This summer I started and completed a 100-mile race for the first time in over 6 years. Prior to that, I’d raced competitively around the world for nearly 20 years. When I crossed the finish line of the Gaoligong by UTMB 170km race in March of 2018 at 40 years old amidst lazer lights, stage smoke, blaring music and the grand announcement of being the first female and 10^th overall rather than the excited feeling for knowing what was next I had only three words in my head. “I am done.” It was a deep knowing that my competitive racing days just wrapped on this international stage, and I couldn’t have asked for a grander exit. My foot was pressed in gold and the most mystical trophy I ever earned made the long-haul flight home with me.

I gave it the requisite two months – once you forget how much it hurt, you’ll want to sign up for another. Nope. I gave it two years and actually signed up for a couple of races in 2020 to see what it felt like and give it a chance again. But…2020.

I’m thankful for the long hiatus, the additional time of COVID, that put space between that amazing seal on two decades of racing at a high level, prioritizing and making many life decisions based on what events I wanted to run, and the life that now fills my mid 40s. I love that running has remained a constant thread, a touch point to always bring me back to self and a community that held me as I grew up, and continues to provide connection to amazing humans that share a similar passion of seeing what is possible through a movement that resonates to our core.

To step back on the starting line on July 19, 2024, started many months, in fact three years before. The beauty of the photos captured the year fellow SCARPA athlete Gabe Joyes ran the race caught my attention and I signed up in 2022 for the 2023 event. I learned from a direct email from the race director my fate of not being able to even enter the lottery. I did not have a qualifying race to run the High Lonesome 100 (aka HiLo on our group text thread). Twenty years of winning 100s and I was getting to start all over. After the initial shock, I loved it. In the end, my preferred process to gain a qualifier required running two back-to-back 50ks in September of 2023 directed by the same organizers for HiLo. Once qualified I registered again and waited out the lottery drawing. Finally, celebrated entry when my two friends Jenny Jurek, Kathleen Egan and I all got in. After that I had to revisit how to train for a 100-mile race, but now balancing owning a home, a dog, two businesses, a relationship, and the more recent addition of increasing time with his two young daughters.

Blocking out entire days and weekends to spend time running in the mountains, as ideal as it still sounds, was not realistic for our family. I would squeeze in 4-5 hour runs before a Saturday soccer game. I was also interested to see what training for a 100 miler could look like with significantly less time. I coach clients that are raising families, working and training, and the best form of understanding is by doing. Week by week I wrote myself a training plan from a third person perspective taking into consideration the realities of life and the training I was able to accomplish. “Do the best with what you have got.” An old mantra resurfaced. Strength training with our local gym, Trailhead Athletics, and getting in quality miles where I could, became the theme of my spring and summer. I averaged about 50 miles a week and noted how much more recovery time was needed between runs. Or perhaps runs + parenting.

Amidst our family summer-o-fun full of travels I squeezed in the huge reality check of San Juan Solstice 50 miler with Jenny Jurek and managed 10 days in Colorado sleeping at Molas Pass in the back of a rented Subaru (old habits die hard) leading into High Lonesome 100. It was during that time that I faced the most important reminder of 100-mile training, my mental game. After four days of serious doubt and self-confidence diving to depths I never knew, I realized that my mental training used to come from those big days in the mountains. Where things would go sideways, weather would test me and my gear, I’d sample different types of fuel options and dial in my kit and running pack WELL before the event. I felt both like I was cramming and having to taper at the same time. On the fifth day I spent the evening by myself with my laptop and purged every doubt onto the screen. My fingers didn’t stop for nearly two hours and my bladder was what finally shut me down. Also, the storm. The winds picked up and the rain started splattering the windshield. And I had to pee. I put on my raincoat, moved the car, and hopped out to hike the hill to a more hidden spot. When I returned the car was perfectly framed by a rainbow.

This next part steps into the realms of what I call woo-woo and I love it. I’d hunkered down in the car, zipped into my NormaTec boots (recovery at 10,000ft!) and a moth kept tapping at the window next to my face. I’m still not sure what compelled me to ask Siri “what is the significance of a Moth?”, but my jaw gaped open at the response she robotically announced back to me. “Moths have long been associated with transformation and rebirth.” Reading further, new beginnings, and returning to the light within. Well come on now I just saw a rainbow and then this moth insists on getting my attention! I took these as signs that I was processing through my own reconnection to this sport that I’ve loved for nearly three decades, but in the new way. My rebirth still holds the knowledge and experience of my past and moving forward, the experience is influenced by what is now true.

I pulled out the laptop again and took inventory. I have 20 years of competitive ultra racing. I have even more years of running consistency. I am healthy and uninjured. I am older. I am strong. I am in perimenopause. I am not as well-trained as I have been starting previous 100s. I know that fueling and pacing are my best strategies for managing the difference. I have 5 days sleeping above 10,000ft and I will sleep 5 more before the race starts. My family and three dear friends are inbound to support me. Jenny, Kathleen and I have made a pact to finish this race.

With these notes I now held the mindset to flip the script on self-doubt and struggling confidence, two descriptors I had not held in my racing years -and honestly wonder if were in part brought on by the challenges of changing hormones. The five days leading up to the HiLo start line were incredibly more enjoyable after moving through this mental load. I started the race with a temporary moth tattoo on my left quad and a smile on my face. The journey of an ultra race has the potential to crack us open and teach each runner something. As I reflected with the Trail Runner Nation podcast hosts I realized, there wasn’t anything I had to figure out. The mental work was done before I started. I (mostly) got to enjoy sharing the experience with my long-time friends and new family. The race was not without its hiccups, and other digestive issues, but key people in my life hung with me and held space for it all, for the entire experience of finishing yet another 100 miler, this time with a few more years and a lot more insight.

I have a basket of unworn belt buckles that sit on my shelf. And shelves full of trophies that sat in boxes for years. Now, I display all of them for that previous version of me, mostly for me, in my quiet little home. I see her and those victories in a much different light now. In fact, I am more apt to shine light on what was now that I feel removed or moved on from that time. While so many tried to label me as the runner, I always clarified that I was someone that ran, and that I wasn’t only a runner. I hid my accomplishments in my words and in my home décor. But now I embrace all that was and is, accepting and knowing myself better for it.

There were no laser lights and stage smoke at the finish of High Lonesome 100. I was not close to first. I had Monica, Guy, Nichole, Gavin, Olive and Etta shuffling (they could have walked as fast as I was running) the final 200 meters with me. Our finish line photo, a bottle of whiskey, and a belt buckle, that I now wear proudly, are my thankful reminders of this journey, one that called on my past, and transformed this aging athlete.