I’ve been running for 10 years, but I do not call myself a runner. I am a trained dancer. I am a hiker. I am a snowboarder and mountain athlete. But I am definitely not a runner.
I don’t track my times, know my pace or know any of my PRs. It all started with a genuine love for the mountains. Like many Californians, my inspiration from the mountains from a young age was based in my relationship with the Sierra. Half Dome, El Cap, Cloud’s Rest, and many of the granite giants loom over the sunny Yosemite Valley. Gazing up at them, it’s only natural to think, “I wonder what the view would be like from up there.” Sheer curiosity!
I spent my summers in Yosemite as a kid, playing in the dirt, splashing in lakes and hiking. I was always way more comfortable in a sports bra and shorts than makeup and a dress. When I later found out about the female community in the trail scene, right away, it felt like home. Runner was never in my vocabulary. Ultimately, I needed an outlet for stress-relief and an opportunity to grab a tiny sliver of alone time, while being a sociable camp counselor.
On my runs, I’d trot, jog, and most importantly, breathe. But more important than my speed or stats of any run, was my connection with the mountains. I’d time my runs so I didn’t get chased by a mountain lion (do NOT go at dusk). Ensuring I was wearing the proper outfit for comfort. And, noting the effects of the beetles on decaying trees. Observing the always changing patterns of the rocks, dirt, trails and streams.
After figuring out my body could run, I started testing it out on trails that I frequented. Instead of my usual jaunts around the Tivoli Bays of the Hudson River in New York, I’d pick up the pace into a scuttle. Rather than suffer on the sluggish incline up to Inspiration Point, my neighborhood fave in Santa Barbara, California, I’d jaunt a little faster. I never really realized I was running because it was more of a hiking shuffle. Walks and hikes began to get redundant, so I’d challenge myself a little more each time. Competition was never in my vocabulary… I started trail running from a desire to explore and a spirit of curiosity.
Finally, during another summer in the Sierra, something came over me at the top of Cloud’s Rest. I was surrounded by my friends and smiling at the top. But for some reason, I felt an urge to connect with the mountains in a different way. Via a faster pace and with a quieter mind. “See you at the bottom,” I hollered and flew down. I guess I count that as my first proper trail run. I 100% didn’t pack enough water, know what I was doing, or know why, for the first time in my life, I really wanted to run.
It was like hiking, but a more intimate way to connect with the land. And soon I learned, I could get further into the backcountry the better my fitness got and discover more of the Sierra. I couldn’t think of a more compelling argument to pick up trail running.
“So it’s like backpacking re: high country excursions and backcountry access, but you can come home for a tasty pad thai afterwards, then cuddle up with your cats in your own bed? I’m sold.” When I moved back to the Sierra in 2021, I didn’t miss a single day of gallivanting on trails during lunch, after work or on weekend sunrise adventures.
While backpacking and hiking filled my cup immensely and I never identified as a runner, the more comfortable I got with my body’s power, the more opportunity I had to explore further. And while sleeping in the backcountry has a special place in my heart, trail running opened the wilderness to me in a way I’m so grateful for.
Trail running is a way connect with the world around you. Thanks to my background in hiking, I now feel life is better experienced on trails, connecting with nature, and slowing down. While I did start to run in cities like London, New York and San Francisco, I always yearned for my hiking boots instead and waking up for sunrise.
Through Trail Sisters, I’ve been connected with a group of women who feel similarly. Since moving to Colorado, the past few summers I’ve now had the opportunity to prance on spectacular high-country trails with a wonderful community of women, rather than running solo up and down the trails of the Sierra. While the Sierra will always be home, there’s something magical about the sheer community of women on trails in Colorado that makes it feel so safe and welcoming. I wouldn’t have met these epic mountain companions if not for Trail Sisters!
