Author: I'm Ash Walsh.

I hate sitting still, so I adventure all over the Southeast with my partners in crime. I've finished ten 100 mile races over the last decade, amongst other stupid things. Sometimes I win, most of the time I just screw around and play in the dirt. Either way, I like to write about it. I'm married to my high school sweetheart, Dan, who is a total stud. And together we have two kids, Brett & Brooklyn. I currently host two sites: AshRuns100s.com is for my storytelling, and SideTrails.blog is my daily blog. Thanks for following my adventures!
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Lazarus Gump

I can’t believe I’m here again…. I thought to myself with a big smile on my face.

I laced up my brand new, never worn, fresh-out-of-the-box Topos to christen on the Pinhoti 100 course that day. No New Shoes On Race Day is another one of those cardinal rules I never bothered to acknowledge. Come to think of it, there’s not many rules I have ever followed in life.

Signing up for Pinhoti, which is 100 miles of running through the Alabama forests, was just another example of having zero regard for the system. This race was nothing new to me; I’d finished it three times over the last two decades. What was new to me, though? Signing up for the thing two weeks before, having done only one real long run over the last two years — 18 miles on the treadmill. That was it.

It didn’t matter. I needed this.

I’ll spare you the details for now, but suffice it to say our family has been through a lot of stuff over the years . Stuff that we’ve had to just take on the chin and white knuckle our way through. Life isn’t a walk in the park for anyone, I realize that, and I think most people deal with it by going to therapy. For me, therapy never hit the spot. I’ve always found relief in simply putting my head down and sweating out the pain with a run. Just grind it out.

And over the last 18 years, that’s always worked for me. I’d yet to encounter a problem I couldn’t run through.

2023 changed that for me…

The School Board Sucker Punch

If you know anything at all about me, it likely has something to do with the fact that I love running. More than that, I really, really love to help other people fall in love with running too.

I started coaching back in 2008. At the time, I was a 22-year-old mom of two. After surviving tumultuous teen years — riddled with meth, alcohol, failure, and disappointment— I clinged to the stability that running gave me. Once I realize how amazing life was on the healthy side, I became passionate about making sure everyone in my life had the chance to experience that same joy.

My absolute favorite years of coaching came when my son joined the cross country team at his high school in 2020. I had been putting on free trail run camps for the community kids throughout his childhood, so when a new high school was formed and they needed a volunteer coach for their run team, it felt like a natural fit.

I became heavily involved with the school and team from the get-go. I spent all my time, and my not-so-free time alongside the other coaches pouring into the young runners. Coming from someone who struggled so immemsely through those dreadful teen years, I found deep meaning and purpose in coaching the kids.

The XC team grew and became successful. The co-coach and I created a track team so that the kids could have more of that quality run time in the Spring. Over 75 children joined our baby track program! The team had tremendous success. With just two dedicated (and very tired) volunteer coaches, we made it to State! We even had three students sign with D1/D2 colleges thanks to the program. One even received a full ride to UGA. But more importantly, every last one of those kids found a place where they belonged. And that meant everything to me.

But unfortunately, good things don’t always last. The team’s success created quite a buzz, and I quickly found out that the extra attention was not appreciated by the county.

It turns out that people doing shady things in the dark really don’t like when someone shines a light on them.

For no clear reason whatsoever, the superintendent sent word to the school administration that the team was to be shut down and not reinstated the following season.

“The school was never meant to have a track team.”

I politely pushed back. I sent respectful emails. I made calls. I requested an audience. I got ignored.. by everyone except one fierce woman, but that’s a story for another day.

The county finally got sick of hearing my voice, I guess, because they eventually relented and said they’d compromise. The “successful kids” could continue the sport the next year, and then the program would be phased out.

Ohhh hayell no. So sports are only for talented kids now? These people done kicked the hornets nest. There was not a snowflakes chance in Hell I was backing down now. They weren’t taking this program away from kids! I don’t care how talented or untalented they are. Patient and professional Ash with all her polite requests left the building, and something straight out of Stephen King book came out swingin’ in her place!

I went to war. I raised my voice, and rallied up an army of track kids and their parents to stand beside me. Together we rolled up our sleeves and fought the county. The news got involved, and some corruption was discovered. And while I can’t say for sure how it happened, we were able to save our little track team. Thank God.

My amazing athletes who helped rally and fight for their team!

But my fight came at a cost…

After the whole ordeal — depiste the years, time, money, goals, and jobs I had sacrificed — I was “politely asked” to resign from my volunteer coaching position due to my exposure of corruption conflict with the school board. I was booted out without so much as a goodbye. No “hey thanks for building the program” or “hey sorry about the horrible way we treated you” from the school, or anyone from the county. Just, good riddance.

I’ve faced a lot in life… meth addiction, teen pregnancy, poverty, sexual violence against people I love.. but this? This broke me. Like I’m talking completely, spiritually, crushed me.

I had given everything I had to the team. Everything. We were a family, and I was their “Coach Mom”. Coaching those kids — it had truly become my passion. And I didn’t know how to function in life without them. I lost my purpose. I lost my motivation. I lost my fire. And I did what I always do when things get hard… I put my head down and ran.

The Final Blow.

I ended up running Leadville 100 that fall. I ran it without a training block, without a pacer, and with only one old man by my side, my trusty ultra-pops, AJW. I was in no way, shape, or form prepared to throw down 100 miles at altitude, but I didn’t care. My heart needed the release that only a day of running in the wild could bring. My body needed to finish something and see it through. Thankfully, dear ole Papa Andy – present for roughly half of my stupid 100 mile decisions – knew what he was getting into, and he knew what I needed: Encouragement to be stupid.

I ran the race — fueled entirely off of emotional turmoil—surprisingly well for the most part. I just did what I always do: I zoned out and ran. Physically, crap didn’t hit the fan until the last 13 miles or so. The day had been hot, and my sad lil kidneys were not happy with me. In fact, Andy will never let me live down my text to him a half mile from the finish line. I said, “idk if I am going to make it.” He laughed because he thought I was being dramatic! What he didn’t know was that I was lowkey serious. I had been peeing coffee color for the bulk of the day, but had completely ignored that and didn’t tell him…because I didn’t want to stop. *I know… Facepalm.* My vision tunneled down to almost nothing, and I was fighting the feeling of passing out with every pathetic step I took. But somehow, I was able to autopilot zombie walk my way to the finish.

When I crossed the line, I was happy, but I knew I’d just struck a deal with the devil. I was going to pay for this. If you’ve read this blog since 2010, you know I did some serious damage to my kidneys back in 2011. You probably also know that I’ve been outrunning the kidney monster ever since. Finishing Leadville though, there was no denying it. I’d just delivered the final blow.

One Run = One Soul?

After the Leadville demolition, and the Coach Mom exile, I was totally and completely broken. My body had finally tapped out from almost two decades of abuse, and my soul? Yeah, it tapped out too. I could not mentally recover from the damage of losing coaching. And not to dump even more fun into this story, but I also unexpectedly lost a massive contract, lost my car, and my kid had a very long, very traumatic health crisis. I struggled to get out of bed most days, let alone run an easy mile.

When I finally tried to pull myself up by the bootstraps, my body revolted. With even just an easy flat mile, my heart would go nuts with palpitations, and my arm would get numb. I’d lose vision, and get very nauseous. After that, I’d go home and fall asleep. This cycle continued for quite some time. I tried everything I knew to claw my way back to health, but nothing was working.

Running was gone. Coaching was gone. I was gone.

I finally got low and pathetic enough to do something about it. I went to a doctor. I freaking hate doctors. But I went, and I got bloodwork done. The results came back abnormal, so I had imaging tests done. Then I finally learned to be true what I’d suspected all along — my kidneys sucked. The severe rhabdo from 2011 and the multiple AKI’s over the last decade had scarred my kidneys enough that I developed stage 3 chronic kidney disease.

What does that mean? Well, for starters, it means that being a runner addicted to going far while living in hot and humid Georgia is not in the cards. Unless you’re just really craving a kidney transplant.

The diagnosis wasn’t the magic fix I was looking for. It was an honest and blunt reality check. It was confirmation that outrunning my problems for the last 18 years was not the brightest idea I’ve ever had. And it was a grim awakening that the future wasn’t looking good either.

When I left the doctor that day, I couldn’t go back home, lace up my shoes, and hash it out over some miles. I just had to sit in the disappointment and feel it. Man, I did NOT like that.

The Shooting

While I was over there wallowing in my “poor me, I can’t run anymore because I broke my kidneys” depression, little did I know, a horrifying tragedy was about to shake the small town I’ve lived in my entire life.

On September 4th, 2024, a 14-year-old boy walked into my daughter’s high school and changed our entire community forever. The boy brutally gunned down 11 people and stole the lives of four innocent humans. For our community, and line was drawn in the sand… life immediately became divided into Before The Shooting and After The Shooting.

After everything happened, I locked myself in my car and just screamed. Just weeks prior, I had spoken with a teacher and a board member regarding serious safety concerns at another high school in the county. I was sick to my stomach running through all the What If scenarios. I screamed, and then I sobbed. I grieved for the moms who wouldn’t see their babies again. I grieved for the people who lost their person. I mourned for what once was our little “The door’s unlocked!” community. I cried for my daughter.… My daughter, who at sixteen, had already seen more ugly parts of humanity than most grown women I know.

I dropped my head and prayed God would give me all of the strength, health, motivation, and energy I needed to be fully present for my girl and my community as we walked the long road ahead.

Let It Go

The months following the shooting were messy. Every day was draining. I couldn’t run to cope, but it didn’t matter, because I didn’t even care to try. Instead of running, I did my best to create space to promote healing – for me, for my family, for whoever needed it. I devoted more time to prayer, to gentle movement, and to nutritious wholesome food. Every morning I would wake, walk, and pray.

I remember one morning I said out loud, “God you can have the running” I said, “I don’t need it anymore. Just use me for whatever purpose YOU need my life for. Please renew and sustain my energy for that.”

And I’m not trying to overspiritualize things here, but it was shortly after that exchange that I felt an overwhelming urge to go back to school. Out of no where, I felt compelled to pursue a law degree, with the end goal of providing pro bono work to low income people and communities in crisis situations. Considering I barely finished high school, the thought of starting one of the most notoriously difficult educational pathways felt a little daunting, but in many ways, it also felt like a 100. A really really long way, and you can only get there one step at a time. Maybe I couldn’t put my head down and grind it out on a trail, but I could put my head down and hyperfocus on a textbook…

I had a lot of doubts, and questions, but ultimately, I decided that if God brought me to it, He’d bring me through it. With that in mind, I registered for courses at a nearby college and moved foward in confidence.

All the endurance and all those trials — I refused to let them be for nothing.

Lazarus

A few months after utilizing God’s gift exchange program —swapping out the running shoes for textbooks—I started to notice some positive changes:

I was no longer falling asleep in the middle of the day.

I was motivated to check up on my friends, family, and community daily.

I found joy in my other hobbies again! I played the piano every day, tended to my little backyard garden, and played with my crazy dogs.

I started to feel alive.

I started to feel like me.

I felt so much like me, in fact, that I decided to attempt some running again.

And it didn’t go poorly…

Let’s Make A Deal

Early 2025, I began to add in a few miles every other week or so. I noticed that if it was cold and the humidity was low, I had no significant issues and could manage the miles just fine. I continued that pattern for awhile: occasional running, keeping it low on the priority list, and generally just hoping for the best. Once the summer months arrived though, I began to notice tell-tale signs of body revolt again. I backed off, and worked with my doctor to develop a plan to move forward.

She analyzed tons of my data and metrics and decided that I seemed to be okay if the temps were lower than 60 degrees, if the humidity was low, and if I hydrated very well. If those conditions were not in place, I could instead exercise on a treadmill with the climate controlled and cool. We also developed a dietary plan to combat the hypoglycemia I was dealing with as a result of the kidney disease.

For someone who told God that he could take my running, the clearence to do any running at all felt like a sweet spiritual compromise.

I left my appointment that day grinning ear to ear. I had given running up, but God had given it back. There were just some rules, boundaries, and a few conditions I’d have to play by. …..We starting to see a theme in my life, guys?

I just felt like runnang.

Getting that greenlight to run felt like the gates bursting open at a horse race, but I knew I needed to keep it in check. It was part of the deal, right? Every now and then though, I couldn’t help but run fast and far on my treadmill, albeit with the A/C blasting and three fans blowing on my body. After each run, I would thank God for the gift of it, and return to my safe haven of walking, praying, stillness, and recovery.

After a few weeks of successfully managing longer efforts, I started to crave a full day in the woods again. I kept noticing my internet browser somehow landing on the Pinhoti 100 registration page… weird. I had completed the race three times over the years, and each race had crisp cool weather. It fit the medical boundaries, kind of, but did it fit my spiritual boundaries? I wasn’t sure.

Initially, the craving scared me. I talked to Dan about it, and he encouraged me to pray about it, so I did. I prayed about it for several weeks. Until finally, one morning, I realized what was going on: This race wasn’t about running. It was about setting a time and place to meet with Jesus, and I wasn’t about to turn that down.

So on October 17th, I clicked REGISTER for the race that was only two weeks away on November 1st. I can’t explain the calm and confidence I felt in signing up for this. There was a lot of seriously ugly stuff I’d buried over the last few years that I needed to get out. And the miles? They were just going to be a byproduct.

Gump

I didn’t even tell my kids what I was doing the weekend of the race, because I didn’t want them to worry about me. I only told Dan, my best friend Bailey, and a few trusted friends what was going on. Everyone made me promise that I would not put myself into danger. I agreed that if the temps strayed from the forecasted 30s-50s, that I would promptly end my little nature chat with God and go home.

As per usual, the Pinhoti race weekend arrived with crisp, cold, and crazy beautiful weather! Being at the start line felt so much like home to me. I had truly missed this —the people, the energy. It was so special.

When Todd Henderson, the RD, shouted GO, I didn’t feel any emotion other than pure joy. I was so stoked to be doing this. After a mile or so, my brain immediately settled into the flow state I knew and loved so much.

Shoutout to my sweet and talented friends Brandy, Brandon, and Bradley for all the moments of joy they captured throughout the day.

Each aid station I would come to, and every volunteer or old friend I would see, I felt immense gratitude and joy. I can not put into words just how thankful I felt to be given the chance to do this again.

I intended to run alone the entire time, but I ended up running a couple miles with an amazing woman named CJ. CJ, come to find out, is a kidney transplant surgeon. The moment she said that, I just laughed and thought God really does have a craaazy sense of humor. CJ and I swapped some stories. She gave some great insight into navigating the road forward with the kidney stuff. She didn’t make me feel stupid for what I was out there doing that day, but instead she encouraged me for having the courage to show up. Thank you CJ, you probably have no idea, but our short miles together felt like a true God wink.

I continued to run well the whole day with no real issue other than being grossly out of shape and underprepared! My everpresent bestie, Bailey, had checked on me a few times in the morning, and my R-O-D, Dan, was set to help me in the evening.

I made it to Cheaha Lake (40 something miles) feeling totally fine and ready for whatever came next! And after lots of mental stillness and prayer, I decided I was ready to tackle the hard stuff. And by hard stuff, I don’t mean the trails.

Stoked to see my sweet friend, Brandy!
Shoutout to whoever made this sign. Y’all know what’s up! 😂

I put on my go-to Linkin Park playlist and got ready to rage. I had some things to vent about spiritually, but it was time to let my legs do the talking. With Meteora blasting in the background, I finally unleashed all the BS I’d avoided thinking about over the last two years. I let myself feel all of the terrible, horrible, awful, sad emotions I’d supressed.

Left, right, left, right. Breathe.

Each step felt like a long awaited release. I ran strong, fast, and steady. The only word I could use to fully describe it would be catharsis.

Fifty miles came and went. As evening settled in, I realized I needed my light. I pulled it out of my pack, and the action snapped me out of my beautiful rage. I took a deep breath and started walking. I felt so much peace and relief. As I continued through the dark woods alone into the night, I drank in the stillness. I savored every sight, sound, and smell.

This was just what I needed.

It wasn’t until I got to Adams Gap Aid Station that things finally changed…

Dan was waiting at the aid station for me with all of my gear, fuel, and food needed to continue into the night. The instant I saw him, I snapped back to reality. It was like a switch flipped in my brain. Hyperfocus, gone! I suddenly felt every little bit of the 58ish miles I’d just ran. My legs became heavy, my heart started pounding, and my head started spinning.

“Hey! You’re doing great,” he said.

“I am? Oh that’s good!… But.. I think I need to sit down.”

“Okay! let’s get you fixed up and back out there. You’ve got the hard part done, and you always throw down on the back half.”

“No….” I said between Tailwind sips, and with a big smile, “I’m done.”

This wasn’t Leadville 2023. I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my body to numb any more pain. I’d dealt with everything I needed to, and my need to run was over.

“Done? But why? There’s nothing wrong with you. You look great!”

“Yeah… But… I got what I needed.” And then in pure Forrest Gump style, I said, “I’m pretty tired… I think I’ll go home now.”

Dan didn’t argue. He just grabbed my stuff and said, “Let’s get you home.”

And as Dan drove me home, I giddily shared all about my “amazing day” of running. I gushed about the colors of the trees, the feeling of being back in the woods, and the moments of rage running that took a weight off me I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. I recapped conversations I had with incredible women like CJ, and I named all the friends I had seen throughout the weekend, like Brandy, Nelle, Bob, Angie, Daniel, and Brandon. I kept saying how grateful I was that God gave me exactly what I needed, and I couldn’t be happier.

A Free Gift

According to runner standards, I suppose I should be bummed that I quit the Pinhoti 100 just over halfway through the race. I’ve tried to go there mentally, and for the life of me, the dots just won’t connect. I have zero regret for how the day played out. There is nothing but pure gratitude for what I was able to accomplish. The weeks following the race have been peaceful, and my body recovered just fine.

I’ve thought a lot about the day since, and asked myself what I could take away from the experience. I usually find some sort of life lesson over the span of 13 hours of running! But this one felt different. It didn’t feel so much like I needed to learn anything, but rather maybe I needed to accept a few things.

One of those things? — a gift. The weekend, for me, genuinely felt like a sweet gift from God himself …wrapped up in dirt, trees, and singletrack bows. It wasn’t something I earned, and it wasn’t anything I deserved. It was just a gift. A reminder that I’m loved, and I’m seen.

I also needed to accept a certain truth — Bad things happen to good people. The world can be an ugly and terrible place, because it’s fallen, and it’s broken, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. The awful stuff doesn’t get to have the last word. God is still in control. He is still capable of breathing beauty, life, purpose, and meaning into whatever sad little pile of ashes we hand over to him. For me, at Pinhoti, that looked like once again handing Him my running ashes and saying, “Take them, they’re Yours anyway.”

I don’t know what’s next for me in running or what my future looks like — other than I’ve got a lot of school work ahead of me! I don’t know how long my kidneys will last, or if I’ll ever be able to accomplish 100 miles again. What I do know is that I don’t need to know. I just need to have faith, and continue to wake up every single day ready to serve my Maker, my family, and my community. In whatever way He deems fit.

And if His plans happen to include 100 miles across a mountain range?….Well, we all know I ain’t gonna argue with that.

Thank you Brandon Gasaway for these pics! I’ll treasure them always!
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Ten and Time

“She just doesn’t know when to quit.”

I hear my mom in my head every single time I find myself in yet another stupid situation I’ve dug myself into. This time was no different.

I had a quick flashback of 16-year-old me snorting another huge line of meth, knowing I’d likely just stepped into territory I couldn’t come back from, but not caring one bit.

“She’s right. Why is she always right.” I cursed myself as I dug into my pack for my phone. I was sixty some odd miles into my latest 100 mile effort. It was pitch black. My headlamp battery had died, my charger wasn’t working, and I was fumbling trying to find a light–desperate for anything to help me navigate the rocky technical terrain in this section of the Pinhoti Trail. The next aid station was four miles away. Rookie mistake.

I finally found my phone, activated some semblance of light, and began to cautiously move forward with it, determined not to let this be a major setback.

“There’s no chance I’m quitting this one. No freaking chance.” I said out loud to myself through gritted teeth.

I knew what it would take..

The 2020 edition of the Pinhoti 100 mile endurance race, as you might have guessed, was definitely not my first hundred mile rodeo. In fact, this particular race was to be a hefty notch in a well loved belt of mine.

Back when I was a fresh ultrarunner with years of possibility ahead of me, I sat down to create a running adventure bucket list. Amongst cooler ideas like “tackle the Annapurna Circuit”, I added this: “Finish ten hundreds within ten years”. At the time, I was in my twenties. I had successfully overcome a life filled with extreme self sabotage – partly thanks to running, mostly thanks to God. With four hundreds under my belt already, I didn’t feel like finishing six more over the coming years would be too much of a challenge. It was simply more of an accountability thing in my mind; a way to aim for longevity in the sport.

But as it does, life began to change. My kids grew, my responsibilities grew, and my body grew increasingly tired of the constant damage. I eventually lost interest in the 100 mile distance somewhere around 2016, and instead found myself favoring wild and unruly solo adventures in mountains.

Yet something–somewhere deep– still gripped me about completing that ten year, ten 100 mile challenge.

With each passing year, I would try to give up on the goal, but then discipline would win out, and I would force myself to go through the motions again and tackle another one, just to stay true to that old goal. By the final year, 2020, I had accumulated nine finishes. All I needed was one more finish before December 11, 2020 to complete my goal of 10 finishes within 10 years. Just one. But in early 2020, I soon realized that last one would be a bit trickier to come by…

Change of plans.

I initially had signed up for Hellbender 100, set to take place in April 2020, but then COVID reared its ugly head. Most Spring races, including Hellbender, were cancelled or postponed. I was disappointed, but not deterred. I signed up for Pinhoti 100 instead, which was set to take place later in November. I filed it in the back of mind, hoping perhaps things would be less terrible in the world by then, but not truly counting on it.

The months passed, and 2020 unfolded. Covid hit me strangely, as it did many runners. With many sick family and friends, my anxiety went nuts, and I spent the spring and summer months escaping reality and running myself into the ground as a way to cope. There were no race plans to keep me smart or accountable, so I went to town on whatever piece of trail or distance my heart desired. By early fall, I had already tackled over nine solo ultra adventures, a couple nearing 50 miles or more, with plenty more mountain efforts thrown in for good measure.

By October, I was as fit as a fiddle, but man I was tired. Real tired. So tired, that I was truly starting to dread that final 100 hanging over my head. I began to think perhaps the whole “10 in 10” thing was nothing more than some arbitrary numbers I’d put together. As the race drew closer, I swear to you I refreshed my email no less than five times an hour secretly hoping to see a Pinhoti cancellation message from the RD, Todd Henderson. But it never came. Instead I got several reassuring messages of, “Hey! We’re still on guys!” ….man.

Truth be told, a quiet battle raged within me. Did Number 10 really matter to me anymore?

I wasn’t so sure.

Part of me wanted outside forces to take my options away from me. I didn’t want to do the last race, but I also didn’t want to take the blame for my failure. I wanted my hands to be tied. But it just would not happen!

One friend told me: “If this no longer serves you, then let it go.”

That’s really nice, I thought, if only I knew how to let crap go!!

DISCIPLINE//the ability to control one’s feelings and overcome one’s weaknesses; the ability to pursue what one thinks is right despite temptations to abandon it.

My early life truly lacked discipline, yet the last decade had been nothing other than me trying to perfect the very art of it. I realized that the body will always seek out the easiest, most comfortable, most self-serving pleasurable thing to do, but the mind has to override those emotions and decide what is the right and best thing to do. If I wanted to stay disciplined I learned I could not have gray lines there. I’m either all in, or I’m all out. There can be no in between.

I knew deep down that I owed it to 25-year-old goal driven me to remain all in.

No matter how tired, how run down, how unmotivated I was….

I needed to complete one last 100 mile race.

So that’s exactly what I set out to do..

On November 2nd, 2020, I was ready to apply sheer discipline to 100 miles of Alabama trail.

Dan dropped me off at the start, and I spent a few moments praying and visualizing the battles I would need to conquer over the coming day.

I have finished this race two times before. Much like all things in 2020, the start line looked a little bit different this time around. The field had thinned out, and runners were spread out all through the starting area of Pine Glen Campground.

Pinhoti has a bottleneck start, and the start always trips me out for that reason. You’ve got this massive swarm of runners all trying to file onto a tiny single track trail right out of the gate. I’m used to running completely alone in vast wild places, so this onslaught of people always gives me so much anxiety! I decided this time around to just let the majority of the runners go ahead of me and hang back to avoid the shenanigans. I thought this way I could stay chill, take some time to warm up, then work my way toward the front as the miles progressed. Big mistake.

While I’m definitely not anywhere close to the fastest female running these trails, I’m still a pretty solid and experienced trail junkie. So as I basically walked, and even stopped and waited for runners to slowly and cautiously navigate roots, honestly, I kind of wanted to punch myself in the face.

Why did I set myself up like this? I normally blaze through this stuff!

Due to the tightness and camber of the trail, it was dang near impossible to pass anyone for the first six miles. Any chance I got I would take it to surge and breakaway, but I could not quite make up any ground. I eventually decided to stop fighting the urge to run hard, and simply settled into the time I’d been given.

Just be patient.

The morning was abnormally warm and humid for November. If you’ve read this blog, you might remember the time I collapsed mid-100, fell into a coma, and ended up in the ICU thanks to high heat and humidity. So my guard was definitely up. I knew I could not drop the ball with my fueling and pacing if I wanted to snag Number 10 today.

You live and you learn, I mused.

As I slowly worked towards the next aid station, I thought about those first few 100 mile races.

Man, I was fierce, but I lacked control.

I had drive, but I lacked wisdom.

I had speed, but I lacked patience.

I had learned so much over the years. I let the memories carry me forward.

You need people.

When I finally made it to my first major mental checkpoint around 20 miles, I was excited to see my people.

I can always count on my husband Dan, and ride or die Ashley Bailey to support my running addiction. They always show up for me. Dan and I have been together since I was 16, and I’ve known Bailey since we were kids. That familiarity is such a bonus in this environment. My friend Zach also made a cameo for crewing this one, though he was actually out there pacing his dear good friend, Hump, so I only saw him briefly.

“I lost a lot of time back there. That was way too slow.” I said as I ran to the car. I was 23 miles in or so, and had already blew out a shoe. They swapped me into some other shoes as we talked.

“You’re fine. Don’t worry about it. Just run.” Dan said, always reminding me to stay on track mentally.

“You’ve got 20 miles until we see you again so you’re packed up. We put the head lamp in there in case.”

“Alright. See you guys at 42!”

With that, they filled me up and sent me off. Strictly business with these guys. That’s totally intentional though– I have to keep my interactions with my crew very short and to the point. I love them all so much that when I see them throughout the race, it makes me feel all the emotions. I do not run well with those emotions! In fact, ahead of time, I ask my crew to be mean and cold to me so I don’t get any warm and fuzzies. When you’ve survived enough of these things, you pick up tricks like that along the way.

By the way, I always see the mention of a head lamp in my pack as a personal challenge. Challenge accepted.

Thriving.

Miles 20-40 of any 100 usually tax my mind. It is during this phase that you realize you’re so far into a run, yet still soo far away from your goal. It’s a total “mind eff”, and if you dwell on it long, you’ll almost always pull the plug on the race. I knew I had to focus big time to get through this next section, and simply keep going through the motions.

The heat and humidity had given way to a constant light rain. It was coming down just enough to keep everything nicely chaffed and blistered, but I ignored that and focused only on the positives, another handy trick. The only positives I could find were that I was still able to run well, and the fall foliage was incredibly vibrant and beautiful. The trees were popping against the fog with saturated shades of fiery red, and warm hues of orange and yellow. It was mesmerizing. I felt so grateful to be running and enjoying the scenery. The miles passed quickly.

Around mile 35, it occurred to me that out of the three times I’d done this race, this was by far the strongest I’d felt during this section. Over the years I’ve learned to be comfortable alone. Not just comfortable, but I’ve learned how to thrive. That realization fueled me on my climb up Bald Rock, one of the harder sections of the course.

I handled the climb with ease, but what goes up must come down. I was so close to my crew at mile 42, but first I needed to descend Blue Hell to Cheaha Lake. This super technical and steep stretch of trail is by far my least favorite part of Pinhoti 100. No matter how much life you have in your legs, you’re still 40 miles into the race when you have to tackle it. I knew to take it easy here because it will eat up even the peppiest of runners. That was for you, Twiggs.

After a few minutes of that tricky descent, I was getting anxious to see some familiar humans. Thankfully my crew was right around the corner. My headlamp was still in my pack.

Bonus Pacer

I ran into the dispersed crowd of people at the aid station, delighted and renewed by familiar faces.

“ANDY!!”

Just so happened one of those faces was my dear good friend Twitter archnemesis, Andy Jones-Wilkins. He was at the event to pace one of his coaching clients. Unfortunately, his client had a rough day out on the trails, and needed to call it quits early on. This left AJW on pacer duty without a runner.

Dan and Bailey flexed their pit crew experience, and refilled my pack and prepped me for the next big stretch of miles as I chatted away.

“How’s the 5th Annual Last 100 miler going?” Andy jested.

I rolled my eyes as I took a swig of Gatorade,”….Fine.”

Andy was eager to get some miles in and said he was going to run me to the next aid station 2.5 miles away. Though I had planned to go sans pacer, the news brought me to life. I love talking to Andy.

If you’re not dialed into Running Twitter, you likely aren’t in the loop about the incessant smack talk that has taken place over the last few years between Andy and me, but I can sum it up for you. Goes like this: I tweet something to the world, Andy replies, unnecessarily calling me stupid, blonde, washed up, vain, obnoxious, and/or slow. Then, I snap back, reminding him that he is OLD. Roughly 203 in runner years! And this cycle continues. However, despite the scenes that play out on the socials, Old Man and I are –SHOCKER– actually quite good friends. (And by friends, I mean I view him as my Ultra Dad, and he views me as an obnoxious little puppy that won’t shut up or go away.) …Great friends.

With AJW in stride, we took off towards the next aid station. The miles and conversation unfolded as they usually do, with me talking, talking, and, uh, talking more, then stopping because I am out of breathe. Then, asking Andy to start talking instead so I can shut up and focus. This continued for a couple miles until we found ourselves at the next aid station.

Andy said, “Hey, I need to run back to my car now. You’re on your own!”

“What?! Nooo! It was just starting to get fun!”

We had a pal snap a quick picture, then parted ways.

COSISTENCY//the achievement of a level of performance that does not vary greatly in quality over time

I was approaching the halfway mark of the race. It was now time to put in hard work. I took a swig of something caffeinated, and walked for a second to dial in my thoughts. I had roughly 10 miles until I would see my crew again. The trail was a bit techy through the upcoming section as it ribboned its way alongside a creek. I needed to be focused and efficient.

I learned from hundred number five that I do best in these things if I hyper focus. I think about the finish line, or the next aid station, or a past success, and refuse to let any negative thoughts enter my brain. Meanwhile, the legs just turnover and I almost forget they’re working.

Movement with this state of mind works best if your body is trained to move on autopilot. And autopilot can only be achieved by doing one thing– and that’s the same exact thing–over, and over and over again. Every day. For years.

My mind kept flashing back to all the killer routes I’d done over the past year. I had pushed myself harder in 2020 than I ever had before. I initially thought I crossed the line like always, and maybe pushed my body over the edge, but as I cruised up hill after hill I realized that the fatigue had given way to a surplus of late game strength.

I felt unstoppable.

I smiled at the strength, and I thanked myself for simply showing up, even when it felt impossible. Not just for a week or month or year, but for more than an entire decade. The daily good choices had grown into a formidable force I never could have imagined existing when I was younger. I let that high carry me into the next aid station.

We ain’t stoppin.

Adams Gap aid station was bustling with energy. At Mile 55, you’re over halfway to your goal, and due to its easy access, there’s always lots of people out volunteering and supporting their runners. I spotted Dan and Bailey waving me down.

“How you doing out there?” Dan asked.

“Feeling strong.”

“Well you look good!” Bailey said, filling up my pack, knowing exactly what I would need, “Blisters and chafing are at the top of the DNF list. How are you in that regard?”

The humidity was ridiculous, the rain was on and off, and it was really getting to people. I totally understood and could relate.

“I mean… My toes are pretty bad, and I’ve definitely got some chafing, but…we ain’t stoppin for crap today, guys.”

“Of course we’re not. We aren’t going to see you for 20 miles so we’ve packed you up big time.” Dan said, placing my heavy pack on my back.

“Alright,” I said, grabbing my lamp charger, “Love y’all. I’m heading out.”

It was now dark, and I knew my demons would try to come out to play over the next stretch, but I felt ready.

The next several miles would be on forest service road, my favorite. I took a deep breath, and then took off with a solid pace. As I ran, I gazed up at the stars. The sky was beautiful and clear. With no one around, I took the opportunity to pray out loud, and just spout off things I was thankful for to God. I often feel like running is our thing. I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve had with God while running alone in the mountains. It’s where we connect the most. I took advantage of the quiet to reset and prepare my mind.

God, don’t make what comes next easy, but please… please make me strong enough to get through it.

I ran into the Mile 60 aid feeling stronger than ever. I took a couple swigs of coke, thanked the volunteers, and got on my way. It is so important to make these stops quick. Not only is the clock ticking while you’re standing still, but during a 100, comfort is your enemy. Never linger at aid stations!

The race course left the forest service road and moved back onto trail. I kept up my rhythm and focus as I inched my way to the next aid station at mile 68. Everything was going according to plan. Until my light started blinking…

CRAP.

I knew I had just a minute or so before my light went completely out. It had a USB charger instead of batteries, so I pulled off my pack and grabbed the cord and travel charger out of the pocket. I plugged in the lamp, and the charge light started blinking. But, the light would not turn on while it was charging.

Crap. Crap. CRAP!

It was now pitch black, and no other runners were around.

Why didn’t I bring a freaking back up?

My mind went to a billion different places, none of them good, as I dug through my pack for options.

I finally found my phone, activated some semblance of light, and began to cautiously move forward with it, determined not to let this be a major setback.

“There’s no chance I’m quitting this one. No freaking chance.” I said out loud to myself through gritted teeth.

But my mind was already unraveling. As I moved slowly through the darkness with the tiny light, I felt my resolve slip, and cringed as those old familiar demons clawed their way into my brain.

You won’t do it. You never finish anything you start!

Images of past failure took over my brain — from stupid stuff I did as a drug addicted teenager, to some seriously hurtful mistakes I’d made as an adult — I couldn’t shake it.

The only thing you’re good at is letting people down!

I felt a wave of weakness sweep over my body. My mind has always been my most terrifying battlefield. I suddenly felt every bit of those 65 miles on my legs.

Your brain is too jacked up to function. Why are you even doing this?!

“SHUT UP!!!!” I screamed at myself in the middle of the dark woods, “SHUT!! UP!!”

I bent over in defeat and dug my fingers into my my hair.

God! Please… give me strength! Help me focus!

I took in a few slow and deep breaths, “Steady, Ash. Positive. Positive, only. Control.”

Instead of memories of failure, my brain instantly became flooded with all the times I’d shown up. Not only for myself, but for the people in my life. I felt peace and energy almost instantly. I stood back up and I started moving again.

Thank you! Thank you.

I wiped my wet eyes with the back of my hand.

“I said we ain’t stoppin.”

Old Man Strength.

When I finally made it to Porters Gap, I was surprised and thankful to see AJW there ready to pace. I needed reprieve from my own brain.

“You coming with me, Old Man?”

“Yep. I’m taking you to Mile 85 and Dan’s running you in from there.”

Just what I needed.

I secured a spare headlamp, and we set off into the night. Of course we got to talking and I slowed down a bit, but I didn’t mind. It was so good to have company.

I always appreciate the conversations I have with Andy. We are both diplomatic and can easily discuss the things we disagree on without hating other. It’s something that I appreciate, as it’s a quality I feel is mostly absent in the world today. In addition to that, Andy is full of ultra wisdom. I may be a young ultra jedi, but he’s definitely Yoda. Where I have attempted somewhere like fifteen 100s, he’s started and finished 37. Just ridiculous. He’s also maintained a long happy marriage with his wife Shelly, and together they’ve raised three awesome men. Basically, AJW is where I want to be in the future. I tune out many people, but I allow myself to trust and learn from him.

“You need to eat.” Andy shouted from behind me.

“Yeah, I know. I’m working on it.” I snapped back, clutching an open gel.

This section of the course had quite a bit of climbing, so it was imperative that I stay on top of my calories. But after I finished the gel, things went south quick…

We were roughly 77 miles in, just shuffling and shooting the breeze, when suddenly my body decided to revolt and pitch a fit.

I started puking and couldn’t stop! It came out of no where.

“Don’t you dare video tape this!!!!” I cried between hurls.

Andy laughed and swore not to send any footage to our Trail Runner Nation podcast friends, Don and Scott.

“Thaaaat’s it. Get it out.” Andy said.

I got up, wiped my face with my shirt, and started running again.

“You need to replace what you just lost, but wait about 7-8 minutes to give everything a chance to settle.” Once again, solid advice. I did as I was told. Eating is not optional in a 100. Even if your stomach is off!

I spent the rest of our miles together both puking and rallying. I felt pretty banged up with nausea and eighty something miles on my legs, but somehow I still enjoyed the time with Andy.

Don’t talk to me.

When I finally made it to Bulls Gap, I was in pretty bad shape stomach wise, but my energy was stable. Andy handed me off to Dan, and I made sure to say a proper goodbye.

“Hate you, Andy!”

“Hate you, too!”

I laughed, grabbed some food, and got moving. Dan and I didn’t waste time getting back to work.

“How you feeling?” Dan asked.

My body was absolutely wasted.

“DON’T TALK TO ME.” I snapped back in pain, trying hard to concentrate. Dan turned away in an attempt to hide his laughter.

“It’s not funny, Daniel!” I stopped to puke again. I was 85 miles in, and my body was feeling every bit of it.

Dan is the only person I trust to bring me into the finish of a 100. We’ve done more brutal miles together than I have with anyone else. He’s seen me pass out cold, he’s seen me hallucinate, he’s seen me try to walk off a broken leg, and worse. Not everyone can stomach that side of me, but Dan’s married to me, so he has to.

With him by my side, I can simply stay silent and focus on working through the pain.

I had run this stretch several times over the years while training with and pacing Zach, and while racing my own races. The remaining 15 miles would be very runnable, and I needed to make good use of the time.

It’s always around this mileage in a 100 that I start trying to calculate splits in my head. Okay, if I hustle, I can make this time. If I have to walk, my finish will be this time, etc. My dream/A goal was under 24 hours, my B goal was under 25 hours, and my C goal was “just finish the stupid thing”. But I had been so focused all day, I didn’t even know what time it was. My watch was dead. I pulled my phone out of my front vest pocket to peep the time of day. It was dead, too.

“Dan, what time is it?”

Dan, probably scared to death to speak, said, “Don’t worry about it. Just go.”

Well, that was no help. I was too tired to fight him. I was still having trouble keeping food down, and starting to lack energy. I had no idea how I was doing race wise, and was scrambling for motivation.

“Okay well do you know how many women are in front of me?”

“I don’t know. Eight.. maybe nine?”

“Geez. Really?! I’m that far back?!” I suddenly felt deflated.

“It doesn’t matter. Just run!” Dan said.

He was right. All that mattered was getting to the end. So I silently obeyed, and kept up my shuffle/ run hustle as I ate. At this point there was nothing to race but the rising sun itself.

As the sun slowly started creeping through the trees lining the dusty Alabama fire road I’d grown to love so much, I felt my teeth sink in a little bit deeper to the finish line ahead of me.

“The sky is getting brighter. I’ve got to finish strong, Dan! I cannot leave anything out on this course.”

Dan said nothing, just instinctively picked up the pace beside me.

We stayed in stride until we finally arrived to the last aid station around 95 miles in. My favorite aid station might I add. Dan grabbed some breakfast burritos from our friends Anthony and Jenn manning the aid station. Seeing them is always a highlight of this race! (So are their burritos!) I was able to tolerate the food, and it brought new life to my tired body.

RUN!

I took off running after that, and I didn’t slow for anything. I knew I had about five miles give or take to get to the finish. So close I could taste it. The course had changed since the year prior so I wasn’t certain where the mile markers were. But the sky was getting brighter and brighter, and I knew time was NOT on my side to finish within any of my goal times. I was exhausted but I kept pushing harder, thinking about nothing but the finish line. Every few minutes my body would flip out wondering what I was doing to it. I’d stop and bend over, and say something about “we’ve got to be getting closer”.

Dan just kept shouting, “RUN!”

So I would get up, and again I would run. The sky was alive and bright, and I figured my goal times were long lost, but I kept repeating to myself what I’ve said since I was a teenager, “You’ll get there eventually. Just keep doing the right thing… Just keep doing the right thing!”

Finally I recognized where we were on the course, and knew I had about a mile to the finish.

Dan shouted, “ASH DO NOT STOP AND DO NOT WALK! RUN!”

So I ran with absolutely everything I had! The finish line came into sight, and I heard the cheering and cowbells.

Get there. Get there! GET THERE!

As I ran towards the finish line, I saw the clock–

24:57

I burst into tears as I crosssed the line.

I had barely snagged the “B goal”, thanks to Dan, and not that it mattered really, but there were only three women ahead of me!

I fell into the arms of my framily, then I dropped to the ground in exhaustion.

TIME//the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.

What…a…journey!

I was flooded with emotion. My mind went crazy with all the memories, moments, and miles.

I did it. I accomplished my goal.

Actually, I’d accomplished many goals. And for someone who has spent the better part of life beating herself up for past mistakes, it felt good to feel good about myself. I had come a very long way, and for once, I felt proud.

You know, my Mom is right– I don’t know when to quit. I never have. But somewhere along the way, I learned how to harness that trait into something worthwhile and wholesome, and now, it’s no longer something that I feel ashamed of. I think my mom saw that potential in me all along, but me…

I just needed a little bit of time.

_________________________________

Note:

If I could step back in time and chat with 25-year-old me who made this goal– I’d simply say thank you. Thank you for tearing down the walls of your former self. Thank you for having big dreams and creating scary goals. Thank you for not quitting when it gets hard– and man does it get hard. Thank you for having the guts to wake up every morning and choose the right thing. Thank you for going into the mountains and running miles upon miles alone so you could find inner strength. Thank you for building community, and finding friendship despite the mental health battles. Thank you for getting back up every time you fall. And thank you.. thank you.. for seeing this journey through. It was a painful process, but the transformation was beautiful.

If you’re new to this wild and crazy sport, I want you to feel encouraged about the possibilities within you. The greatest gifts you can give yourself are these: discipline, consistency, and time:

Have the discipline to set goals and see them through, even when it gets hard. Remember that “hard” doesn’t always show up in the form of mile 85 and a huge mountain. Sometimes it looks more like clinical depression and an extreme lack of interest. Sometimes it’s hard to just get out of bed. Work through it. Go through the motions and do what is best and right until you are on the other side.

Practice consistency. Habit forming comes from the little daily decisions. If you consistently make excuses for yourself, cut runs short, and find reasons to quit–you’ll do that very same thing when it matters most. Consistently do the right thing instead. Make it habit. Focus on consistently showing up and trying. It will eventually become second nature.

The last thing you can give yourself, and perhaps the most important, is simply time. It takes so much trial and error to get these things right. And you can only put your body through the ringer so many times in the span of a year. Understand and accept that you will have terrible runs and races. Probably quite a few. However, with consistent discipline and ample time, you will gain wisdom and experience on how to work through these days and learn from them. Give yourself a chance to grow and become who you know you can be.

———-

Thank you so much for reading about my latest journey. Currently, I don’t plan on doing any more “5th Annual Last 100 Milers” until my kids graduate high school in a few years, but I do plan to tackle some wild adventures. As always, I’ll be sure to share any good stories I snag here. Love y’all!

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For Now

“I think we should go for it, Mom.”

My fourteen-year-old son, Brett, stopped to survey the rugged mountain terrain around him, looked up at the golden sun drenched sky, then back at me. Less than an hour till dark.

“Yeah. It can’t be too far…” I offered in return, carefully finding my footing in old UGG boots and overalls.

We weren’t planning on being here, but if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that the very best things are rarely planned…

It was November.

The day had begun with our family waking early to make a 3.5 hour drive to “a charming and eclectic tree farm” in North Carolina to hunt for the perfect Fraser Fir for Christmas. With much anticipation, we made our way to Rob’s Tree Farm, only to find that 5 star Google reviews can’t always be trusted… Ole Robbie was actually a very disgruntled tree salesman, with roughly 3 trees he was willing to part with so early in the season. And at a cool inflated price of 500 bucks a tree, we decided Rob could keep his “Christmas magic”, and we’d go elsewhere. We drove around for awhile, but none of the other tree farms nearby were open that day. Instead of heading home empty handed, we finally stumbled into a tree lot at a gas station on the way out of town, begrudgingly picked a tree, laughed, and called it good. The entire day was comically awful, but I’ll save those details for another story.

Smile, guys!

Wanting to salvage the road trip, I thought it might be fun to detour and drive up to a lookout on the Blue Ridge Parkway. I knew of a stop called Waterrock Knob that was especially scenic, and convinced Dan it was worth the trip over. We pulled into the parking lot, and spotted a trail to the summit. I can’t NOT climb summit trails.

“Guys. Let’s do a quick hike. It looks really easy.”

Decked out in our “farm wear”[read Old Navy clothes] that I had forced everyone to wear for our basic white family Christmas pictures, we were definitely not prepared for any actual hiking or adventuring. But there was a mountain, and I love mountains, so I wasn’t going to let minor details deter us. Everyone agreed to a short hike.

Not long after we began our first climb, Brooklyn started to get tired. Dan offered to take her back to the car while Brett and I continued exploring a bit. In that moment, I suddenly remembered reading about an old 1980’s plane crash site near this trail. At one point I had intended to hike it with the kids, but never got around to it. Trail info sticks to my brain though, so I remembered reading all the details. I knew roughly where the trail to the crash veered off of the main trail, and had an idea of how far it was from Waterrock Knob’s parking lot. I thought it was about a mile and a half, maybe a little more. It was doable.

“Hey…Brett… wanna go check out an old plane crash site?”

“Right now? Here?”

“Yeah. I think I know where it is, and it’s not too far…”

“Let’s do it!”

I shouted down to Dan, who had only descended a short distance, that we were going to go hunting for a plane crash nearby, and that we would be back to the car in a little while. Familiar with my adventure antics, he just shook his head and shouted, “Be careful!”

Brett and I took a turnoff on a pretty obvious side trail just before we reached the end of the marked trail. I remembered reading that this was the route to take. The trail quickly turned into more of a goat trail, with sharp descents, technical terrain, and unsteady footing.

“You down to keep going?” I asked Brett, who was leading the way in dress boots. He turned around, and I instantly saw that familiar sparkle of wanderlust shining bright in his eyes.

“I’m game if you are!”

“I am always game, son.”

Brett has accompanied me on several very challenging mountain outings. Even in cheap dress boots, I knew the kid was more than capable to tackle the terrain. We trudged through the mud, down steep sections, and then back up. We hugged the mountainside, carefully maneuvering over fallen trees and big boulders speckled with remnants of early ice and snow. Undaunted, we pressed forward.

Climbing near waterrock knob

I love trails for many reasons, but the thing I love most about them is their innate ability to connect the people moving on them. Distractions are gone, and simplicity is born. Just two humans working towards a shared goal. The result of a full day on trails is almost always a lasting bond between two adventurers. This day was no different.

As we moved, my typically stoic son began to open up. We talked about school, and sports, and mused about his future. He told me all about the girl he was head over heels for, and the crushing fear that she didn’t feel the same. As the trail continued, the conversations deepened. He shared some of his thoughts on life, relationships, and God. Every now and then I would ask another question, but mostly I just listened. My little boy wasn’t little anymore. My heart was both breaking and soaring.

I saw through the pines that the sun had begun to set. I glanced my phone for the time. We had been moving for about 30 minutes. We went back and forth on if it was smart to press on to the crash site or turn around…

“I think we should go for it, Mom.”

“Yeah. It can’t be too far…”

I smiled at my son’s persistent spirit, knowing good and well where he got it from. We hiked in silence for a bit. We had roughly 45 minutes till the sun was gone. We were slow moving, but it didn’t matter. Because as I walked that trail behind my son, time itself stood still.

I had Brett when I was just 18,

but it felt like yesterday. I certainly had never planned on being pregnant in high school, but God had better ideas. The world had chewed me up and spat me out, but the moment my little man came into my life, it suddenly felt like I had meaning. I had purpose. I was enough. I was Brett’s mama, and he was my tiny best friend. Together we could take on the world. Yet, I knew deep down that he was never mine to keep. As the years progressed, he grew and changed like all kids do, more independent by the day. Needing me less and less. Raising a little boy and watching him grow into a man is both beautiful and absolutely heartbreaking, and nobody really prepares you for it. It just happens. Somewhere around Brett’s thirteenth birthday, I began to feel the cold season of “letting go” beginning, and I’d been grasping for more time ever since.

We finally crested a short climb,

and came to a magnificent clearing, Browning Rock Knob. A sea of blue mountains surrounded us, bathed and illuminated by golden twilight. Brett silently stood in front of me, pausing to take it all in. The sight took my breath away. Mountains have a funny way of grabbing your soul and squeezing the very meaning of life into it. I closed my eyes and let it happen.

A phone ping snapped me back to reality. I finally had service. I texted Dan that we were okay, and he replied that he and Brooky were fine and just watching a movie in the car and eating snacks. I knew at this point that the crash site was nearby. I typed out that we would be back in about half an hour.

“Hey bud, I think the crash is just over here.” I said, pointing in the opposite direction from the views.

We walked a short way beyond the clearing, and descended a steep ridge. Finally, we saw the wreckage, and carefully made our way down, staying conscious and respectful of the place where two people had lost their lives. Brett was completely entranced with the scene before him. He began rattling off various parts of the old Cesna he could identify. I, too, was entranced, watching the way his eyes lit up with each new discovery.

“Mom! This is seriously the coolest thing I have ever done. It’s like all of my favorite things –adventure, mountains, planes –all built into one.”

“Right? This is seriously one epic adventure!”

I let my boy get lost in the moment for a bit.

I stood back and watched, silently begging God to stop the clock. Finally, I said it was time to head back to the car, and we took off in the direction we came.

With the confidence of already having traveled the trail, the return trip wasn’t nearly as difficult. I lead the way, and pushed the pace. Brett stayed in stride right behind me. We were giddy with adventure and joked with each other the majority of the way back.

Just before we made it to the parking lot, the sun gave its final farewell, and sent a vibrant glow of red, orange, and yellow dancing across the mountains. Brett paused again to appreciate the views. He reached up to capture the sun with his hands, and I fumbled for my camera, trying in vain to make the moment last forever.

I gazed at my son, teetering on the edge of boy and manhood, and I exhaled slowly. The day was such a sweet gift. But like the sun slipping behind the mountain, I could feel this special time of life running out, and fading into the next one. I felt a bittersweet tear slip from my eye. I don’t know what Brett’s future holds, but I know if I do my job right, there likely won’t be a ton of me in it. That reality is painful, but the journey… this grand unplanned adventure… it is always beautiful. And just like the sun will rise again on a new and different day, I will be there. Ready and waiting for whatever comes next, however he needs me.

We finished our walk back to the car side by side, and I threw my arm around my boy’s shoulder.

“Hey. I love you…and I love being your mom.” I said, squeezing him closer to me.

“I love you too, Mum.”

I laughed, knowing “Mum” is reserved exclusively for when my son is feeling most affectionate.

With that, he suddenly pulled away from my arms and took off in a sprint to the car, challenging me to beat him and giving everything he had.

“Not a freaking chance, kid!” I laughed, gaining on him quickly.

I tapped the car a fraction of a second before he did. Grinning ear to ear at my victory.

“Ughh….whateverr!!” Brett groaned in mock defeat.

Tomorrow may be different, but for now, he still can’t quite out kick his Mum ……for now.

“Sons are like birds, flying upward over the mountain.” Fall 2019
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Under Canyon Stars

“A perfect marriage is nothing other than two imperfect people who refuse to give up on each other.”

-unknown

Simply breathtaking.

There was no other way to describe it. I paused for a moment to be still and soak up the scene in front of me. The sun was slowly creeping over the Grand Canyon, casting rays of golden light onto a deep blue sea of earth, granting approval to a day full of adventure and possibility. My husband, Dan, was running in front of me, cautiously crunching over a layer of early Spring ice on the iconic Bright Angel Trail. Together, we were adding another hefty notch to our extensive list of co-adventuring: The Rim to Rim to Rim Challenge.

Bright Angel Trail at sunrise

Though we’d run in the Canyon a few times before, this trip was especially significant as we were looking to finish the challenge to celebrate our 15th anniversary. 46 miles total across one of the Seven Wonders and back seemed like the ideal way to celebrate such a big milestone.

As I took in the view, I adjusted my heavy pack, and grabbed a swig of water. Today was going to be huge.

Dan glanced over his shoulder to check on me, “You good back there?”

“Yeah,” I shouted, ” just taking it all in!” I kicked up my pace to rejoin him, and we quickly settled back into our familiar easy rhythm–running, laughing, dissecting the meaning of life. Drinking in the world’s best views with a comfortability that only comes with years of doing life with a person.

“Us” hasn’t always been easy, though. Like with any long distance effort, there is the inevitable ebb and flow of ease and pain. There are highs, there are lows, and there are downright ugly times. And as the next 40 something miles played out through that canyon, I couldn’t help but draw the parallels in my heart.

Downhill.

As we descended toward the mighty Colorado, the canyon walls began to change color and texture. With each turn, we would “ooh and ahh” over the intricate beauty of the changing rocks and formations surrounding us.

Any mountain runner can tell you that running downhill is nothing short of euphoric. With gravity on your side, there’s very little effort involved. You simply have to let go, commit to turning your legs over, and nature will take care of the rest. It’s an exhilarating ride.

The first 9 miles of the R2R2R are nothing but downhill as you descend into the belly of the canyon. It’s a wickedly fun ride, and the scenery makes it that much sweeter. Beautiful and effortless. The same feeling you get when you’re young and falling in love…

Quick snapshot while descending Bright Angel

I’ll never forget when it happened to me. It was the summer of ’03. Dan and I were just kids. I was every bit of a rebellious sixteen, and he was the older, much cooler, seventeen. Though we had gone to the same high school, we’d never crossed paths until one day some mutual friends randomly got together, and suddenly we found ourselves mingling in the same group. A week later, Dan was driving our newfound teenage entourage to the local mall, and I was riding directly behind him in the back seat. Every time I’d look up front, I’d catch his deep blue-green eyes glancing back at me in the rear view mirror. After a couple of simultaneous “glances”, I knew it wasn’t coincidence. Especially when he paired that glance with a flash of his perfectly dimpled grin, melting me quicker than a snow cone on the Fourth.

I knew almost instantly Dan hit my heart differently, and it was clear the feeling was mutual. More than sparks, we’re talking firework chemistry. We fell hard and quick that summer into a wild teenage romance for the ages. We were reckless, we were dramatic, and we were completely obsessed and inseparable. Our friends and parents figured it wouldn’t last longer than a season or two, but much to their disappointment, time would prove them all wrong. Just two years later, we married young, had two dogs, a house, and a mini Dan- outrageous dimples and all. Life was good.

But what comes down…

After crossing the Colorado River, we stopped briefly at Phantom Ranch to fill up our packs with more water, and jumped onto the North Kaibab Trail. The next 14 or so miles of our run would be a gradual then brutal uphill towards the North Rim. The uniqueness of the R2R2R Challenge is that it’s backwards than most mountain efforts. Typically, a mountain run is an hour or two of climbing up towards a summit, soaking in the top, then bombing back down to your car. In the Canyon, you start downhill, then run up and up (and more up) to reach the Rim. And you repeat that pattern on the return trip.

Crossing the Colorado River

After Phantom Ranch, the North Kaibab Trail weaves its way alongside a windy creek with towering canyon walls before popping out into an exposed and unruly desert. Dan and I grew a little less chatty as we entered this section, as it was the first part of our “work portion”, the slow ascent towards the North Rim. The incline wasn’t steep enough to necessitate hiking, so we stuck with an awkward feeling jog/shuffle mix, just trying to keep moving forward. Especially with a very heavy and cumbersome pack on, this type of movement is oftentimes the hardest to maintain. It’s unfamiliar to the body and it works you. You have to learn how to adjust your expectations, as you’re not really running and you’re not really hiking. You’re simply grinding. Always forward.

Running towards the desert and North Rim

Our marriage “work and grind” followed a similar pattern. After our “I Do’s” we moved in together and took on a mortgage and a baby in the same year. Hard, sure, but we were happy. A couple years later though, the real storm hit. In 2007, shortly after the birth of our little girl, the economy completely tanked, and Dan lost his job. He ended up taking an engineering job 3 hours away, and I worked odd hours as a personal trainer while taking care of our two babies. Dan also started school to try to get us on level ground eventually. As a result, the next few years turned into total survival mode.

It was during this time that we entered the arduous “slow climb” of our marriage. When you reach the point that you never know if water will come out of the faucet, or if you’ll come home to lights that work, or if the 5 dollar pizza will bounce your checking account… When you barely see each other…love starts to look a little different. It starts to look a little more like work.

And work isn’t always fun.

You can try everything in the book to disguise it, but when it comes down to it, hard work will always be hard work. And as we finished up our awkward shuffle across the canyon, we knew the real hard stuff was on its way.

We stopped at the base of our first major climb to restock water and eat for a minute. We were roughly 18 miles in, and the next 6 miles to the top were going to be steep and painful.

“Let’s keep movin'” I said to Dan, closing up my pack and putting my food away, “No point in delaying the inevitable!”

“Hey…I’m waiting on you!” He laughed, jumping in front of me onto the trail.

As we began the quad crushing pain, we simultaneously began distracting ourselves with random topics. Deep thoughts like “so do you think in Heaven”—*gasping for air*–“our dogs will talk to us like humans?” …you know, important trail conversations.

But as the intensity spiked, we eventually had to shut up, stop disguising things, and do hard work. Each mile brought several hundred feet of vertical gain with it. The wind was blowing fiercely, and with the higher elevations, and deep ice all over the place, footing was unstable. There was no point in talking about how bad it sucked. We both knew it. We both felt it. It was an inevitable part to achieving our goal though. So we put our heads down, put our hands on our knees, and marched onward.

Dan climbing North Kaibab

Much like the Canyon, around the middle of our marriage, we hit our biggest workload yet. With low income, tiny kids, and every day feeling like the universe was rallying against us, resolve began to fade. For me, mental health was nonexistent and I was a mess. Mistakes were made, trust was broken, and the damage was extensive.

I almost wrecked us completely.

But Dan– the hero that he is–still loved me. He loved me despite my long list of failures, and he was committed to making our marriage work. He had every reason to walk away from me, but he put himself and his hurt aside, and instead he loved me harder. Every single day.

We both knew that a love like ours was worth fighting for, so we fought tooth and nail for it. We clung to God and to each other, and though it hurt like hell, we put one foot in front of the other, and we climbed the freaking mountain.

…About a mile from the top, just as he’d been doing all day, Dan looked back over his shoulder to check on me— the more experienced climber of the two of us— just to make sure I was hanging in there. Pay no mind that it was his first time going over 30 miles, and it was my hundreth. That’s just how Dan is.

His selflessness will always be my saving grace.

Just below the North Rim

Summits

Eventually, our climb toppled out at the North Rim, which was completely covered in a thick layer of ice and snow. We were completely numb. We laughed as we tried to open our snacks with cold sweaty fingers. We sat for a minute, and tried to comprehend the magnitude of what we’d just conquered. We’d crossed the Grand Freakin’ Canyon. TOGETHER. We had no choice but to get back now, and the confidence of making it halfway was a huge boost.

It would be hard, but we believed in “us”.

Snowy North Rim!

We were roughly 24 miles in, Phase 1 was done, and the next portion of our run would be the easy fun downhill stuff for awhile. We took off from the North Rim with energy, and laughed the entire way downhill, connecting and bonding like always over endless inside jokes and thoughts.

Descending North Kaibab

After we descended and headed back into the desert toward Phanton Ranch, I let Dan gain a little bit of space on me as I trailed back behind, lost in a wave of gratitude. As I watched him run into the sun, surrounded by unfathomable creation, I just kept thinking how lucky I was to have him, and that surely I didn’t deserve a love like this. I was so overwhelmed and lost in the moment. The stream of emotion turned into a river, and before I knew it I was choking back a weird mix of crying and laughing.

…Seriously though, God? You must really love me... I said out loud.

Then I wiped my eyes, snapped back to running reality, and shouted, “Aye!!! Slow your roll, babe! I can’t keep up, dangitt.” And I picked up my pace once again to reach my best friend.

Trailing Dan through the desert

Growth.

Love is a decision, and love is a discipline. So is running. Over the years following our hardest climb, Dan and I learned how to put in work by way of combining the two. We spent our quality alone time doing weekend mountain running. We tackled hard climbs and even harder conversations, and together we grew stronger than ever. Our kids grew, our finances grew, our love grew, and most importantly...our faith grew, too. So as we began our last big climb out of the canyon on the South Kaibab Trail, I had nothing but confidence in our ability to conquer the final beast together.

The colorado behind us, heading into our last big climb.

The sun began to set over the canyon, sending farewell hues of deep gold and red over the tops of the canyon castles. I looked down at the Colorado, carving its way through the rock one final time, feeling awestruck at how small and insignificant I felt compared to such a magnificent wonder. I felt a deep grin take hold of my face. I would never forget this day.

“We’ve put in a ton of work to prepare. This won’t be too bad.” Dan noted as he pulled out his headlamp.

I nodded in agreement, pulling out my own.

The South Kaibab Trail was significantly wider than the North, so the two of us could climb in sync next to each other. As we hiked, the night settled in, and the wind begin to howl. I instinctively grabbed Dan’s hand for more security, weaving my fingers into his. Perfect fit.

The moon inched up over us, and under its approving glow we hiked and talked quietly about our years together. Reminiscing about how stupid we used to be, belly laughing over memories, disbelieving that our babies are now teens, and sharing musings about what they might be like as adults. We marveled at the huge growth we’d made over the years, and thanked God for honoring our efforts and commitment.

“Hey,” I interjected, “Thank you–thank you for loving me like you do. Like you always have. Seriously. I know it’s not ever been easy.”

“Wrong.” Dan said, leaning over to kiss my forehead, “You’ve always been easy to love.”

And with that, I decided words were unnecessary, so I tucked my hand a little deeper into Dan’s. We continued to work together toward the South Rim, our final destination, with a shared strength and confident discipline guiding us. We tackled the last few miles of our adventure remaining hand in hand, under a silent blanket of stars.

When we finally crested the steps of the last climb, we turned and hugged each other deeply, with no one but God watching from above. 46 miles…15 years…

We did it.

Finally.

All the work. All the time. All the love… It was beautiful and it was good. It was whole. It was the perfect celebration of our journey together so far.

And in that instant, I knew deep in my heart–that though I’ll never understand why– God truly does love little ole messy me. Very, very much.

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My 5 Most Epic Ultra Fails

I have to be honest with you. I’m sick of social media right now. The whole presentation of “this is my perfectly curated life, and my perfectly executed run” just gets old after awhile. It’s not real, guys! It’s just not.

Most people have a LOT of hard stuff going on in their lives, and no a lot of it is not “instagrammable”, but it’s happening nonetheless. And all the while, people are comparing their innermost thoughts, fears, and failures to oftentimes fraudulent presentations of other people’s successes.  We all know it. I am guilty of it, too!

Sigh.

We’ve got to end this. Can we all please stop trying to be these inspirational beings of success and hope, and instead just maybe kind of suck a little?

Well, y’all know I’m always down to help the suckfest. I have plenty of suckage that’s accumulated in my run life. And though you probably already know the stories, I want to bring them up again, because they’re worth remembering. Some people say, “forget the bad”, but I disagree. I think it’s good to remember the bad, because it helps us stay humble, and reminds us how far we have come or how we can improve! So without further adieu….

My most amazingly awful ultra and run fails, working up to the most epic of them all!

Continue reading “My 5 Most Epic Ultra Fails”

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Until Then…

Fear has never controlled me.

In fact, facing and conquering it has always been quite the driving force in my life.

Over the course of the last 30 years, this infatuation with fear and its ensuing adrenaline has taken many forms: diving into pools before I could swim, jumping off buildings without any kind of wings, and [ashamedly] abusing illegal substances without even the slightest concern.  My Mama always says that this trait has been one of the biggest causes of grief in her life. Funny, as it’s been more a source of joy and growth in my own, but I didn’t have to raise me.

By 21  I already had two kids; 23, I felt like an old lady. I’d settled down too much, so I took up running. I found the risky 100 mile distance filled my adrenaline void. Of course my dear mother about had a heart attack over that. And when I started running deep in the mountains alone on the weekends for training, the poor woman just had to shut her eyes and guard her soul, “I just have to trust that God will take care of you.”

She was right. She had no other option. She was learning what I subconsciously knew early on.

God’s got me.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.”  John 1:9

While I certainly do not condone recklessness and harmful behavior, I do feel that God gave some of us an insatiable desire for risk taking and adventure. I also fully believe that He and He alone can dictate when one will live and one will die. He also clearly stated that He will be with me wherever I go. I don’t take those words of Truth lightly. All these thoughts combined have given me complete freedom to pursue quite the wild life.

I’m not scared of when, where, or how I will die. I know where I’m going. When it happens, I’ll be ready.

I’ll never forget one particular run I did a few summers ago where this really hit home.

I’d started a solo run early in the morning before sunup on my favorite mountain in the Smokies, Thunderhead. It was pitch black. I had zero cell service. Nobody else was around. Just me and the trees and whatever other creatures were out and about. It was smack in the middle of bear season, and if the sights and smells on the trail were any indication, it was indeed bear country.

I climbed as the sun rose. Up roughly 3600 feet in the first 7 miles, and I hadn’t seen a soul the entire time.

Once I finally reached the top, I dropped down on a rock to give my legs a break.  I looked left and right. Still no one! I sat on the summit of Thunderhead, and lost myself in the incredible views.

 Everyone needs to experience what I’m feeling right now.

I thought to myself, staring down at the sea of blues and greens below from the top of my favorite peak in the Smoky Mountains.

I sat and enjoyed the lonely views for about 30 minutes. I took the last swig from my water bottle, and reached around into my pack to grab a refill. I looked down to place my handheld on the ground.

There, directly under my feet, wedged between my calves and the rock I was sitting on, was a massive [and I mean MASSIVE!] rattlesnake… Just soaking up the sun in all its glory!

Holy Mackerel. 

My heart jumped straight into my throat.

I didn’t move. I just stayed still.

He looked like he’d just swallowed a rabbit, thank God, which is maybe why he wasn’t too interested in me.  Regardless, I knew I had to put space between us.

God, please. Don’t leave me! I begged silently.

I slowly lifted my feet, and carefully jumped backwards away from the rock.

I backed up several feet, but still kept my eye on the rattler. After a few minutes, he slithered a bit, so I knew he was alive, but he didn’t move much at all.

We both just stood still for a few moments until he finally crawled away in the other direction, and I felt I could breathe again.

Man, he could have easily killed me! Knowing that I was a good hour from any help, I’d left my bite kit at home, I had no cell service, and that I hadn’t seen any other humans that day, I would have been dead pretty quick had the snake not been quite so amicable.

I’d sat in the same spot for half an hour, and hadn’t even noticed him. Who knows how long he’d been there beneath me!

After the whole ordeal, I looked up and laughed out loud, “You’ve definitely got my back, God.”

I noticed some storm clouds in the distance. So, I gathered my gear off the mountain top, said goodbye to Fat Daddy Rattler, wherever he was, and hustled back down the mountain to reach my car at the trail head before the rain came down…Exuberant every single step of the way. When I was finally safe inside my car, I just dropped my head back on the seat and laughed out loud, as I watched the rain start pounding the windows.

God must have sent quite a few angels to tag along with me on this one. I giggled in my head, thinking how I must keep them on their toes. This was just one of many very near death experiences I’ve had.

Life is so good!

I could have died that day, but at 27 years old, I would have already lived an abundantly full life. It was an overwhelming, albeit fulfilling realization.

I know it is not safe to go running in the mountains alone. It isn’t smart. I get that. Because, things like this do not ensure survival. 

But why only pursue survival?

Where is the actual LIFE in life if you try to control it, harness it, and choke all of the unknown and unpredictability out of it?

Did not God intend for us to live fully?

Sure there are bears, and snakes, and cougars out there. Maybe even some psycho ax murderers. But none of that should stop you from climbing the tallest peaks, swimming in cold waterfalls, and sleeping under the brightest stars. Maybe even running for 100 miles.

When it’s your time to go, you’ll go. But until then….

You should live.

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Fate and the Missing Half

For the last 8 weeks or so, I’ve been training to run a half marathon.

I know what you’re thinking, if someone can run 100 miles, why would they need to prepare for 13.1? Trust me, they are NOT one and the same.  Lord have mercy.

Continue reading “Fate and the Missing Half”

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Mayhem with Molly

I know that most of you want to bury 2016, and I’ll admit, it was kind of majorly terrible for me too, but one nice little chunk of happiness did develop in my life last year. Her name is Molly.

Let me tell ya’ ’bout Molly.

You know that super fast friend that is always armed with an arsenal of the quickest and most sarcastically amazingly perfect one liners? The one that says exactly what you were thinking, but saves you from having to actually say it? …. Yup. That’s Molly. Continue reading “Mayhem with Molly”

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Stuck in a Pit

This is Part 1, of a two post series about my latest adventure- the S.M.A.W. Please note that while I was in a bit of a funk last year when this was written, I’m in a much happier place! Thanks for reading, and I hope you’ll stick around for the entire story.

From the outside looking in, everything would seem to be flowing smoothly.

But if you were to scratch the surface of my life, you’d find that this outer shell– as is often the case– isn’t quite as happy as it seems.

Continue reading “Stuck in a Pit”

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40 Hours and 1 Minute

At this point, I just have to smile. I really do.

But while I was 103 miles into the hardest race of my life, screaming at the top of my lungs over howling mountain wind, convinced my husband had abandoned me… it really wasn’t all that funny.

How did I get here? Everything had been perfect. How did it all go so terribly far down south? Nothing made sense. All I knew was I needed to finish.

And, I guess that’s where this story begins….  Continue reading “40 Hours and 1 Minute”

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