The neurons in my feet.

For months, I’ve been struggling with writers block.  I’m someone who typically sits down 2-3 times a week to reflect on life and I’ve been publicly journaling in this fashion for decades.  I kept thinking that, after I got through the grind of preparation for the Tahoe 200, once I had such a BIG experience, the words would have no choice but to pour from me.  Here I am though, sitting down to write as is my ritual and I’m still in it.  Stuck.  Maybe, rather than fretting over an eloquent or worthy entry, I’ll start with where I am now: unsatisfied but certain.

Tahoe 200 2018 (left) & 2025 (right)

Unsatisfied.

Although I am genuinely proud to have gotten to the start line of the Tahoe 200 again, 7-years after my first attempt/finish, my 2025 Tahoe 200 experience didn’t end as planned.  By mile 60, the nerves (or “neurons”, as I called them in my sleep-deprived state) in the bottom of my feet were 7 out of 10 painful.  I had no blisters - no hot spots - no reason for the horrible pain of each step.  After a nap, I decided to push on after the mile 68 aid station.  For 5 miles, I remembered what it was to move without pain and my hopes started rise… until the pain returned and slowly climbed to an 8 out of 10.  I felt myself gingerly taking each step and nearly cried out when the course became rocky.  I can genuinely say that the only reason I made it to the next aid station with nearly 90-miles on my watch was because I found the type of friend that I would’ve gladly taken back to Bend with me (Amber, thank you so, so much for your company!).

Disheartened.

It was challenging to end my race.  Even more challenging to wake up the next morning with a 98% recovery on my whoop, wondering if it was all in my head.  My resting heart rate and heart rate variability were peaking after a night of sleep, meaning that my fitness was exactly where it needed to be.  Did I end my race without a solid effort or reason? Looking back, I’m not sure that I could’ve changed anything about my race-specific preparation to bring about a different outcome. As I sit here writing this, I find I'm already hungry for another 'go'.

When the body says no.

The title of the Gabor Mate book, “When the Body Says No”, has been bouncing around in my head since the day after my race.  For months, I have known, without a doubt that I am living outside of my values for the level of stress I’m carrying due to my job.  It’s funny how many hours people in my industry work yet how taboo it is to write about work.  I am an aircraft certification specialist and I love what I do for a living.  When certification programs are going well, they feel like a dance; like a time-honored tradition where all of the moving pieces are flowing to a beautiful rhythm.  When it comes to new and novel technology, seeking certification for legacy products to untried standards… well, no one is dancing.  Around 4-years ago, I also jumped industries and have found myself surrounded by people who inspire me nearly every day.  I have also found a significant number of people nursing optics to hide their own selfish desire for personal gain above all else.   And, it’s that combination, finding myself in the company of people that I would walk over coals for… while trying to protect my back from those who easily sacrifice others…. It’s the hook that keeps me toeing to the line each day, ready for battle, as if I believe that “good” will finally win over “evil”.  And, what did this daily battle get me after the last 5-months of ratcheted up stress?  I believe my body finally said ’no’.  Yes, the nerve pain in my feet could be due to a myriad of other causes. Yet, I have “known”, with deep intuition, that the life I have been living is unsustainable.  

The wake up call.

Today is my opportunity to accept the wake up call, or stay asleep. Last week, my Tahoe 200 experience did not end as planned and many moments felt terribly raw and human and frustrating… and magical.  And, that was the point.  The point of doing the BIG, BIG things in life is to remember what it MEANS to be alive.  It is to remember who we are and what we are made of and all of the experiences that got us to a starting line.  It’s also about climbing into your rig in a parking lot, surrounded by other dirt bags who are choosing to live in this strange way.  

Certainty.

Tomorrow I return to work with a fresh question: How do I honor my commitment to my “ride or die” work comrades without losing my anchor to the certainty that I am meant to live a big an adventurous physical life?

As for the Triple Crown of 200's, it's still a race series that calls to my curiosity as to what is possible in this life. Ryan has big plans for 2026, so I've already slid my Triple Crown entry to 2027 (sending BIG thanks to Destination Trail for the policy that allows for this slide). I'm more confident than ever that I'm capable of finishing these events (hello 98% recovery after nearly 90-miles), it'll just be nice to have a little bit of breathing room as I learn to jump these next series of hurdles in masters running.