Finding Leadville Bonus Content: Take on the Adventure

You can do that thing you’re thinking about.

Yep, even that.

Yes, even with all the things going on in life.

That thing you’re drawn to, both energized by and scared of. The leap. The jump. The unknown.

It’s calling you for a reason — what if you answered it, what if you believed in yourself, what if you did it?

And then: What if that thing could heal something necessary within you?

What if it got you more clarity, a greater sense of openness, a more profound sense of who you really ARE? Simply by saying yes and embodying a new way of being, an adventure of your own.

I didn’t have any answers when I packed up my life in Minnesota, April of 2023, and moved to the side of a mountain in Colorado. All I knew was that I was meant to train for and run the Leadville 100 mile trail race.

And I had to leave my current home in Minneapolis for 5 months in order to do it right – by me.

The Leadville 100. This footrace ushers runners from the old mining town of Leadville, up and over the iconic Hope Pass, topping off at about 12,600 feet, to the 50 mile mark in Winfield, before escorting them back to the beginning. Runners don’t receive much supplemental oxygen because most of the race stays right above 10,000 feet. Altitude training – as a first time 100 mile runner who normally lives closer to sea level – was essential for me.

Runners only have 30 hours to run it. Cut-offs must be made. Incredible athletes get pulled from the race, all of their hopes dashed instantaneously, as they arrived just a few minutes too late to these checkpoints. I was determined not to let that happen, if I could help it.

The summer of Leadville, I learned how to run on mountainsides and with low oxygen. I met mountain goats, moose, many an alpine squirrel, and even a few bears. I listened to the wind play against the aspen tree branches, and I sat in quiet awe of distant views from atop the mighty mountain trails. I learned how to be alone and how to enjoy my body; I learned what I needed from my relationship. I learned how to heal, just a little more, in a more profound way than ever before.

Occasionally, 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 as I traversed the rocky terrain. I may have tripped and fell more times than I was able to count, but it was usually in good company and often with warm conversation.

While I trained, I worked full time as a virtual coach. I lived once again with roommates for the first time since my early 20s. I cooked meals for one and sat looking at stars, aplenty in the Rocky Mountain night sky. I lifted heavy weights at the tiny local gym and drank cold mountain beer in the midst of smalltown music festivities.

My body received massages, and my soul got reiki. My limbs got cranky but then settled during yoga. I started drinking alcohol free beers, sleeping 8-10 hours, and waking up ahead of the sun to journal before my run. I meditated, walked on bike paths, and hiked up to alpine lakes. All the while, II wondered what life could look and feel like if this place was my home. Then I realized it was my body that needed to feel like home.

Mostly though I had questions — could I do this? What would happen to the relationship I left behind in MN? Would anyone help me? And most pressingly, how the hell am I going to actually run this 100-mile race in the mountains that I signed up for!

With trust — in my heart, in my brain, in my old car, in the uncharted path, and in myself — I went for it. I let go completely; I dove all the way in. And I am so glad that I did because the result was the most precious summer of my entire adult life. The little girl in me got to play in the trees and write poetry while laying on the grass and feel the throb of thunderstorms from her cabin at 11,000 feet.

And then, in the middle of August, I did what I set out to do -- I finished the Leadville 100 trail run.

I was challenged. Even broken at times. There were moments where I thought, 'there is no way.' But then -- I made a way. Or sometimes the way just revealed itself. I experienced moments where after completing a difficult section I felt a hand on my shoulder, a grip in my heart, and, with no one around, I knew, I knew that someone or some entity was with me.

What will your next adventure into the unknown be? Who will you become? What part of you will find healing?