Why do we spend time comparing ourselves to others or even to our past self? It doesn’t make sense. Of course it’s fine to look back at how you’ve grown and changed. That’s not the issue. The issue comes from focusing so much on others or who you used to be that it takes away from your joy. Maybe it shows up after a trail run where you were feeling so good and you go home, look at Strava and you let someone who ran faster get in your head and bring you down. Maybe it shows up

There’s something about running that makes people obsessed with the ending. The distance. The finish time. The medal. The proof that something “counts.” But the longer I’ve been in endurance sports — both as a runner and a coach — the more I realize that the ending is actually the smallest part of the story. The real work happens long before race day. It’s the early alarms when you’d rather stay in bed. The long runs where your legs feel like absolute trash but you keep movin

There’s a rule in trail running that doesn’t get talked about enough, mostly because it’s not flashy and it doesn’t make for a good Instagram caption: You can’t hammer it all the time. You might want to. Your ego might want to. The person next to you might be doing it. But if you attack every uphill like it’s the finish line, you’re not strong. You’re short-sighted. You will pay for it later. And what’s wild is how clearly that applies to work and how rarely we acknowledge it

I’ve been thinking about pacers lately — not in the logistical, where-do-I-pick-one-up way — but in the much more uncomfortable way. The who-do-I-trust-when-I’m-not-okay way. Because that’s what a pacer really sees. Not the trail running start line version of you. Not the polished version. Not the “I’m just here to have fun” version. They see you when you’re deep. Tired. A little feral. A little emotional. Maybe irrational. Definitely honest. There’s no performance left at th

I was at the Black Canyon finish line this weekend watching runners come in dusty, tired, smiling, wrecked, proud. One of my athletes crossed her first ultra finish line (50k) with the kind of grin that makes you forget how hard the day probably was. Another had to pull the plug the day before at 50+ miles (100k race) and still walked away knowing she put it all out there. I just had to put the plug in there about my athletes finishes at BC but it really doesn't have to do wi

As a women’s trail running coach, I see this pattern all the time. Strong women. Capable women. Women who handle work, relationships, households, caregiving, logistics, and emotional labor like it’s just part of the deal. And then they get to a trail race...50k, 50 miles, 100K, 100 miles, timed loops, all the distances...and suddenly the idea of having crew feels… complicated. Not because they don’t need  help. But because asking for it feels uncomfortable. Trail Running Teac

Confidence usually gets framed as something we need to build more of. More belief. More toughness. More grit. More proving. And sure, some of that matters. But after years of trail running, coaching women through big goals, and trying to be a functional human in a very loud world, I’ve learned something that doesn’t get talked about enough. Sometimes confidence isn’t about adding anything at all. Sometimes it’s about letting shit go. What I See as a Trail Running Coach As a t

One of the most common things I see with the women I coach isn’t a lack of effort. It’s the opposite. Most of them push too hard. Not because the workout asks for it, but because easy feels wrong . Because if something doesn’t feel uncomfortable, breathless, or borderline miserable, it starts to feel suspicious. Like it couldn’t possibly be doing anything. Sometimes that shows up as, “That workout felt easy…is that okay?” But more often, it shows up as overriding the plan. Ad

Before we talk about how to use research, or when to ignore it, or why it makes people spiral, we need to say something out loud that rarely gets said clearly enough. Most research studies are exclusive by design. Not accidentally. Not maliciously. Just… structurally. They are usually built around people who are easier to study, easier to control for variables, and easier to compare. That often means elite athletes. Men. Smaller sample sizes. One body type. Bodies that alread

January has a way of making people weird...and I don't mean the people who make New Year's resolutions. Suddenly the trails feel busier. The gym parking lot is full. Group chats light up with opinions nobody asked for. And women who are already juggling work, family, mental load, and a million quiet responsibilities are trying to make space for one more thing  they want for themselves. And somehow, that becomes a problem. Trail running has taught me a lot over the years, but

When Life Doesn’t Follow the Plan Most of us don’t lose our footing because of one big dramatic moment. It’s usually smaller than that. Quieter. A slow unraveling of expectations. A season where things just don’t line up the way you thought they would, no matter how much effort you put in. You can do everything you’re “supposed” to do and still find yourself standing in the middle of something you didn’t plan for. A body that won’t cooperate. A job that suddenly feels unstabl

There is a very specific kind of annoying that happens when you  want  to run, you  like  running, you even feel better when you run… …and yet it still becomes the first thing to get pushed. Not because you do not care. Not because you are lazy. But because your week is full of real-life stuff that does not care about your finish line goals. So you keep telling yourself, “I just need to get better at scheduling.” And yes. That is part of it. But the truth is, trail running sc

There are days where nothing feels technically wrong, but everything feels harder. You’re still showing up to work. You ’re still doing the things. You ’re still training, or at least thinking about it. But the spark feels dimmer. The effort feels heavier. And instead of getting curious, your brain goes straight to judgment. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just get it together? Am I losing my edge? I see this pattern constantly. In athletes. In friends. In myself. And almos

If there is one thing trail running keeps teaching me over and over, it is this.We are all paying attention to way too many things that do not matter. And not enough attention to the things that actually do. The parallels are kind of hilarious. And also very human. Trail runners love data. Life loves distraction. And both can pull you so far out of the moment that you forget you are the one actually living it. On the trails, it might be a watch yelling about detraining after

I passed a house the other day where the owner draped a Santa coat over one of those giant Halloween skeletons. Zero explanation. Just a 12-foot festive skeleton in a cheery red jacket, doing its best. It felt exactly like life lately. A weird mashup of joy, chaos, heaviness, hope, and “are we doing this right?” energy. And honestly, that is what trail running has always been for me. A place where the climbs, descents, and messy middle feel like metaphors for every season of

Some runs should feel like a deep breath. Not a test. Not a performance. Just steady, patient movement that builds the engine you need for the long stuff. If your “easy run” keeps turning into a “kinda hard” push… this one’s for you. Below is the checklist I give my trail runner athletes to help them keep easy runs easy. Use it, save it, share it with the friend who loves to sprint the first mile and then wonder why everything hurts. The Easy Trail Run Checklist 1) Talk test

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about rest. Not the lazy kind that guilt whispers about, but the kind that actually restores something in you. The kind that gives you back your patience, your creativity, your drive to lace up and go again. Trail running has a way of holding up a mirror to life. You head out for miles, thinking it’s just a workout, and somewhere between the climbs and the quiet, you realize your running habits are also your life habits. You push when you shoul

The weekend of  Javelina Jundred  always feels like stepping into another universe.Cow costumes. Glitter. Runners in tutus at mile 90. Volunteers dancing at aid stations like it’s Coachella for dirtbags. It’s ridiculous and beautiful all at once, a reminder that even when everything hurts, we can still choose joy. And this year, standing at that finish line watching my athletes and friends come through, some crying, some laughing, some both, it hit me how much we need that re

There’s something about a trail run in the desert that has a way of humbling you. The heat, the dust, the long miles that make you question your sanity... and then somehow make you smile anyway. I spent last weekend at Javelina Jundred , one of my favorite races to crew and coach at. Two of my athletes took on the 100 mile, two ran the 100k, and one rocked the 31k. I watched them dig deep, cry a little, and laugh a lot. By the time the sun set over McDowell Mountain Park, it

Every trail runner hits that season..the one where everything feels heavy.You ’re still showing up, but you’re not feeling it. The...