As the story often goes, occasional treats became frequent indulgence. Frequent indulgence became habitual. Habitual became necessary. Before I knew it, I had developed an unhealthy tolerance and it took way more to even “feel it” when I drank. I stopped mixing drinks and went straight to the liquor. I wasn’t tasting the beer anymore, but downing it mindlessly immediately after runs. Bottle of wine in one night? No problem. I’d down a drink, usually a strong beer, RIGHT after a run so that I could get that warm and fuzzy feeling thanks to a revved-up metabolism and empty stomach. I ignored the importance of hydrating between drinks to keep from losing those warm fuzzies.

While the pandemic certainly made it easier to drink more frequently without apparent consequence, it wasn't the real start of my unhealthy relationship with alcohol. The groundwork had already been laid for that many, many years prior. Restaurant shifts that concluded ceremoniously with kitchen staff pulling out bottles of cheap bourbon or tequila. Trail races with kegs at the finish line, going drink for drink with the guys as we tried to numb our minds and legs from whatever evils the course had thrown our way. And in life, any minor inconvenience was viewed as an OK reason to knock back an extra drink or three. Add a challenging childhood and history of depression into the mix, and I had the perfect recipe for alcohol use disorder. But I was able to hide it quite easily behind my extroverted personality and passion for running and training. Outwardly, I was happy and competitive. Inwardly, quite troubled and feeling like a fraud.

But I didn't think my depression was that bad, and I rarely got that drunk. Occasionally tipsy, but hardly ever “out of control.” The story I told myself was that I only ever got truly drunk once or twice a year, which, in my mind, was totally normal. Everyone gets a little crazy once in a while, right? Of course, as a personal trainer, I knew there was no way my daily drinking wasn’t taking SOME sort of toll on my health. But, I also felt like I could just deal with that later. I’d get back to “normal” when business returned back to normal. When my kid went back to in-person learning. When we turned the page from 2020 to 2021 and I wouldn’t have the excuse of being at home all the time to justify getting tipsy on a Tuesday.

Except I did not really stop. Or even cut back. I struggled to get back to a normal sleep schedule and found myself pouring even more after my husband and kid went to bed in order to finally feel tired enough to fall asleep, even though I knew alcohol messes with sleep. And I knew that it would be harder to wake up. I knew that it would effect recovery from tough workouts. But I eschewed all that common knowledge for the sake of numbing myself to sleep. I thought it was just the pandemic that brought this on, but in reality, other events in my life continued to fuel the habit. It wasn’t just about falling asleep at night, it was about turning off the brain to not think about all the OTHER shit that bothered me. Going into 2021, there was a lot of upset and challenging shifts in my immediate family. I was witnessing, from afar, a LOT of pain and heartache that I could not do anything about. It brought up a lot of painful memories from my childhood, from similar situations where I also had absolutely no control. I had worked hard in my adult life and into parenthood to not perpetuate harmful behaviors I had witness growing up, but I was powerless to stop others in my family from walking that same path. And somehow, in some twisted way, I used this to justify my own drinking even more. I wasn’t being emotionally abusive to my family. I maintained steady employment. I figured I was generally a pleasant person to be around. I ran trail races and often made podium. I was FINE. I DESERVE a drink because I was keeping my shit together. I deserve another drink for continuing to work and train so hard myself. I deserve another drink for… whatever. For existing as a halfway decent human being.

But honestly, I felt like shit. I started to feel like an imposter, and while fielding phone calls from upset family members about this or that new situation, I was mindlessly pouring myself yet another. My husband started to comment on how quickly I could go through a bottle of bourbon or gin. I laughed it off saying “It’s not a large bottle! It’s just a couple ounces at a time!” (They were not small bottles… they were not small pours). I had a fucking problem, but still struggled to admit it because no one else really seemed to notice. Even my husband, having only casually remarked on my increased consumption, never called me out directly to say “I think you’re drinking too much.” I suspect, knowing my family's history of drinking and abusive behaviors, that he didn’t want me to think that I thought that he thought that I has headed down the same dangerous road. I could never dream of becoming that mean, detached, or abbusive, but I was not behaving in a healthy way, either. I started to hate myself for it. Here I am, a personal trainer preaching health and balance and being good to ourselves and taking care of not just our physical but our mental well-being, and I had turned into a closet drinker. 

(I don't always blog, but when I do, it's because I have done yet another silly race.)

Before diving into how the Yeti 100-mile Endurance Run went for me, I thought it would be helpful to take a look back at previous 100-mile performances. So many lessons were learned in the previous years that contributed to a successful performance a couple weeks ago, and I hope that sharing how I capitalized on my past mistakes might help others figure out how to plan for their next big race or challenge. Whether you are doing a couch-to-5K, gearing up for your first ultra, or getting ready to face a major life event, it is SO important to not only glean whatever useful information you can from previous struggles, but to embrace and be grateful for every misstep along the way.

Pinhoti, 2016: First 100-mile race. I sprained my ankle at mile 18, but survived on copious amounts of caffeine, ibuprofen, and absolute stubbornness, finishing in 25:19:34. Perhaps I should have thrown in the towel, as I spent the following year plagued with mobility issues as I kept pushing from one race to the next, fearful of losing the fitness I’d gained training for this first 100-miler. However, I experienced just how strong and willful the mind can be, and from this race I gained confidence that I can endure so much more discomfort than I had previously thought. That being said, I would not continue to run or train through that kind of injury again!

Great Southern Endurance Run, 2017: This was the longest distance I had ever covered on road. I was exposed for most of the day and had to work hard to stay on top of hydration and heat management. I should mention again, it was NOT smart of me to do another 100-miler at this point as I had foolishly run a race nearly every month since Pinhoti. I fought through some serious physical fatigue to finish in 22:56:01, and then finally took over a month off from high mileage and structured training.

Pinhoti, 2017: I returned to this race to get another ticket in the hat for the Western States lottery. My training was a bit more consistent and I started this race convinced I could go under 24 hours. But after a tough year managing some personal struggles (by “managing”, I mean I just ran more as an escape. Not healthy), I wound up battling physical and emotional fatigue all day and night. I waited too long to start using caffeine and so when my pacer, my husband, joined me I thought I could rely on him to keep me alert, entertained, and moving. Unfortunately, he was battling some physical issues and had to drop due to a severe muscle spasm in his back. I was certain I would quit right there, but another friend stepped up to get me through the rest of the night and that race, bringing me to the finish in 26:14:25.
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Western States Endurance Run, 2018: Having gotten into this race with only two tickets in the lottery, I knew that no matter what, I had to finish. So many people wait for years and years to get their chance to start this race, so I was not going to squander my opportunity. I thought I knew what it was like to have the wheels fall off during a race and to fight for a strong finish, but boy did I have a lot to learn. Due to a disastrous effort maintaining the proper balance of fluid and calories, I spent half the race puking or trying not to puke. On the positive side, I finally learned how to surrender and accept help, leaning into my husband, coach, and pacers to get me to the finish. Initially, my ego took a blow, as I contemplated whether I would have finished alone (probably not), but to get that “Golden Hour” finish of 29:11:09 was worth swallowing my pride and fully realizing for the first time that I did not have to try to do everything on my own all the time.

​Grindstone, 2019: This race, in a way, felt like my first 100, with the number of unknowns I would be facing. This was also my smartest year of training to date, in which I did NOT fill my calendar with a trail race every month. So I went into this event feeling charged up and ready to tackle one of the toughest races on the East Coast that included a 6:00 PM start, 40,000 feet of cumulative gain, potential for huge temperature swings, and needing to be self-sufficient for hours in between aid stations. I spent more time on my own mental strategizing leading up to this race, knowing that I would only see my crew twice before my pacer could join me for the final 35 miles. As luck would have it, my husband would miss me at the second crew stop, so I had to take care of myself between miles 22 and 65. The final few miles were the biggest struggle as fatigue set in from spending more time in the darkness than daylight, but I pushed myself to finish just a hair shy of my goal of thirty hours: 30:10:36. For the first time since starting my journey into trail and ultrarunning, I felt like I actually knew what I was doing.

​So here we are, in 2020, a year that has presented most of us with challenges unlike any we’ve weathered before. To say I needed the Yeti 100 is an understatement. We all needed it, really, from the race director to the volunteers to the friends and families that came out to crew their runners. There was a definite sense of relief that could be felt in the air just walking around Damascus, Virginia. While our smiles were covered with facemasks, I could see in everyone’s eyes a little sparkle that said, “Let’s forget the world for a weekend and do something really silly that no one else will understand.”

After all the tests my previous 100-mile races had put me through, and knowing this would be the flattest – and potentially fastest - race I’ve done, I decided to put all my hard-fought lessons to the test and show up to this race without pacers or a crew. It’s a Yeti race, after all, and I feel incredibly fortunate to say I knew I would have friends who would check on me and offer any help I needed all day. Also, there were only three full aid stations… so I would get to see those friends multiple times!
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All throughout my training for this event - every interval, tempo, and long run - I imagined myself at different stages throughout the race and the decisions I would have to make from one moment to the next. What problems might I encounter? When do I push and when do I hold back? What are my A, B, and C goals?

I worked on consistent food intake and learning how to really feel what my body was telling me it needed given the conditions of every training run. I kept a mental checklist of every less-than-stellar workout to remind myself how to problem-solve through every setback. I honored my body more with recovery weeks, and even extended them when things felt off. I resisted the urge to push paces that weren’t conducive to my training when I felt that twinge of competitiveness looking at other peoples’ runs. I told myself with every run that I was stronger than I thought and if I remained smart and consistent, I would get the result I envisioned.

If you’re one of those people that rolls their eyes when you hear things like “manifestation” or “the power of positive thinking,” I’ll probably lose you here. No matter, I will still say with 100% certainty that the race that unfolded for me was decided before I even stepped up to the starting line. I brought purpose and intention to every single minute of that race. You can’t see what you won’t believe, so I spent the months and weeks leading up to this race dedicating my heart and soul to believing in myself; that I could make it in under 24 hours, that I could run smart and manage every challenge, that I would finish with a smile on my face. Then, when race day finally came, I decided I can do even more than that.

While hardly ever alone on this course with its multiple out-and-backs from Damascus, I was provided more than ample time to spend in my own head. I knew that one of the most important race strategies would be to keep the chatter positive. And if I lost the energy to be positive, I had to at least be productive. As we set off at 5:00 AM in the rain, with nothing but rain (and more rain) in the forecast for pretty much the entire day, I anticipated some mental hurdling in the absence of the major hills or technical climbs that often serve as a nice distraction in other races. I found good company for the first 20-25 miles chatting with a few other runners, and relished in the usual race day chatter: Where are you from? Have you done this race before? Is this your first hundred? What do you want to do next? After a couple hours, the field of runners began to spread out and conversation dwindled down to Looking Good, Good Job, and It’s not going to rain ALL day, is it?

About the rain.

There were plenty of moments when my brain split into two runners: One, much like my daughter, decided these conditions were less than ideal and had a lot to say about it. The other, the grown up who has to manage her daughter’s mood swings, reminding my child-self that bitching about it won’t do me any good. Back and forth we went: I am so sick of this rain! – You can’t exactly WILL it away. – Is this ever going to stop?? – You aren’t doing yourself any favors by being mad at it.

Work the problem. This is probably one of the most valuable lessons I’ve taken from my many 100-mile struggles and mishaps. So on my second trip back to Damascus, about mile 47, I knew I would need to take the time to change my shirt and jacket and apply anti-chafe to all the places. Eliminate as many discomforts and control what I can. In previous races, I was afraid to stop for too long and would suffer needlessly through issues that could have been managed with a change of socks, different shorts, taking an extra moment to get the heart rate down so I could eat, and so on. Small changes can go a long way to help you reset for the next leg of your journey.
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Along with the rain, I battled just a touch of monotony. Don’t get me wrong, the scenery along the Virginia Creeper Trail is simply beautiful, even through the low-hanging clouds and unrelenting precipitation. But on this year’s course, we would see the same 18 miles over and over and over again. When doing the same thing for hours on end, the brain craves something new to pay attention to, so I timed the use of music and podcasts to help shift my focus and stay in “cruise control” instead of angrily running faster as though that would somehow make the rain stop sooner. In training, I had spent countless miles running on pedestrian and multi-use trails around my home, training my brain to push through the boredom of familiarity. I challenged myself with each run to find something new that I hadn’t noticed before, and applied the same technique to keep my brain occupied with something other than anger (bordering rage) at the rain.

Finally, as the sun went down the rain let up, giving us a comfortable and pleasantly humid evening. It felt SO good to start breaking a sweat after fighting off the chill that came with every aid station stop all day. While the legs were starting to feel the pounding of more running than I had ever done in a 100-mile race, my brain started to perk up after a shot of coffee and the realization that if I kept moving consistently, I could be done with the final out-and-back section in less than four hours. But I knew I’d have to run with my brain and will power. There was pretty much no pep left in my step and things started to ache or downright hurt that I had not experienced before. Here comes another key decision point: I was in a position to run this race in a time that I had never even imagined. Going sub-24 was clinched. I could walk the last 18 miles and make it in that time. But what if I went for more? What if I put myself out there, aches and pains be damned, and really see what I can do?

I’ve mentioned in this blog and to my clients before – it’s not the “have to” or “need to” that drives the mental progress necessary to meet the challenges we face. It’s the “what if”s. It’s being curious and inquisitive and trying new and hard things, rather than beating yourself down about what you haven’t accomplished yet. It’s about failing and learning, rather than always playing it safe. What if I try this seemingly impossible task? What will I learn if I don’t succeed? How will I build on this experience if I do?

I decided I would continue to move as quickly as my body would allow, only slowing down to walk and stretch when my quads or knees started to yell. I told myself that even if it’s just for a few minutes at a time I would run what I could run and that I would finish strong. As a final energy boost, a friend had a few swigs of beer waiting for me as I came through his aid station on my way back to the finish with just 7.4 miles to go. It was time to, as the Yetis do, put on some loud music and “fucking run it”.

Thanks to a mix of fuzzy clock math and wild optimism, I figured I might make it to the finish by midnight. At this realization, my brain short-circuited. Midnight. Midnight?! You might actually run ONE HUNDRED MILES in less than ONE FRIGGIN DAY. For a moment, my more cautious self doubted my calculations and conceded that I’d also be extremely happy to finish by 1:00 AM, to which my brazen self replied, NO! YOU’RE DOING THIS BY MIDNIGHT!

The minutes and miles ticked by as I maintained a controlled effort to keep consistent splits while also being careful not to completely wreck myself. The adult me kicked back in with a reminder that I still needed some fluids and calories to get to the finish or things wouldn’t be so pretty when we finally sat down. By the same token, the now-emboldened runner said We’ll deal with whatever hurts tomorrow. Let’s go! As I neared what I referred to in my head as “The Beacon Of Hope” - where the lights from the parking lot at Food City illuminated the trail a couple miles from the finish - I knew it was time to really turn it on if I was going to turn this somewhat arbitrary goal into a reality. Just past Food City was the camp where runners’ crews had set up, marking just over a mile to go from the finish. I allowed myself a look at my watch and thought holy shit, we’re doing this.
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11:55…. The caboose, decorated with a banner put up by the town welcoming the crazies who showed up for this thing. 11:56… The first of two illuminated bridges that lead into downtown Damascus. 11:57… For the last time I wave at the friendly neighbors with the tempting fire pit and beer and call out “Goodnight!” 11:58… I can see the lights over the second bridge and hear the faint whir of the fan keeping the finishing arch inflated. 11:59! I’m on the bridge! I see the timing tent! I see the finish line!

“NUMBER 252 I’M DONE!” I yell, running through the arch like a maniac, seconds before midnight.

My friends, watching bewildered from the aid station tent asked me why the hell I ran that hard at the end of 100 miles. “BECAUSE IT WAS 11:59!” I exclaimed, grinning like an idiot. A bold, brave, stubborn, determined idiot.

In the past, I’ve heard words like “intense” and “intimidating” tossed around when my name has come up in chats about running or racing. This really could not be further from the truth! Sure, I’m a bold, brave, stubborn and determined idiot, but more than that, I go into every challenge with a mix of brazen curiosity and blind faith. A huge part of my relative success in races is the fact that I’m not afraid to fall on my face, literally or figuratively. I’ve had some HARD races, and a couple where I nearly threw in the towel. They serve as a reference point for just how much physical and mental fatigue I can endure and still keep moving. I’ve fallen within the first few miles of an ultra (and multiple times thereafter) so I know I can withstand some pain and embarrassment and still keep moving. I have been the one intimidated by other amazing women at the starting line, so I know what it’s like to have to silence the ego that wants to put me down and say, “You’re nowhere near their level of talent” and just KEEP MOVING.

And that is why I subject myself to these frequent endurance tests. I don’t go into a race with any real intention of winning or even placing (but I admit, it’s pretty damn cool when it happens). Rather, it’s my reminder that I can do really hard things and prevail against the undercurrent of doubt that inevitably creeps up in races and in life. To doubt is normal. To be afraid of something is normal. It’s the brain’s way of protecting ourselves from doing truly dangerous or stupid things. But sometimes, the brain makes a mistake, and thinks it’s in over its head when in reality, we have so much more strength than we realize.

I wanted to sit down and write something useful in March, but ultimately failed to convince myself that I had anything helpful to share. We were still trying to grasp the potential severity of the Covid-19 pandemic, and deep down I knew some happy-go-lucky, "just do some yoga and breathing exercises and explore a new hobby post" would not only be silly, but completely ignorant of how complicated the whole situation would become. Still, my privelege allowed me to stay home and wait things out.

I wanted to sit down and write something positive in April, to highlight how we are navigating our new normal. There are more than a few Instagram posts of me rambling on about things to do at home but I'm not going to lie, that was not entirely for you. I needed the project - the distraction - of home fitness videos to make myself feel like I was doing something when in reality, I felt as unproductive as ever. Still, my privelege allowed me to feel listless and unfocused.

I wanted to sit down and write something passionate in May. Not only were some of my favorite races canceled or rescheduled due to the pandemic, but I found myself withdrawing from a race for the first time ever because actions taken by the race director went against everything I stand for personally and professionally. For a moment, I was ready to get on my virtual soapbox and scream, but soon realized even this was not worth giving screen space to. My privelege allowed me to just walk away from something that had made me upset.

But today, today I have to write something.

Because I see the pain of oppression and systemic racism, compounded by the toll that Covid-19 has taken on minority communities, and I realize that even my worst days are so profoundly influenced by my position of privelege. To have a home to complain about being stuck in. To run and not worry about being a target because of my skin color. To have distractions when that big scary world is just "too much". I can step away. I can turn off. I can have peace and quiet any time I please.

So it is my duty as a business owner to make it abundantly clear:

Some businesses shy away from talking about their personal core values. They don't want to risk scaring off potential customers by being too bold or political. This speaks to how dollars are valued more than lives. I am here to say that if someone thinks making a statement about human rights is "too political", that is a sale I am perfectly fine to miss.

At the end of the day, I will still give the same care and regard to every client, even if our values do not completely align. But like many businesses are not allowing people to shop without a protective face covering, I will not allow racism, insensitivity, or ignorance in my fitness space.

And I hope that my clients who have been subjected to prejudiced behavior because of their skin color, gender identity, sexual orientation, and/or religion will let me know what I can do to continue to make my fitness space a safe space.

If you've been here before, you may already know that once in a while I run a crazy race. And once in a while, I have to break from my professional Personal Trainer character to tell you about that race. That being said, know that I use real, honest language (I swear), because I am a real, honest human being and this race was REALLY, HONESTLY very ****ing hard! That is the only time I will censor myself in this post - read on unless that kind of language offends you (sorry, not sorry!)

​“ZAC RABY!”

At 3:11AM, and 37.13 miles into the Grindstone 100-mile race, my voice rang out over the tired crowd of families, crew, and volunteers aiding runners through the extremely challenging overnight hours. After a few annoyed glances from people slouched in their camping chairs by the tempting fire, blankets pulled up over their ears as they tried to sleep through the intermittent cheers and cowbells, I gave up the search for my husband, shoved some pirogies in my mouth and PB&J in a snack bag and soldiered on into the dark and one of the toughest parts of the entire race, hoping to make it to the next stop by the break of dawn.

The amazing thing about this 100-mile experience verses my previous races of the same distance is I knew exactly what I needed to do to keep moving forward, and I just did it. And to my husband’s whereabouts? Well, logically, I knew two things: One, If something terrible had happened, surely they would have gotten word of it and told me when I checked into the aid station, and two, there are any number of human errors that could have made him miss me (we were in the middle of nowhere with no signal, after all). I knew not to waste an ounce of energy worrying, and simply hoped he would be there (and maybe felt a little bad!) when I came back on the inbound journey.

I can't tell you how many times I started down that path and thought, "Well, maybe I'm just not a trail runner." From the burn of lactic acid that seemed to build in every part of my body to the frustrated tears that came with every misstep and ankle twist, I legitimately thought this was a thing, like so many other sports I had tried in the past, that simply wasn't for me.
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Stretching is a natural and instinctive movement. When we wake up, we extend our legs to break out of the stiffness of slumber. After sitting at a desk for several hours, it can feel good to lift the arms overhead and reach up high through the fingertips. But there is some confusion around stretching and when or how to do it before or after a workout.
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Mat
Resistance Bands
A Pair Of Weights
Water
Towel
Body That's Ready To Move