We Make Plans and the Universe Laughs

What DNS-ing Six Races Taught me About Patience and Priorities, and 3,000 Words to Basically Say 'Progress Isn't Linear" 

*DNS: Did Not Start 

What is the saying? We make plans and the universe laughs?

That pretty much sums up how my summer went, at least when it came to me trying to start a single trail race. It’s winter now (at least in some places), but it takes time for me to reflect and absorb tough lessons, and get to a place where I can laugh about misfortune. For the past few years, I have been trying to improve my running, and my ultimate goal is to test my limits in ultra marathons. However, due to some lingering and new overuse injuries, progress has not been linear or consistent. For the upcoming summer, I had a handful of races picked out, mostly 50ks, and I was excited to put my training to the test. However, I got a slow start when I discovered I had a bulging disc in my back. This meant rest, rehab and careful, intentional training. By late June, rehab was progressing well and my body was feeling ready to get back into running.

Summer involved a LOT of easy biking, and a LOT of elliptical intervals (both relatively low impact on my back and my knee). 

The universe had other plans.  

For the 4th of July weekend, I went to climb the Grand Teton, an adventure I’ve looked forward to for a long time. It's ironic that most injuries happen when we are doing something incredibly mundane. One minute you’re walking on the flat trail, and the next, you’re on the ground, with a bashed knee and a narrowly avoided rock to the forehead. Yikes. 

 

(left)It really doesn't look too bad, but my patella absorbed the majority of the impact of my body weight plus a heavy backpack. Ouch. 

(right) At the Summit of the Grand Teton! 

(bottom) The result of my dad asking me to pose with the rope. I opted for "hold it like a man with a fish" 

Despite being in a decent amount of pain, I still managed to summit, but after limping my way down a 7,000 ft. descent, I knew that I was going to be dealing with another ‘return to run’ rehab plan. And so, the first few dominoes that were teetering, toppled.

In the space between plans, goals, and their implosions is opportunity.

That is, if you can get past the disappointment and frustration long enough to pivot and make the most of the situation. If you know me, you know I am stubborn to a fault, and it took me until DNS#5 to shift my mindset and actually adapt to a new plan. For each previous DNS, I found a silver lining, a lesson, and a chance for an alternative adventure. And somewhere along the way, I also learned a little bit more about myself as an athlete and as a person. But it took a while for all the positives to fully sink in. As I take you into the jumble that is my brain, I fully realize that the personal drama of not starting a running race is a privileged thing to be upset about. Hopefully you will read this with the understanding that in the moment, when you’ve spent so long focused on certain goals, and dedicated many hours of training to achieving them, tunnel vision can be hard to escape. I take you through what it felt like for me to be in that tunnel, without the benefit of hindsight, time, and perspective to temper the drama. And I take you out the other side, to the real point of this article - the life lessons. 

Bear with me, or skip to the end for TLDR* insights. 

*too long, didn't read 

The “There is Still Hope” DNS’s 

DNS #1 - Stanhope 60k (July)  

The Standhope is a local trail race that is known for being pretty gnarly (the highpoint is at 11,000'). I’ve run the 30k numerous times, and wanted to try the 60k. Two weeks after smashing my knee in the Tetons, I was still not able to run. I had a bone bruise on my patella that was making the tendons and ligaments really tight and painful all the way up and down my leg. I ended up volunteering at bib pickup and the aid station. I was bummed about not racing, but I still had a full summer ahead of me, and hope for a swift recovery. Plus, a lost dog had wandered out of the woods, and I was able to take care of him overnight and the next day, until his owner made it back to the trailhead. If I had been racing,who would have taken care of poor Boone? 

Me and Boone - it was really hard to give this sweet boy up.  

DNS #2 - Run the Rut 50k (September) 

By the end of July, it was pretty clear that my knee was going to heal a LOT slower than I wanted. I could run/hike uphill, but not downhill. I spent most of August on my bike(s) trying really hard to focus on recovery. I already had an entry to the 50k (because registration sells out in minutes in January). I seriously considered trying to tough it out because I knew I couldn’t get my entry deferred or refunded. But caution prevailed and I cast my hopes further into the fall. 

The silver lining here was pretty clear. My mom invited me to go with her on a hut trip to Switzerland and wow, it was incredible. Slowing down a little allowed me to appreciate and experience the landscape and the culture in a new way. We also only get so much time to do fun adventures with our parents, and I was grateful beyond words to take this trip with my mom. To be able to share such a magical trip also made me forget my racing exasperations. 

BUT, that didn’t stop me from browsing the UTMB* website for races in Switzerland that I could hop into at the tail end of our trip. This is where the psychosis of trying to ‘save my summer’ started to creep in and lead to some poor decisions. I set my sights on the UTMB Wildstuble 50k in Crans Montana, a qualifier for UTMB Finals. For context, my goal for a while has been to qualify for UTMB Finals in Chamonix, either the 50k or the 100k. You have to be top 3 in a qualifying race and starting the summer I believed I had a real chance to achieve that goal.

*UTMB stands for Ultra Trail Mont Blanc

The “Bad Decisions and Mild Psychosis" DNS’s  

DNS #3 UTMB Wildstruble 50k (September) 

By the end of the hut trip, my knee was healing well, and my back felt good. I was in relatively good shape, but going from averaging 10-15 easy miles, to racing 32miles was an incredibly stupid decision. I could feel the tightness in my chest, the result of deep frustration and anger, as I once again decided not to race. My stubborn inability to stop signing up for races I knew I wasn’t healthy enough for was taking a toll on me mentally(and financially). I couldn’t even bear to be in the same place as the event, so I made last minute plans and jumped on a train to Chamonix - the trail running Mecca.

I was partway through a long run in Chamonix when I realized that I was extremely content. What I really wanted above all else, was to run big days adventuring in the mountains, chugging coke at a refuge, and being encompassed in awe. Racing didn’t have to be the only way to get there and I would probably get to absorb more of the world around me by not wearing a bib. The tunnel vision I had around racing started to widen, but not quite enough to fully snap out of my obsession with racing.      

I was stoked on how my body was holding up after some pretty big runs in the Alps, but I still wasn’t where I needed to be to RACE. There is a really big difference between running easy and racing. The race mindset is hardwired to ignore pain and push through, and I knew that if I put myself in that situation, it would be incredibly difficult to listen to my body. So I made the resigned decision to also not start the 50k in Whistler.

Wait, Whistler? When did that happen? Oh yeah, when I decided to not race in Switzerland, I panicked and signed up for the Whistler 50k at the end of September. My plan was to fly directly from Europe to Canada and miraculously be ready to race. Talk about delusional. 

You might be wondering why I didn’t just abandon my race ambitions and focus on healing (my friends and family were also wondering this), but I’d bet that many of us have that self-willed determination to not give up on something we’ve set our mind to even when it’s not in our best interests. I felt a bit embarrased for not being able to follow through on the plans I had made and I was still optimistic (the line between delusion and optimism can be very thin) that I could get healthy by the end of the summer. 

DNS #4 UTMB Whistler 50k (September) 

So I didn’t start, and this decision was the best one I could have possibly made. After being in a recovery plateau for a month (I wasn’t resting as much as I should- shocker!), my knee turned that final corner into real recovery. Progress isn't linear, and we can be much closer to sucess that we realize. If I had decided to race, I would have potentially injured myself even further, and probably not have performed that well. Plus, by not racing in Whistler, I got to race the Baldy Hill Climb; a brutal, 3,000ft of vertical gain in 1.7 miles. I got to put on a bib, breathe hard and race for local clout, and that felt like a victory. 

 

On my way to my second Baldy Hill Climb victory. 

The “Bad Luck” DNS’s 

The next two DNS’s were the epitome of ‘and the universe laughs.’ This is where I both hit rock bottom mentally, and was finally was able to completely change my perspective on my summer and fall. 

DNS #5 & the 5 Stages of Grief -  Legends Never Die ½ Marathon (October) 

I signed up for a local race in the last hour before registration closed, two days before. I didn’t have any expectations, and my only goal was to give a good effort. Friday morning was a gut punch followed immediately by intense denial (stage 1). There was no chance I was admitting that I had a sore throat. I believe that your attitude towards sickness can influence how bad it is, and I spent Friday convincing myself I wasn’t sick; to no avail. I woke up at 6:00am on race day and my sore throat was worse. The inner turmoil that followed gives an insight into how, for me, unresolved emotional frustration erupted from reaching a breaking point, exacerbated by my optimistic refusal to readjust my goals to meet reality. 

6:15 am I texted my sister asking what to do (still in denial). Her response was "well you probably shouldn't race if you don’t feel good…” Denial shifted to rage (stage 2 - anger). "She can't tell me what to do!" "How could this be happening?" "What’s the point of training if I never get to actually race?" I was so angry it defied the bold reality I knew to be true: racing was not a good idea. Still my thoughts raced through options that every coach has rolled their eyes at more times than they can count: I could just warm up and see how I feel? I could just start and see how I feel? I could just run it ‘for fun’?" (ha!) (stage 3 - bargaining). 

6:30 am I texted a friend, who is also a coach, “I have a hypothetical situation for you, if you had an athlete with the following symptoms…” The response was blunt. “Um…no way you are doing that.” Well yeah, duh. Validation can be helpful when our athlete lizard brains are stuck in a negative spiral. It gives you a scapegoat akin to saying “my mom said no” to a sleepover you didn’t want to go to. I could use something external to feel better about not showing up to the start line and to reinforce what I already knew: Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.   

For the rest of the day, I was in a deeply bad mood (stage 4 - depression) only achievable by a dramatic endurance athlete with a minor illness. But it was more than illness, it was the demoralizing final straw where the veil of hope dissolved and I thought “well that was my last chance.” It felt so unfair. I let myself cry and finally feel all the pent up frustration that had been building. 

Around mid-afternoon I decided to get out the door and go for a walk. It was peak fall foliage and surprise (!) going outside and moving my body in a gentle way instantly boosted my mood. I felt grounded back in the truth that, racing or not, I just really love being outside (stage 5 - acceptance). 

By the end of the day, I was able to laugh and frame what felt like an dramatic overreaction as a predictable response to not being able to do something you’ve worked hard towards and that you genuinely love doing. Reaching this “breaking point” was the gateway to the catharsis I needed to finally shift my perspective into ‘ok i’m just going to have fun.’   

And woohoo! Did I have fun in October. I was a loose cannon, and this was one of the more fun months of my whole summer. I participated in a ‘vert’ challenge through my sister’s run club, and did some recon for some FKTs I’m determined to attempt next summer. I am so lucky that my life is structured in a way where I can do what I love almost everyday, and that I have a (relatively) healthy body that enjoys suffering for fun. I knew I was having a good time when the messages started coming in from friends - "what on earth are you doing? Are you ok?" Heck yes, I'm ok! I’m LIVING! And I still had one more race opportunity. 

Some favorites from October adventures (above), and some of the biggest days (below).  

Probably the only person to do laps on Hyndman Peak (12,009') "for fun." 

DNS #6  - Mt. Tam Trail Run, A Shutdown Casualty. (November) 

This was my last effort to get in a trail race before the ski season. Getting the email on Oct. 31st that the race (Nov. 8th) was cancelled because the “National Park Service cannot offer a permit if the federal government is in a shut down” was both incredibly frustrating, and downright funny. My exact reaction can’t be printed here, but somewhere along the lines of "ARE YOU KIDDING ME??” I was desensitized at this point and relatively quickly adapted the trip to exploring Marin Headlands, and visiting college friends in San Francisco. I had so much fun that I almost forgot I had been planning to race.  

good food, cool trees and the beach!

~ 

If you’re still with me at this point, you’ll be happy to know that I finally put on a bib for the local Turkey Trot, and against all odds, beat out the 12 yr old boy in the final sprint.  

TLDR - The Insights:

Never in my life have I not started so many races in a season. It was a new experience, but once I stopped seeing this summer as a "failure" I was able to appreciate the freedom that not racing had given me. Afterall, do we really train just to race? No, of course not. The majority of us exercise, train and recreate because we love to do it and it makes us feel good. Setting competitive goals is what my dad would call ‘gravy;’ it’s something extra and indulgent that is a privilege to have. I doubt many of us would choose to ditch the entire Thanksgiving meal, turkey, potatoes, roasted veg, pie, cranberry sauce, (insert favorite dish here), and just have a bowl of gravy. Simply put, I’d rather never race again and be able to exercise and recreate consistently and sustainably the rest of my life than the other way around. Even writing this article and reliving all the fun I had this summer, it feels silly I was so upset.   

I’m still pretty bummed that I never got to race, because I love competing. But there are so many things I got to do that I wouldn't have if I was in full race mode. When competing is the ‘main’ goal, it can be far too easy to see everything we do as either good for that goal, or detrimental to it. Taking racing out of the mix clarified for me that what I really want are endless days in the mountains, exploring new places, trying new adventures, and enjoying what I do for the sake of doing it and nothing more. We all have DNS’s in our lives, and as athletes, one of the greatest skills we can acquire is to be adaptable when things go sideways, and to be kind to ourselves, even when we make marginal decisions. As long as we can look back with a growth mindset and say we learned something, it is a valuable experience. 

I learned a lot this summer about the value of patience both with my personal development and with the world that is constantly throwing curve balls. I learned how to be more adaptable mentally, and to appreciate the things that are in front of me now, instead of always pining for that 'something better' in the future. I learned that the external validation from racing can corrupt me, while the internal validation of off-books adventures is nourishing. I learned that climbing 90,000 ft in a month makes your legs really tired and that poptarts are phenomenal training food. I learned that resting works, and that the adventures that arise from the unexpected are often the most meaningful. I learned a lot of other things too, but I'll leave you with this. 

Whenever you are struggling with that feeling that everything is going wrong, remind yourself that you are in charge, not of the circumstances, but of your reaction to the circumstances. You have agency to make choices, good or marginal, to adapt, pivot, and reshape. And, if you have the courage and toughness to ride out a low, you just might find yourself on your highest peak.