Dear Juneau

Dear Juneau,

The memory of my first time meeting you is more vivid now, than ever before. It was the perfect bluebird day. In retrospect, not nearly as perfect as you. We started our hike up Ramona Falls towards Yocum Ridge on what was clearly a quintessential summer day in the PNW. Beargrass was in full bloom, while patches of snow still kissed the earth beneath our feet.

"Nobody will be up here," I thought. Not a soul. We rounded a turn just before the final ascent onto the ridge. In his usual style, Jack sprinted up ahead in hopes of discovering the views before we did. That's when I heard you. You let out a gutteral bark as to warn the yellow dog to back off, this was your spot. A sense of disappointment washed over me as I now understood there were others here. We crested the ridge, and there you were. Planted so proudly in front of your human while claiming your territory as the yellow dog sprinted circles around you. You kept a steady eye on Jack, and then shifted your gaze as we approached. Never could I have been so happy that you were the soul up on the mountain that day. Never would I have imagined it was that day that would connect me to the next several years of your incredible life. Never would I have imagined the lessons myself, and even Jack had to learn from you. Never would I have imagined falling deeply in love with your human, and witnessing the ways in which you are, and always will be, an extension of his spirit. Never would I have imagined the ways in which you reconnected me with my own spirit. My own sense of self.

 

I was always of the understanding that dogs had a magical sense about them that allowed our hearts to open without even trying. You were never just a dog though. You held an understanding of the natural world in a way that led me to believe you had lived many lives before the one I was able to share with you. Your presence grounded me, and my smothering love drove you bonkers.  Some nights you were the little spoon, other nights you were the big. As tough and prideful as you are, I always acknowledged the big soft teddy that existed deep down within the depths of your almighty. As reluctant as you were, you always let me into the soft snuggly bear that loved cuddles, and kisses on the cheeks. Just like your dad, you cherish the quiet times when no one is looking.

Life was most fully felt when I watched you on the river. The river is where our family grew its roots, and so many rivers that have held our memories. Carrying them out to sea where they'll forever rest in boundless waters. As I reflect on our time spent together, and love that runs so deep, I realize how fortunate I am to have had time with you. To have known you. I feel that many people spend a healthy part of their lives searching for the wisdom you shared. The wisdom that needs no words, and simply is. The wisdom I had been searching for before that day on the mountain.

Days turned to months, months turned to years, and I never would have imagined our time coming to an end. I was under the selfish impression that your life would exceed my own timeline. That I would wake up as an old woman with an old husband, and our old dog. Reflecting over coffee and hard boiled eggs on the full life we shared together to the very end. The times where you ate full pumpkin pies, and loaves of bread. The times where you stole breakfast off of plates when no one was looking. The times where I wanted to throw you off a cliff for fighting with your brother Jack. The times where you were guiding me to the fish in the river. The times you rested your head in my lap, and looked up at me with those big almond brown eyes. The times your dad and I held you close between us over countless nights spent in the back of Amiga. The times where you called me out on my bullshit. The times where you really rather I don't grab your snout and go in for the kiss, but let me anyway. The impression you left on anybody who met you, or shared adventures with you.

The day we learned you were in heart failure I remember feeling everything, and then nothing. I've never experienced feeling nothing. I've never had to understand how to work through what it means to have life sucked out of living. Your dad and I very quickly became shells of ourselves. We learned there was nothing we could do aside from medicate to manage the symptoms. We learned doggy heart transplants don't exist. I would have given you mine. We made a pact that we would give the medications a try, and as soon as your quality of life took a turn for the worse, we would help you transition out of it. We promised to never let you suffer, and we kept that promise to the very end. We didn't count the days we had left with you. We filled each day with the things we knew you love. More walks, more treats, more fishing, more time spent chilling outside in the mountains, more time with us. You responded to treatment so well. We became less sad as we witnessed you have some of these best days. We were so full of gratitude for the passionate individuals who cared for you as loved ones, and as professionals. Those same people are still very much taking care of us.

Our final weekend with you was one for the books. We didn't know it would be our last one. We took you to the forest, and let you spend time around friends and a warm campfire. We took you fishing, and it was this particular day that you were most alive. Scaling muddy hillsides, getting into salmon carcasses, prancing between your dad and I as we chased the elusive steelhead. You were in your element. You were free. I'll never forget how content we were that weekend.  As much as we weren't under the impression this would be our last adventure with you, you knew. You took advantage of every single moment you were gallivanting in those woods along a river.

Our final family photo taken in the very place where we'll commit to love forever and always. 

Monday night was when you communicated what we had been in waking fear of. Tuesday morning we made our calls to the professionals who cared so closely for you. They gave us options. So many options. We loaded you into red rocket because we knew she was your favorite to ride in. You see, we also weren't aware that we would be faced with the inevitable decision we made that morning. You made it easy though. Your eyes were delicately powerful in the message they conveyed. You lay so peaceful, and it was time for us to make your transition.

I can still feel your fur as I imagine running my fingers through it. I still feel the warmth of your breath on my shoulder where your head used to rest as I drive down the road. I still see your delighted face, and wriggly body each time I walk through the front door. I can't turn the vacuum on without thinking about trying my best not to disturb you. I can still feel the beat of your heart, and the exact moment that it stopped. I can't help but to notice Jack's shifting behavior. Your dad can't look at photos of you right now, where I find tremendous comfort in them. There is so much more room on the sidewalk for our daily walks. The hole you left is gaping, and the deep, deep sadness is real. In fact, more real than most things right now. I wouldn't change any of it for the world. I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat. We would do it all over again in a heartbeat. You filled our lives in ways we can never explain. In ways that have helped shape the individuals we have grown to be. I will never say goodbye to you buggy. I will only say I love you. I love you so very, very much.

Sweet dreams my love.
Yocum Ridge, July 8th 2013

The Art of Funemployment

"I was smart enough to go through any door that opened." -Joan Rivers

I have never been one to follow a structured path. I didn't know who I wanted to be in my adult life, or how to take all the right steps to get there. Growing up I wanted to be a lawyer, and then a firefighter, and then a Harley Davidson riding badass, a child psychologist, a sports medicine doctor, a marine biologist? In no particular order. The path I have taken has been paved by a series of open doors. Doors that I discovered while chasing passion, while following role models, making mistakes, and through it all, always being true to who I was at that point in my life experience. Looking back at how I have come to where I am, and who I am on this very day, I would do it all over again in the same manner. Look for the doors, don't look for the doors, but happen upon them anyways, and go through. All those doors. All those lessons. I wouldn't trade any of them for the world.  

A little less than five years ago I walked through another door.  The first door in my series of doors that would be bitterly slammed in my face the day I was fired. I never envisioned myself in conversation where I was the comic relief speaking on the glitz and glam of "funemployment." But there I was, and here I am.  For the first several weeks following my termination I thought how wonderful it would be to reflect, and unleash in writing how awful it all was. How unfortunate, unprofessional, unkind, and ill informed their decision to let me go had been. Who wants to be burdened with that information though? The he said she said. None of that matters. People get fired every single day. What matters is that we have the power of choice in life. We can choose to be bitter. We can choose to be resentful, angry, unhappy, or... We can choose to be full of gratitude. We can choose to be the light that shines in the darkness. We can choose happiness. We can find the silver lining in the blackest of clouds. We can honor the raw emotions that make us all human, and then we can release what no longer serves us.

My job served a purpose for the last several years, but it no longer served me. You should never choose to exist mindlessly unfulfilled, and unsupported in any corner of your life. Getting fired woke me up to the fact I had been doing just that.  Never again. I am forever grateful for the community I was able to serve in my time there. I am forever grateful for the bonds formed, and the laughs exchanged with coworkers over the nuances of life actually. I am forever grateful for my community that has risen around me in relentless support over my many tears, laughter, margaritas, breakfast dates, and burritos. I am, and always will be forever grateful to the door that was slammed in my face. The door whose closing wind blew open the next door, and shattered the closed windows to let in every bit of light. Thank you!

First race of funemployment where I won so much more than a first place title. Where I won me. 

Harricana Race Report by Guest Contributor Marta Fisher

My Experience Racing the Harricana 125k

Photo Cred: Karine Maltais

Even though it was 2 AM, I felt well rested and prepared for a day of mud, rocks and sweat. Ultra-Trail Harricana 125k was my last chance in 2016 to prove myself in, and the most important.

I have been running since I was a teenager. Though I loved both running and racing, I was never the star and naturally assumed I’d always be an amatuer. Yet here I was, one of four women invited to rural Québec for a race on the cusp of being added to the Ultra World Tour. Since receiving the invitation the previous winter, I’d been trying to prove, mostly to myself, that I deserved this. It didn’t help that, already in my 40’s, I felt my window closing even as it opened. As part of my prep, I’d run two other difficult 100 km races earlier in the summer. Both races had gone fine, though I also knew I was capable of better and had hoped and trained for a great performance.

I knew the best way to for me to finish well would be a conservative start, so I tamped down my nerves and excitement in the initial flat and easy roads through rural farmland. It felt like a calm pace, but by the time I reached the first aid station, my legs already felt just slightly tired. I wondered if the three weeks since my last 100 km race had been enough to fully recover. There was also a disconcerting stiffness in my left shin and ankle. Running on flat land is not my forte, so I hoped these were temporary issues that would evaporate when the course moved onto real trail. Immediately after leaving the aid station, we headed up Mont des Morios, the highest, steepest summit of the day. This was exactly the kind of steep, difficult trail I prefer. There was a lot of passing as runners who excelled at technical rock scrambling nimbly jumped around the road warriors they'd trailed in the beginning. By daylight, the views from the exposed rock and scrubby wind blown trees of the summit into the bucolic valley below must be spectacular. As it was, I settled for glimpses of twinkling lights below before heading back down the root and boulder strewn trails.

Photo Cred: Jeremie LeBlond-Fontaine

Once down, we immediately started climbing again to La Noyée, the second highest summit of the day. Usually I would have tried to run portions of a mild uphill like this, but it felt wiser to save my energy for later in the day so I stuck to hiking. I expected the downhill to be easier but found it hard to relax into a rhythm in the loose rocks that covered the road. When the aid station volunteers encouragingly told me I was in 4th place, rather than inspiring a competitive rise, I shrugged. I had already begun to modify my expectations and no longer hoped for a stellar race, but felt, if I kept it together, a decent one was still possible. In ultrarunning, major problems often start with neglecting basics, like eating and drinking enough. I tried to stay on track by focusing on physically taking care of myself.

I’d been mostly alone since La Noyée, so I was elated to arrive at the Parc National des Hautes-Gorges-de-la-Rivière-Malbaie, where my boyfriend, Nate, and my parents were waiting. I told them I was fine, a partial truth that I desperately wanted to believe. In reality I felt somehow heavy, like I was twice as far into the race as I actually was. In addition, my shin still felt off and nausea had kicked in earlier than usual.  

It was less than 7 km to the next aid station, but the course turned onto a flat, straight, dull, hot dirt road, my personal mental kryptonite. That was all it took to lose the boost I’d gotten from Hautes-Gorges. I asked the aid station volunteers to tell me why I shouldn't drop now. They earnestly assured me the remaining trail was easier, offered glowing appraisals of the upcoming scenery, and trotted out inspiring quotes. To be perfectly honest, their reasoning was weak. But I needed enthusiasm more than logic. I wasn't convinced I'd finish, but they talked me into continuing.

They were correct that the next section was scenic and not steep, but maneuvering around all the rocks and roots required some attentive footwork. As I was still running alone, I had plenty of opportunity to mentally weigh reasons to keep going against reasons to drop. On the keep going side- my shin didn’t truly feel injured and my first DNF deserved a better cause than merely a bad day. Not to mention, my family hadn’t traveled across a continent to watch me give up. On the drop side - even if it wasn’t technically injured, due to my shin I felt unstable navigating the technical trail sections. Also, dropping seemed more dignified when I was falling so short in a race with so much riding on it. I never reached a decision, but when a guy caught up with me, I found some latent competitive spirit and hung with him to the next aid station.

Photo Cred: Jeremie LeBlond- Fontaine

I still hoped my weariness was something I could fix, so I tried eating whatever I could in hopes this was largely a calorie deficit. But everything tasted dry and after a bite or two, I slipped the rest to a volunteer’s dog. I wanted to stay, but when the guy I arrived with headed out, I followed. He started just a few seconds ahead of me, but in the single track winding through the trees I soon lost sight of him and was on my own again. I was frustrated that I couldn’t fully enjoy the lovely trail winding past lakes. When the course joined a road and the view opened, I was surprised to see runners ahead, and not far. My competitive side rekindled somewhat and I managed to pass a few people. A guy, Jonathan, I’d briefly encountered earlier caught up to me and we encouraged each other to the next aid station.

Having a companion for a little while reminded me how supportive the ultra community is. When a volunteer asked what I needed, I asked for a hug. She gave me a warm one, along with a pep talk. Jonathan and I left the aid station and stuck together through the uphill stretch. Sadly, when it turned downhill again I couldn’t keep up with him. Usually, technical downhill is a strength of mine but between my exhaustion and my shin, I stumbled at every obstacle. Jonathan made me promise I’d finish before he took off. Once again, I wished I could see this trail in good spirits.

I finally made it to the penultimate aid station, where Nate was waiting. I gave him a great sobbing hug, knowing both that I was too close to the finish to drop and that the last bit would be rough. Nate tried to re-energize me by telling me there was another woman only a few minutes back, but I was unfazed. Despite it being mostly non-technical dirt roads and not steep, I walked most of the rest of way with only brief stretches of running. I barely registered whether I was going uphill or down.

My time was nowhere near what I had hoped but I was enormously proud of my finish. As measured by amount of climbing or total distance, this was not the toughest race I’ve completed. But, it challenged me in other ways- the technical trail was qualitatively different than what I’m what I’m familiar with in the western US, aid stations were more widely spaced than I’m used to, and it was the farthest I’ve ever raced without the company of a pacer. In considering whether to drop, I was also facing the question of how to be the kind of runner I aspire to be. By choosing continue, I choose to be a runner who is rugged, tenacious, and determined.

Race Logistics for Running Geeks

I had trouble finding good course descriptions in English, so if you’re thinking about running this, here’s what to expect:

The race put a marker every kilometer noting distance to the finish. Yes, EVERY kilometer. It was great because you always knew exactly where you and never got fooled into thinking you were farther along than you were. It was also terrible because you always knew exactly where you were and could never convince yourself you were farther along than you were. The 125k race was actually 117k.

If you look at the race info, you’ll notice aid stations are somewhat widely spaced. The food at the aid stations was almost all real food. If you are used to gels, you’ll have to carry your own. The one “nutrition product” they had was new to me, Fruit2 x:act, which was like a very thick jam. I liked it but the aid stations offered it unpackaged so it was hard to bring along for consumption later. If I had one suggestion for this race, it would be more variety in food at the later aid stations. Sometimes just being offered something novel can help restart a stalled appetite. (Side note: The English translator during the pre-race instructions referred to aid stations as "feed zones." I was tickled by how descriptive that name is.)

Photo Cred: Karine Maltais

They offered a free shuttle for spectators between La Malbaie and the finish. It would be great for people doing the shorter races. It ran less frequently after 2 PM, so would be less useful for 125k finishers.   

Start to AS 1 (Marmotte): Starts off with gentle downhill on paved road. Due to the easy terrain and other runners’ headlamps, I didn’t feel the need to turn my headlamp on until the road entered a forest and turned to dirt at about 5k.

AS 1 to AS 2 (Marmotte again): Trail narrows quickly to decisively technical single track up Mont des Morios. Use caution on the bridges, which were damp and slick. At the top, the trail winds narrowly through waist or chest high shrubs over a ridgetop. The descent of Morios is as rocky and technical as the ascent. Though parts of the outbound and inbound courses overlap, I didn’t encounter any oncoming traffic.

AS 2 to AS 3 (Chouette): I took my headlamp off at the beginning of this section. Alternating series of dirt roads and singletrack uphill, but never more than moderately steep. The trail sections varied from mildly to moderately technical. The road sections were unmaintained

Photo Cred: Jeremie LeBlond-Fontaine

with loose rocks, so they weren't much easier. The last stretch to the summit of La Noyée was not a trail at all, but followed trail markers through the scrub. From the summit down to Chouette aid station was about 5k starting with some easy dirt road, followed by mildly technical single track, and then back to easy dirt road again.

AS 3 to AS 4 (Accueil Hautes-Gorges): There was a km or two of gentle uphill road before the route turned down a less used road and from there on out it was 8k of downhill on dirt roads covered with annoyingly loose rocks. When you come out into a powerline clearing, you can see down to the short stretch of pavement that will take you into the park. Hautes-Gorges is the main crew accessible aid station, though most of the spectators just cheered in front of the entrance building. My crew said they were the only people that went around back of the building where the aid station was set up to help their runners.

AS4 to AS 5 (Geai Bleu): Wide, non-technical trail with a small climb followed by a small descent to a bridge over the titular Rivière Malbaie. Then dead flat, road-width pedestrian route, like a rails-to-trails route.

AS 5 to AS 6 (Coyote Honda): Flat single track alongside the Rivière Malbaie which left the river after 1-2 km to gently climb alongside a smaller creek. The trail was consistently technical. Earlier in the day, there had been the odd puddle or jump-width creek but this was the first place with creeks you had to wade and mud crossings.

AS 6 to AS 7 (Epervier Info Comm): It started with rolling single track. My recollection is a little hazy, but I think it was less technical than the previous section. Then it turned onto an old flat dirt road which was overgrown with trees and shrubs. In places the route through the brush was quite narrow. The last few km to the aid station are on a maintained dirt road which starts off downhill but then gets flat before you get to the aid station.

AS 7 to AS 8 (Split-BMR): 2-3 km of gentle uphill on mildly technical single track which flattens out for a little while before slowly heading downhill. It opened up to old road before arriving at the aid station. This is crew accessible, but since you can’t drive to it, few came. Of the spectators who did come, mine were the only ones who thought to bike, rather than walk, the 5k on maintained dirt road to access the aid station.

AS 8 to AS 9 (Montagne Noire): Non-technical, little used dirt roads. The final summit, Montagne Noire, was in here somewhere, but it never really got that steep, or even registered as a bonafide peak to my tired brain. I recall gentle uphill, then flat, then gentle downhill on a dirt road.

AS 9 to finish: I turned my headlamp back on shortly after leaving this aid station. My memory is hazy here, but I think there was some easy single track, then maybe some good dirt road, then turned off onto an old dirt road which comes around behind the ski lodge to the finish. Blessedly, none of the last section was very technical, though there were some mud pits that I tried to skirt because they looked like real shoe suckers. You are surprisingly close to the finish before you can see lights or hear noise.  

Photo Cred: Jerome Kearney

100 Miles IS That Far

Welcome to Cascade Crest 100!

Why? Why run 100 miles? I ask myself this question often. Why Jenn? I crossed the finish line of Cascade Crest 100 with what I believe to be the answer to my most personal question.

Dream team! Aly Drake, Jeff Fisher, Jeff Boggess, and Monica Ochs

To be honest, I was dreading toeing the start line at Cascade Crest.  I had worked, and trained relentlessly over the months leading up to this race to ensure I was ready. To ensure I wouldn't repeat what my first go at the 100 mile distance looked like.  Less than a week before, "go time," and I was in a deep funk.  I've decided not to chalk it up to "taper tantrum," because it was much deeper than that. I had lost a strong sense of balance within myself, and I was drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally, and with a broken spirit. The candle had been burned at both ends over the months, and all at once my system was firing every single red flag. In the middle of the night I stood up out of bed, walked into our living room, and had what I believe to be my first ever anxiety attack. My heart raced, my palms were sweaty, I couldn't catch my breath, and I was more confused than I'd ever been in my adult life. Right there in the middle of our living room. Jeff wrapped me up in his arms, and let me ball my eyes out to my hearts content. It was amazing how much better I felt after that release. He talked me through what I was experiencing with soothing words, and then when I had my wits about me, we talked about why that happened. We came to the conclusion that all I needed to do was get through this race. Get through this race, take the much needed downtime in recovery, and regain my sense of lost balance. Okay. I can do that. I think?

Friday morning before the race, and my crew was ready to go. I soon decided I would, "fake it till' you make it," all the way across the finish line. I focused on how immensely grateful I was in having the most amazing friends supporting me through this journey.  I focused on the words of support, and positive encouragement that so many of you had given to me leading up to the start.  I reflected on what it meant that I was arriving in Easton healthy, and stronger than ever in my own running body. I took a deep breath knowing that I had done my homework. I couldn't have had a better year of training up to this very moment.  I stood next to Krissy as we exchanged big hugs, and even bigger smiles. I scanned the cheering crowd around me, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath in.  I could hear Jeff's last words he whispered in my ear; "This is your race, and nobody else's. Yours." I would carry these with me for the next twenty three hours and twenty eight minutes... "Go!"

I had two goals for this race; I deeply desired to break the twenty four hour mark like so many of us attempting the distance do. I also yearned for a podium finish. I had put my all into this race, and I yearned for the feeling of satisfaction that a 1st, 2nd, or 3rd place finish would yield.  I longed to prove something deep within myself that I had what it took on this day.

The air was crisp, and the sun began its climb into the morning sky.  In my first few steps away from that start line, I knew it was going to be a good day. I knew I was going to be okay, in fact, more than okay. I settled into my breath and held on tightly to the energy of the cheering crowd as they faded into the distance that each of my steps created between us. I was meant to be here, and I could feel it.

My focus early on was to make a new friend to share miles with experiencing this breathtaking course. Little did I know that I'd end up spending the first half of the course with Washington runner, Jordan Maki-Richards.  We chatted about ourselves, what we did, and all other things of interest that runners talk about. Her energy was refreshing, light hearted, and peacefully fierce. Along our shared path we recruited a couple more new friends to what we deemed our, "unit." Douglas was running his second hundred miler ever just like me, and Tomo from Japan was blowing my mind with his most recent race reports. We were doing this thing together, and it felt like home.  My soul became so full in their company, and I have all of them to thank for the amazing journey this was for me.

Wonder baby! 

I came into mile twenty five more anxious than ever to see my crew for the first time. As we descended into Tacoma Pass aid station I could hear the sharp clangs of Jeff shaking the tambourine, and the yips and hollers from everyone awaiting our arrival. "My people!" I came in completely recharged from the troubles that had so recently held me in their grip. As I turned to leave after filling my bottle and grabbing a few more provisions for the trail ahead, I was greeted by the smiling faces of my crew. More importantly, by Reed Robbins himself. This little bundle of joy is the beautifully wild creation of Gary and Linda Robbins themselves. He was all smiles, and phenomenal baby juju! I had spent so much time trying to soak up his adorable baby essence I almost forgot to check in with my crew! Whoops. "I'm great! I feel amazing! No pack needed, but thank you! Love you guys!" Ethan locked eyes with me to let me know what a treat the trail had in store just ahead. I could hear the alluring section of PCT calling to me. Off into the woods I went.

It wasn't until Stampede Pass mile 36.2, that I saw my crew again. Aly made sure I left complete with headlamp, but not before I gave her the biggest hug I could while telling her I couldn't wait to pick her up as my first pacer at Hyak. Everything was on par. My body, my stomach, my energy, and my will to maintain a conservative effort knowing I would use saved energy to my advantage for the later half. I did what I know how to do best, and just kept running. Just kept feeling the warm summer sun on my cheeks, just kept thinking of all the people I was beyond grateful to have out here supporting me, about a life I felt so fortunate to have the ability to live, and really live. The biggest section of climbing was now behind me, and dusk was falling upon us. Jordan had fallen back a little dealing with some back spasms, and though I wanted to have a strong race, I wasn't ready to lose her presence yet. Soon enough she had rejoined the unit, and explained what she was experiencing with back pains. We all ran in a silence that was understood, and shared supportive energy up and over our climbs. I remember Tomo telling me that if we held this pace we were certain to break twenty four hours. Good, I was still on target for at least one of my goals.

Just after Blowout Mountain. Photo cred: Glenn Tachiyama

The miles continued to melt, and before I knew it we were through Ollalie Meadows ready to take on the roped section. Ethan and Kim made an unexpected appearance where Ethan once again dropped his knowledge on my crown. "It's so great you're here before dark. This next section will be SO much easier to navigate." A warm hug from Kim, and down we went.  As I allowed the rope to slide through my hands I had acknowledging thought that, "Hey! I'm doing it!" Douglas took a solid fall and landed on what appeared to be his back, but we finished mostly unscathed. Just before the two mile tunnel that I had been terrified, and excited for all at once, I had a creeping suspicion I'd need to use the little girls room. Nah! I'll be fine until the porto's at Hyak. WRONG! While we shared the dark, dank tunnel experience, my stomach hit the eject button. "Sorry Douglas, I'll be right back!"  Yes, I pooped in the tunnel. Yes I used the Trail Butter bandanna around my neck as toilet paper. Yes I tried to save said bandanna before Jeff made me chuck it deep into a garbage can. This was my lowest point in the race. Not too shabby eh? I gave a quick thanks to my bathroom in the tunnel, and bolted for Hyak.

Aly, Jeff, Jeff, and Monica thrust every bit of their enthusiastic energy all over me. I've never felt a better dynamic in the way my crew was able to care for me. There was Monica the mom, Aly the basket of bubbles, Jeff, my rock and rationality, and Boggess as well, Boggess. Monica strapped my pack to me, Jeff told me I was running the smartest race I could be, and Aly ushered me out of the aid station as I shoved as much watermelon as possible into my mouth. We had eight miles of road ahead of us, and Aly didn't even need a headlamp. Her energy lit up the night sky! I complained about this road section quite a bit, but before we knew it we had arrived at Kecheelus Ridge. I couldn't believe how good everything felt. I owe every bit of this feeling of strength to following Krissy's 100 mile training plan in her book, Running Your First Ultra.  As Aly and I left we soon caught up to Jordan and her pacer. She had been dealing with serious nausea, and I could sense she was in a pain cave of her own. We chatted briefly before Aly pushed the pace, and soon they were out of sight. This would be the last time Jordan and I saw each other before the finish. We climbed up and up before Douglas came up alongside and asked if he could join our headlamp party. His was giving out. As long as he kept up we let him stay, and kept up he did! Aly kept chirping away with stories, and experiences that kept me joyfully distracted from getting into any sort of mental game with myself. The blackness that was the night sky lent to some amazing star gazing as we made our way to Lake Kachess campground. As we rolled in Jeff pulled Aly aside to let her know it made the most sense for him to take over pacing from here to avoid an inconvenient drive to Mineral Creek. In a last minute swap I left with my best friend, and man was he fired up! "Let's do this girl!" We jaunted up the road as I caught him up on how my night was going, and within moments took a sharp right to start the infamous, trail from hell section.

"This is your race."
Photo cred: Aly Drake

I could go into elaborate detail about the novelty of this trail, but I don't feel the need. If you've ever run in the Columbia Gorge, this territory was all too familiar. We clambered over roots, rocks, downed logs, and somehow managed to keep ourselves upright the entire time. Jeff frequently looked over his shoulder to tell me how well I was doing, to tell me how proud he was, but mostly to ensure I was looking when he dropped his pants to moon me. Some people say it's not the best idea to have a partner pace you. I'm so fortunate to have had the experiences I've had with Jeff to completely disagree with that statement. To have someone by your side that understands you sometimes better than you do yourself, to lovingly kick you in the ass when you're sandbagging it, and kiss your dirt encrusted lips for no reason at all, there's just nothing that compares.

The aid stations came to us one after the next. I pushed each climb as hard as my legs would allow, and ran every bit of terrain that looked even remotely flat. We had climbed and descended Thorp mountain in the final moments of the night sky to then make our way to the cardiac needles. We hit the last needle at sunrise. As the sun lit the morning sky on fire behind the mountains, I began to weep in silence.  Jeff looked over his shoulder again with a smile that pulled me up the last bit of the climb. We were almost home. French Cabin marked mile 89.2. "You're not going into that station. You have your food, you have your water, we're moving you straight through it. Let's go!" He hollered my number to the volunteers, I gave a wave of thanks, and just like that there was only one more aid between us and home.

Sunrise by Glenn Tachiyama

I recall the wisdom of my pals Yassine, and Jbob telling me about the final nine miles of descent. If you have your quads under you at this point, you can move. We had one little climb just ahead of us, and it was there we spotted the second place woman. This was it. We wished her and her pacer well, and never looked back. I had my quads, and we were moving. At one point I rolled my ankle in a brief technical section, and Jeff simply says from behind me, "You can deal with that later," to which my response... "What?! Are you insane?! My ankle! Owwww!" "Nope, you can put weight on it, you're fine!" Dammit do I love that man, but dammit if I didn't want to punch him square in the gut for a brief millisecond of thought. He was right though, and I hobbled for several minutes, but kept moving. Just keep moving Jenn, just keep moving.  Eventually everything just hurts, and I could no longer differentiate the ankle pain from the ache over my entire body.

T-minus three miles!

Silver Creek- four miles to go, and the plan was simple. No stopping until the very end. "106!" Jeff yells to the aid station, "Let's go team! She's not stopping!" Monica, Boggess, and Aly launched into action to join us for the remaining miles. All of my people were with me once again, and there was no stopping us! Everything became a blur of excitement and relief in these final miles. My crew giddily chatted while showering me with nothing but praise. I couldn't say much. I was completely overwhelmed with gratitude and appreciation for each of these souls that had made this experience what it was. I took one peek over my shoulder to see if there were any hungry runners charging from behind. Nothing. After crossing the highway the finish line was in sight. I had the feeling of bittersweet wash over me as I realized I'd give anything to be able relive this entire day, but alas, it was time for the journey to reach its end. We kicked it over the train tracks, locked hands, and came in as one hell of a unit. Together. Twenty three hours, twenty eight minutes, and second female. We did it!!

I couldn't have asked for a better finish line celebration with all who were there to celebrate. I couldn't have asked for a better anything from this day really. Over the next several days I would go over again, and again in my mind just how special and cherished this memory would be.  So why did I do it? Why did I choose to run 100 miles after having a terrible experience the first time? The answer is simple. Because I'm too afraid not to. I'm afraid not to experience the power of raw emotions. I'm afraid not to put myself in the most vulnerable of situations. I'm afraid not to feel what it feels like to trust in myself. I'm afraid not to push myself when the times are the hardest. I'm afraid not to experience the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows. I'm afraid not to share this part of my life with others. I'm afraid not to experience what it feels like to be the best version of, well, me. Running 100 miles forces you into self discovery, no matter who you are. You never walk away from one of these things without learning something you didn't know before. I'm afraid, no I'm terrified, not to learn, and that's why.

Thank you to my phenomenal people who shared in this day with me. Thank you to the race directors and volunteers for all of their hard work in creating a life changing experience for runners. Thank you to Krissy for being an amazing role model and developing a training plan that left me feeling strong, and confident from start to finish. Thank you to my freight train Aly who kept me choo chooing deep into the night. Thank you to Boggess for being a presence that balanced our wacky equation. Monica, thank you for being that nurturing spirit that ensured I stayed focus, safe, and fueled for the fire. Jeff, thank you for being my person. Thank you for your relentless encouragement, and unconditional love. My love for you will always span the gap between time and space that surrounds us. I love you guys!

That's it, that's all.
 (minus Monica)

Until next time.

-Jenn

An Ode to the Trails

When your weeks are filled with challenges, physical and emotional, how do you overcome? This is my ode to the trails that recharge my soul and invigorate my spirits when times have been particularly challenging. Gratitude will always be one of the greatest gifts we can give in reminding oneself of how incredibly precious our lives truly are. Happy trails!

You lay there perfectly still. Winding through mountainous landscapes, fording rocky creeks, rising above tree line, and descending into the deepest of valleys. You do nothing, but simply exist. Are you aware that your existence has allotted me the luxuries of travel, growth, happiness, sadness, wisdom, fear, friendships, challenging me to be the most present as I navigate your ever-changing terrain? Are you aware that I go to you when I'm scared, when I need to hide, when I need to feel? Your rocks, your roots, your creatures, your rivers and trees, work in unison in providing my soul with nourishment I simply cannot acquire elsewhere. Do you know that I need you? I need you like the flowers need the bees, like the birds need the trees, like the heat needs a breeze. You hear my troubles, you support my victories, and you are unwavering as the weight of my body comes crashing down on top of you in every step I take.

How is it that I have been fortunate enough to know you? Why do you give me so much and ask for nothing in return? Will you promise to always remain steadfast and constant? Will you promise never to leave me if I promise to always look after you? If I promise to tell your story of beauty and perseverance? If I promise to keep your secrets? If I promise to do my best to protect you from harm as you have protected me? If I promise to whisper amongst the evergreens, and shout with reckless abandon into your canyons? If I promise to dip in your rivers and sunbathe atop your boulders?

I have nothing to give in return, but it is my belief you're not looking for return. I believe you exist to be selfless. To serve the souls who travel your winding paths, who bathe in your creeks, and stand bold on the peaks of your mountains. You may be the epitome of selflessness dear friend of mine. Thank you. Thank you for getting me through the challenges I am faced with. Thank you for forcing me to fall so I learn that I must always pick myself up to push onward. Thank you for laughter shared with friends amongst your silence. Thank you for letting me dance under your moonlight, and find shelter from the storms. Thank you for letting me find love where it's not supposed to be, right in front of me.

Yours truly,
Me

Stalked

Slow down! Steep downhill ahead!

7:15pm on a Friday night with a phone call that ended in, "Yeah! Lets go mark the course now!" Jesse met me in a Whole Foods parking lot where we grabbed sandwiches, coconut water, and coffee.  The plan to mark the race course in the morning was out the window with a last minute technicality we hadn't prepared for. At 8:04pm we were caravanning out to Tillamook Forest for some middle of the night adventuring. Both capable, and very willing, we didn't question what we were about to do as long as we had each other to rely on for course knowledge and the safety of a buddy.

9:30pm and we were headed out loaded with cones, tape, and a couple signs to stake into the ground warning of more dangerous downhill sections to come. Fast forward with one burly climb mostly behind us, and catching up with each other on what adventures we've been up to since the last time we saw each other, and it was roughly 10:30pm. We jaunted along and admired what a stellar fall night it was to be out here. Twisting and turning along the more runnable terrain when all of a sudden Jesse comes to an abrupt halt that I just barely skirted around avoiding a friendly crash collision. "HEYYYY!! HEYYYYYYYYY!" Jesse roared, and in the skip of a heart beat I was locking eyes with the cat just yards up the trail in front of us. Its eyes illuminated by the glare of our headlamps, and its ears perked in a sort of curiosity that expressed interest in what type of meat we may be. FUCK.

The logbook before the cat. So excited!

Jesse roared, "GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" I looked around for anything to use that would inflict physical damage if we were charged. Thanks to the damp Pacific Northwest, the sticks I grabbed merely bent under any force I applied. Jesse turned around quickly, found the winning stick, and cracked it over his knee handing me the other half. Arms over head, and screaming like wild banshees, we took steps forward. The cat wandered off up into the hills. We both looked at each other in total bewilderment of what we just encountered. Having been all over this trail for our own training runs a plethora of times, this was a first. Keep moving, keep yelling, and blow that whistle like your survival depends on it. We walked. The more you run when a cat has keyed in on you, the more you look like a tasty morsel worth following. Our eyes scanned the trail in all directions looking for its presence. At 12:07am we were captains logging in the summit book of what we'd seen, and I had just enough service to get a call out to the race director letting him know our kitty cat was on the trail.

Shortly after coming down off the summit we were becoming more and more confident we were in the clear. The grip on my dagger stick loosened, and more light hearted conversations began. We were even comfortable enough to make jokes about a mountain lion encounter in the middle of a Friday night. Our legs began moving their normal running speed again as we kept laying confidence markers on the trail making sure no racer was getting lost on our dime. Jesse had a few chuckles at the fact I may be classified as an "over marker." We were talking about travel goals and other shenanigans when Jesse came to the familiar, abrupt halt again. As soon as my momentum came to its stop, my ears caught the sound of something on the ridge above our trail making the same stop under crunching bushes. The new realization was the cat had indeed been tracking us and was potentially about to make its move right here, in the middle of our future travel plans conversation.

Logbook after the cat. Less excited. 

Jesse was enraged. His guttural roar was back in full force. This time his commentary was something you wouldn't want your mother to here, and horror movie dialogue that would make you feel like you were toast. I was even intimidated. We hauled rocks as far as our arms could throw up into those trees. The whistle firmly planted against my lips, I knew I couldn't yell the way Jesse could, I blew so hard that my surroundings were silenced as my eardrums were paralyzed with internal ringing. I had stayed calm, cool, and collected until this very moment where I had no idea what that cat's intentions with us were. My heart beat elevated pounding through my bony chest, and my breath escaped me. Jesse looked back knowing I may lose it, and firmly stated, "Stay focused Jenn." He was absolutely right. I truly can't comprehend what the situation would look like had either one of us experienced this solo. We walked, and the grasp on my dagger was back to its white knuckled normal.


It was late, and already past the time we had anticipated being finished. My eyes fixed on every bit of trail around me. Where the hell was this thing, and how had it managed to follow us over the crazy path we were traveling without being noticed even once until now? Cats are amazing predators, and have a stealth that I wouldn't ever appreciate until these very moments. "This is fucked up." We were both vulnerable and pissed. The two of us were exhibiting aggressive tendencies I didn't think existed within our personal characters.  I took deep breaths and tried to keep calm under this intense fear of unknown and our own exposure out here. "HEYYYYYYYYYYYY! RAWWWWRRRRRRR! GOOOOOOO!" It was now posted up just in its position of choice just yards up from us on the trail. It's one thing to hear the thing in the woods, but as soon as it presents itself, your mind runs wild with worst case scenarios while in the same breath, your body reaction is somewhat stunned. Arms up over head and I began blowing the whistle so hard that I hoped my sounds would reach Jeff who was much further east fishing on the Metolius. Jesse had two pointed rocks in each hand and he was ready to kill the cat that had spent its night toying with our the state of our psychological health.

The friendly newt that helped calm nerves.

Once the cat had wandered back into the hills, this would be the final time we see it. The miles we agreed would be walked from here to finish, took hours. It was 4am by the time we were back to the safety Jesse's car that promised shelter from the now downpour, and the cat that was probably still on our terrified tails. We processed what we could before making the trek back to our  homes, where once I had fallen asleep, had returning nightmares of the cat. What a freaking  night run for two people who are typically unfazed by the the potential of risk involved. Being with Jesse out there in that situation taught me humbling, valuable lessons about knowing how to react and think clearly when you're in the face of immediate danger, and respecting territory that truly isn't yours. Know your nocturnal hunters! Always carry a whistle, always bring along a night time buddy, because if it's not cats it's weirdos, and never underestimate your mountain surroundings. Heaven forbid it's ever Squatch you encounter when out for an evening run through the woods! My resting heart rate has returned to me, and all is well. Happy trails!

(Disclaimer- No race participant was lost due to our exceptional course markings. Winning.)

Forty Seven Hours Twenty Nine Minutes Later

Selfie cred: Darcy Piceu

We loaded up Amiga with the gear we knew would support our days of adventure to come, sent off our, "here we come!" selfie,  and headed south for Tahoe. Our road trip down I-5 was business as usual with a stop at Sequential Biofuels for the best snacks before crossing state lines. On the radio, our genuinely loved road trip essence playlist, and two dogs letting their ears and jowls flap in the wind as their heads dangled curiously out the back windows.

Jeff and I talked adamantly about how excited we were to have this opportunity to help our friend Krissy as she chased down her goal of setting the supported FKT on the Tahoe Rim Trail. Jeff's enthusiasm was something like that of the boy who just found out he's probably getting the coveted Red Ryder for Christmas,  where mine was more like, "Holy shit, I get to run with the woman I consider my spirit animal in the sport of trail running, and a woman I've felt truly encapsulates the strength, determination, beauty and courage that inspires me as a female ultra runner." I could hardly wrap my mind around being a source of help amongst the full crew of amazing humans also passionate about helping her reach the finish line under her 48 hour time goal. FKT attempts never have guaranteed success, and there are so many variables to consider in planning that could potentially go wrong, but as we got closer and closer to Tahoe, something deep inside of me told me she was going to do this.

The Gellin solution to a lot of coffee

After spending a night with the Boggess family on their beautiful ranch, with their amazing hospitality for weary travelers and dogs, we loaded up basecamp supplies into a suburban and began the caravan to Big Meadows. We rolled through the campground with the frequency levels of Jack's bark piercing our eardrums and announcing our arrival, making sure any peaceful camp vibes were surely interrupted. Krissy and crew were kicked back in camp chairs around Ma an Pa Moehl's RV.  Within minutes we were all catching up with friends we haven't seen for awhile, and making new friends which honestly, is just way too easy to do in the world of trail running. I glanced around and realized what a rockstar crew Krissy had wrangled together. To my right we have Darcy Piceu, don't need to elaborate much there, Kathleen Egan, the world traveler and compassionate animal lover,  Gina Lucrezi, the girl who makes you laugh just by being in her presence, Fred Marmsater, badass adventure photographer who would document all of this experience, Neil Baker, good PDX running pal who is there to create a story for his new magazine soon to to be in print, Jeff Boggess of the one and only Trail Butter, the most delicious nut butters currently in existence (I'm not bias), Monica Ochs, dear friend of Krissy's, and Jeff Fisher, you know, the naked butt guy in all of Paul Nelson's running photos?! Joining us the following day would be Gary Gellin, knower of all things even remotely trail running related, and pioneer of the eighteen cups in one batch coffee method, accompanied by Ross Donihue of Maps for Good. Between Gary's overall love for maps, his extreme knowledge of the trail after his own FKT attempts, and Ross's ability to create maps (he is after all a cartographer), those two were a serious addition of humor, energy and expertise in the aid this crew provided for Krissy.

Girl power!
Myself, Gina Kathleen, Krissy, Ma, Darcy, and Monica 

The pre FKT meeting began shortly after breakfast that morning. I can't tell you how impressive it is to watch Krissy's planning abilities unfolding before your eyes. She's so meticulous in preparation that all we had to do was absorb what she was telling us and start organizing where gear went and which crew car got what supplies. Myself personally, was so worried about not being this type of planner that I was destined to screw something up. Just before the trip Jeff and I had exchanged emails with Darcy because we knew she had extensive intel on what Krissy may need out there based on their running history together. Darcy definitely reassured my nerves when she just laughed and told us that in no way was she a "planner," either. Great! Two negatives always make a positive. I chose not to overthink any detail oriented planning after exchanging these words with her.

Man power! Pa Moehl, Neil, Fred, Jeff B, and Jeff Fisher

Gear fest
Photo cred: Jeff Fisher 

Fred  relentlessly snapped photos as we bounced from tarp to tarp moving food, gear, and tampons into their newly designated, Ultraspire Titan packs.  Oh I'm sorry! Did I forget to mention that on top of worrying about the major logistics of how we'd all execute this thing, that our dear lady had started her menstrual cycle hours before start time? Guys, you have no idea what kind of wrench this may throw into the already grinding gears. Welcome to more ultra female badassery. Ok team, that's it. All systems go in t-minus twenty two hours. A few of us laced up and headed out for a final shakeout run before go time. The giddiness and overall energy of this group was infectious. I was in my element, and never better. Getting back to camp, dinner was being prepped, and cool beers allowed us to settle comfortably back into camp vibes. Krissy was mellow as a melon while Ma Moehl assigned us tasks in having dinner ready. I immediately understood where Krissy gets her efficiency from! Gary buzzed around trying to figure out if anyone wanted to check out the blood moon, and while the others finished up with dinner happenings, Jeff and I piled in with Gary and Ross to chase this supermoon that we never actually found, all the way into Nevada. The night quieted down and eventually, Krissy climbed into Simba (her Honda Element), Jeff and I climbed into Amiga, and extra tents were filled with anyone who wanted to take advantage of them. Sleep tight crew, you won't be for the next two days.

Darcy learning how to take over
 Krissy's social media.  

Dawn broke, and groggy eyed faces started poking out from their sleeping quarters. There was a quiet buzzing that began to bring basecamp to life. The morning sky was perfect while the air hung in peaceful stillness. Calm, cool and collected, we prepared for her 11am start time. Before we all knew it, cars were loaded up and we transported our girl to her start line. She danced around in pure anxious anticipation while we still had at least 15 minutes to go. Jeff and Gina strapped on their packs as they would carry her the first leg into Echo Lake, fifteen(ish) miles away. She hugged and thanked each and every one of us for being there, and spent the last moments in her parents arms. She took none of this experience for granted. It was time, and she was ready. 5...4...3...2...1... GO! Up and away her legs carried her while we cheered our brains out ready to follow along with her on this journey.

We gathered ourselves and hit the road that was planned for each crew car to travel. Knowing that Darcy and I would be by Krissy's side for the next 30, we loaded up on some Mexican food (always a great idea before running) to take with us to Echo Lake where we would await their arrival. Fred decided that consuming a burrito the size of a small child was the way to go before he joined us for the first seventeen miles of the Desolation Wilderness. About 30 seconds after his last bite he knew what his fate would be. No time for digestion, Krissy, Gina and Jeff were headed directly for our aid station! They came in whooping and hollering with Krissy's expression reading she was here on official business. A couple handhelds refilled, watermelon slices down her hatch, she was confident, and we were heading out.

Pigtail party into Desolation Wilderness
Photo cred: Fred Marmsater 

My mind was blown about every fifteen seconds as we ventured deeper and deeper into Desolation. If you didn't know, the Desolation Wilderness is the heaviest used wilderness area in the country, and this was the first time I was laying eyes on her.  Darcy stayed two steps ahead of Krissy while I stayed a few behind. In our Krissy sandwich, we passed her food, water, and trekking poles when she needed them. Fred bounded ahead of us trying to nab the perfect shot earning him the nickname, hammer ahead Fred. I could have sworn he may have been in better shape than all of us with the way he covered ground, back and forth and back. Unbelievably so, his burrito child managed to stay down... Probably because it was making its way out in other (stinky) ways.  Krissy looked back at me for a moment, "You okay girl?" My distraction with the scenery opened a bigger gap between us then I realized. I scamper back up to her when she says, "This part is why I brought you out here!" Then it hits me again. Holy shit. I'm running with Krissy and Darcy. It's not every day you find yourself smack dab in the middle of events you didn't realize to be tangible reality. I digress. We came into the station where the crew had hiked 5 miles in with supplies, cooked us mac n cheese, and like always, got Krissy in and out. We said goodbye to Fred who's burrito had finally given up the digestive fight, and off we went for the last 14 miles.

I don't suggest a back flop.
Photo cred: Gina Lucrezi

So it was, her pacers leap frogged each other as she was handed off like a baton to whoever she ran with in the sections to come. Jeff and Gina were up again after Darcy and I finished, followed by Jeff and Neil, followed by Monica and Kathleen, followed again by myself and Jeff, and to close it out for the finale, Darcy and Gina. Fred was constantly popping on and off course for the miles to capture the moments. The highs and lows, the sunrises and sunsets, the laughter, the cramping, the food that was shoveled into her mouth, and the Desitin that kept her lips moist and chaffing bearable. He crew teams worked diligently to stay alert, have her supplies ready when she needed, feed her jokes and stories as she pushed herself through those relentless miles. Gary was constantly bopping around the trail to access more remote locations he knew a bigger crew wouldn't be able to reach, refueling supplies, and then darting off again to let the rest of the team know her locations and when she was to be expected. At one point the next crew took over and Jeff, Darcy, Gina and myself headed for the lake. More specifically, a private beach we managed to not get ourselves kicked out of, and were able to relax and eventually take a dip. The dip was Darcy's idea, and believe me, we weren't going anywhere until we all partook.

Gina wins relaxation contest

She slept for 45 minutes over the entire 47 hours and 29 minutes she was out there. That was it. She kept her mind strong, and when she hit a low, she had her team to get her through it. To massage her aching foot, to give her back rubs, to carry enough toilet paper that we could have disguised ourselves as mummy's if needed, to remind her in the words of Dusty Olson, to "pull the string out" when the time came, and most importantly, keep ourselves strong so that she would always be able to rely on us for whatever she required. Yes, this crew got her to the finish line, but what we all got to see while she was out there enduring, was pure magic. We witnessed strength, we witnessed ferocious positivity, we witnessed willpower when times were harder, we witnessed kindness, compassion, vulnerability, discomfort, pain, exhaustion, and her capacity to always, no matter what, keep one foot moving in front of the other, come what may. Her status not only as an elite ultra running machine, but as a woman, a friend, a writer, a helper, a planner, and the truest representation of what oneself is capable of accomplishing when devoting themselves to achieving their goals, makes the essence that is Krissy, what we all desire to embody when we hit the trail. One can only be so grateful to experience humans like this throughout this magical thing we know to be life. They are our teachers, and push us to be better versions of ourselves. Our mentors that we look to when we know not the answers we seek.

Once Krissy had been handed off to Gina and Darcy, we knew it was time to head back to basecamp and wait for the next morning when she would cross her finish line. We all gathered at the trail head while Fred set up his camera, we set up her finishers chair, Jeff pulled out the tambourine, and we established an actual finish line in the dirt. Monica, Kathleen, Jeff B, Jeff F, and I headed a few hundred yards up the trail to run her in the last few feet of this journey. Minutes felt like hours as they crept by, and there it was. A flash of her white Patagonia jersey with Gina and Darcy flying in behind her. We roared! We roared as loud as we could to let her know she was home, and all at once she flew by as we joined and sprinted our legs off to be with her in those final moments. 47 hours and 29 minutes later, Krissy fell into the arms of her momma.

Each day we are capable of being who we want to be and leading the lives we want to live. Never stop chasing the dreams you have for yourself. Push your boundary's, get some dirt encrusted into your chafed bottom, eat that piece of cake, take that risk, but most importantly, write the story you want to read at your journey's end. Congrats to our dear friend Krissy in setting the new, supported female FKT on the Tahoe Rim Trail. You've got guts girl!

We did it! The Krissy crew of 2015