PART ONE: I Want In On That
In 2012, a runner named Michael LeMaitre disappeared during the Mount Marathon Race in Seward, Alaska, on the Fourth of July. Despite extensive search efforts, he was never found.
To this day, Michael’s disappearance remains the only one in the long race history of Mount Marathon, which has been held annually since 1915.
Yet while vanishing from this race is highly improbable, injury is not.
Every year, race participants face serious risks as they tackle the brutal ascent and descent of the 3,022-foot mountain. The race starts on pavement before quickly transitioning to a steep uphill scramble. There is virtually no flat section with the trail gaining around 3,000 feet within the first 1.5 miles.
After reaching the summit, racers must face the fast, technical, and even dangerous descent of loose scree, rocks, shale and dirt, which shifts underfoot and challenges runners to stay on their feet. And many do not. But runners must keep going and maneuver past thick brush, cliffs and even an active waterfall near the base before making their way back onto the paved road.
Heart rates rise for both the runners and spectators as participants fight to cross the finish line safely. Many finish panting all bloodied and bruised.
But soon after, a smile ensues.
Why Would One Willfully Put Themselves Through This?
Humans have likely placed themselves in challenging and even dangerous situations since they had the ability to do so. Take for instance a man named Conan Doyle, who was a medical student back in the 1880s.
One uneventful evening, Doyle was sitting and studying for an upcoming examination. A fellow medical student and acquaintance interrupted Doyle’s studies to ask Doyle if he would like to take his place on a 7-month voyage serving as the ship’s surgeon on an Arctic whaler. The ship would leave the following week.
For whatever reason, Doyle said, ‘yes.’ And as Doyle recalls, within a few minutes the current of his life deflected into a new channel.
Maneuvering through the Arctic was treacherous terrain. It was cold. So cold it could freeze one’s eyelids shut. Falling overboard and drowning was common. Then, there was the ice, which sailors feared the most. It was powerful enough to freeze a person to death. One could also get trapped in it, stranded on it, or float away with it.
As Doyle recalled, The danger in falling in is that two pieces of ice may cut a man in two. And Doyle fell in three times during his voyage but somehow lived to tell about it.
Doyle kept a journal that highlighted the physical and mental challenges of his expedition. Some of his entries said things like “it would make a saint swear” and “my hair is coming out and I am getting prematurely aged.” Five months into his journey, Doyle was so thoroughly exhausted that he admitted to getting up late and “would have liked to have got up later, which is a sad moral state to be in.”
And yet, despite the relentless hardships, Doyle would later look back on the voyage as one of the most exhilarating and defining chapters of his life. He credited those seven months at sea with building his physical resilience and sparking the creative energy that would later shape his literary career.
Today, most of us know Conan Doyle as the man who gave us Sherlock Holmes. But long before he invented Baker Street or the world’s most famous detective, Doyle was just a 20-year-old medical student who said “yes” to a challenge, and in doing so, reshaped the course of his life.
Okay. But Why Would One Willfully Put Themselves Through This?
Doyle likely experienced something similar to the runners who cross the finish line at Mount Marathon- which was a sense of aliveness that flourishes when willfully doing something hard.
This sense of aliveness does not come without struggle. In fact, struggle is required. Because on the other side lies the same you. Except, now you are more resilient, inspired, and self-assured.
I had my first moment of willfulness to enter Mount Marathon in 2023. My desire to enter this race sprang about as I watched the first three racers cross the finish line from my computer screen. They looked like survivors after a muddy, wet, and treacherous battle.
And for all, a smile ensued.
Because on the other side was love for what they endured, for each other, and for the self-imposed suffering that this race provides.
And I wanted in on that.
I put in for the 2024 race lottery, but I didn’t get in. I convinced myself that I missed my window of opportunity and had no plans to try again. That was until, someone came along and changed my mind.
Inviting You On My Muddy Voyage
There are endless ways we can choose to challenge ourselves. I chose running. More specifically, the challenge of training for Mount Marathon. And even more specifically, training with a woman who is a three-time champion of this race- Christy Marvin.
I decided to share my story. From the beginning, leading up to race day, all the way to crossing the finish line. I hope by sharing, you may decide to run (or sail) toward a new challenge even if it scares you. Not because you have to. But because the journey makes us feel alive.
And perhaps this current of aliveness may deflect your life into a new channel of possibility.
One beyond even your wildest imagination.
PART 2: Game On
From time to time, we can be blessed with a sudden swell of willingness that propels us to do something that we normally wouldn’t. Usually, these fleeting moments of willingness show up when we need them the most. Like when we feel purposeless or stuck in a rut. Or when we need a reboot to our operating system so we can see the world anew.
This swell of willingness is abrupt and if we don’t take action quickly, we may never do so. But if we embrace the willingness to do something out of the ordinary, it may alter the trajectory of our lives.
The Quiet Before The Storm
In the deep winter months, my mind began to wander into a spiral of intrusive thoughts. From the outside, everything was fine. In fact, it was more than fine. I had everything I ever wanted.
Leo no longer needed my attention like he did when he was an infant. I settled into a new office and job as a speech therapist. My husband Joe and I felt like we had a supportive and well-established community after 10 years of living in Alaska. We felt grateful for the life we worked hard for.
And yet, I noticed the return of that familiar feeling of dread that made getting out of bed in the morning difficult.
I have always needed a challenge to focus my attention on. Otherwise, my mind tends to become overactive, and it steers me down a dark spiral of thoughts which leads to anxiety and depression.
Luckily, the Universe noticed my angst and sent me a time-sensitive “will window” that could shift my focus and energy, and my view of life’s possibilities.
Will Window #1
My phone lit up one evening with a text from my friend Christy Marvin that said, ‘Do you want to climb an icy mountain with me?’
I shook my head while thinking about how I could generate the strength to keep up with Christy on a snow-covered, icy mountain. Christy is a fierce competitor. She dominates Alaska’s toughest races by setting course records and standing atop podiums. I was too intimidated to say hello to her for the first seven years our paths crossed, let alone, go running with her.
Eventually, I had to say ‘hi’ to her because as it turns out, Christy’s my neighbor. It also turns out that she is one of the nicest humans I have ever met. We formed a friendship but still, I never considered running with her. She was fast. And I was average at best.
For whatever reason in that moment, I felt a swell of willingness shoot through my fingers, and I responded, ‘Oddly enough, I do.’
So the next morning, we met at her house. I felt nervous as we laced up our shoes, put on our ice cleats, and smashed extra layers of clothing into our backpacks. Christy casually chatted without sensing my nervousness. She appeared oblivious to the fact that many people know her as one of the top mountain runners in Alaska. Few people even know my name.
To her, it was just another morning going up a mountain with a friend. And it was. Except I made it a bigger deal than it needed to be in my mind. My heart rate increased and my breathing became labored as we headed up a hill onto the trail. I calmed my racing thoughts of doubt by focusing on listening to Christy as she chatted about everyday subject matters. Eventually, our continuous conversation calmed my nerves and slowed my beating heart.
Will Window #2
My confidence grew as I realized I could keep up with Christy, sometimes, sort-of. At least, as long as she remained willing to wait for me. Still, I did not see myself joining Christy, along with many of the top runners in Alaska, at the start line for this year’s Mount Marathon race. I just didn’t see myself as someone strong enough to endure such an event.
But Christy did.
“You have to try to get into the Mount Marathon race this year! “You’d do great!” She said.
“Really?” I said.
“How about this, if you get in, I’ll help you get a top-10 finish.” She replied.
I thought she was joking, but Christy would never joke about something like that.
So for whatever reason, I felt a surge of willingness shoot through my lips and I said “yes.”
One Must Fight To Get In
Getting into Mount Marathon is a victory in itself. New interested participants must either earn a race spot by performing well, petition for one, or be selected via lottery to gain entry into the race. The chance of getting in through the lottery system varies, but the odds are not great.
However on April 8th, I beat the odds and received an email that said, ‘Congratulations, you WON a spot in the 2025 Mount Marathon Race!’
I had two conflicting reactions, but I trusted that the Universe knew what it was doing. I accepted my fate and immediately texted Christy the news.
Game on.
And Then, It Hit Me
Sometimes I like to categorize people by the dog breed they remind me of. It helps me understand them better. I like to think that I can match canines with new human acquaintances and friends fairly quickly based on their identifying qualities. But I had a hard time pinning down Christy.
Christy’s focused and disciplined nature makes her appear intense. But there are very few people I have met who are as reliable, caring, and generous as her.
She loves her family and three boys. When she says she is going to do something, she does it. Christy thrives in harsh conditions, like knee-deep snow and howling south-easterly winter winds. But she also thrives in community and when mentoring others. She volunteers much of her time to the community because she understands that the strength of a group relies on how well we support one another. Her years of coaching and being an athlete herself allow her to watch, encourage, and adjust her pace to meet others where they are.
In these ways, Christy is kind of like a wolf.
And she was about to teach me how to become a fierce predator.
“What in the world did I get myself into?”
PART 3: I Want Out On That
“Find where the trail is flattest and step there to keep momentum.”
“Lean into the grade of the climb rather than away from it.”
“Use your arms and drive.”
“Don’t go out too fast.”
I listened as Christy gave me pointers while I chased breathlessly behind her during our training runs.
“Next week, we’ll throw some tempo in there.”
I went home and immediately googled “what is a tempo run?”
“How about some 8 x 3-minute intervals tomorrow?”
I agreed. Then quickly went to Joe to clarify that this meant running hard eight times for three minutes each time.
Before training for the Mount Marathon, I used to think running was running. How could it be any more complicated than that? But I soon learned there was a whole world to running theory—one in which I obsessively explored through YouTube videos and Podcasts.
My knowledge expanded as my strength and endurance increased. Each time Christy threw a new workout at me, I feared I would not be able to complete it. My pre-workout nerves were an advantage to me because they made doing the actual workout feel easier. These workouts were nothing compared to what I built them up to be in my mind.
I trusted Christy to only dish out what she thought I could do, and she did. My belief in myself grew. And slowly, with practice and great effort, I got faster.
Everything appeared to be working out perfectly.
Until it didn’t.
The Fall
Christy warned me that no plan ever goes as planned. And she was right. I faced illness and an injury that I thought might put an end to my training.
I went out for a long run up the road from our house and fell within the first 5 minutes. My feet tripped over some roots, and I went down hard, landing on my side. I slowly got up and scanned for any damage. I only noticed blood dripping down my leg from a gash in my knee. I ran back home to bandage up my leg before heading out again. My glute began to tighten, but I ignored the sensation, which only grew worse the more I ran. Rather than turn around and go home, I kept going.
I struggled to finish the last three miles as the pain traveled into my lower back. I arrived home, twelve miles later, and immediately sat down on the tailgate of my truck. Joe came over when he saw the look on my face.
“I overdid it,” I told him.
It took me two days to tell Christy. I called her and explained what happened.
“Take two weeks off. It’s better to heal completely before trying to run again,” she said.
I thought that was reasonable advice. Except, I had five women coming to stay with me that weekend for a bachelorette party. So instead of taking it easy, I joined them on hikes that I should have sat out.
I also continued to teach my weekly barre class and attempted to maintain my fitness by biking. Not surprisingly, I wasn’t getting much better.
I felt discouraged and depressed. My intrusive thoughts began to run rampant in my mind. I knew I needed help. So, I texted my friends Denali and Natalie. They both gave me their words of encouragement. Denali also gave me the number for her physical therapist. I booked with them the next day. These things helped.
My friend Hannah, who visited after my injury, did not hesitate to bring suspicious equipment through airport security so she could dry-needle my butt injury. True friends stick needles in their friend’s bum to help them get back on their feet. That’s what Hannah did—several times. And yes, it hurt. But it also helped.
When I finally accepted I couldn’t run or do much else, I decided to become the master of recovery. I got in with two different PTs and booked a session with my friend Maggie, who does myofascial release. I stretched and used massage balls to release areas of tension. I used visualization and meditation techniques focused on restoration. I relied on the warmth of red light therapy, a heating pad, saunas, and hot baths to increase blood flow to the source of trauma. I cried to Joe several times to release my frustration.
Most importantly, I eventually took Christy’s advice and rested. This required me to calm my intrusive thoughts by reminding myself that my body knew how to heal, if I let it.
And slowly, it did.
The Frightening Decent
After taking 3.5 weeks off to recover, I was back on my feet and slowly running again. I felt hopeful that I could still pull off a good finish at Mount Marathon,
Until…
I previewed the course for the first time with my friend, Natalie.
My body shook and stretched awkwardly as I grasped for the secure edges of rocks to place my hands and feet when climbing up the first section of the course, appropriately called “the cliffs.” My mind flashed with images of me falling backwards and landing headfirst on the rockfall below.
“Natalie, I don’t feel good about this!”
We made it to the halfway point, which wasn’t that bad. Except, I was taken aback by how steep the climb was. This is where the Junior racers get to turn around. But we had to keep going.
When we arrived at the summit ridge, I thought we had it all wrong. There has to be another way down. There’s no way we have to glissade down the snow. It was too steep. But that was the way.
Natalie bravely went first because I was still in denial that this was the way. We sat in the snow and kicked our heels in while inching our way toward the bottom of the steep grade. My mind flashed with images of me losing control and tumbling into the sharp, shale below.
“Natalie, I don’t feel good about this!”
We finally reached the shale. The trail started to be runnable. I was mentally exhausted but tried to pick up my pace. For a moment, I was having fun and felt better about things.
Until…
We made it to the final section. There were different routes to choose from- a route to the right, one to the left, and another leading straight ahead. We decided to take the one straight down, which we later found out almost no one ever takes- known as the waterfall.
We found ourselves wedging our limbs between boulders along a natural drainage with a small, seasonal waterfall running next to us. Natalie went first. I was again in denial. Natalie made it safely to the rockbed below. My body wasn’t long enough to wedge itself to where Natalie stood. More images flashed in my mind of me falling to my death.
“Nope, not doing it!” I yelled to Natalie.
“Coming down? Or the race?” she replied.
“Both,” I said.
I scrambled back up the drainage and found another route.
Finally, I reached Natalie, and we both stood, utterly exhausted, next to each other at the bottom.
“Natalie, I don’t feel good about this.”
“Well, it can’t go much worse than that!” she said.
Knocked Down
My second course preview was with Christy and my friend Carly. This time, I was more familiar with the mountain and what I was getting myself into.
Christy showed me an uphill route called the roots. I felt much more comfortable going up this way than scrambling up the cliffs. But it wasn’t the uphill that I was worried about. It was the downhill section, especially having to butt slide from the very top.
When we got to the summit, a luge had formed from all of the racers who had been practicing the course. Carly and I watched as Christy got a running head start into the luge, where she fearlessly transitioned onto her butt and slid without issue.
Easy.
Except, I knew my butt sliding skills were not as refined, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the sharp shale that was waiting to catch me if I tumbled out of control below.
A dense fog rolled in quickly, obscuring our view of the bottom. We lost sight of Christy and figured we needed to go. I took a deep breath and tried to access my inner Christy, who was nowhere to be found. I transitioned onto my butt and instantly lost control. Next thing I knew, I flopped over onto my stomach like a backwards penguin sliding out of control.
I yelled to Carly below, “SAVE ME!”
Carly planted her feet like an experienced mama penguin and reached to grab me as I slid by. I was on my feet again, thanks to Carly, but my spirits were frightened and low.
Yes Natalie, I thought, it can go worse.
Embracing The Wind
In the fall of 1991, eight scientists entered a large greenhouse in Oracle, Arizona, called Biosphere 2. They would live there for the next two years, completely cut off from the outside world. Their goal was to survive. They would grow their food, produce their water and oxygen, and meet all their basic needs without any outside assistance.
These scientists set out to see if they could recreate a thriving ecosystem from scratch. To achieve this, they relied on trees to supply oxygen, provide building materials, and create habitats for other species within the dome.
Their idea worked.
Until…
It didn’t.
The trees eventually collapsed under their own weight because Biosphere 2 lacked a crucial element for their growth. Wind.
While strong winds can knock a tree down, a lack of wind can do the same. Wind is required to help trees build their resilience and grow strong enough to support themselves. They need this type of stress to thrive.
And as it turns out, humans need stress too.
As much as I disliked the obstacles I encountered during my training, I understood that I needed these stressors to prevent me from toppling over under my own weight. It was clear that these challenges were necessary if I wished to come out more resilient and prepared on the other side.
But unlike the eight scientists living in the Biosphere, I knew I needed all the outside assistance that I could get if I wished to keep going and maybe even thrive.
I told Natalie about my penguin episode and that I was considering dropping out.
“How about this, we can go up to Hatcher Pass, where there is still snow, and we can practice your butt sliding,” she proposed.
I told my friend Denali about my fears and that I didn’t think this race was for me.
“How about this, we can meet Monday before the race and I’ll give you some pointers,” she proposed.
My husband Joe helped me recognize which thoughts were just noise and which reflected real concerns. Turns out, 99.9% of my mind chatter consisted of fictional stories, which could further be subdivided into the genres of drama and horror. Good to know.
I told Christy that I was terrified, but I didn’t want to admit to her that I was on the verge of dropping out. She responded with nothing but words of encouragement. She shared her own story about her first time on Mount Marathon and how she, too, was terrified to do it as a race.
“I know you can do it,” she said.
“Okay,” I replied to everyone.
Let’s do it.
PART 4: Everything Is As It Should Be
Just before my husband, Joe, and I met, he gave a best man’s speech at his friend Mark and Courtney’s wedding. I was lucky enough to see a recording of his speech, after the newly married couple insisted that I watch it.
Joe took full advantage of having control of the microphone. The speech rambled on for a while. Joe took breaks between words to throw back one drink too many. I wasn’t sure how it would all end. Would he deliver a memorable speech, or would it fall flat?
Eventually, Joe got to his main point which was based on the movie Back To The Future and an episode of The Simpsons. Joe ended the speech by looking at Mark and telling him,
“If you ever have the chance to go back in time, DON’T CHANGE ANYTHING. Because everything is exactly as it should be.”
Everything Is NOT As It Should Be
The night before the Mount Marathon race, I had to go to a safety meeting that was required for all first time racers. The gymnasium was filled with eager and apprehensive people of various ages. None of us knew what to really expect come race day.
To help prepare us all for the unknown, the safety meeting features an informative video. The film starts off showing racers, some bloodied and bruised, making their way down the mountain. Then, it shows footage of face plants and cliff mishaps. Bodies tumbled instead of remaining upright while loose boulders zoomed past the heads of young racers.
I can’t really remember much else beyond that.
“Great. I feel prepared to go right back home.” I thought.
I barely slept that night. I had a pounding headache. My thoughts of having to somehow make it down from the top of the race course, without another penguin mishap, continued to wake me up. I comforted myself by thinking there was still a chance that the nearby active volcano, Mount Spurr, could erupt before morning.
“They would have to cancel the race. Oh well. There’s always next year.”
No such luck. I got up before my alarm and jumped in the shower to help clear my mind. Instead, I was bombarded with more intrusive thoughts.
“I’m just not this kind of a racer. This race really isn’t for me. It’s fine if I end up having to drop out. This race is stupid. I never have to do this again.”
On and on my mind went until it was time to make our way to the starting line.
Or Maybe Everything Is How It Should Be?
Minutes before the race began, I nestled myself behind Christy and my friend Denali at the start line. Denali has raced Mount Marathon basically since the time she learned how to walk. She gave me pointers of where to position myself. I felt safe within their range, even though I knew this would likely be the only time I would have eyes on Christy and Denali. Both were contenders to win.
My mind must have grown tired of trying to talk me out of racing. Because in a single moment, my intrusive thoughts became quiet and a new thought emerged.
“Everything is exactly as it should be.”
I felt a rush of calm wash over me. Everything was going to be okay. Despite the outcome. I was prepared enough, fit enough, and capable enough to do this.
Weeks prior, I had adjusted my goal to get a top-20 finish after seeing the starting list and being forced to take time off from running because of my injury. But moments before the race started, I let every single one of my expectations go. I felt confident, focused and excited. I was ready to execute my plan.
DON’T go out too fast, Go up the roots, put a good effort in on the uphill, jump in the luge and butt slide down, make it down without injury, stay calm when racers pass me on the downhill, remain in control, go slow down the cliffs, put in a good effort on the road, finish injury free in under an hour.
And just like that, the race was off and I was in it.
Locked In
There are few things in life that force me to become fully present. Racing happens to be one of them. Sounds appear distant while my visual acuity increases. My breath and placement of my body predominates all other distractions. I can tune out my intrusive thoughts and instead focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Despite the hard effort, I feel light and indestructible.
I can’t always lock into this state of presence during races. Sometimes my intrusive thoughts are too loud. But when I enter this state, I usually race well. And more importantly, I have an immense amount of fun while doing so.
I wasn’t having this type of fun when the race started. The pavement felt BAD. My mind got loud and said I was going too slow. Instead of listening to it, I talked back and reminded myself to stick to the plan. Christy’s main advice was, “don’t go out too fast.” Otherwise, I could risk paying for it later. I maintained my pace.
I made it to the trail and followed my plan to take one of the routes up the roots even though I saw a large chunk of racers taking the cliffs. I noticed as I pulled myself up the trail using the roots as handholds that no one was in front or behind me.
My mind yelled again, “You went the wrong way! You already messed all of this up. You’ll never make up time.” Again, I reminded myself that this was all a part of the plan and to trust that I was in control.
“Everything is exactly as it should be.”
When the trails collided and I finally popped out, I instantly noticed that I had positioned myself exactly where I wanted to be. And in that moment, I locked in. “Aw this IS fun” I thought as I flowed through my plan.
I put a good effort in on the climb and continued to slowly pass women one by one. When I reached the top, I trusted my butt sliding practice would pay off and threw myself into the luge. I was sandwiched between two racers, which oddly made me feel comforted. I popped up onto the shale without issues. My inner baby penguin felt proud.
As expected, other racers passed me on the downhill. I executed my objective to remain in control. I told myself it was ‘okay’ rather than get discouraged when a total of 5 ladies passed me.
“Everything is exactly as it should be.”
I couldn’t believe it when my feet hit the pavement. I put in another good effort on the road without checking my time. It wasn’t until I approached the finish line that I saw the clock was just under an hour. I sprinted harder to try and finish in my goal time. And I did. 59:26, which got me 20th place.
I immediately found Christy who was being interviewed for her 2nd place finish (she’s an animal, a wolf more precisely.). We hugged as I thanked her for all she did for me. I would have been somewhere else other than that finish line if it wasn’t for her.
“Everything is exactly as it should be.”
Winning
There are times when we find ourselves in situations where we have the chance to take on a challenge and go beyond what we thought was possible. My son Leo found himself in this predicament when he decided to go into our dunk tank for the first time. Leo longingly looked at Joe as he soaked himself in the cold trough of water. Leo wanted to join Joe and submerge himself into its shallow depths of the cold well-water. Except, Leo was scared.
Scared of the discomfort and courage it required. Scared of being vulnerable and committing to such an undertaking. Scared of asking for help should he find that he got in over his head. And most of all, scared of racing across the starting line without knowing the final result.
But then one day, a surge of willingness swelled through his tiny, precious cells. And he got in.
He stood knee deep, yelling as loud as he could, “NO WAY! WHAT?!” Leo’s mind was blown. He demolished his own limitations and on the other side was pure joy.
That’s exactly how I felt after crossing the finish line at Mount Marathon. Pure joy.
My result wouldn’t get me any real recognition where people now knew my name. My feet would not stand atop a podium next to the top finishers. There were no sponsorship opportunities knocking at my door. No one wanted to write about me in the newspaper or have me on their Podcast. My “like” count and number of followers would not increase. I was the same.
And yet, I felt invincible and like I had won the race.
My mind was blown.
I had willingly chosen to do something hard that expanded my physical and mental capabilities. I remained committed despite wanting to quit hundreds of times. I overcame obstacles and came out the other end more confident and resilient. Perhaps most importantly, I asked for and accepted help when my strength waned and I needed others’ guidance and belief in me to help carry me to the starting line.
In these ways, I won.
Wolf Training Sequel?
It’s funny how the Universe gifts us with endless opportunities to turn something we’d never imagine doing into something we’ve actually done. Sometimes, all it takes is a willingness to step into the unknown and trust that everything is unfolding as it should. Before we know it, we go from standing comfortably alone with dry feet to wading, shin-deep with others, in an experience that makes us feel alive.
I received a text from Christy after she had reviewed my splits a few days after the race.
“Chop 3 minutes off your downhill- which we can do next year with more practice- and look where you’d finish? Tenth! Which I still think you’re capable of.”
“Okay.” I replied.
“Let’s do it.”
