Tenacity Becomes You

She followed me and we made it under 24 hours to the finish of Javelina 100. It was 2016. 

My mom started running ultras back in the late 90s. She wore boxer shorts and a bikini top. She drank one Coke to get her to the finish of AC 100. I remember watching her cross that finish line when I was 12 years old and thinking she was nuts and absolutely incredible. Times have changed quite a bit over the years as more knowledge came out about the science of ultra running and, in turn, she fueled and hydrated better, got stronger, and kicked ass. She has 70 race finishes on UltraSignup alone. 

I wasn’t a runner as a kid but I was competitive. Gymnastics and swimming were my thing until I saw my mom do a triathlon and wanted to try one myself. There I was, a little 9 year old swimming stronger than most adults in Castaic Lake, getting passed by everyone on the bike and crying as I came in last,  then hitting the road on my feet and finishing with a smile! My mom was there waiting for me after she finished her race. She was there for everything. Every gymnastics meet, every school performance, she was always there and we were the best of friends. She took me with her when volunteering at aid stations and doing trail work. I once rubbed an old guy’s calves who was cramping during a 50 miler and didn’t think twice about it. We were known as a duo from the beach to the trails, easily recognizable when we were together. One of her friends kindly dubbed me the “younger cuter version” and I never argued. She might have had a rebuttal for that but I think she secretly loved it. It became one of the many running jokes we shared.                                                       

Do you remember the TV show MASH? My mom loved it and watched it all the time. I did not appreciate its brilliance as a kid but once I got to high school, I was hooked. I decided it was time to run a trail race that went through where MASH was filmed. It was 2007 and I had just graduated high school. Training for the Bulldog 25k with my mom over the summer before I went off to college started something in my life that I didn’t see coming. Loving trail running? Me? Yes!

From that year on I learned everything I could from her. We spent hours on the trails together talking about everything. The years went on and I got stronger. She no longer dropped me on every climb and I started dropping her on the descents. A 25k turned into a 50k. Crewing and pacing her for longer ones became second nature. Bishop. Javelina. Western States. We always had a blast no matter the outcome of the race. I’ve seen every side of her. The nervous energy at the start, the tenacity to keep going when her body was screaming in pain, the defeat when realizing she can’t finish the last 8 miles of a 100 on a broken foot. The literal blood, sweat, and tears that is ultra running.

The only race we actually competed against each other was the Bulldog 50k. I clearly remember the year that I caught her at the finish line. From then on, we switched places. I was coming into my prime and she was still hanging on as she got older, but slowing down. She was always my biggest cheerleader and even more so when I started beating her. 

During the summer of 2019 I noticed she was forgetting things and repeating herself more often. It took another year for her to be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She was 59 and began the hardest ultra of her life.

Watching someone slowly slip away with this disease is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. My mom was a middle school teacher, smart, healthy, racing on the weekends. Why was this happening to her? The tenacity that made her such a successful athlete didn’t disappear. She still wanted to run. She still wanted to race. The last race she finished was the Bulldog 25k in 2021. The last race she started was Bishop High Sierra Ultras 55k May 21, 2022. She had no business attempting a 55k but there was no talking her out of it. She hung on longer than I thought and was still in good spirits when I swooped her from an aid station. We still enjoyed the weekend away together, but I knew it was the last time we would make that trip.

Time was not on our side. She continued to get worse. Someone with countless miles on her was shrinking into someone who could barely jog down the flat path at the park. We kept her moving as best we could for as long as we could. My brother and his wife moved back home to help and I, thankfully, only lived a few miles away. We took her swimming. We took her hiking. We tried to keep her body doing the things she loved but her mind wasn’t able to keep up. In December 2023 we moved her into memory care as she could no longer be taken care of at home. Things took a giant turn for the worse that we still don’t quite have answers for and she ended up in the hospital for 12 days then moved into a small board and care facility where she currently resides. 

There’s a giant hole in my life where my mother used to be. Her body is still with us but she is currently wheelchair bound and can barely roll over in bed on her own. Her communications has dwindled, she says words but they don’t make much sense. She still manages to say she misses racing, though. There was a moment, not long ago, I was certain she was trying to tell me how much she misses running with me and talking about boys. Me too, mom. Still, I think of her every time I hit the trails. When I visit, I show her pictures of the mountains she would give anything to run in again. I would give anything to run with her again. 

I will carry her tenacity with me for the rest of my life. And, who knows, maybe it’ll carry me to States one day to race in her honor.