Wandering Woodland Creatures:
Please enjoy this blog about our schemes, dreams, and travel shenanigans.
Yonah Mountain Vertical Challenge
There is something particularly special about running through the technical terrain of Southeast Appalachia. It requires a certain finesse and dance to get around large roots, boulders, and muddy slopes. Out West, there’s a consistent allure towards high peaks and sweeping vistas. In comparison, Southern trails really dig into a gritty and lush type of terrain. Yonah Mountain Vertical Challenge was the perfect race to encompass all of the best parts of Appalachian running. It was the ideal last minute race sign-up to jumpstart an exciting season of racing!
Since racing a 50K last November, I have spent months working on speed and flatter running without racing or diving into huge days in the mountains. It’s not my favorite type of training, but it acts as a wonderful means to an end to get as fit and fast as possible for spring and summer racing in the mountains. Unfortunately, this style of training left me feeling a little nervous about racing my first mountain 50K of the year, Stump Jump 50K. After some consideration, Mike and I decided to hop into Yonah Mountain Vertical Challenge, a 25K in Cleveland GA with 5,000 feet of elevation gain. It would be the perfect rustbuster to beat up the quads and get us ready for Stump Jump.
The night before the race, we heard massive crashes of thunder resounding outside our hotel window and wondered if the race was going to be in a downpour the entire time. I checked my phone when we woke up in the morning and got a notification saying that the race had been pushed to 9:30 am. That wouldn’t be my ideal scenario for an ultra, but I was pretty stoked to have time for a latte before the 25K.
After getting fully caffeinated, Mike and I got to the race in time for a short warm-up and packet pick-up. It had stopped raining, and Yonah Mountain loomed over us in the parking lot. It was going to be a painful and awesome journey to run up and down the mountain 3 times throughout the morning.
Summit Run Co put on the race and potentially had my favorite race start of the last few years. We all lined up, were given directions, and the race director just casually said “now go.” We all looked at each other and started sprinting down the first quarter mile of the race before turning around to start climbing the mountain. It was the perfect homegrown race vibe that I love!
The leaders of the race pounded the first downhill at around 5:30 pace, and it was the strangest sensation to turn around and start grinding back uphill for 2.5 miles to the summit of Yonah Mountain. I kept telling myself “team never hike,” and shuffled my way up the mountain behind the first 3 men. It was particularly special getting to watch Mike slowly get farther away as he moved through the chunky rocks and switchbacks up the mountain.
One of the best parts about the climb and descent was that it had a wide range of terrain within the trail. We had smooth dirt for the first part of the climb, super technical singletrack with hands on knees, rocky steps for the second part, and super steep gravel for the final part of the climb. On the summit, there were incredible volunteers punching our bibs, and it was the best feeling in the world to switch gears into bombing down the mountain as fast as possible.
If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last few years of mountain racing, it’s always to make up as much ground as possible on the downhills. There’s a level of reckless abandon that’s necessary to careen down slick trails and hurdle large rocks. The flow state I can reach running downhill is unmatched, and I cherish the freedom and confidence of the wind whipping past me as I speed down the trail.
The second I started to feel fatigued on the downhill, I started to get cheers from other people summiting the mountain. The highlight of this race experience for me was getting to witness the joy of everyone else summiting Yonah. The out and back lap experience let me pass every race participant several times, and each time it was a significant boost of morale.
Most of laps 2 and 3 blurred together into a painful grind uphill and a fun, nerve wracking downhill back to the parking lot. One of the highlights of the 2nd downhill was almost taking out the photographer, Brandon. I had my head down keeping track of all the rocks I needed to hop, and leaped onto the same rock as him. We both miraculously avoided the collision, and it made me chuckle for the next few minutes. Even in a silly moment like that, everyone remained so positive and supportive.
When I reached the summit for the 3rd time, I told myself “you wanted this to hurt.” Pain is such a scary part of ultra running, and my goal for this year is to get more comfortable embracing the suffering as a part of the journey as opposed to being fearful of it in advance. This race was an excellent opportunity to embrace that discomfort and push to get as close to the men’s 3rd place finisher as possible.
After pushing the pace all day, I finished within 10 seconds of the men’s 3rd place finisher and beat the CR by 20 minutes. It was only the 2nd year of this race, and I hope that many more people go on to smash this record and pay their respects to Yonah Mountain. It’s a special mountain and an even more special community that surrounds it.
Mike and I gained some incredible new friends from the entire experience, and I’m excited to go forward into new adventures with them soon! We even got a new cold plunge location and highly recommend going for a cold plunge post race in the middle of February. My takeaways from this race are to always sign up for the last minute races that call my name, say yes to new friend’s crazy suggestions, and run up as many mountains as possible in 2025.
Frigid and Beautiful: Some Tips for Winter Motivation
Winter has a reputation for being the hardest time of year to go outside and exercise. Temperatures drop, trail conditions suffer, and your couch holds a whole new appeal. Simultaneously, athletes sign up for big goals later in the year and choose big dreams to chase. In order to achieve those big dreams, athletes need to find a way to be motivated to train regardless of the season and conditions out in the world. Luckily, there are a lot of strategies you can use to help combat this season of cold darkness.
1) My first tip is to focus on the hidden beauty of this season. The entire natural world presses pause and there’s a new stillness to the environment that’s hidden in the hustle and bustle of the rest of the year. The crunching of leaves echoes through the woods while your breath curls up in white streams in front of you. New views unfold as the leaves fall off of the trees and uncover entirely new vantage points. Earlier sunsets make way for striking colors and clouds that contrast against winter’s bluebird sky. There is certainly more darkness and more discomfort in the world, but there is also a different form of light and resilience to be found. I challenge you to take a moment on your next winter run to focus on the beauty instead of simply grinding through your next winter run. There is joy to be found in surprising places.
2) Layers, layers, and more layers! We all tend to start winters runs without an abundance of layers because we’re scared of getting hot and sweaty later on in the run. I would encourage every person to start a winter run with more layers than you think you’re going to need. You always have the capacity to shed layers, but you’re going to have a low-quality workout if your body is too numbed out to function normally. Winter makes all runners at a higher risk for injury because our muscles remain cold and immobile. This time of year is an excellent time to dial in mobility work before and after your workouts. You would be surprised how much better a winter run can feel if you spend 5 minutes warming up beforehand.
3) Friendship! Winter is the perfect time to hold your community tight and to use your friends as accountability to get outside and run. “Misery loves company” is often an overused quote, but it’s also very true! An uncomfortable run can cause laughter as opposed to sadness if you’re surrounded by friends. There’s a special synergy between runners that comes from braving the cold darkness and sharing a sense of pride for surviving the harsh season. If you don’t have a group of people to bring joy to your running, there are group runs in almost every city that are willing and excited to accept you into their midst. Strive to find your people and lean on them in the hard moments!
4) Cross training and treadmills are your friends… not your enemies! If you are having a hard time motivating yourself to run outside or the conditions are too rough, it is not a failure to turn to the gym! Treadmill workouts have just as much benefit as outdoor runs. Winter is also a time to prioritize health and safety. If anything is feeling tweaky or overly tight, this is an excellent time of year to cross train and build overall fitness!
5) Give yourself some grace! If you are not motivated to go workout for a day or even a week, give yourself some grace to slow down and give your body a pause. Sometimes, a lack of desire to run can be a sign that your body needs a pause before diving into the next training block. Keep running as a place of joy as opposed to something that is a negative obligation in your life. There is so much time in 2025 to work towards an abundance of amazing races and experiences.
6) Keep your goals and dreams at the forefront of your mind on hard days! You are out there running because you are working towards some magical days on the trails, track, or roads! You are in the midst of a beautiful community of people all working through this season and cheering you on from afar! You’ve got this!
The Unique Experience of Upchuck 50K
Mike and I often reference the training process as one piece out of the intricate puzzle pieces of our lives. Training in the midst of work, friendships, and family obligations can create a precarious balance that’s easy to skew if you’re pouring too much into one specific area. So, it was a super exciting prospect to finish out this year of races at one of the best known local races in Chattanooga, TN.
This year has been a particularly joy-filled year of running for me, and I decided that Upchuck 50K would be a wonderful finale to a beautiful year of races. It was the perfect choice: a quintessential local race surrounded by all of my favorite people. I’m in love with the focus it takes to engage with the flow of the trails and was excited to chase after some of my friends on the trails.
I am someone who grew up with anxiety wrapped around most of my athletic performances, and I pride myself on knowing how to work through my nerves before most races these days. Throughout the last few years of life I’ve raced in sweeping mountains across Europe and the Western United States, but none of those races gave me as much nervous energy as Upchuck. I have a particularly strong attachment to the local races in this area, and I really wanted to show up and have a good day in the midst of people I have admired throughout my entire running career.
A few days before Upchuck, I received a beautiful and uplifting text from the course record holder of Upchuck, Kari Laramore. She told me that she fully believed in my capacity to take the course record from her and wanted to offer me any insight she might have into the course. I am not sure she fully realized the impact of that text on me.
After growing up in a cross country environment where women were put against other women, it still startles me how incredibly supportive other women can be in the realm of trail running. Kari was being a wonderful friend, but she was also setting an example for how I want to act and exist in the running community. I strive to willingly give advice to any women following in my footsteps and to encourage other women to chase big dreams across the Southeast and beyond. A simple text from a fellow runner has the power to calm anxiety and make someone feel so seen and supported.
After I read through Kari’s advice and talked to some other friends about my excitement for the race, it was time to go to bed early before heading out to the Cumberland Trail on Saturday morning. Upchuck 50K does not have a traditional packet pick-up, which is one of the best things about it. The race embodies an old school type of trail running where the true focus is on the journey as opposed to the bells and whistles surrounding the race.
When I got to the race start, I was instantly surrounded by friendly faces as the “Chattanooga Trail Reunion” started. Each runner got a sharpie number drawn on to his or her calves and smushed into an old school bus. I would spend time describing the camaraderie of the bus ride and the unique start line experience, but I truly believe that those unique parts of Upchuck are an experience you have to live through to fully appreciate.
I will say that the pressure was on early in the day as I walked off the bus and the race director said, “Here comes Lea Mulligan. Boys, she’s putting the heat on you all today.” On the bright side, my goal for the day was to try to stay with the front pack of men for as long as possible. My friend Will and I had put in hours of training together, and I knew that he could set me up well for a course record chasing day if I tried to stay on his heels.
Throughout the last few years of racing, I have learned to trust myself and in the training process and take the opportunity to have a strong day of racing by going out hard from the very first second of the race. There’s a fine line between pushing yourself hard in an ultra and blowing up, but I have become confident in the fact that it’s possible to push yourself for an entire 50K + race if you fuel properly and truly believe in yourself.
From the very first second of Upchuck, I sprinted out with a group of four guys (Nathan, Will, Austin, and Mac) that would become my trail companions for the next six miles. It was a unique experience getting to see such talented men use different strategies to dance throughout the extremely technical terrain. Some of us chose to push through the technical downhills, while others excelled on the unforgiving uphills.
The first 7 miles were a beautiful mix of silent concentration and quick conversations as we sped through the rolling hills on the start of the course. The Upchuck legend himself, Nathan Holland, was with our little pack, and it was an honor to get to talk with him about the course and the impact of running on our lives. It was a unique moment to receive wisdom from the people racing around me as we all went through the same experience in the woods.
As we approached the first aid station, I pulled out my bottles to be able to fill up with water as fast as possible. It was a lengthy 12 mile stretch to the next aid station, and I wanted to make sure to be prepared for the incoming heat and humidity of the day. Nathan darted out in front of me on the gentle downhill after the aid station, and we both flew through the next few miles.
After that section, I was alone for the first time and really started to focus on pushing myself through the steep gorges. Thick leaf litter coated the trail, and I had to stay engaged every second to avoid getting off of the path. Several times, I stood within a large collection of rocks unsure of where to go on the trail. One of my biggest strengths in racing is bombing downhills, but it was impossible to go as fast as I wanted without getting lost in the process. I was thankful for my previous adventures on the trail and for my love of rock hopping.
The hardest part of the race for me came right before the 2nd and final aid station at mile 18. There was a seemingly endless climb out of the gorge, and the true heat of the day started to make it harder to run up the hills. My favorite strategy to get through ultras is to choose small goals to reach within the larger journey, and I told myself that I just had to survive until that next aid station. Finally, I heard Mike whopping in the distance, and I shuffled up to the welcoming cheers of my friends at the aid station. For the first time in Upchuck history, the aid station had ice for all runners to combat the strangely hot November day.
One of my biggest goals at racing is to smile at every aid station and truly appreciate the volunteers and friends out there supporting everyone. Unfortunately, I came into that aid station about as grumpy as I get during a race. I complained to Mike about my breathing and the heat as he shoved ice in my hat and down my back.
There was a time that I went into ultras with the goal of finishing them and absorbing every second of the experience. I paused to eat quesadillas at aid stations, chat with friends, and laugh at the misfortune that ultras can bring. Over the last two years, I have switched gears to a deep seated competitive energy that brings about a new seriousness at aid stations. I ran out of aid as quickly as possible and struggled to turn my shuffle back into a full fledged run on the small section of pavement.
At that point, my watch ticked over to 3 hours, and I started doing an endless supply of calculations in my head. Instead of appreciating the scenery, I calculated every possible pace I could run to sneak in under the course record. Time turned into a blur of numbers and steps as I panted through the woods by myself. Soon, I found a new rhythm on the trail and picked up the pace on the next rolling section. My favorite mantra for ultras is, “it always gets better,” and the day was slowly starting to improve as I got hydrated.
When I reached the last 4 miles of the race, I was stumbling through every rock on the trail. Hours of hopping over jagged rocks had worn out my legs, and I found myself hitting the ground on more than one occasion. I was rocking a bloody knee and was ready to hit the long, downhill road that led to the finish line.
There is no better feeling than reaching the final checkpoint in a race, and I grinned to myself as I glimpsed the road in the distance. I had held on to just enough power to push down the final hill at a 6 minute mile pace to chase the elusive Upchuck CR. Finally, I saw Mike running towards me in the distance as I sprinted towards the finish line. My watch clicked over to 5 hours as I rounded the corner towards the finish- line (trash-can), and I breathed an internal sigh of relief as I knew I had beaten the record.
Even if I spend the rest of my life racing around the entire globe, nothing will be as precious as finishing a race with my parents, grandparents, and community cheering around me. I hugged the trash can that acts as a finish line and smiled at the race directors. It was a privilege to be able to write my name on the Upchuck board amidst the best of the Chattanooga trail running community. Watching each friend come through the finish line reminded me of why we do this sport. Each and every person out there is truly rooting for the success of those around them, and it is a beautiful thing. I am forever and always proud to be a part of the Chattown trail family.
Fearlessness Through Running
What does it mean to move through life without fear? As children we are born with a distinct playful nature that encourages us to embrace life differently than most adults. Children feel the urge to climb to the highest branch of a tree, dive face first into a mud puddle, and often show no hesitation in jumping back into an activity after they’ve failed. Unfortunately, most adults lose the drive or capacity to throw themselves into life with joyful abandon.
As I re-enter the realm of teaching after spending a summer throwing myself into life as a force filled with joy, a question keeps coming back to my mind. Is trail running a modality that allows us to flow through life with less fear? Trail runners may have, in a small way, managed to keep many of the wonders of childhood alive.
Adults are constantly told to go through life being careful. “Don’t trip on the bumpy sidewalk. Don’t spill food on your clothes. Don’t go outside in a storm. Don’t scare people away with a bold personality. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.” The list could go on and on with the multitude of ways we are asked to hold ourselves back in this life. Society, our peers, and our jobs constantly tell us to smother the parts of ourselves that are wild and fearless.
Trail running enables us to face these fears and standards and cast them aside in favor of bettering ourselves, gritting out harder mileage, or re-connecting with the landscape. Dirt and gel slime becomes inconsequential in the face of chasing big goals. Mud becomes a welcome friend as we charge towards mud puddles and meet rocky terrain with a smile.
For me, running in the mountains is an embodiment of casting aside fear. One run in Silverton Colorado stands out to me from this summer as a moment of fear transformed into a moment of awe and deep respect for the environment.
Thunder shook the mountainside as thick, dark clouds started to roll towards the summit of Spencer Peak. Electricity sizzled in the air as tiny droplets of hail started to fall from the sky. The perfect twisty trail was practically empty except for me and my friends. In one direction was 5 miles of technical singletrack back to Silverton Colorado. In the other direction was sprawling views of the San Juan wilderness. We had no choice but to embrace the elements and move downwards through the rough weather.
There’s a traditional and overarching knowledge in Colorado that you’re supposed to venture out into the mountains early to escape afternoon storms. Trail runners spend so many hours out on the trails that these rules cease to apply to a small degree. While we proceeded with caution and speed towards the treeline in the midst of the bad weather and wouldn’t intentionally choose to be caught in a hail storm, it helped us to cast aside fear in favor of entering a deeper state of flow with the mountains. A combination of adrenaline and newfound energy gave me the capacity to dance swiftly down the steep terrain and feel a new sense of joy. I smiled and giggled in the face of the wild mountains and gained a deeper respect for their wild personalities. I finished the run without a new sense of fear for exploring in the mountains. Instead, I had gained a deeper inclining of what it means to truly be wild.
There’s a deep peace encapsulated in summertime running that feels comparable to a time in life without a constant to-do list and worries about judgment from the rest of the world. Instead of worrying about meeting anyone’s expectations or succeeding in my job, running is simply a time to laugh and feel truly in tune with myself and the beautiful people and critters that accompany me along the journey.
On a simpler level, running helps to cast aside typical standards of how I should present myself to the outside world. One of the simpler pleasures of this sport is disappearing into the wilderness for hours and re-emerging to enter a restaurant in a unique state of disarray. In a similar way to children picking a mismatched outfit to go engage with the world, my friends and I are thrilled to engage with the world in random neon outfits covered in gel stains and bits of dust from the trail. We are perfectly comfortable being our shamelessly quirky selves with each other and around random bystanders. Mud covering out calves is a sign of pride, and a tiny streak of blood here and there symbolizes a good run.
In my return to reality this fall, I hope to channel this stillness and peace into my normal life that can transfer into a newfound patience and richer kindness towards the children I work with everyday. Every single run helps me tap into that childlike wonder towards the world. I’m so thankful to be surrounded by other runners that strive to cast off the normal fears of the world in favor of days bursting with laughter and growth. We lean into the feeling of living in harmony with this beautiful world and receive the rare gift of fearlessness that can transfer into our normal lives alongside our time being wild.
Never Summer 100K
Never Summer 100K was the perfect finale to this summer. From the outside, it was an ideal day. I was thrilled to get 3rd place after chasing after the podium all day and made some new friends along the way. I got the opportunity to spend 14 hours immersed in the Never Summer Wilderness and witness the grit and determination of everyone around me.
On the other hand, it was a ridiculously hard day. It started off like many other race mornings. My friends and I rolled out of bed in our Rustic Powderhorn Cabin and set to work trying to choke down a little bit of breakfast at the glorious hour of 4 am. Everything was going smoothly as we got to the race start with plenty of time for an extra bathroom break and stretch session.
Will, David, Skyler, and I migrated over to the startline as 5 minutes remaining appeared on the clock. We whooped and hollered as the gun went off and we charged out towards the first glimpses of the sunrise. Never Summer starts deceptively easy, and we were pleased to find ourselves running approximately an 8 minute mile up a gentle gravel path. “It’s just like Guild!” (our frequently gravel path at home in Tennessee) we shouted. After the first mile, I was thrilled to still be running with David and Will. We met the first climb together and started the long journey up the first 4,000 foot climb. It felt like we were going out a little bit hot, but I was enjoying chatting with my friends in between deep, attempted lungfuls of air.
My friends and I stayed together until the top of the climb, and I decided to cross my fingers and bomb the first hill. My strategy for the day was to breathe on the ups and push on the downs. This strategy started working as I found myself in the mix of the top 3 women. I could see everyone around me as we passed the first 2 glorious alpine lakes. I tried to take a moment to soak in the views, but things were already starting to take a turn towards a rough day.
I struggled to smile at the views as my chest and stomach got tight and my legs started to hurt earlier than they did during training runs. I tapped into my mantra, "it always gets better," way too early and just kept trying to move. There was a long gravel descent into the mile 19 aid station, and I pushed the pace down to see my crew. I’m pretty sure I was speaking gibberish to them at the aid, and mumbled, “this sucks” (Not quite the attitude you want to have at mile 19 of 65).
Of course, after that started the longest climb of the day up to Diamond Peak. I pulled out my poles and started grinding up the long winding gravel road. I was making great progress shuffling along but still kept getting passed by other race participants. Finally, I found a little pack and started chatting with some new friends. As the trail switched to a steep singletrack up to the peak, I got the wild urge to start singing “Rocky Top.” I couldn’t help thinking that I wouldn’t be in as much pain if I was running up to Rocky Top in the Smoky Mountains and shared this with my companions. All of them asked to hear the song, and I somehow found myself singing Rocky Top above 10,000 feet on a beautiful grassy ridgeline. This moment was a tiny glimpse into the wildness of ultra-running for me. One moment you’re suffering and close to tears and the next you're singing and laughing with a group of lovely humans. It’s a unique and addicting ride.
After I summited Diamond Peak, I got to celebrate on some impeccable ridgelines before cranking the pace downhill to the 50K aid station.This was probably my lowest point in the race. The temperature was climbing, and my crew doused me with sunscreen. I left aid looking like a ghost and started to get nauseous as the trail wound up and up until I reached the treeline. To contradict my nausea, my stomach started to growl, and I attempted to take down a Maurten Gel. Unfortunately, one bite had me immediately gagging, and I had to sit on a log to finish getting in the calories.
What came next was some of the best wildflower and alpine views of the entire race, but I did not have it in me to appreciate them. The only glimpse of joy in that section was a grimace smile I put on for the photographer. I couldn’t even find joy in the downhill as I careened through large chunks of rock and scree.
Luckily, or unluckily, there was only one more large technical climb left in the race to get to the mile 40 bib stamp. I trudged up the 1,200 foot out ‘n back climb to one final alpine lake and was forced to push the downhill back to the mile 45 aid as I realized that 4th place was only about a quarter mile behind me.
After that, I actually got a tiny boost of energy and was able to stretch out and run in the 7 minute mile range down the gravel road to the long winding cow pasture trails. I kept running with my poles on the gentle rolling sections and immediately bonked on the next tiny uphill. At that point, I called Mike to inform him that I needed pacing and apologized since he had crushed the 60K on the previous day.
I rolled into Canadian Aid at mile 51 and choked down some ramen before continuing onwards with Mike. Instantly, I had to fight the urge to cry since I was finally with my person. I told him I was trying to fight back tears, and he gave me permission to finally let out a smidgen of my emotions. I continued to shuffle down the trail and started to sob “this is so hard!”
Miraculously, that moment of weakness helped, and I was able to perk up for the next few miles. We stomped through muddy swamp lands and trudged up endless dirt hills. Unfortunately, my respite was short lived, and I started to gag every 3 minutes. I had never understood how people puked and rallied until those moments. I would take down a gel, throw-up, and carry on like nothing had happened.
This cycle continued until Bockman Aid at mile 57. I got a final few gels from my crew and a nice dousing of water from the aid station captions as they all sent me on with good wishes. Somehow, my legs felt the best they had in hours, and I was able to actually run the gradual uphill gravel road. The sky was beginning to turn black overhead and things were looking up as the temperature plummeted. Somehow, I was still vomiting but charging up the hill. I kept running scared from 4th place and was determined not to let her gain any ground on me.
When I reached the top of the final climb, there were 4 more miles to the finish line, and it started to absolutely monsoon. I turned on my playlist and somehow started playing 20 minutes of the Lord of the Rings soundtrack. I have never felt more majestic than charging downhill to a fantastical battle soundtrack with thunder and lightning cracking in the background.
I finished Never Summer in 14 hours and 16 minutes, achieving my goal of podiuming and beating the sunset. This one was special because it was so hard. Maybe if I’d had one more month at altitude or done something slightly different with nutrition, it might have felt better, but I truly believe the day went as well as it could have for me in the high altitude. It showed me that I still have a lot to learn from the mountains and stoked my itch to continue pushing myself in this intense environment.
There’s something to be said for the magical days when everything is light and joyful and comes together perfectly, but this one will stay with me longer because of the rough moments. Now, I'm a little bit better at trusting myself in the hard moments and continuing to lean into my love for the process.
Colorado running community and alpine, I love you, and I'll most certainly be back to continue learning in this wilderness.
Orca’s Island: The Runner’s Experience
Runners tend to spend most of their time running, sleeping, eating, and dramatically flopping on the ground to recover from their runs. We’re hungry all of the time and generally pretty entertaining people on and off the trail. This is a pretty fantastic lifestyle unless you are trying to feel vibrantly alive to celebrate a special event.
On June 8th, 2024, Mike and I got married in a beautiful ceremony in Delano, Tennessee. We embraced the joy of Tennessee summertime and danced and celebrated with our closest friends next to the Hiwassee River. It was completely perfect in every way through its reflection of our personalities, the love we have for each other, and the appreciation we have for the wonderful people in our lives. So, how on earth were we supposed to plan a honeymoon that matched the joy and wonder of our wedding day?
We planned our wedding for the beginning of June so that we would have the chance to spend a month wandering around the country during our summer vacations. Last summer, we had an incredible journey through Arizona and Colorado creating the ideal training camp for CCC 100K. This summer, we wanted to dedicate at last 10 days to loving one another and not simply putting our heads down for another training camp experience.
Thus, the idea of a trip to the San Juan Islands was born. These islands off the coast of Seattle were the perfect combination of everything Mike and I wanted. They could combine a relaxing beach like experience with lush forest trails and wildlife spotting opportunities. I poured through tourism sights and decided that Orcas Island was our best bet for delicious food, beautiful trails, and paddling.
The first step to getting on the islands was booking a ferry from Anacortes to Orcas Island. It was essential to book a reservation in advance if we wanted to get Vincent, our minivan, on to the island with us. When the time came for us to board the ferry, we got to drive Vincent right on board, and it was incredible getting to witness the ferry ride through the windshield of our van.
If you know me, you’ll realize that one of the most important steps of any trip or adventure is acquiring my coffee and pastry, and Orcas Island has 2 delicious coffee shops in the center of town. My personal favorite was Brown Bear Bakery, and I devoured a raspberry tart before we headed out towards the trails.
Most people will tell you that islands tend to be flat and sand, but Orcas Island is anything but flat. It has a gentle, rolling landscape dotted with pine trees and glorious dirt paths. One of the most spectacular places to explore on Orcas Island is Moran State Park. The state park encompasses a variety of different ecosystems ranging from pristine lakes to rocky vistas on top of Mount Constitution. We created a perfect 14 mile loop that circled the entire park.
https://www.strava.com/activities/11723844190
The trail leading up to Mount Constitution includes sweeping ocean vistas ranging from views of the Cascades all the way to Seattle. I felt very small perched on top of the island surrounded by an endless blue ocean in every direction. There’s an old stone tower on top of Mountain Constitution that Mike and I climbed to take a quick gel break and see a final sweeping vista of the surrounding area.
The summit of the mountain was the highlight of the loop, and I started pushing the pace back to the trailhead to get back to town for dinner. Mike and I cleaned up and proceeded to have a lovely date night at The Madrona Bar and Grill. Another incredible thing about the Seattle and San Juan Islands area is the locally caught seafood, and I had a delicious salmon dinner to fuel me for our next day of adventures.
As part of our honeymoon, we were determined to do some non running based activities and decided to rent a paddle boat for a journey around Cascade Lake. We brought some freshly picked Rainier Cherries with us on the ride and had a relaxing paddle around flowering lily pads and gentle water.
When we got back on land, my quads immediately started hurting. It turns out that paddle boats specifically target that area of your legs, and I laughed realizing that paddle boating had made me more sore than our 14 mile running route the previous day. Needless to say, Mike and I spent a lot of time stretching at our air bnb that evening.
The other must-do route on the island was an exploration around Turtleback Mountain. There were lots of shorter trail options around Turtleback Mountain, and we chose a direct path up to the overlook using the South Trail. The trails resembled the smooth, grassy paths around Bay Area California, and we loved hopping up the steep grade.
After exploring around Moran State Park and Turtleback Mountain, we decided that our trip would not have been complete without exploring both areas. They both provided perfectly runnable terrain, uncrowded trails, and the ideal ocean views. The first stop on our honeymoon was a huge success. We failed to completely slow down, but succeeded in taking time to love each other and explore a completely new place.
Enchanting Baby Goats in The Enchantments
Before embarking upon an adventure in the Enchantments, I spent about a month wondering what could be so majestic about the Enchantments to inspire such a magical name. I have seen a vast amount of alpine lakes in my lifetime so far, and I was curious if this random assortment of lakes in Washington was really going to be something unique.
The Enchantments are an 18 mile route situated right outside of the unique Bavarian inspired town of Leavenworth. When I was planning a honeymoon inspired road trip across the Pacific Northwest, I knew that Leavenworth was a stop that I had to include. Mike and I are both huge fans of European culture, and we were excited to witness the architecture and sweeping mountains in the town.
Coming from the Seattle area, we spent a long time winding around the mountain roads of Snoqualamie pass until we reached the edge of Leavenworth. We had our introduction to town at a delicious coffee shop called Argonaut Biscuits and Coffee and met a local runner who worked at the shop. Their avocado toast was the perfect food to hype me up for our adventure in town.
In preparation for the Enchantments, Mike and I had to arrange a shuttle with the Leavenworth mountain shuttle system. One of the most amazing parts of the Enchantments is that you can leave a car at the trailhead closer to Leavenworth (Snow Lake Trailhead) and get a ride up to the Stuart Lake Trailhead. The trail is net downhill back to Snow Lake Trailhead with a gain of over 5,000 feet and a loss of over 7,000 feet. Starting from the Snow Lake Trailhead provides easier access to the core Enchantments area.
The night before our adventure, Mike and I camped at a dispersed climber’s campground off the road to the Stuart Lake Trailhead. We were crammed in with a bunch of other vehicles and got to witness a small dose of the incredible climbing culture around the area as well. I really wanted to go to bed early before our adventure and played a long waiting game for the sun to set around 10:30. When it finally set, we curled up and waited for our morning alarm.
Since we had no idea how long the Enchantments would take us, Mike and I loaded up with an Ultra-level amount of supplies. I had gels coming out of every corner of my pack, and some string cheese came along for the journey as well. We rushed to get to the trailhead on time to meet our guide, and she let us know she was there with an eager honk. Her personality shone through on the bumpy drive to the trailhead as she told us tales of her many expeditions up the long, windy road.
When we arrived, the trailhead was packed full of cars, and we started our adventure dancing around packs of people on a gentle dirt trail. The first mile was extremely deceptive as I led us at a gentle trot through the forest. Almost immediately after the second mile, the first jagged rocks started appearing, and I had to focus to start going up the stair stepper-like path. This was the moment when I started counting the amount of people that said, “Man, you guys are crazy!” (Total count was 7 for the day)
Luckily, with jagged rocks come beautiful views, and Mike and I started getting glimpses of the peaks surrounding us. The next miles carried on with steep climbs alternating with smoother runnable sections until we reached the first lake, Colchuck Lake, after 4.5 miles.
The lake was huge with rich blue water that showed off the jagged peaks around it. It was one of the biggest alpine lakes I had ever seen, surrounded by pristine campsites and rocky shores. Our next step was to navigate the rocky shore that didn’t remotely seem to resemble a trail. The secret was to head counter clockwise around the shore of the lake until the trail re-appeared through the rocks. I credit our successful trail finding to my new best friend: the mountain goat.
My mountain goat friend pointed us in the direction of the base of Aasgard pass, and we paused to stare up at the 2,000 foot climb looming above us. There was a moderate amount of snow still left at the beginning of July, and I got the chance to practice taking the time to carefully place each foot in the snow. Additional traction might have been preferable in the early season, but my La Sportiva Prodigios were stable enough for me to get up the snowy climb with the help of my poles.
Initially, I led us up the right side of the pass until we reached a section that was a bit too technical for my skill set. I pulled up our map and realized that the main trail goes up the left side of Aasgard. We down-climbed through chunky rocks until reaching the official trail that went steadily upwards through scree and large rocks. I turned around to gasp for breath and took in the beauty of Colchuck Lake spread out below me.
My heart started beating faster as we climbed up the steep grade, and I began to grin as we methodically worked our way closer to the top. There is no greater feeling than the burning in my lungs at altitude as I push to finish a climb and witness the scenery around me. Running may be my favorite activity in the entire world, but scrambling in the alpine has an entirely separate kind of magnetism to it.
My day was complete when we reached the top of the pass and were greeted by a baby mountain goat. I jumped up and down with joy and crouched down to take way too many pictures of the little guy. I might have remained with the little goat all day if there hadn’t been stormy clouds looming above us. One of the sketchiest parts of these high alpine adventures is the chance of lightning, and Mike and I weren’t willing to hang around to risk a storm.
The elevation profile of The Enchantments implied that all of the vertical gain for the day was finished at 6.5 miles on top of Aasgard pass. I mistakenly took this to mean that the rest of the day would be smooth, downhill sailing. Unfortunately for my legs, and fortunately for the scenery, the next 6 miles after the pass were covered in a beautiful layer of snow. The upper Enchantment lakes were frozen solid and shone with a brilliant shade of icy blue. Mike and I felt like little kids frolicking off balance through the snowy terrain. I’m not sure if this part of the adventure actually qualified as running, but it could not have been more fun!
The highlight of the upper section might have been a lengthy glissading section down a perfectly graded slope above one of the lakes. Glissading in running shorts is a little bit painful, but the brief moment of adrenaline and speed is well worth the overall experience. This trend of sliding through the snow continued for another hour until we reached the half marathon mark.
I almost started to giggle as I realized that the first half marathon had taken us approximately 4 hours… quite possibly a new record for our slowest half marathon ever. My feet were started to get achey after being drenched for hours, and I was itching to stretch out to bomb downhill. The trail had other ideas, and Mike and I were met with huge rocky slabs covering several miles of the descent. The trail didn’t start to smooth out until we reached the beautiful snow lakes. The snow lakes were actually the least snowy of the lakes and had a unique sandy shoreline.
The last few miles of the Enchantments wandered through a lush canyon until the parking lot came into sight. The final trial of the day was being able to see the car from over 2 miles away. It gave me an extra dose of motivation to bomb down to the car and finish out a glorious day. We finished the Enchantments in approximately 5 hours, and it definitely gave me some motivation to want to come back and push the pace in later summer.
My final thoughts for the day were that the Enchantments truly do live up to their namesake and are indeed a magical place. Every corner of the trail has a new view of alpine wonder consisting of rich colors, snow, and hardy animals. We will definitely be back to visit Leavenworth in future summer to dive deeper into the culture of the town and the richness of the trails.
S.C.A.R. Fastest Known Time
A unique sort of magic exists in Southern Appalachia. Enchantment comes from the gnarly roots and moss-lined rocks, the foggy ridgelines, and the rich smell of pine trees dotting the tops of summits. S.C.A.R or Smoky Challenge Adventure Run is the crown jewel route of this area and touches upon 70 miles of the most remote peaks in Smoky Mountain National Park. The entire route encompasses the Appalachian Trail section through the park and includes over 18,000 feet of ascending and descending on technical terrain. This route has been on my bucket list since the moment I became an ultra-runner. Recently, the desire to complete this section of trail shifted to a desire to claim the Fastest Known Time (FKT).
Last Fall, I competed in UTMB CCC and completed the first 100K where I was fully happy with my performance. Previously, I had crawled in the last 10 miles of long races or had too much left in the tank at finish lines. CCC was a turning point for me where I put together all of the puzzle pieces. I ate enough nutrition, smiled at every view, and had a result that gave me a shot of competitive confidence with where I stood in this sport. After reflecting on my time of 15:03, I pulled up the SCAR FKT site and did the pace math to see where I would stand against previous women’s FKT. If I ran the exact same pace as CCC, I would have a huge chance of beating the FKT. The only caveat was that I felt like I needed to have a perfect day. I announced my goal to chase the SCAR FKT in a podcast interview last October, and my wheels have been turning about this project since then.
Nothing ever goes 100% as planned in this sport, and I got a foot injury in December that had me pushing my dreams of chasing SCAR back to April. This was not a picture-perfect training block for me by any stretch of the imagination, and I spent several months questioning if I was going to get to tackle this huge goal. My PT told me that it was possible to train through the pain in my foot, so I went to work balancing training and my new PT activities.
I spent the majority of my training on Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga, TN chasing every single hilly route imaginable. The only way SCAR was going to be possible for me was if I got my quads used to bombing down thousands of feet in a singular run. After looking at the previous women’s times of SCAR, I had the realization that most of the downhills were over 10 minute miles. I pride myself on being an excellent downhill runner and get the most joy out of this sport by bombing down the most technical, steep terrain. I knew that if I could keep my body from falling apart, downhills would be my biggest strength.
Soon, April was creeping up on me, and I started to make a nutrition and overall “race” plan. I collected over 40 Spring and Maurten Gels to eat for every 30 minutes of SCAR and religiously stuck to this system for the entire route. I also used 4 bottles of Skratch Labs High Carb Mix and 3 bottles of Tailwind. I did not plan on eating much normal food on the route and only ended up consuming a little bit of ramen and Cheez-its along the trail.
My main concern outside of nutrition was what shoe to wear along the route. La Sportiva had just released the Prodigio, and I was really interested in using it for the route. I was also a bit hesitant to use it because I only received the Prodigio through Fast Break Athletics a week before my planned day for SCAR.
As luck would have it, I was heading up to North Carolina to do a SCAR prep and final long run weekend with Abigail West, the previous FKT holder of SCAR. I took the Prodigio out on a 2-hour test run on the Appalachian Trail and fell in love with it. My foot had been hurting for months, and it was practically pain free in the secure grip of the Prodigio. I tested out the shoe on several “bombing tests” downhill and felt perfectly comfortable leaping over sharp rocks and balancing on the variety of debris covering the trail. This small trip convinced me that I should take a gamble and use the Prodigio as my shoe for the full 70 miles.
Preparing for an FKT is an entirely different mental experience than prepping for a race, and my nerves were all over the place the week leading into my SCAR attempt. I have always wanted to keep the mindset that finishing any ultra-distance is a huge success for me, but my normal mindset was not quite working for me. I knew deep down that I was going to be disappointed if I finished the 70 miles and did not end up with the FKT. This route means a lot to me, and a finish was no longer going to be good enough to fulfill my aspirations.
The night before my FKT attempt was a bit of a train wreck. It started off well with Mike, my fiancé, and me loading all of our gear into the car to drive to a small airstream near Davenport Gap. I double checked several times to make sure that I had my Black Diamond Poles, my pack and quiver, and my pair of Prodigios. Everything was in place, and we successfully made it to our home for the evening. My stomach was full of butterflies for the entire course of the drive, and those nerves multiplied when I saw on Facebook that another woman was going for the FKT attempt on the same day going NOBO instead of SOBO. We had unintentionally created a SCAR death match. Mike told me to channel those nerves into fuel for the fire, and I tried to focus on relaxing during dinner and our time before bed.
Unfortunately, our AirBnB had a loose tarp flap outside that clanged against the metal roof and sounded like someone knocking on the airstream door every few minutes. I tossed and turned listening to the frustrating sound until about 3 am and promptly rolled over to tell Mike that I didn’t think I was going to do SCAR anymore… I was too stressed, too tired, and too overwhelmed by life in general. He gave me the best response: that I could do anything that I wanted. He knew me well enough to know that I was not going to take the easy option and go home. Sometimes, the hardest part of an endurance event is getting to the starting line, and this was the final challenge that I had to overcome to reach the peace that comes alongside that first footfall into the dark.
Eventually, I slept for about an hour until our alarm went off at 4:15. My stomach was in too many knots to eat breakfast, and I struggled to down some cold brew and a few bites of a scone. Mike began the 20-minute drive to Davenport Gap, and we were prepared to start the first section of our journey. Mike would be joining me for the first 50K to Newfound, and my friend Will planned on joining me for the final 40 miles to Fontana Dam. Both of them were incredibly generous and planned on carrying extra water for me and stopping to filter so I did not have to take the time to hunt for pipes at shelters.
I started at 5:24 am to the sound of birds chirping and a gentle breeze. I plunged into the night with Mike, prepared to savor one last adventure with him before our wedding in a month. Instantly, all of my stress melted away, and I started smiling and singing as we shuffled up the first 3,000-foot ascent to the ridgeline near Mt. Cammerer. One of the best parts of these long efforts is that every worry in life leaves to be replaced by the singular focus of reaching the end of the run. My brain switched over into a deep concentration of keeping my breathing easy, slurping a gel every 30 minutes, and cranking up my music to bomb down every hill in sight. My strategy was to run as many of the ups as possible, lean into my poles on the steeper grades, and run down hard while keeping my effort manageable.
This strategy worked brilliantly for me as I flew down the first ridgeline into the glorious pink of the sunrise. Mike and I methodically ticked off silent miles along the various peaks as we both concentrated on pushing the pace and keeping ourselves upright on the technical trail. As we got close to Newfound Gap, I started to get nervous when I realized that we had run a 6:25 first 50K. This was way faster than I had planned on running the first section, but I had been running on feel the entire time and decided to trust myself and the synergy I have with my body.
My mom was crew chief for the day and made sure I had lots of snack options laid out for me. She asked me if I wanted to change clothes or shoes, but my Prodigios and La Sportiva Tank remained comfortable. I spent approximately 5 minutes eating watermelon and ramen before heading towards Clingman’s Dome (the 3rd highest point East of the Mississippi) with Will. We had a blast chatting through the entire Clingman’s climb, and I was starting to feel really hopeful about a fast time when we got to Clingman’s Dome at 8 hours and 30 minutes. Mike and my mom met me one last time at Clingmans, and I rushed to give them excited hugs before booking it down a steep hill towards the last 50K of SCAR.
At this point, I was really starting to feel really startled because I hadn’t really had any low points along the entire route. I had stayed meticulously on my nutrition plan, and my brain had stayed engaged for the entire journey so far. My only issue was that I was starting to feel a little sleepy, but I had packed more caffeinated gels for the second half of the journey that quickly started to take effect. I’m fully convinced that Maurten’s 100 MG of caffeine gel saved my life somewhere along the run. The 2nd half of the route was net downhill, and I could feel the miles passing quickly until we started to get close to Rocky Top.
The climb up to Rocky Top feels never-ending and brutal. It is also startlingly strung out through a 5 mile stretch of trail. There were many points that I thought I was nearing the summit, only to plunge back down to another stretch of ridgeline. All the climbing ended up worth it because it resulted in my favorite moment of the day alongside a moment of intense clarity. The fog started clearing out around Rocky Top, and I was met with sweeping views of the incredible range of the Smokies. I checked my watch and realized that I had 5 hours left to break the FKT with 16 miles to go. My brain quickly whirled through the math, like it had done many times before in the day, and I realized that I was so close to achieving my months’ long goal.
The remaining 16 miles were possibly the most joyful miles of my entire life. I turned on my favorite pop anthems to careen down Rocky Top and chose to push as hard as I could on the next downhills to see how fast I could get to the end. Unfortunately, at that point, Will and I were running low on water and did not have very good luck with filtering. I credit a lot of success to Will after he sacrificed the rest of his water to me and told me to run on while he searched for more water to filter.
There is something to be said for finishing a journey you have dreamed of for years solo. All of the pieces fell together for me to spend several hours reflecting on all of the stress of planning the route, overwhelming moments at work, and ridiculous amounts of wedding planning that had to be overcome to get to that moment. I laughed as I realized that once I got the FKT, I finally got to relax. The wedding was going to come together, my job was going to work itself out, and I got to achieve something special in the sport that will remain my biggest passion. Ultrarunning brings a lot of moving pieces to my life, but tiny moments like the clarity I felt during those last few miles make it all worth it.
Mike and my friend Skyler (one of the people who originally inspired me to try SCAR) met me with 2 miles to go, and I was thrilled to hear that I only had 2 more miles of runnable downhill to get to the dam. It was beautiful timing for them to appear right after I face planted onto the trail because they saved me from the embarrassment of witnessing my lone fall of the day. I rallied myself to push myself for two more miles, and my legs miraculously found turnover again on the road section to the dam. I blasted music for the half mile on the road and maintained a 6:30 min/mile pace onto the dam.
My first priority at the finish was stopping my watch followed quickly by bending over to gasp for breath. Mike said “15:23?” and I responded with “15:22:23.”
We both agreed that the time was wild! I was scared that I would lack the capacity to touch the previous FKT, and I had almost beaten it by 2 hours. I have never had a more magical day of running. This route solidified a belief in myself, a deeper appreciation for the Appalachian Trail, and a rich love for the friends who are willing to pour out so much to help me achieve my goals. This FKT attempt would not have been possible without my friends and my love for the wildness of Appalachia. The running community is full of so many passionate, giving individuals, and I hope I can inspire more women to give this epic route a shot.
