make sense. It doesn’t hold my attention the way it used to. I often forget I’m even reading a book, unless it’s very, very good. The bar is so high to get my attention now. I’m too critical, or too bored, or would rather scroll on my phone.

Scrolling.

I’ve gone back and forth with controlling my social media consumption. I’ve set limits to only checking Instagram once a day, or only when I’m in a plank (good encouragement to plank!) But lately it seems even harder to follow these guidelines. Even with three brand new books in my house, ready for me to read them, I often pick up my phone first for a YouTube video while eating, or a podcast while stretching, or, of course, some “nice” scrolling before bed.

And I hate it. I feel disgusted with myself. I know it’s part of the design, and not 100% my fault for being addicted (hopefully, mildly), but I still hate it. The other night, when I knew I shouldn’t, I said to myself, “Well, I’m just eating a quick snack before bed, a minute or two of scrolling won’t hurt while I eat.” And 25 minutes later, I’m not only not asleep, but disturbed by the creepy videos the algorithm “decided” I wanted to watch. Of course, those are the ones I engaged in, clicking to read comments and figure out what was going on.

I went to bed and realized that between the morning and evening scrolls, I’d probably spent 30 minutes of a perfectly good day doing nothing but sit around and look at a glass object beam random shit into my eyes.

This is not going to be a post about how now I’m going to swear off social media and buy an old school phone and never log on to Facebook again. There are pros to using social media to stay connected. It’s ok to not be productive for 24 hours a day, and a little scrolling to laugh and unwind is fine, plus there is the advertising factor. Promoting Montana Meltdown, or shows I am in, or classes I am teaching, are infinitely easier on Instagram or Facebook.

But over the past few days, I’ve thought about why sharing things matters to me. Why do I want to post a clip of my singing? Because I want people to like it, of course. I want some validation or compliments. Thankfully, I’m not devastated to not receive them, but why should I be checking for them in the first place? If people don’t know I sing, who cares? If people don’t hear it, it doesn’t mean I didn’t do it or wasn’t good.

When did things only start to matter if they were shared and logged online?

I don’t have any answers. As I said, I know I’m not going to stop going online. But I am going to try even harder to get back into reading. To use those 30 minutes to dig into a book, on paper, that I can curl up with. The world is a scary place sometimes, but our phones are not our only means of escape or release. Music, dancing, a walk, doodling, and even baking are also wonderful forms of destressing (unless you hate baking). They allow our minds to release without a heavy feeling of guilt afterwards.

Sure, I can try other apps, but so many end in the endless scroll (even Substack!) I want to set it down, walk away, and do something else with my brain.

Being on my phone all the time is NOT what I want. So I have to work towards it once again, to fight back against the forces that want to keep me looking down, and aim for looking up.

Runners for Public Lands is the non-profit partner of Cocodona this year, a happy coincidence as I am running under a charity bib raising money for this phenomenal organization. As part of the support, I did the official Cocodona Training Run put on by Aravaipa, and had a blast!

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Typically, I start most group runs right away. Similar to how no one wants to be the first in a buffet line, there can be hesitation towards being the first off in a group run. Saturday, though, I took a different approach. I wanted to be able to talk to as many other runners as I could. Taking a cue from Bozeman Run Club Founder Kyla, I started at the very back and chatted my way up throughout the day.

This was a great way to both keep the effort relaxed on my end and see how it felt to arrive in Crown King relatively fresh, and it helped me meet tons of other racers.

I’m not sure about anyone else, but sometimes in races, I nickname other runners in my head. Just something distinct. I’ll see and leapfrog these people for a while, it’s helpful to keep track. Once, I think I named a runner “Orange jacket guy”. Well, his name is Donald, and we’ve been friends for 5 years on Strava and Instagram. Orange jacket no more! (Though Donald, do you still have the orange jacket?)

Still, before getting within talking distance, I would see other runners ahead: “green shirt,” “blue pack,” “sparkly hair,” “tall with tattoos on both calves.” You get the idea.

My first conversation was with Andy, we talked about Access Fund and The Sierra Club, and how Runners for Public Lands fit into the ecosystem of these fantastic groups. I said both of those organizations are great, and what makes RPL different is it is really focused on activating the running community, the way Access Fund has done a great job getting the climbing community involved in keeping recreation areas safe, clean, and leading advocacy in the outdoor space.

Andy dropped me on an uphill, and I chatted to Denela (sorry, I don’t know how to spell this?) and Callie, both of whom had great pink pops of color in their outfits. After wishing them luck, I headed quickly downhill. I was feeling good, but excited for the aid station. I refilled my water, emptied my trash, grabbed a bottle of Tailwind, and headed out. The biggest struggle with this first stretch is it’s long, hot, exposed, with very little aid. After somewhere between mile 7 and mile 10, you can’t get more than 2 liters of water (really 1 liter at a time, twice) until mile 32.5. So you start carrying a lot of weight, but can easily run out of water and struggle with dehydration.

The confusion on my face is: I’m not sure when I took this picture.

Despite this, I enjoyed a cool breeze on the ridgelines and again talked to more runners. Brittney, and Lisa, both crushing it! Kyle and Brad, encouraging each other onward. One runner asked if I was the person they were supposed to ask about Public Lands, and I said, “Yes, that’s me! Do you want a sticker?” He declined. “I think concentrating on not falling on the downhill is not the time to focus on stickers.” Fair enough, I laughed in agreement and headed onward.

Catching up to one runner, their attitude made it clear the whimsy of my joy over the sparkling rocks (Mica? It’s so sparkly in the sun!) was not welcome, so I kept the pace engaged and continued forward. Melissa was wearing a shirt that matched the purple and yellow wildflower patch we were crossing. Marcel was kind, and his friend John was a good companion on the last sustained climb. John and I chatted about other races and the history of Cocodona. How it is truly a special event with incredible community and support.

By the time I got up to Lane Mountain at mile 32, I was feeling tired, hungry, but overall strong. I ate a gel, refilled my water, and deployed my new for Cocodona 2026 playlist. Cocodona: The Musical. I wanted to see how it felt to run to these songs and if I could have lots of fun with it. I did, eventually singing along and dancing a bit as I made my way down the gravel road into Crown King. Did this cause the runner ahead of me to speed up so he didn’t have to get involved? Maybe.

I arrived in Crown King just a little behind my goal race pace. I (hopefully) learned a valuable lesson: Once you get to Crown King there are still essentially 220 miles to go. No need to race to the top! If you can arrive feeling fresh and hungry for more miles, you’re in good shape. Keep. It. Chilllllllllllll.

After changing into my new RPL shirt, I hung around the saloon for a few hours, chatting with other runners as they came in and handing out stickers—much easier when people are sitting around eating hamburgers.

While I didn’t actively pitch runners to check out RPL (yet!) I’m hopeful my friendly demeanor and awesome RPL hat helped prime them to become active members of the outdoor community, taking care of the trails and landscapes we have the privilege to run through. Whether on their own, through other local organizations, or by joining RPL! (https://runnersforpubliclands.org/membership/)

Sunday, I ran on my own before rendezvousing with Jeff and the Janji camp, then on Monday Jeff and I ran and hiked an area near Prescott before I flew home. I capped off my first 100-mile training week in…years? I typically don’t go much above 80 miles because I personally feel diminishing returns on that many miles run vs recovery time. But to each their own. The 100-mile week is a nice confidence boost as I enter an even more competitive field than last year.

But this year, I am really working on bringing the whimsy! The joy and the fun. And, thanks to almost 100 friends and family, I get to run knowing I’m helping ensure a runnable future on public lands for all. (and yes, you can still donate!)

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Here’s the thing: Lots of people have cool, creative ideas. A few people get it together and make the creative thing happen. The smallest number of people get the thing seen. It’s not enough to have an idea you love. It’s not enough to have talented people help you bring it to life. You have to get people to watch it, which means you have to get people to care about it and be excited about it.

This is very challenging. The world is very busy and very loud. People are stressed, busy, and tired. Still—this also means they want a nice break! To watch something funny at your improv show, get away from screens at your open mic, or watch an original short film on your YouTube channel. You just need to tell them that it’s an option for them. It’s out! Or happening soon! They should come!

And then tell them several more times. Because people are busy, they will forget. You can’t expect people to care about something just because you care about it. You need to explain why it matters. To you, to the world, to someone. Make it relevant.

“I’d love to see you at my open mic Friday. I’ve been working on some new songs, and I’d love your feedback.”

“This film means so much to me. I wish I had seen something like it when I was younger. If you’ve ever felt like the oddball in the crowd, check it out and know you’re not alone.”

“I’m helping put on a reading of King Lear this weekend; we wanted to do something with our frustration.”

The reason can be really simple: “I’d love to have friends in the audience,” or “We all need a laugh right now, so come down to the improv showcase.”

But “I worked hard, and I love this piece” is usually not quite enough to get people out the door or clicking on a link.

Think about why this project matters to you. Why are you putting hours and hours of low to unpaid labor into bringing it to life? Are those reasons the reasons someone would watch it? Lean into those, “I wanted something beautiful and needed community, so I created this dance group, and our first performance is this weekend.”

Share the story behind the story. Mostly, though, have a plan! Posting ticket links and photos with little context does not translate to people clicking those links. Do not expect marketing to be easy. Again, there is so much noise! Breaking through on social media is tough. Give yourself lots of time to spread the word. Have some creative assets like photos, reels, posters, etc to share.

Posting a million times will not beat individual invitations like above either; you should do both. “You might have seen me posting, but I’m in a play next weekend, and I’d love to have friendly faces opening night to calm my nerves! Here’s where you can get tickets, thanks!”

It’s all coming back around to tell people a bunch what is going on. And tell a bunch of people! Think about who cares about this subject or area and invite them. A new dance group? Invite other dance groups. A reading of a classic play? Find book clubs in town who might enjoy a more “dramatic” experience to discuss afterward?

Don’t be shy! Be ok with being a little bit annoying. Very few things go organically “viral,” so don’t rely on that. Have a plan and be ready to post, talk, invite, and share! Marketing can often feel inherently icky. Like your bragging. Reframe to remind yourself that you are letting people know about neat things they might want to check out.

Because if you explain why well, they will care about seeing it.

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At an early rehearsal, though, I learned some wisdom from a castmate. I don’t remember how it got brought up, maybe we were talking about advice or what we learned from other productions or something? Anyway, he just said, “Once I was in a show with someone who told me he always hoped to be the weakest performer in the cast. Then, he’s always learning, always being pushed to improve. That stayed with me. I hope to always be one of the worst performers in a show. Then I know I’m being pushed, I’m learning, I’m growing.”

What a revelation! Who wants to be the worst? But I started to see what he meant. Being the worst doesn’t mean you are bad. It means you are open to others being better and learning from them. This guy was super talented! If he was the worst actor in a show, boy howdy, that was going to be an incredible play.

So being “the worst” became not a bad thing. It didn’t mean you weren’t talented. It meant you you were going to be pushed to be even better.

Open to what is….as Emily in ‘Our Town’

That comment really stayed with me, the way it stayed with him. Passed down from actor to actor, reminding each other that the goal shouldn’t be to be the “best” in a group, but to be one of the lucky ones working with even higher caliber talent.

There is also so much truth that when I focus on “wow, look at my acting, it’s so good tonight,” the performance feels much more mixed than when I let go of audience expectations and simply say the words.

This wisdom has been on my mind this week as I rehearse for a choral performance. My first time singing harmony in a group, and I showed up to our first rehearsal nervous, excited, and willing to be “the worst.” You do learn more if you surrender your ego and let others share their gifts and talents. Or, a good choral analogy/reminder for me, blend. Listen to the singer next to you and try to sound as one voice.

Performance can be very “look at me! Look at me!” Remembering to aspire to being “the worst” in a cast is hard. But it’s always worth it. Have fun and “do everything wrong.” A trick I learned in college was when scenes became too perfect and too rehearsed: stop trying to be “the best” and just let whatever happens, happen. Laugh at weird moments, take a long pause, or start braiding your hair. Very rarely do good things come when you focus on being the best. Most often, the magic happens when you let yourself just be.

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Not in a moral sense, but in a “who is this person and why do I care what happens to them over the next two hours/5 seasons/23 chapters” sense. There are plenty of discussions in creative writing around character vs plot and which is which, and how do they influence the other and why do you need both, and if some pieces are a character study or plot-driven, and is one better than the other. Ok, let’s skip that and get really basic.

Who is [this person] and why does it matter that they get [this goal]? That’s it. That’s all I want to know to latch on to a character and follow them through anything. If I know that Luke wants to “get off this rock” and join the rebellion because that is where all his friends are, then I’m locked in. I can relate (another important character feature). I get it, I too have felt stuck or left behind in life and dreamed of getting away.

When there is no answer to these questions (or it’s complicated or unrelatable) I struggle to invest in the story. With so many demands on our attention, I have a pretty simple barometer for a book I’m reading. If I remember that I’m reading it and want to read more, I keep going. If I forget or am more interested in scrolling headlines, probably not a book worth continuing to read.

What makes a book memorable and exciting? For me: what is going to happen to these people I’ve come to care about? And I care about and relate to them because I know them and I know what they want, and it matters to me that they get it.

The movie characters that stick with us are equally people we “get” in some sense.

Elle Woods: Underestimated, wants to get attend Harvard and get her boyfriend back.

Gollum: Addicted to a dangerous item, wants it back

Furiosa: Strong, capable, wants redemption.

Rocky: Blue collar, wants to prove he can go the distance.

When I find myself tuning out of a story, it’s generally because I’m realizing I’m not sure who the people are or why I should care about them or their goals.

One of my favorite movies, though I’ve only watched it one time, is Full Metal Jacket. It’s a dark but wonderful film. I think the reason it stays with me and drew me in so deeply is the characters. Even as they kill themselves and others, they are relatable. They are bullied, they are lost, they are following orders, they are hurt and alone. In less extreme circumstances, we’ve all felt this way.

With more and more content being created, the need to draw in and keep an audience is higher than ever. One of the best ways to do this is by characters people love.

Who are they? personality, family, trauma, sense of humor?

What do they want? respect, belonging, to win, survival

Why do we care if they get it (or not)? we realte and want the same for ourselves.

Rose: restricted by society, wants a life of freedom

Marlin: anxious, wants his son (Nemo) back

These are very reductive ways to look at character. Of course, characters can want things that aren’t good for them, or have deeper needs they aren’t aware of, but we are, as the audience (Harry Potter wants a family, Ned Stark wants to stick to his morals) But this is the baseline to me.

I want my entertainment to be able to answer these questions so I can get onboard and buckled up for whatever ride the character is about to embark on. I just want to care about what happens. Show me who this person is and make me care about them. There used to be a saying that if you wanted to show a character as a hero, have them save a cat early on. A villain, have them kick a dog.

Let’s save a few more cats these days and make sure the characters we are creating are ones people can care about, relate to, and cheer for.

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In 2016 I was living in Los Angeles, hustling for acting work, taking acting classes, and trying to generally “Make it Happen” (which became my motto). Part of making it happen meant I began to create my own short films so I could perform in them. Everything I know about producing, I learned on the job. I worked hard, my friends did too. We told each other we were on #TeamNoSleep as we woke up early to work random side gigs and stayed up late to take performance workshops.

A few years prior, I had taken up running and started most days with a ~4 mile run between 3 and 5am (one of my side jobs was babysitting for a family of film crew workers, so my day started before their call times.) I didn’t have the time, interest, or idea to run any more than 4 miles. Ew. Get up even earlier? Not a chance. Run in the afternoon? Never.

Besides, I had my film career to focus on. In 2018 I made a feature film, stunned every day to be living a dream come true. The days were long, hard, and challenging. And most of them started with a run in the dark neighborhoods of Las Cruces, NM.

A phone call, but make it teen rom-com

The confidence I gained from making this film was transformational to my life. I met a showrunner at a Q & A a few weeks after we wrapped and eventually said yes to reading a book series for him and his brother to provide “coverage” (Hollywood speak for essentially a book report). They were going to pay me per book read and I had just gone three weeks working for free on my own movie! Did they know how fast I could read? I took this opportunity and “Made it Happen”. They hired me as an assistant once I’d read enough books, and I started to work more and more closely with them.

My partner at the time eventually pointed out if I was running 24 miles a week, I could definitely run more than 4 miles at once. So I also started to run further and further. 4 miles became 5, became 6, became 8, became 15. How far could I go? When I was told I could do a marathon without training because I was running 40-50 miles a week, I scoffed. “If it’s easy what’s the point? That doesn’t seem like an Allison Powell thing to do.” So I signed up for a 50k.

Finish Line Feels

To make a long story medium, over the next 8 years I worked on another indie feature, ran longer and longer races, and served as creative executive for the showrunners on two television shows. As the last project was wrapping up, I had to decide: move back to Los Angeles after 2 years on the road and restart the hustle game? Or settle in a smaller town, explore running more deeply, and travel as needed for the next film gig?

I chose the latter.

Some days I wonder about who I would be if I had moved back to LA. Would I be working at a production company? Burning the candle at both ends on short films for #TeamNoSleep? Still grinding away for the chance of being noticed?

My friends who remain committed to their creative goals are inspiring, truly. When I was younger I would have said I would give anything, work harder than anyone else, and never, ever stop till I made a living in film, preferably as an actor.

But the thing is…I did make a living in Hollywood. And I didn’t want to keep pushing for the chance to work 14 hours a day 5 days a week. I certainly didn’t want to work for any other showrunners or producers; the ones who treated their assistants like servants. Mine let me take off work to go run rim-to-rim-rim while we were filming Santa Fe. If I wasn’t working with them, I didn’t really want to be doing it.

On set

On trail. I still can’t believe I took this photo, it’s so stunning!

Film is pure hustle. I wanted to relax. To explore the mountains. To live in a small town like the place I grew up.

So I followed my joy. More trails, more running, less traffic, less hustle. I started leading run clubs. I started coaching other runners. I started dating a thru hiker. For over a year I didn’t do much creatively at all. I just played in the mountains and made new friends.

Now I have a bit more balance. I’ve done some theater in town, gotten to know other filmmakers, and even hopped on a local set to help out. I am following my joy.

Top notch twirling. Photo by Joe Faifer

Ten years ago if you had told me I would be living in Bozeman, Montana, running ultras, and working at a private high school, I would have been devastated. What happened to my dreams? My lofty goals? My Oscar speech?

They changed.

I’m not devastated. I’m ecstatic. I have a beautiful life with adventure, performing, friends, and a phenomenal partner. I have the joy of balance.

My life goal is to inspire others. Perhaps this is lame or cliche. But truly, I just want to inspire other people to live a life that brings them joy. Follow that joy. Let it change. What fills your cup today may not fill you in a year. Let it go, let yourself grow.

Without the courage to follow my joy where it lead, I wouldn’t be in this place now. Who knows where this joy will take me in the future? Or where yours can lead you?

With many of you joining in the past month, I thought I would do another quick intro post.

My name is Allison. I love running long distances and coaching other runners to do the same. I also have a degree in theater and (used to) work in the film industry.

This substack can cover everything from how to gauge your effort on a long run, to how to break down an audition script, to my thoughts on relationships.

Running. Storytelling. Life.

It’s all here and I’m so glad you’ve joined me!

Are there areas you’d like to see more of? Questions you have about any of the above?

I hope you enjoy my writing, even if the subject isn’t always relevant to you.

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1. What’s the best way to recover?

There’s no secret weapon here, the best way to recover is really two ways.

Eat and sleep. Back to the basics.

Eating enough as an ultrarunner is very challenging. Even though I know this deeply, I still sometimes don’t prepare or plan to eat properly. I finish a long effort or race and nibble a couple hundred calories before heading to bed. I think I’ll be home for lunch and end up out running errands for hours on an empty stomach. Even when I try I can come in well underfueled. Or as I reminded one athlete recently, “It’s almost impossible to eat too much.”

Toss into the mix the quiet, but sometimes still present voice of an eating disorder, and it’s a real struggle.

So I work to remind myself, and my athletes, a few other things too.

There is nothing as unhealthy as not eating enough.

I was told this by a friend and have taken it to heart. Is a home cooked meal with lots of fresh veggies, lean protein, and whole grain ideal? Sure. But are Sonic tater tots preferable to eating nothing at all? Yes.

Another friend said they use the mantra, “If you can’t fuel it, you can’t do it.” Essentially saying if the day got so busy they were going to (or had) pushed back a meal to fit in a workout, the workout shouldn’t be happening. Only after there is proper fuel can you go out to exercise.

Food is recovery. Your body is being broken day by running and working out daily/weekly. If there isn’t much in the tank, it’s going to be used for maintaining basic functions, not building muscles or prepping for the next run.

Eat lots, whatever sounds good, and give your body what it needs to perform.

Food is NOT a reward, it is an essential.

Sleeping at the end of Divide 200

Sleep is the other big recovery ingredient. Good, quality sleep is training. Sleep—and rest days—give your body time to lock in the gains you made from workouts. I try and have at least one day a week where there is no alarm set and I can lay in bed until I feel fully rested, recovered, and maybe slightly bored.

Going to sleep in time to get enough sleep is key. Laying in bed scrolling your phone till midnight is not the same as sleeping. There is so much value in the standard advice: try to go to bed around the same time, wake up around the same time, limit screen usage before bed, keep your bedroom dark and cool.

If I’m not feeling ready to fall right to sleep (or on some mornings when I still want to rest) I’ll play a podcast or audiobook and just lay with my eyes closed (Bonus tip, this also works on those sleepless nights before a race!)

There are plenty of fancy, expensive recovery tools. Perhaps some have value. But I think only after you address the fundamentals are there really worth exploring or spending the money on. Are you eating enough? “Fuel it to do it” ? And are you sleeping enough “rest is training” ?

If the answer is yes—Good for you! Teach me your ways! But for most of us, these basics can be challenging enough and focusing in on proper fueling and proper resting is the best way to recover.

Eating a little something during Divide 200, photo by Schultz

Do you have questions you’d like answered about ultraunning? Comment below!

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They took the plate! Carl handed me my info packet and I slipped over to the master map to start creating my own. This took hours. With just one tiny map and 40 runners, there was a huge crowd for awhile. I read the course instructions and did my best, finally feeling like I had a solid map effort. I talked it over with a few other runners and crew people, who gave some feedback and I made small adjustments.

Getting some intel

As confident as I could be, I transferred all my notes, bearings, and course lines, onto a cleaner map and sealed it with tape. The sun had set and Tiffany warmed up calzones for the three of us. We ate as we finalized gear checks, and then I was off to bed. Knowing it was ok if I didn’t sleep well, I laid still and listened to some podcasts, trying to relax. I was honestly surprised how scared I felt. I had my map now, I was here, I was as ready as I could be. Finally, I got a few hours of sleep, then woke up around 3am when someone unlocked our van doors. I bolted up right, ready to jump into action. But nothing happened. Tiffany didn’t appear to wake me up. (She was tasked with sitting up all night waiting for the conch.)

Tiffany, top notch crew!

After a few more hours of tossing and turning, I fell asleep again around 4am. I didn’t hear anything until 5:01 when Tiffany opened the door. “It’s time.” She said.

Here. We. Go. Following my 1 Hour Breakdown, I ticked off each item. Getting my watch, I joked about being the first runner to compete in crocs, as I had worn those up to the shelter. The group laughed and I said, “I can’t control much, but I can control having a good time. Thanks everyone!” As I walked back to the car I heard one person say, “some people are just too cheerful in the morning.” Yep! With Patrick I had listed 3 values I wanted to embody in this event: tenacious, whimsical, and authentic. I was certainly being authentically whimsical that morning.

Jeff had told me that no matter what I needed to stick with the lead group through the first book. Even if you are red lining and think you are going to pass out, you HAVE to stick with the leaders. Got it.

Beginning counterclockwise for the first time ever, I raced down the road, smashed across an off trail section, and busted up Chimney Top. Despite not really being my plan, I happened to settle in right behind Jeff! I was hanging on to the lead pack! He looked over his shoulder and told me “Happy Valentines Day, this is pretty special huh?” I agreed, smiling. He asked if I was ready to be fearless and I said yes. We hit the turn off and suddenly everyone was barreling downhill, off trail, falling, sliding, and tumbling towards book 15 (aka book 1). I kept up and arrived just after Jeff. He looked up and told me, “Good job!” before taking off.

A Valentine for the ages

I snagged my page amongst a hyena like hoard, calling “Wait! That’s my page, can I grab it?” 77 was written in black sharpie at the bottom.

I almost didn’t believe it when Carl handed me that bib. 77 has been my lucky number since I was 12…I even told him so and he said lots of people had been saying that. Perhaps it’s true, but I wasn’t joking. I was thrilled!

77 tucked into my pack, I began to eat a Luna bar and start the next climb.

Advice for future runners, it will take so much effort to keep with the leaders, and so much effort in general to eat, have something very easy and accessible for the first few hours. Jeff had M&Ms in his pocket, I wish I had down something similar. I got down one gel on the climb, but I had burned way more.

The bar perked me up on the climb, the leaders were still in sight as they crested the hill. When I got to the top, I looked over to see if I could tell which way they went. Not a chance, they were long gone. So I began to hunt for the book. 20 seconds after I decided I needed to be 5 feet further right, a person popped out holding the book. “Here you go.” “Wow, thanks!” I said.

“You took that climb well, want to work together?” He asked. “Sounds good to me,” I said. “Is it your first time?”

“Yes, but I did the fall classic” CJ answered.

Good enough for me. We headed down towards prison, being joined by another runner, Cesar from Brazil. We grabbed that book easily and began the famous climb up Rat Jaw.

When the tower came into sight, I was beaming. I was having a blast! The weather was gorgeous, I hung with the leaders up top, I had 3 pages already, and now I could see the famous tower. “Is everyone having fun?” I called out to the waiting photographers and crew. Whimsical. Authentic. Tenaciously climbing hard. I was truly having so much fun!!

Smiling up Rat Jaw like, “It’s an honor to be nominated” Photo by Jacob Zocherman

We filled our water and dashed off together: CJ, Cesar, and myself. I found our next book — an amazing feeling!!— before we headed down to the river. Then, Barkley struck. We were very close to where we needed to be, but not right on it. I pulled out the instructions. Ugh, everything I was seeing matched 90% of the clues, but not 100%. We walked back and forth. I took advantage of the slow moment to eat another bar and get 300 calories in, silently applauding myself for being efficient.

“Ahoy!” CJ and I looked up, a man in an orange bucket hat stood above us. “Have you found the book?” “No.”

Then another man appeared, I recognized him from the morning. How had we gotten ahead? Then, a blonde woman popped up too. We all began to hunt for the book together.

Finally, “I got it!” The Irish accent of Emma filled the air and we sprinted toward her. Standing at the book were two other runners. We all got our pages, chose the next ridgeline to climb, and headed uphill. I stuck by CJ and Cesar, doing my best to hike hard and keep pushing strongly. I hadn’t checked my watch, but CJ informed me we’d lost 42 minutes looking for the book. I told him it wasn’t the worst I had heard (Jeff said he once spend 2.5 hours there). We kept going.

Iain (orange hat) and Stephen (blue shirt) climbed well, so did Emma, I didn’t want to get dropped by the new group, so I kept tabs on their location and matched pace as best I could. I confess to feeling competitive at this point. I wanted to keep my strong climber reputation dubbed to me by CJ. And I wanted to keep our group out front.

I also confess to correcting Stephen (I think) at one point when he began talking about some jeep roads, “No.” I said, “That’s the next book.”

“No” he replied calmly “there are jeep roads here too.” And he pulled out a map to show me. “Oh, ok, great!” I was happy to learn he had been in Barkley in 2023.

From here I learned that Stephen had also done a loop a few years ago, as had Matt and Dawn (who were at the book when Emma found it). As we continued on, despite honestly trying to keep the pace high and perhaps lose some of the other runners, they kept catching up—or climbed faster than me. By the time we got to the 8th book, at one of the furthest points on the course, we were all pretty much in one massive group. I glanced at someone’s watch as we passed the book around and saw that 7:35 had elapsed. Halfway through, and even if we even split, we would be at 15 hours. I hadn’t slowed down, I hadn’t wasted unnecessary time to search for books or confirm routes, and still, I wouldn’t make it in by 13:20.

I didn’t say anything, and kept on, going as hard as possible in the terrain. We didn’t want to lose time making wrong turns, so the time spent confirming turns and ridges made sense.

Barkley is really a game of choices: more time spent checking nav means slower overall speed, but faster nav can mean costly mistakes. More time working on climbing in training meant I may have been fast enough to get ahead of this group, but then I’d be navigating on my own, which I wouldn’t have felt as comfortable with. Carrying less water means less weight and easier climbing, but more time filling water. Everything is a trade off.

In the end, I think we were stronger as a group. Navigating down high walls is easier when you have the ability to fan out in multiple directions to find the best way down, the same with finding books. Our paces were naturally in sync, with some leading climbs or descents, and always a mix of who found the books. We were’t 7 people following a leader, but 8 people forming a team.

Only once did we split, when there was a polite disagreement on the proper way down to a book. I went with Iain, Stephen, and CJ, while Emma, Matt, Dawn and Cesar went another. Again, in the end, while our group came out right by the book, Matt (a veteran) brought his crew down stream to us within 30 seconds of us finding is. A game of choices and both could be right (or neither).

While I knew we were pretty much beyond hope of starting a second loop hours prior, I think it was around then that the rest of the group realized this fact too. We agreed to finish together, no point in dropping anyone now. We had left Iain when he took longer to fill water than we realized and Dawn had joked, “No man left behind!” Now it was real. There was just no reason to split up.

Though we did accidentally drop Cesar, who had been gamely keeping up despite having no poles! He began to pick up sturdy sticks and use them as best he could on the climbs. A real challenge and a testament to his fitness!

As darkness fell and some rain drops began to fall, I stopped on a “candy ass” trail section to put on my raincoat. I didn’t want a repeat of Cocodona hypothermia on my hands and I knew we still had a few hours before we would get back to camp. I raced down the descent as fast as I could and regained the group as everyone was tearing pages. CJ was number 79, so he and I had been trading off pulling pages for the other to save time. We split again slightly on the next climb, in the same groups as before. And again, both of us were pretty much on point to hit the ridge where we wanted.

Headlamps came on and we searched for the right ridge to descend. I had become the go to person for course instructions/descriptions, and was just reading them again to point out a book should be nearby, when Iain appeared holding it. We all cheered our luck and continued down.

The next book was where we lost time again, searching for signs, and then missing it completely until I re-read the instructions and we adjusted where we were looking. A final climb, a final drop, a final book.

Emma found the last one and we all sat for a moment as we collected our final pages. We thanked each other for sharing the day, successfully finding all the books, and completing the loop as best we could. I had begun to think of Iain and Stephen as the dads of the group, whether intentional or not, becoming sweeps and keeping tabs on all members. Matt had taken up the rear after leading several sections. I found out later that, like Jeff, he had fallen and injured a rib.

We were all falling all the time.

Another note on Barkley: It feels like a battle just to stay upright! Climbing, the pitch is so steep your feel as though you might fall backward and tumble downhill. Going downhill, the briars, sticks, and down trees trip you so you might faceplant, or the leaves slip out from under you sending you sliding down on your butt. (A few times I did this on purpose for the fun of it!) Grabbing onto trees to arrest your descent or help your climb was risky, many times they simply snapped in half, dead.

In any case, final page in hand, we ran down, turned right, and hit the OG yellow gate, not in use this year due to construction. We counted to 3 and slapped on our hands on it, celebrating. We continued to run down, crossed the stream, and climbed up to the current yellow gate. Iain or Stephen called out to wait for the others, which was a kind reminder I was letting my completive side out. We were a team. I waited until we had everyone, then we counted to 3 and slapped the finish gate.

I believe we are the largest group to finish together, and the fact that we were together for nearly 12 hours is also incredible. We were, I think, stronger and faster together than we would have been in smaller teams. We supported each other, taking the lead at different points, or confirming bearings, bouncing ideas of each other and confirming before we committed to big climbs or descents.

Taps played 8 times in a row as we each got a moment to say goodbye to the loop and race for that year.

Taps for me

Competing in the Barkley was a dream come true and I am so proud of how we did. The climbs feel endless, but they do end. The descents feel bottomless, but they bottom out. I can confirm this event is the hardest course you will ever experience. There is almost nothing flat or runnable. You are fighting uphill, I often was crawling on hands and knees towards the end, the leaves and ground too slick to hold my footing. You are risking everything going downhill, the leaves hiding tripwires of barbs and rocks.

This event is not for the faint of heart. It requires an all consuming focus and dedication to feel one quarter prepared on race day. You have to divide your time between training and learning and research and there is only so much time to prepare. Whatever you don’t devote time too will haunt you. Could I have climbed faster? Could I have practiced eating better or used a different nutrition plan? But then would I have been lost in the woods, alone between two groups? I’ll never know.

What I do know is I how lucky I am—77!—to have had a gorgeous day, with the rain really only starting about 30 min from the end, a great start time, and amazing group to be running with.

After I was tapped out, and saw Jeff hadn’t made it either, I ate a little, and went to sleep. The rest of the weekend was an incredible blur of meeting new friends, debriefing the race with the “Over time eight” (or Elite Eight) and trying my best to eat enough to make up for what I had lost.

The 8

I am really proud of the way I prepared, the way I handled the climbs, my (almost) fearless descents (there is one section that is basically a rappel from a vine, I kept having visions of the vine ripping out of the cliff with me still clinging to it, not great). To be able to share it with Jeff, and Tiffany, and now so many more friends was awesome.

The Barkley is special for many reasons, but perhaps the people and community it creates is the most important reason of all. I am honored to now be listed among the names of Barkley failures.

PS thank you to:

Coach Chris, Mental Coach Patrick, Nav Coach Wyatt, Nav Companion Benjamin, Crew Queen Tiffany, RD Carl, New Friends and Hot Shower providers Meredith, Paul, and Britt, The 8: Iain, Stephen, Dawn, Matt, Cesar, Emma, and CJ

And especially Jeff, without whom this would not have been possible <3

Then I texted the Fit Trout. Holy fucking shit, I think I just got into Barkley. And then right away Damnit, I am probably not supposed to tell you! Just ignore this and don’t tell anyone.

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I stumbled out into the living room. Jeff saw my shocked face and asked if I was ok. I replied, “…I think I just got into Barkley. Did you?” “Yeah, I did too.” he said.

Holy cow. Ok, this was real life. Now what? I had an 80 mile FKT planned in North Carolina in a week or so. That instantly went from “end of year celebration run” to “extended training run” in my head.

Recap here: mostly a good reminder of how tough east coast running is!

Upon returning and recovering from that, I also began a new job. My first full time job in several years. I’d been piecing things together with some remote assistant work, hospitality, and coaching. I learned the true effort it takes to fit training in amongst meetings and to do lists and all the other expectations of a “real job”. Thankfully, my hours weren’t insane and with a few 5am starts, I got in a decent routine of training.

After Christmas, I enlisted the help of Patrick Hutchins at Resolve Mental Performance. He had helped me prepare for Cocodona and I knew I would need some serious mental fortitude for an event where so much is outside of your control. We prepared as best we could to handle all the unknowns.

My coach, Chris Dawson, created some insanely hard uphill treadmill workouts and I was pushed harder than I ever had been before. I loved the burn. We added biking and heavier lifting too. On top of this, I needed to learn basic navigation skills.

I spent hours off trail, working off maps, using my compass, trying to pick the right peak or ridge from a pre-picked route. I was aiming for perfection (it’s me of course) but the planet isn’t perfect. I probably put about 15+ hours into nav alone. Looking back, was this the right choice? Would I have gone faster if I had put 7-10 (or more) of those hours into extra strength or uphill rucking?

I don’t know, and I can’t change the past. I just knew I wanted to be able to contribute if I found myself in a group, or at the very least, get myself safely back to camp if I got dangerously lost.

My NC plate, hanging in the wind!

The research side of Barkley prep can’t be understated. I read race reports with my morning tea, watched docs on the race while climbing the stair stepper, and navigation tutorials while stationary biking. My brain was on a constant drip of Barkley intel. While I started running without headphones,I would make an exception for Barkley podcasts.

I built out as much info I could from this research. With so many unknowns, I was able to calm myself down with the illusion of control. I made plans for the 1 hour before race start, estimating down to the minute how long each item would take (I was at 52 minutes exactly), I made lists of all the gear I would need on each loop so I could confirm I had everything I needed easily, I made plans for between loops. I read Frozen Ed’s book.

All of this took time, effort, and brain power. Balancing this with learning a new job was, again, quite the challenge. Add in my family lovingly asking about wedding plans, and I was pretty much at capacity most days. I had to turn down auditions, performance opportunities, and say no to group runs. I had no space in my schedule or brain for almost anything not directly preparing me for Barkley.

Except a few people. My friends who perhaps suspected something was up, and those who coached me on navigation (thank you Wyatt and Benjamin!) But people started commenting on my vert or asking if there were trails where I had been running…

Advice for future entrants: Come up with a story and stick to it! Tell people you’re doing an FKT in the southeast. A family reunion in Nashville. Anything, be ready, because people will ask what you’re doing and where you’re traveling. If you don’t want to talk about it (and my advice is to not) come up with an excuse and give it to everyone.

The rules for this year, and perhaps for awhile, have been one crew person per runner. So I also needed to think about who I would ask to come crew. Really, only one option made sense. My friend Tiffany. She crewed my first FKT, my first 200, and is a phenomenal crew chief and friend. She knows what I need and how to take care of me. I called her and said, “Are you free Valentines Day weekend? Tell me yes or no, before I say more.” Once she confirmed she was free, I told her what was up and she said yes. Thank goodness! I trusted her completely to have my back.

Tiffany and on Grandfather Mountain, NC in 2021. She’s always up for an adventure

Jeff was going to drive out to Frozen Head, I would fly later in the week after a work event. Thankfully, I was able to send much of my gear with him. I packed a lot. In fact, I had bags of nutrition for 5 loops. After all, everyone says if you don’t arrive with the goal of 5 loops, you’re done already. I was ready.

I felt as fit as I ever had, uphills that used to feel somewhat challenging now felt like easy jogs. Stair stepping 30 minutes straight was no big deal. I hiked on a 30% grade treadmill and hit 3100 feet in 38 minutes. When my friend Brendan called “bullshit” I took it as a confidence booster.

My last big run I woke up at 1am to practice my “1 hour” routine. Taking my second ever 100mg caffeine pill, eating some cream of wheat, I hit the trail at 1:55am.

A big lesson from this training block: I am VERY sensitive to caffeine! 100mg takes hours to wear off. After trying it first at 10am during a different run, I cleaned the whole house at 8pm that night, overwhelmed with energy.

I had a great final big run (and even snuck in some burrito segments afterwards too!)

Fitness on lock meant I didn’t totally panic when the last week before leaving I came down with a cold. I had already begun to taper and just hit that rest harder. Typically, I’m not a big medicine taker, but I did hit Sudafed every 4 hours, later Mucinex, orange juice, oregano oil, and lots of water. I tried everything to get better fast.

I was feeling good, though with some phlegm still hanging around when I woke up at 4:50 for my 5am airport ride. I had printed all my research and preparation, including mantras and protocols I created with Patrick for emotional moments on the trail. I was ready if I got scared, angry, frustrated, sad, or began “wish casting” that I was somewhere I might not actually be.

“Being here is winning”

“I am open to what is, not what I wish to be”

And others echoed in my head on the flight out.

Tiffany picked me up at the airport and we began our drive east to Wartburg and the conch…

All smiles for the journey ahead!

Part Two coming Tuesday!

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Here are some rants Sassy Allison has thought about recently.

1. Is Rocket Money a scam? Ok, I get that probably it’s not. But the fact that every other ad on podcasts I listen to is for Rocket Money, it starts to feel like a Pay Day Loan or something. Users save $750 a year when using the premium features? So you’re paying money to save money? Why not use a free or cheaper app? Why are you signing up for so many subscriptions you can’t keep track? If I sign up for a “free trial” that I know I don’t need, I also put a notice on my calendar “CANCEL FREE TRIAL” so I don’t get billed. I sound so old but stop being lazy and just keep track of your spending I guess?? Or maybe I am just really tired of Rocket Money advertisements.

2. Electrolytes. Does everyone need them? No! I have talked to a nutritionist friend about this. Yes, they have value for people who have low sodium or who exercise and sweat frequently. But the general population? Have you tried water? It’s really good and (usually/often) free! And a great way to stay hydrated. Again, I’m not talking about marathon runners or hot yoga instructors. Outside of that, do you need daily electrolytes? Probably not. Hearing someone say “Dad, did you take your electrolytes?” Ugh! (Ok, I know I don’t have all the info, perhaps this dad does need them due to a medical condition or some other reason) But I kinda doubt it. Like, please.

3. TURN OFF YOUR CAR! This is my biggest one. And I know I KNOW that it “doesn’t matter” that leaving cars idling doesn’t come close to using a private jet or whatever. But it’s so easy to turn the key or hit the power button and NOT be spewing fumes into the atmosphere. I’m obviously talking about gas powered vehicles. If you're cold, put on a coat or go inside. If you’re hot, roll down the window or get outside. Don’t keep the AC or heat running. It may not be a huge impact, but you can easily just turn off the car and stop impacting the air quality even 0.0005% adds up (this is a made up number).

I’ll leave these now so I don’t get too mean or worked up. (Like AI, gotta leave that for a longer post maybe) Anyway, my judgmental side is showing. I wanted to get these items out of my brain. Curious what others think? What are your current rants?

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Sometimes this means a throwback to when I first started running, and for some reason felt I could only run early in the morning before I really ate anything for the day. This included a 2am run start with no headlamp down the Mulholland Drive fire road in LA. That night I couldn’t decide if the noises I was hearing about 3:30 am were coyotes or people who had gotten up really early to watch a soccer game. I tried very hard to convince myself of the latter. But it was probably the former.

In any case, this weekend, wanting to practice more night running and test some caffeine pills (and having to work at 8:30am) I set my alarm for 1am and attempted some sleep starting around 8pm. I got probably 3-4 hours all in, which isn’t too bad! I woke up with ease, excited for my goal.

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I took a single 100mg caffeine pill, ate some cream of wheat (gone are the days I would attempt a long run on an empty stomach), and made a cup of tea to drink while I drove to the trailhead.

Thankfully, Bozeman has been having a very warm and dry winter. I didn’t need any gloves, no spikes for traction on ice either. I simply set out with my pack under the light of the nearly full moon at 1:55am.

Running brings so much joy to my life, not the least of which is sharing good miles and conversation with a friend. Wyatt went above and beyond, joining me at 5am. This was a great way to break up the hours. He and spent the next 2.5 together, bushwhacking, snow traversing higher up, and generally waxing philosophic on life.

For instance, how can we make run clubs more welcoming to those who don’t fit the mold of a traditional “runner” ? What is the best balance between work and life? How do we learn and grow as adults? What are the skills worth having to lead a good life?

Is there a mountain lion around here? (paw prints said yes!)

I honestly don’t remember all of our conversations as they ebbed and flowed as we hiked up and slipped down. But these are the moments and friendships that mean the most to me. A stunning moon. A good morning hug. A “Well, let’s have an adventure.”

Yes, I like to train hard and push myself to be the best. I want to show up on starting lines ready to compete for a top spot. But I also want to have fun. To stop and gawk at the sky because all the clouds are pink on the bottom and who but us is lucky enough to see it?

I am shook at how pretty this was!!!

Sometimes the training calls for a bit of insanity. But I can confirm 100mg of caffeine will power me for over 12 hours easily. And I feel better about my night running. These are the small sacrifices to make small gains to make a run at a good race (yes pun intended of course).

I love this aspect of training, the long days (or nights) that show you, you are capable of so much. Where will your training take you next?