I haven’t known what to write since the election. I’m angry. I’m scared. Mostly, I feel lost, because I want to write for kids and I don’t know what to tell them. “I let you down,” is maybe what I should say. Or I can say that I will fight for them, but is that really good enough? To say, “I’m here for you” but know that I’m going home to my house, which is safe and full of food, and so many young people in America don’t have that?

I’m sure people are expecting me to come out with a post about the social injustices that will occur with the horror that Trump has been elected our president. That thought is interesting to me, because I’m not a political person. I’m not a patriotic person. I do not believe in America, but I care greatly, greatly for her people, and even more so, the world’s people. I am a humanist, not a patriot. I’m so jealous of my friends and family who have written words of hope and courage. You make me happy, and I need you now more than ever. I can’t understand how a man who gropes women, brags about the sexuality of his own child, makes fun of people handicaps, wants to separate families and ship out people who live here, has attacked veterans and their families, slams journalists and our freedom of the press and speech, denies the need to protect our environment, and refuses to give safety to those fleeing war-torn countries could ever be president of the Land of the Free. Before you hang me, know that I also am ashamed that I live in a place that is supposed to be a democracy and the Democratic party rigged it’s own nomination. I don’t know if Hillary knew it or not. I don’t care. I understand that this fact made many feel their vote was futile. I also realize that some of you voted against Hillary because you believe she had bad business outside of our country. Have you looked at America? We are so incredibly horrible on the inside, how can you even look outside our borders?

I was in Alabama two weeks ago and my friends and I walked through Kelly Ingram Park in Birmingham. In 1963 a Reverend led a peaceful protest of students—most of them grade school through high school aged—in this park. The protest was lead by students because adults could no longer afford to protest for fear of losing their jobs with long jail time. These school children’s protest was met with arrests, police dogs, and fire hoses. The fire hoses were so powerful they blasted children off their feet, ripped their clothes off, and tore the hair from their heads. You can watch a video about the park here  or this video about the Children’s Crusade--which is longer but totally worth the watch/listen.

I’ve been going on a decent Stay-Away-From-Social-Media purge the last few months, however, 

this hit my eye last week, a day after I got home from Birmingham. How? How can this be happening? We study history in hopes that we humans will progress and learn from our mistakes. Yet, here we are. Again. And now, we have a president elect that is endorsed by the KKK. His VP is a man who believes in conversion therapy for LGBTQ people. Electro shocking human beings. America gave power to a man who just said today: "Somebody willsay, 'Oh freedom of speech, freedom of speech.' These are foolish people. Wehave a lot of foolish people." How do you feel about the president threatening your Freedom of Speech? The FIRST amendment.

I hope you watch the video on the Children’s Crusade and are appalled. How could this country, “The Greatest Country in the World,” blast children with 100 pounds of water pressure because they were walking for their right to equality? I then hope you realize it’s happening again in 2016. 53 years later and we haven’t learned a thing. I hope you were horrified when you learned about Hitler and how he, a democratically elected leader, killed 6 million people because they were “different” than him. Again, here we are 80-some years later, and we’ve elected a man who has lashed out against African Americans, women, journalists, Muslims, and immigrants.

Tom Moe, a POW who spoke on an anti-Trump add former Republican Candidate John Kasich put together, put together his own spin on an anti-Hitler poem Pastor Martin Neimoller wrote saying:

 "You might not care if Donald Trump says Muslims should register with their government, because you're not one. And you might not care if Donald Trump says he's going to round up all the Hispanic immigrants, because you're not one. And you might not care if Donald Trump says it's okay to rough up black protesters, because you're not one. And you might not care if Donald Trump wants to suppress journalists, because you're not one. But think about this: If he keeps going, and he actually becomes president, he might just get around to you. And you better hope there's someone left to help you."

I’m using my voice while I have it. For myself and those I love and those I don’t know. In my heart I keep telling myself Love Trumps Hate, but I'm scared of the road to get there. 

I've found a new creative outlet. It makes me laugh. But I'm a terrible artist and can't seem to organize pictures on this blog either. Enjoy my dog pal.

     Most people who've read my writing probably know my thoughts on most issues. I also tend to have an opinion on everything. I always know what I'd say if someone asked what I think, however, I often am unsure of where to start when writing about a topic. So I'm going to start and end this with the thing I most believe in: love. If I can approach all things with love in my heart, then I believe that's the best I can do to honor the best version of myself and my faith.
     There's been a lot of news about athletes taking a knee during the national anthem in protest of the treatment of people of color in the United States. NFL Quarterback Colin Kaepernick drew the biggest outcry when he sat for the national anthem during the a preseason football game. Athletes in college and pro alike are joining the movement.
      I'm not going debate if this is the best mode of protest.  What I am going to say is this: what have we come to, as human beings, if we are more upset about someone disrespecting a flag than we are of our fellow brothers and sisters of the human race being murdered? A player for the University of Nebraska, my football team, recently released this video (there's a short video in which Michael Rose-Ivey tells how fans suggested he and his teammates be hanged before the next national anthem and a longer video where you can here his whole statement). Those people who call themselves fans--those who have cheered, cried, lived and died by this athlete and his fellow teammates' play--and then have mistreated him the second he is not in that red and white uniform make me lose my faith in humanity. These fans will scream at referees when the calls are against these young men, will pray for these young athletes when they are injured on the field, but will not scream in protest when another young black man is killed on the street? Will not pray for him and work for against this injustice toward their fellow man? How can we let this happen? I am not a law maker. I'm not a person of power. I am basically no body, but I have a voice. And I believe more in the love of my fellow humans than in the love of a flag so you better believe this voice will be used. My love is not limited only to those who think like me or look like me. It is not limited by the boundaries of a country or by the statutes of what someone else might deem right or wrong. My love is limitless and it's what I most believe in.

I'm on a kick of challenging myself to do stuff. I did this 100 days of yoga and words challenge where my goal was to do 100 days of yoga and writing/reading. I kicked ass at the yoga part. I did marginally well at the words. I mostly read and didn't write near enough, but it got done all the same.

Now that I've reminded myself I can do a 100 day challenge, I'm going on a 100 days of study and writing either/or 30 minutes a day challenge. I'm studying to get my Behavior Change Specialist Certification which is kind of like the psychology of personal training. One of the most interesting thing I've studied so far is positive psychology. The lecture I watched this week talked about how psychology used to be more philosophical in which scientists studied the world and people's places in it and these people's happiness. Then, after World War II, so many people around the world were dealing with depression, ptsd, and other mental disorders, psychology shifted to help these people. In the last 10-15 years, some scientist have felt it appropriate to bring money back to the study of happiness--positive psychology. I'm not an expert, this is just how I understand the lecture. I'm sure things go wayyyy more in depth than that.

Anywhosies, the number one thing that was cited as a source of happiness was people's relationships. Which made me think about my number one philosophy--it doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing, it's who you're with that matters. Granted, you obviously need food and shelter and all of those things, however, as I've gotten older, I think that those relationships are not only a measure of happiness, but probably also a measure of overall health and success. Job related happiness was only the 4th highest source of happiness. That's on average, I guess, so I suppose some people may have job happiness as number one. But for those of us who are not career driven, rest assured that job success isn't the end all be all measure of happiness and life success. I'd go as far to argue that happiness is the true measure of success--are you happy in your life? Dang. You're smart. You're doing LIFE right.

At this time when I'm studying about happiness--how to measure it, how to get more of it, how to inspire others to find theirs-- and I'm trying out ways to make myself do more of the things that make me happiest (how is it that yoga and words are the 2 things that make me most happy but are the first to for me to say I don't have time for??) my two best grad school girlfriends have challenged me to a 21 day challenge where we each morning text each other to tell each other our intention for the day. And then check in at night to say how that intention went. I LOVE THIS. I'm a goal oriented person. I need accountability in my goals. I also love lists, planning, improving myself, making myself uncomfortable, positivity, good attitudes (not that I always have one), and checking in. We're 5 days into it. My intentions, thus far, have been: to let things go, write and take a day for myself, find gratitude in little things (isn't it easy to be thankful for big things but forget the small ones?), put my best self forward, and lastly (after the presidential debate last night) to have faith in people but not ignore reality. I'm going to try to keep a list each week of my intentions and see if I can, by the end of the challenge see that I've gotten better at any of these things. Control what I can control and let go of what I cannot, be thankful, be kind, be my best self, and ATTEMPT patience should basically just be my life intentions as I'm not good at letting go and patience and the other three are just plain, in my opinion, things that should be intended every day.

I hope you have lots of people who bring happiness to your life, are thankful for all the little things you are and have, are kind, and love that best version of yourself. I won't tell you to be patient because that's my biggest flaw and you are probably far better at it than me. Happy Tuesday, friends. Hugs.

Ah, it's over. My most favorite weekend of the year. Run Rabbit Run 50 mile weekend. If you've been reading my blog over the last 3 years, you've heard all about my love affair with this race and what it's done for me. If you're new, Run Rabbit Run is an even better day than Thanksgiving. I think that's enough explanation. Unless you are crazy and don't think Thanksgiving is the greatest day of the year. This year was especially cool for me because it was the first year I got to run with a buddy. My BFF, always down for adventure, coolest person I know, running partner Karyn is just crazy/stupid enough to try her hand (legs) at ultra running. Molly and Cade have recruit a handful more crazy/stupid people and this year we had a legit squad. I'll give my race recap again in segments like the race is broken down.


Pre-race
Karyn came with me to Yoga at the Steamboat Yoga Center--the only way I want to spend the morning before running 50 miles. We got to see my yoga friend who convinced me to keep running my first year when I wanted to give up with 6.4 miles to go. I have seen her at yoga every year since and gotten to thank her. We then went to brunch at Creekside and Fish Creek Falls to show Karyn and Nate the glory that is Steamboat. Food, my faves, yoga, mountains. Hot damn. A few, or all of my favorite things.

At Fish Creek we got to see the first of the 100 milers coming through. They were wicked fast. Wowza. Like a million times faster than we planned to run the 50. 

Mt. Werner. It starts.

This year Molly and Cade--my other most best besties that got me into this race 3 years ago--didn't run this year. They talked a ton of people into running then came to spectate. Sneaky. But I was glad to see them. Like so glad, I don't even have words for it. I think I cried when I first saw them. Anywhoosies they introduced Karyn and me to Blake. And we were dang thankful for that. I don't think Karyn and I could ever tire of each other, however, 50 miles is a long day and it was nice to have Blake become part of the squad so that we could talk to someone new. And we probably would've whined more to each other if Blake hadn't been there to be a buffer since Karyn and I are so comfortable with each other. So, start to Mt. Werner. 6.4 miles over 3,000 feet elevation gain. We hiked. It was as rough as always. 

Making our way up Mt. Werner

 

Mt. Werner to Long Lake. The Long Section.

6.8 miles of sneaky downhill. Way fun at the start. We added 3 loud guys to our squad and a few others and formed a train down the mountain. The loud guys were quite entertaining, telling us about the Fireball they had ready at our drop bags and about camping with girls who wear makeup and about ex girlfriends. One of their names is Larry, AKA LarBear, AKA Chicken Dinner. 

Long Lake to Base Camp. Still with the FireBall Guys.

I kept leading our little train. The dudes kept entertaining us. Not really talking to us except for Larry to propose to Karyn, but just talking to each other about getting drunk the night before. Getting drunk camping the night before running 50 miles. Crazy. Oh!! And they agreed with Blake and me that they got out of marathon and triathlons because ultra runners are way more fun. Marathoners and triathletes can be dicks. That's coming from someone who was one of those dicks. 

Base Camp to Dumont. Almost to Family!!!

Base Camp to Dumont is pretty short. When we get to Dumont we get to see fambam. Molly, Cade, Nate, my Ma, and Linda were all waiting for us. Hugs and happiness. We got to Dumont 15 minutes before my goal time. Holy balls, I started thinking. Maybe we could make my goal of 13 hours 30 minutes. I'd kind of scrapped the goal and decided my only wish was for Karyn and Blake to have a good day and finish. But maybe, maybe, I thought, we could do it together. 

Dumont to Rabbit Ears to Dumont. That Mother F-ing Rock.

This section is hard. 2.7 miles up, up, up to touch Rabbit Ears (a rock formation that helped settlers know where to go), then steeeeep back down, 2.7 miles back to Dumont. The up sucks. But then you touch that rock and know you are half way there (I always sing Bon Jovi at this part) and you feel 50% better! Karyn was really hurting here. I tried not to ask her about it. Tried not to draw attention to her hurt and knew that she'd keep going if Blake and I did. It was her Achilles, the same problem I had my first year. I was so happy to get to Rabbit Ears that I kissed it like the Blarney Stone. 

Squad to Rabbit Ears

My Crew

Dumont to Base Camp. No More Loud Guys. Just Us Breathing.

Uneventful section. Which is really good because last year I got lost here. 

Base Camp to Long Lake. Some Drunk Chick Leads Us Astray. 

I love this section. It's way my fave. We go through woods and jump over trees and up and down mountainous terrain and through meadows and over streams, oh my! So beautiful. Did I mention the Aspens are turning early this year? Well, I did 865 times on the drive to Steamboat so if I haven't mentioned it yet here, you should know that instead of just starting to turn yellow, the Aspens are turning early this year and so the forest was a blast of green, brown, grey, yellow, orange, and red. Unreal. So I had to poo and we stopped and then this lady who was drinking bourbon and maple syrup as her running fuel got in front of us so we were like, hey friend! And then she lead us the wrong way. Luckily we didn't go too far. 

Long Lake to Mt. Werner. Where Part of my Soul Died in 2014.

6.8 miles sneaky uphill. I'd warned the girls about this part. It's where I was certain I would die my first Run Rabbit Run. 100% positive I would give up an die. But I didn't and here I was again. Round 3. I hardly spoke at all this section. I was thinking about Karyn and Blake. I was imagining them finishing. I thought about how proud I was of them and how thankful I was for them and was getting emotional. I knew how frustrating that section was so I took over the thinking for our squad and said, we're running here or we're hiking here and that was pretty much it. I told them where you start to think you're close and you aren't. I hope I was an OK leader. 

Mt. Werner to Finish. Winner Winner Chicken Dinner. 

When we got to Mt. Werner I tried to tell Karyn something and started crying because I was already so proud. We hugged and she, Blake and I started our last section. 6.4 miles down the mountain. It hurt. My knees were killing. Blake friend Diana met us and ran down with us. My family, who are almost pros at this by now, missed us. Which was my fault--I didn't text them when we got to Mt. Werner. But they did make it down the mountain in time to meet us at the finish line! We ran down the mountain fast. All the hurt went away about 2 miles in. We were going to finish. And we did it in the DAYLIGHT! That's a big damn deal. No headlamp needed. We crossed the finish line in 13 hours and 32 minutes. Almost 45 minutes faster than I did last year by myself. Almost 2 hours faster than I did 2 years ago. LarBear was supposed to propose to Karyn at the finish line, however, he was probably filling up on FireBall and forgot. I'm glad she settled for me, Blake, Molly, Cade, and FamBam. 

From start to mid race to the day after we kissed Rabbit Ears. I love you all and never could have done this without you. 

In this lil bit crazy, lil bit stupid life of mine, there's no better feeling in the world than when so many people I love show up to watch me do the thing I love. Even though most of them don't get it. Whether you were with me physically or in spirit, thank you. I couldn't have done it without you. And big hugs to YadDog because the second greatest feeling in my world is coming home to DorkFace and having him drool over me.

Oh, and we got these sweet hats at the truck stop on the way home. So now we're all twins.

   This is it. Again. The most wonderful time of the year. We leave for Steamboat Springs, Colorado tomorrow and Run Rabbit Run is in 3 days.  It's the day I've christened even better than Thanksgiving. It's the day that has made running more than exercise, more than therapy, more than a way of life. The event that made running who I am and showed me how strong I am. I've never had a day when I didn't want to run nor have I faced something I didn't think I could take since I finished that first 50 miler.

     I've ran a sh*tton this summer and this year. I haven't written enough, but that's OK. I just finished a 100 days of yoga challenge (I challenged to myself) and am on the start of a 100 days of writing challenge.

     Usually, by this time I've written some kind of goal for my next year of life (I just turned 28 at the end of August). Age 27 started out pretty rough. OK really rough. Call it Saturn's Return  if you want, but I pretty much hit the bottom at the beginning of 27. I think I faked it OK, but for the first time in my life, I felt like I didn't know who I was. I know that sounds cocky or pretentious, to say I've always known who I am, but I think I have. That doesn't mean I haven't acted unlike myself or out of character or lied to myself or pretended or done stupid things. 

     By the start of 2016, four months into 27, I decided I needed to reset. I needed to get back to who I am. What better way to do that than to try some new things and keep my solid, my running, as my foundation. My 2016 goal is to run in 12 new places. I've put in miles all over the country and, even though I'm always leaving, I've steadily come back to myself. 

     On Saturday I get to run my favorite race for the third time, but this will be the first time with my best running buddy. Karyn has been down to go to all of these places I've ran over the last year and put up with all of my talking and my crazy/stupid running distances. I hope that Run Rabbit gives her everything it's given me. I'll add a link to my Facebook and this blog so you can track Karyn and me on Saturday if you are interested in watching our trek up and down and all over the mountains. 

Four years ago I asked myself, not an age old question, but a question worth exploring in 2012 nonetheless: As per the Destiney's Child Song "Jumpin' Jumpin'" Is the club, in fact, still jumpin' jumpin' at 11:30?

I followed said question with skepticism--2012 me believed that the club was not jumpin' jumpin' until at least after midnight. 2016 me knows the answer: not only can you find a club jumpin' jumpin' at 11:30 pm, but you can find the day club packed at 11:30 am as well if you so desire. That's the great wisdom I'm dropping on you all the day before I turn 28--if you want to, you can find a dance party any time. So ladies leave your man at home and all you fellas leave your girl with her friends.

      I had a great debate with one of my clients a few weeks ago about The American Dream. (Sorry, I know that link goes to Wikipedia, which is not a truly credible source, but that's about as perfect an explanation as you can get.) My client is a white, Catholic, heterosexual male who, while he whole-heartedly backs liberal politics, believes that The American Dream is alive and well and anyone can pull him or herself up by his or her bootstraps and reach their dreams.
     I'm not a pessimist. I'm a huge proponent of hard work and big goals. I wouldn't even consider myself a realist--I tend to live more in the world of dreams and idealism. However, I'm not blind and I am not naive. My client admires President Obama more than any other person in this country because Obama, like my client, worked his butt off to rise to the top. Both came from low income families, put themselves through school and one is now President and the other a self made millionaire. Both perfect examples of The American Dream--if you work hard enough, you can reach the top. I'd like to believe with every part of my being that he's right--we all have the same opportunities no matter our socioeconomic class, race, religion, sex, sexual orientation. But I can't buy into that. Yes, we all have the ability to dream the same dreams and have the same goals, but the schools in neighborhoods where tax payers are giving $5,000/household to taxes are getting far better services than schools in neighborhoods where homeowners are giving $1,500/household to taxes. Couple that with homes in which wealthy parents are home to help their kids with homework at night or hire tutors versus homes where parents are working multiple jobs to put food on the table, we're creating an even further gap between students and their educational opportunities.
     That's where we figured the biggest determinate of The America Dream lay: education. I'm going to go out on a limb and say we've all been told something to the effect of "if you can dream it, you can do it" at some point or another in our lives. I believe this. But just because I believe it doesn't mean it's not going to be far, far easier for one person than another to achieve a dream. Some people think something and it, seemly, magically comes true. Others work a million hours at something and they never reach their goal. Some people sit and dream and never act and never achieve. We're all different and on different paths. When I was small I used to sit and wonder why it was that I was born to my parents, why I grew up in Nebraska and not anywhere else in the world, and why, quite simply, I was born me and not anyone else. Identity. It's a strange thing.
     I stood there and argued with my client in the middle of the gym, both of us red in the face defending our positions--me saying those kids in my low-income, predominately African American neighborhood do not have the same opportunity that the kids in his, predominately white, upper middle class neighborhood do, him saying they do. Without even touching on the racism and/or sexism that can potentially separate individuals, we just talked access to education. We could at least agree on education being the golden key to realization of The American Dream. I was incredibly frustrated and annoyed and upset with myself that I couldn't articulate all the things I wanted to say. Plus my client is someone I love and admire and I didn't want to be arguing with him.
    When I went to bed that night and thought about our conversation, I tried to turn more inward. I did well in school. I enjoyed school. My parents saved well for my education, and I was incredibly lucky to use my writing to get scholarships. I have a masters degree that I worked hard for. I have a house, a dog, a car, and money to travel--that's The American Dream sans a family. I've done it, right? I'm never going to have a million dollars. I'm never going to be rich. But I'm very fortunate to live comfortably and maintain a standard of living that I enjoy. I'm not at all a money person or a career driven person and all of a sudden I've found myself in a situation that some people will chase their entire lives and never realize. How the hell did I get here? What made me so lucky to be born into this life?
    I know I can't feel guilty that I was born to parents who helped me with my schoolwork and pushed me to do well academically and saved for my college education. I know I worked hard for what I have even if I had help. But can I do something to help others reach their dreams? Abso-freaking-lutely. That's why I want to be a writer. That's why I'm a trainer--I want to help people realize their goals. This post is turning slightly narcissistic, and I apologize, but it's election time and we're forced to look at the American way of life with each political debate, speech, convention, and all the rest. I think my dream for America is coming to be more defined as wanting to live in a country where people care for one another rather than individuals working on their own crap and letting everyone else fend for themselves. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness seems too generic when we say that everyone has equal opportunity to life as such. I don't know what the solution is, but, regardless of whether or not we actually do have equal opportunity to the top of the ladder or not, I want to believe in a world where we're here to help each other realize our dreams and I don't think assuming everyone can figure it out themselves is the best place to start. Do something nice for someone today--share a little love. Make humanity and kindness the Reality rather than the Dream.
   
   

     My last blog post included a quotation from Oscar Wilde: "To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." I've had many conversations in the last couple of months that have me thinking about what it means to live. I've been accused of having a serious case of FOMO (fear of missing out). I fight it. I argue, convinced I do not have a fear of missing fun things. However, 30 minutes later, talking to the same person, I lament not having lived. I WANT TO DO ALL OF THE THINGS! I say. 

     OK, so maybe that does sound a little like a fear of missing out. When I was in college, I didn't feel this way. I traveled. I studied abroad. But I went to bed early, always ate perfect, exercised, and had a rule to only drink twice a month. I didn't date anyone other than my high school boyfriend. After graduation, I had a minor panic--I hadn't made any of the stupid mistakes you're "supposed" to make in college. I was going to turn 24 and hadn't smoked anything, no drugs, never been hung over, never hooked up with a random guy in a bar, I'd never even given a guy my phone number. I felt like I hadn't lived. Luckily, my dear ConAgra friends helped me remedy most of these things. I gained 15 pounds I needed to gain. I didn't have a voice for 2 months from staying up too late. I had so much fun. Getting my master's degree and going to LA every six months drained my travel funds, but I set a goal of doing something new every week. I explored my city. I was single, had amazing friends, and took so much pleasure in all the stupid little things. I lived. 

     The next two years, however, put me in this weird place where I was totally and completely me--running, doing triathlons, writing, reading, with my family and my friends--but stunted. I was dating someone who was a great buddy, I never would have made it to as many Iowa basketball games without him or traveled for races, but no part of my human development was challenged. I was existing and had no idea I'd lost my obsession with living.

     The week my ex and I broke up, my, as my mom calls him, brother from another mother, Jason, told me about the time he got stabbed. Damn, I thought. That's living. I became rather obsessed with the thought of being stabbed. What leads up to that moment? What does it feel like? What happens afterward? I've backpacked across Europe, lived in Peru, ran 50 miles, but was quite convinced I haven't lived because I've never been stabbed. Wouldn't getting stabbed be a great story? A great adventure? Jason next told me about being shot at. Ughhhh, I thought. I've never experienced that either! Life is so short! How could I live enough lives to be me but still tap into the world of stabbings and shootings? 

     I've calmed down a little. I'm not going to seek out a stabbing, however, I'm not going to lose my obsession with trying to do ALL OF THE THINGS. I want to be a Yes Girl. I want to eat weird food and try new restaurants as soon as they open. I want to buy nerf guns and have a war in Target. I want to jump on a plane with my best bud and fly to Pittsburgh for the weekend. I want to run everywhere. I want to stay up late and watch movies and eat cheese and crackers with my friends. Call it FOMO if you like. I'm going to call it living. And hope I continue to do it until the end. 

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."

-Oscar Wilde

I grew up going to church every Sunday. My mom talked about “The Feeling” she received from a good church sermon, but I never felt it. She said she felt full, alive. In school I was smart and studious, but I was also a jock. I was a bleeding heart liberal in small town Nebraska, a teen who found it easier to talk to adults than other kids, a girl who was told by peers she was going to hell because she was “too far gone to be saved.” In college I studied religion. I pulled parts I liked from different belief systems and created my own faith. I believe in a higher power, in the strength of positive thought, and that we all have purpose. Even with my certainty in what I believed, I still never had The Feeling.

Until I crossed finish line of my first race.

The run was a 10 miler that my dad signed me up for in college. I wish I could say I loved running from the first step. I didn’t. I was terrified—all that pressure on just me. When I crossed the finish line, however, something changed. Something clicked and I finally felt all of the different and weird pieces of me fall into place. The Feeling hit me in the chest, full force, because I had done something I thought was impossible. I’d found faith in myself. I felt alive.

I started ditching my ipod while running. I ran farther. I opened my eyes to the world around me and let Mother Nature surprise me. I opened my ears to the sound of my breath and marveled at the wonder of the human body. I’ve calmed my fears and rationalized my thoughts to beat of my heart and the sound of my shoes on the trail. I opened my soul to what I was being called to do. I’ve forgiven others and myself. I’ve made decisions on grad school across the country and buying a house. I’ve realized dreams of working for a nonprofit and rescuing a shelter dog.

When I signed up for my first 50 mile run, I realized I was not only different and weird, but also a little bit crazy and a little bit stupid. I had no idea what I was doing. I trained for Run Rabbit Run 50 mile (Steamboat Springs, CO) in Omaha, Nebraska. The longest run I did up to that point was a Labor Day weekend of four 17-mile days. I didn’t practice nutrition or know anything about taking salt or even wear proper trail shoes.

I hit the bottom of my darkest places around mile 35. I had the longest section (Long Lake to Mt. Werner 7 ish miles technical trail, mostly sneaky uphill) before my final descent. The sun was going down. I was cold. There were no other runners in sight. I was sure a bear would eat me. I wanted to lie down and die.  I talked to myself. I cried. I talked to God, my dead grandparents, and everyone off the mountain who I knew was praying for me to finish. I drew strength from myself, strength from the earth, and from the faith of everyone else who believed I could finish.

When I finally made it to Mount Werner, the aid station workers were my angels. I was afraid to start the last section (6.4 miles of switchbacks down Mt. Werner to the finish line). I had finally made it to people, could I really leave them? Could I really make it to the finish? My body was tired, but more than anything, my head’s negative thoughts were drowning out my heart’s will to finish. Two guys made it to the aid station while the volunteers tried to convince me to go on. Neither man had been able to run since mile 25, but they were going to finish even if they had to walk. Come with us, they said. I had friends. I was no longer alone. If they believed I could finish, I did too.

And I crossed that finish line.

I don’t discount religion, because I think we all find The Feeling in a different way. Running makes sense to me. It’s taught me more about the world and my place in it than any person or any book ever could. Running is the place where I’m most myself. The place where I’m most open to receive a call about my next move in life. Running is being alive and I plan to spend the rest of my days living.

My goal for 2016 is to run in 12 new places. I'm a third of the way through the year and have, not only 7 new places, but 5 states down running. I've gotten to hang with some of the best people in my life and combine four of my favorite things: running, friends, traveling, and eating (post run, duh.)

Arizona, Nevada, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania. May had me in Wisconsin (not pictured) and my running buddy and I totally killed it running back to back half marathons (placing 3rd and 4th one day and 2nd and 3rd the next) in two small towns in Nebraska.

The first weekend in May I got to check something off my bucket list and pace a marathon and help a friend finish a race. Being a personal trainer, I love helping people push and hit goals. I got to pace the Lincoln half marathon (meaning, if someone wanted to run the race in 1:50:00, they might have ran with me knowing that I would run a pace that would finish in that time), getting all of my little ducks to the finish line under their goal time, and then I went back out on the course and ran the last 5 miles of the full marathon with my friend Amy.