In Hard Things, you share your heartache, your healing, and your experiences training and running a brutal 206.5-mile race through the Cascade Mountains. What inspired you to share your experiences with readers?

After the race, my son told me I should tell the story of my race. Knowing how the journey transformed my life, it felt right to share it with others. The book started as a self-help guide to accomplishing big goals, but it didn’t feel right, so I shelved it for a while. When I finally came back to it, I realized, with the help of others, that the real story was much deeper and more personal. When I finally got vulnerable and dug into the “why” behind the reasons I was running, it came together into the memoir it is now.

What do endurance sports reveal about people that everyday life often hides?

This is different for each endurance athlete. For some, it is truly a personal challenge they want to overcome, and they are not struggling inside. I believe for most it is an outlet for something bigger and deeper, even if they aren’t ready to name it yet. Endurance sports can be a mask that hides the pain within. In my case, that came from a need to feel worthy and appear strong. For others, it can be a very different form of trauma. Endurance sports can be both an escape from and an outlet for this pain. It is only when we finally take the time to identify and face what is within us that we can begin to heal. This is true for many people; endurance sports are only one possible outlet.

The memoir suggests that needing people is not a weakness. Was that a difficult lesson to accept?

For me, it definitely was. Due to my family dynamics, I felt like I needed to be the one who could handle everything and not be a burden. If I weren’t a problem, then other people didn’t need to worry about me. I was the helper, the caretaker, the one making sure I was there when other people needed something. I didn’t want to weigh anybody down, and it felt as if needing people meant I was taking away from them instead of adding to their lives. As a result, I struggled to be fiercely independent and not to need anyone. It took a long time to realize that not only did I need help, but people wanted to give it to me – in the same way I wanted to be there for them. I was making relationships harder on the people who cared about me by not letting them in and not accepting their help. I’m much better at it now, and recognize it is not a weakness, but I confess it’s still something I occasionally struggle with.

What do you hope non-runners take away from the book?

I hope that all readers find a piece of themselves in the book and that it helps them find a path to healing, vulnerability, and authentic strength. You don’t have to run to connect with the mental health challenges I experienced. Running was how I coped with it; there are many other ways we, as humans, find to hide from or attempt to manage the struggles we carry. You don’t have to run to want to feel loved and worthy. It is my hope that the book offers hope and inspiration for those struggling to get the help they need to live a happier, fuller, healthier life.

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