This past year has been a challenge for the entire world for sure, but for me, it has been extra difficult. Before the pandemic, before the protests and the election, things in my personal life exploded. My marriage of 20 years fell apart and my sense of reality and self confidence went with it. I felt overwhelmingly defeated for the better part of a year. 

Running has been my coping mechanism. It’s been a way for me to not only distract myself from my heartbreak but also a means to process my pain. 

One of the reasons I went to the Grand Canyon was to reclaim me. I had decided earlier in the week that this tragedy in my life was only a part of my story and not my entire story. I began this journey with the mantra to stay focused on the present moment and to keep my mind from spiraling back into the past or from fearing the future. This moment, this mile, this step was all that existed or mattered. 

At some point during the run, I got a small collection of sand in my shoe. At one point, I took my shoes off to dump them out. But once I kept going, I realized the sand was actually inside my sock. I didn’t have the energy to stop and dump it out again, so I kept moving forward. In addition to muscle aches and fatigue, I began to notice the sand had collected at the ball of my foot and a blister was forming there. Every step felt uncomfortable. And then, the sun went down and it got dark. And my mind went dark. This is the point in ultra running that every athlete faces — the mental challenges of running through the dark, both proverbially and literally. The last several miles of the trail are steep, looming and slow. 5 miles felt like 12, it was dark and cold, and my body wanted to be done. At this point, my mind wanted to start wandering into the past and think about my emotional pain and my fear and my grief. But that darn sand kept rubbing around on my foot and kept reminding me of where I was. Right here, right now, in the Grand Canyon. My physical discomfort literally saved me from spiraling into emotional pain. 

And now that I’m home, I’m going to take that sock, and dump out the sand, and work on removing the source of discomfort so my wounds don’t keep getting deeper, but I feel grateful for that sand for helping me stay focused on the present moment and reminding me that while this journey is amazingly difficult, that every small step is painful, and that even the painful moments can help us move forward in this journey of life. And even though the cliffs loom above us in the dark, and the progress is painfully slow, the top is near, every step gets us closer. The light will come. We will make it through. Just keep climbing.