Get a glimpse into the journey of preparing for the Hardrock 100, with 102 days to go. Explore the mix of excitement and nerves, and the dedication to training, including adding strength workouts and enlisting a coach. Join me in as I attempt to share the candid exploration of the highs and lows of training, highlighting the importance of community and self-expression.
Life has a way of tossing us down unexpected paths, doesn’t it? One moment you’re sure of where you’re headed, and the next thing you know, you’ve veered off-course into territory you never saw coming. As a mountain runner and outdoor devotee, I’ve tackled my fair share of physical challenges. But there’s one that threw me for a loop even more—staying true to myself and finding genuine inspiration when I felt lost.
So buckle up for this rollercoaster ride: a tale of hopping from one place to the next in search of purpose, only to discover that the real spark was waiting for me back where I least expected… home in LaLa Land.
Griffith Park 📷: @thehilaryann
Life can be unpredictable… sometimes it feels like we’re sprinting toward a finish line that doesn’t even exist. For me, that sense of running in circles showed up the moment I packed up my life of 32 years and headed to Bend, Oregon, right in the thick of the pandemic. I had no job, no friends, and a whole lot of nerves, but I clung to this idea that I was finally moving to my dream town. As a runner, though, self-doubt hit me at every turn, and I couldn’t always find the words to describe how lost I felt.
Bend arrived at a low point: I was unemployed, far from my loved ones, and grieving a family member who passed from COVID, talk about being knocked down. I questioned my decision more times than I’d like to admit. But as our house renovations slowly turned from a construction zone into a home, I realized that this messy chapter was about to end—and a brighter, brand-new one was waiting for me just around the bend.
With Eamon’s new job lined up and my desperate need to shake off what felt like an ongoing depressive fog, we headed for Boulder, Colorado, land of high-energy outdoor vibes and seriously speedy athletes. With the Flatirons towering overhead, I thought, “Yes, this is it. I’ll finally find my way.” Spoiler alert: I still felt lost.
Now, stuck in a toxic workplace, short on friendships, and lacking any real motivation to change that, I found myself missing the old Sawna I was back in LA… the one who felt authentic, who owned the titles “runner” and “athlete” like it was second nature. Strangely enough, the harder I chased that sense of purpose, the more it slipped right through my fingers.
After two whirlwind years on the move, we finally made our way back to the City of Angels- Los Angeles. Let me tell you, wrestling with this housing market was anything but a walk in the park, and I can easily say it was the most stressful time of my life so far, but somehow in the midst of all that stress, I stumbled upon a fresh sense of balance and belonging. The city’s familiar sights, sounds, and endless energy breathed life back into me. And as I found myself retracing old streets, it hit me: sometimes you really do have to leave home to understand what “home” even means.
Inspiration Point 📷: @thehilaryann
In the midst of the usual LA chaos, I found myself reconnecting with my love for running by exploring all my favorite local trails and some of my all time favorite mountains. These surprisingly technical dirt and rocky single track trails became my little sanctuary, somewhere I could rediscover my passion and tap back into my authentic self. It wasn’t about chasing ultras or trying to outrun everyone; it was simply about placing one foot in front of the other, feeling the breeze against my face, and breathing in the sweet fragrance of Spanish Broom (yes, I’m fully aware it’s invasive… but it smells amazing). And, shockingly enough, LA does have some gorgeous trails and, dare I say it, actual nature. Who knew? But of all the places I’ve ever visited and all the places I’ve ever lived, there is no place like my home trails.
It does snow in LA 📷: @thehilaryann
You know, there’s just something about coming back to where it all began… my roots, my history, that finally gave me that elusive sense of peace and belonging. Turns out “home” isn’t some random pin on a map, but a whole mindset. And somewhere between all the hustle and the trail dust, I realized true inspiration and authenticity aren’t out there in someone else’s story; they start right here, in my own.
Because it’s our experiences, the highs, the lows, the glorious finishes, and the epic faceplants, that shape us into the athletes and humans we want to be. Altadena was never technically my “home,” but it’s where I first fell in love with trail running over a decade ago. I couldn’t really afford it, but living in Altadena was always the dream: being right next to those trails that hold a million special memories, and now creating new ones with Eamon, Juniper, and now Aspen. It’s a dream I’m finally living, and wow, does it feel good.
Buying a house in LA was MADNESS but never thought I’d call Altadena home sweet home.
Life's journey often takes us on unexpected detours, challenging our sense of identity and purpose. As a mountain runner and outdoor enthusiast, my search for authenticity led me to new places and experiences. Through it all, I discovered that true inspiration comes from within and that sometimes, we need to return to our roots to find our true selves. So, embrace the journey, explore the unknown, and remember that sometimes the greatest adventure lies in finding your way back home.
“Patience is not the ability to wait, but the ability to keep a good attitude while waiting.”
Riding up to Crystal Lake with my dad in tow on the motorcycle. FYI the restaurant at the top that’s always open is, in fact, closed on Tuesday.
Taken about 5 or so years ago.
Its been almost seven weeks since my ankle rolled and I heard that ever so troubling POP one mile into a race in St George, UTAH. Since then I have been practicing my patience during its snails pace recovery. A couple weeks ago my ankle was healed enough to be able to start cycling again.
This isn’t my first rodeo, let me tell you, but it sure feels like it is.
My first cycling adventure was around the local neighborhood and as I was climbing up I felt as though I would just tip over from lack of momentum- I was slow, my heart was beating right through my chest and I almost choked on my buff covering my face as I was gasping for air and it was a mere ant hill. Since that initial wake up call I’ve been finding my groove again, taking it step by step.
Last week I began riding on the San Gabriel Riverbed again. Stumbling onto the entrance of the trail I was flooded with memories of the exact trail from over 10 years ago with my dad. We rode a ton back then as he was training to cycle his first century race in Lake Tahoe. I can’t tell you if I really enjoyed cycling back then but what I can tell you is that I really enjoyed sharing the miles with my dad. Those many- many moons ago I didn’t know of Strava- did it even exsist? I didn’t have a data collector gps Suunto watch on my wrist. All I had was my dad to tell me “We are going straight” and when I’d ask for how long his reply would be “Until I say it’s time to turn around”. I had no idea where we were going but I was always up for the ride.
Since stumbling onto the riverbed last week, I somehow convinced my dad to dust off the bike and share a few miles with me. After years of begging him, all it took was a few weeks of COVID-19 shelter in place with my mom and sisters to jump at the opportunity to get out of the house, mask included of course. We’ve ridden twice together so far and I couldn’t be more proud of his enthusiasm to get back on the saddle even on days that I do not ride with him- 75 years young and all. A couple of decades since first riding together, we spun down the San Gabriel riverbed once again. On our first ride we visited my Abuelito and said hello from a safe distance. My Abuelito will be turning 100 years young in less than two months and I can’t wait to be able to safely celebrate his birthday sometime soon-ish.
Patience.
Oh how I’ve practice my patience. After almost 7 weeks (this Saturday) of being off my foot(literally not being able to walk the first two weeks), I’m ready to get back to running. With first spraining my ankle and then the safer at home quarantine, I’ve been going quite stir crazy. The first couple of weeks were spent feeling rather helpless, not being able to do a simple task like walking Juniper or walk normal period. The pity party didn’t last too long and I began to seek out things I could manage until my foot regained mobility. Unfortunately feet stink, literally and figuratively. It’ll take time to build again using strength, mobility and balance exercises. I’m thankful to even have a bike to ride! My road bike was my dad’s old bike he gave to me when I was 18, and I also have a somewhat new gravel bike. Cycling is expensive, no doubt, but thankful to have most of the gear necessary to just be outside. I struggle with comparing my running ability to my cycling strengths, or lack of. Something that’s been a constant challenge is learning to be kind to myself as I embark in a new sport, or re introducing a sport I have been inactive in for sometime.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Any tips, tricks or words of encouragement are always welcome.
S
Walking the dog
My dad practicing walking the dog YEARS before I adopted Juniper. All that practice has come to good use for when his granddoggie comes to visit while I’m out of town.
Photo taken October 13th 2010
