MIUT 85k

Lining up at the MIUT 85k, I realized I hadn't been this nervous for a race since before my 2023 hip surgery—even before that! The last time I was as anxious for a race as I was for MIUT was the 2018 UTMB, where I was the first American and in the top ten. In the summer of 2018, I was probably the fittest I've ever been.

That was the thing—I finally felt back to where I was, or at least close to where I was before the four-year injury cycle that started in 2019 and ended in 2024 after repairing a torn glute medius. The pressure was much lower when I knew I was limited by fitness. But I'm back, so the nerves boiled over—so much so that I wondered what I was doing there while standing in the porta-potty line.

But the gun went off, and as I ran on the heels of the woman who positioned herself as the leader, I felt at home within moments. The transition from nervousness to excitement washed over me. Competition is a core part of who I am, and fitness allowed me to step back into myself like I would in a childhood bedroom or my favorite pair of shoes. It's meant to be fun! And I was having a blast.

I chased first place with her insight for the first 20k before the first 1000-meter climb. I watched her disappear behind a steep corner, and while I didn't see her again until the award ceremony the next day, she was on my mind with every step.

While the fitness was there, my calves felt like they were locking up, and my lower back ached relentlessly on the climbs. I tried to catch anyone in immediate range to take my mind off the discomfort, running steady to the course's high point. My feet began to ache from the constant pressure on the forefoot, and as I crested the top of the 1800-meter climb, I felt beat up and made a mental note to call my PT, Kam Harder, as soon as I crossed the finish line. But after a few minutes of grooving on the technical descent, I was reminded why I fell in love with this sport.

Techy descents used to be my jam. On my podcast with Sabrina Stanley, she recounted when I passed her at the 2017 Western States 100, saying she'd never seen anyone run downhill like I had that day on Cal Street. But that part of me felt lost while I recovered from hip surgery and rebuilt my strength on trails. For the first time in years, the technical descents were where I was gapping the men behind me, passing the people I'd been chasing up the climb, and where I later learned I gained time on the first-place woman.

With less than 30k to go, I started puking. The constant nausea was suffocating- like wading through a claustrophobic steam room, cooking me from the inside as I struggled to move through the haze of queasiness. I puked three times within the last 10k, the easiest and most runnable part of the course, where I'd hoped to be ripping. The last one a half mile from the finish! A cluster of people finishing the 30k patted my back and assured me the finish was just minutes away as I retched. I was taken aback with gratitude that they stopped their race so close to the finish to ensure I was OK.

After 12+ hours, I crossed the finish line in second place. I was elated to be on my first podium since hip surgery, but I also felt like I had so much to work on.

In my more challenging moments, I wondered why I was still doing this. This sport is so hard, and when everything hurts, and the finish line is still HOURS away, my "why" doesn't come as easily. But since I crossed the finish line, I've dreamt about MIUT 85k almost every night. Last night, I dreamt I was running down the coast, neck and neck with first place, and FEELING myself. In my waking hours, I'm analyzing what I could have done to prevent the tightness in my body early on and the nausea in the later miles. I couldn't stop working to improve if I tried, and I think that's the point.