One Foot in Front of the Other

One foot in front of the other… keep moving… breathe. The sport of ultrarunning shares a strikingly beautiful resemblance to life itself, a metaphor set in motion on a regular ole’ girl’s night out. That fateful night in March of 2022, we collectively chose to take our first tennis lesson, but life had chosen a different path for me. I was thrust into a world of specialists after a rare cancer diagnosis, and I had to slam the e-brake on my current existence. Cancer became my wake-up call, pushing me to confront my fears and redefine my limits. This journey, filled with challenges and triumphs, led me to not only survive cancer but also conquer my first ultramarathon. Now, I’m training for the Leadville Trail 100, a 100-mile high elevation beast, and I want to inspire you to find your own “misogi” – that audacious goal that ignites a fire within. Relentless resilience putting one foot in front of the other, redefining my way of life one step at a time.

So much for mom’s night out! My first ever tennis lesson with some girlfriends ended abruptly with a “SNAP!” I was rushed to the ER and was devastated to learn I had torn my Achilles tendon. Surgery was scheduled for three days later.  At my second post-operative visit, I asked my orthopedic surgeon to look at a hard lump that was on my lower thigh on the same leg. He called in the Physician’s Assistant, “Hey Dave, you need to come in here and take a look at this, we may never see this again in our careers.” Sure, I had noticed the lump a few months prior while squatting in our pandemic-built home gym, but thought it was a pulled muscle or something to that effect.  Well, it turned out to be a rare slow growing cancerous tumor known as a Sarcoma. My world was turned upside down before I was even out of the boot from my Achilles, I was back on the operating table.  

I was cannon balled into the deep end of the “rare cancer pool” that required a tumor board, a jury of specialists that reviewed my case and decided removal was the best option. My tumor had wrapped itself around my sensory nerve, and my surgeon sacrificed that nerve to fully remove the sarcoma with good margins. I now can’t feel anything from just above my knee down to the top of my foot… maybe that’s why running is so much easier now! Being immobilized for an extended period from surgery was an obstacle I was not prepared for with two small kids. I had to find gratitude in everything and focus on what I was capable of doing, not what I couldn’t. The kids loved the scooter and riding on my lap in the wheelchair. We found so much solace in nature; whether it was being wheeled over to a park bench to just sit in nature and observe my surroundings, or take macro photos of backyard bugs with my kids.   Being removed from all distractions was all I craved.

However, the comfort I found in life’s little things, was flipped upside down… again. The days of handicap parking hang tags and general immobility were far from over. Turns out I had picked up a nasty infection in my leg and my “final” visit was scheduling another surgery three days later. At least they let me have the weekend to process the emotions of going back under the knife. Fast forward a few weeks and, well, that round of washout-surgery/antibiotics didn’t work. I was forced into another washout and a different round of more powerful antibiotics. My infection was not clearing up. I was then introduced to another specialist, an infectious disease doctor that wasn’t in full agreement with my treatment thus far, and for two more weeks I toed the line on a third washout. The emotional baggage associated with daily photo exchanges of the gaping hole in my leg, and questions like, “have you eaten anything today? Can someone watch your kids?” weighed heavily.  You can imagine my disdain when he informed me that the next, more powerful antibiotic my body so desperately needed, can cause Achilles tendon ruptures.

As soon as I was able to walk again, I wanted to run. In February 2023, I was released from physical therapy and shortly thereafter went on my first “run.” I could barely jog a mile and it felt terrible, but I had air in my lungs and both of my legs attached. I focused my training on maintaining a zone-2 heart rate and I slowly built up my endurance and strength. I had no idea where I was heading or why, but I just kept following my heart.  

I wanted to do something monumentally epic for my 1 year cancer free anniversary. I was kicking around some potential ideas and destiny intervened. I received an email from First Descents about an opportunity to raise money for young adults with cancer. They were looking for brave souls to build an eight person relay team and run a Ragnar Trail race in Snowmass, CO. The race just happened to be on the exact day of my one year anniversary. I love how the universe provides us with a path that is exactly what we need, precisely when we need it. I signed up to be the team captain and surrounded myself with a team of incredible individuals that all have their own story. It was a magical multi-night camping adventure with s’mores, movies, and a sense of community. The tidal wave of emotions felt so unbearably heavy at times, but I found so much healing on that course. The training, the finish line, and the sheer joy in accomplishing a goal overwhelmed me. I had just experienced my first misogi and it left me wanting more.  

Ten months after I ran my first mile, I completed my first ultra. Up to that point, my longest run ever was the Trail Sisters half marathon in Buena Vista, in September 2023. I still wanted more, so I ran the Colorado Cold Rush 50k on a chilly December morning. I went in blindly, choosing to believe in myself and summon my inner Sisu. Sisu is a uniquely Finnish concept that roughly translates to courage, strength, and determination. I focused on regulating my mental state like I regulate my heart rate, repeating a mantra, and using the 5 senses to stay focused on the moment and enjoy the race. Relentless forward motion and wouldn’t you know it, I crossed that finish line after 6.5 hours and 5500’ of elevation gain. You can imagine my elation postrace, I literally got into my car and slammed my hands on the steering wheel as tears of joy came streaming down my face. I had just become an ultrarunner by showing up and believing in myself. I had finally tested my perceived limits and accomplished a seemingly impossible goal. As silly as it sounds, it was a great test for my next big adventure, Leadville.  

People run a hundred miles?! All night? No sleeping? How fast do you run a mile? These internal musings mirror the reactions I get every day when I tell people I’m training for the Leadville Trail 100. I’m definitely not some elite, sponsored runner. I’m a middle of the pack, scrappy determined survivor focused on the goal, not my feelings. I’m just like you. I’ve got competing priorities that need juggling: two small kids, a full time job, 2 dogs, and barely an hour at night to relax and unwind with my husband. To say life is busy is an understatement! I have so many reasons to quit and say now is not the right time for this. Those same reasons are my support team, my inspiration, my reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The reality is my story isn’t unique. We are all going through something right now, something that is either holding you back, or forcing you to grow. Don’t resist it, find gratitude in the present and focus on the journey. You may not know what direction your path is taking you, and that’s ok. Just put one foot in front of the other… keep moving… breathe.