During the Summer of 2023, I found myself in a 1980’s built cabin on the edge of a mountain in Alma, Colorado.

I was at 11,000ft altitude. I was out of breath taking the laundry up the stairs from the basement to the ground level. And I was deliciously happy.

Because I was training for the Leadville 100 trail run.

This was a footrace in Leadville, CO that takes you from the town of Leadville, up and over Hope Pass (and then up and over it again, since it’s an out and back course), topping off at about 12,600 feet. You never drop much below 10,000 feet the entire race.

And you have 30 hours to do it. If you don’t make the cut-offs — you’re pulled from the race, all hopes dashed.

As someone living in Minnesota for the past almost-decade, I knew that I needed to have some altitude experience before attempting this endeavor. I left my home in Minneapolis on April 1st. I settled into my new home in Alma on April 2nd. And I trained in Summit County, Colorado all the way through mid-August.

I learned to run on mountainsides and with low oxygen. I met mountain goats and a few bears, moose and many an alpine squirrel. I listened to the wind play against the aspen tree branches and I sat in quiet awe at many a distanced view from the top of mighty mountain trails.

I ran alone with a single headphone in my left ear so that I could stay vigilant, alert to my surroundings. I adopted new friendships and traversed the rocky terrain, tripping and falling more times than I was able to count, in good company and with warm conversation.

I worked full time at my virtual coaching job. I lived with roommates for the first time since my early 20s (!) who I honestly found deeply challenging and who somehow thought the same of me. I cooked meals for one and sat looking at stars aplenty. I lifted heavy weights at the local gym at the bottom of Hoosier’s Pass and I drank cold mountain beer in the midst of local music festivities.

My body got massages and my soul got reiki and my limbs moved beautifully (and crankily) in yoga classes in Breckenridge. I started drinking alcohol free beers and sleeping 8-10 hours and waking up ahead of the sun to journal before my run. I meditated and scrolled on my phone, I walked on bike paths and hiked up to alpine lakes, and I wondered what life could look and feel like if I lived here full time.

And then, in the middle of August, I did what I set out to do — I ran the Leadville 100 — and was one of the 44% of runners to cross the finish line.

28 hours after the shotgun was raised and barreled off into the early morning air, gunpowder lost against the stars and in all the runners’ eyes, I finished.

I had never moved my body for that long. In that way. With those kinds of people. In that type of landscape.

I was challenged and broken. I had moments where I thought, ‘there is no way.’ And then — I made a way. I had moments where I completed a difficult section and I felt a hand on my shoulder, a grip in my heart, and with no one around I knew I had someone or some entity with me.

And, I had the people. I had the friend who flew in for 24 hours from Minneapolis who had never yet rented a car in her adult life, let alone driven one through the mountains. And there she was, all smiles and joy for me. I had my partner, a man who has never been exposed to this kind of world and whose jaw is still agape from the knowing, who gave me hugs and foot massages and helped me pop my blisters at mile 62. I had my dear Colorado friends — the one who spirited me on and took care of me at every aid station and the one who stepped up to run and hike and move beside me all through the night to get me to the finishline.

I was never alone.

100 miles and never alone.

So here I am, on the “other side” of this incredible summer event and I wonder:

Where can I go next? Who will join me? And what might I become?

I am so grateful I could shift my life around and move to the side of a mountain for a summer. That I could train fully and readily for the 100 mile race. That I could receive all the support I needed to move through it and finish it. That I am on the other side of it, happy and healthy and asking questions like: Where can I go next?