It has taken years for my stubborn mentality to recognize the following: a plan without some form of consistent accountability is wasteful. This past January, I completed my first 50K trail race. For three years I attempted to complete an…
I know, it feels like a chore, it feels silly, it feels awkward and kinda pointless. You’re not spiritual, you’re not flexible, you’re not a hippy. You don’t know what all those Sanskrit words mean. You’re already strong, you’re already disciplined.
I’m currently sitting in my apartment scribbling notes, looking at my bookshelf, reading saved articles, and trying to come up with a topic and cobble together the required word count for this column. If I had developed a better habit…
Our pace had slowed to a sun-beaten crawl, and the shade that seemed to cover the trail kept hopelessly receding.
It’s grey, cold, and dumping buckets outside. I’ve been in a car for six hours listening to the strum thwack of wipers, squinting to determine if I’m staying between the striped lines, and white-knuckling the steering wheel driving to Marin, CA.
Show up at the start line of any road or trail run, triathlon, or cycling race these days and it is clear women are no longer a minority in the racing scene.
I believe I am meant to run through mountains, ride across desert dirt roads, immerse myself in the sea, explore less traveled paths, and actively engage in Nature.