Finding Leadville Chapter 1: The Night Before

“Bite off more than you can chew, and chew anyway.”

The author enjoying her surroundings in the CO mountains

Wide eyed and heart pounding, I lay on my side on the creaky motel bed. The start line to the Leadville 100 was a mere three blocks away. Chris was snoring peacefully beside me– the lucky bastard. I turned over, pulling my knees up and wrapped my arms around a flattened pillow.

Attempting to relax, I tried out some breathing. 

Inhale for four. 

Hold for four. 

Exhale for four. 

Hold. 

Repeat. 

This was about to happen – my first ever 100 mile race. Who do I think I am? I thought for a brief moment, a familiar echo to actions that outsized what the world taught me I could be. 

My brain was trying to trick me. Another thought rose up: Why you? What makes you so special?

Inhale. 

Hold. 

Exhale. 

Repeat. 

You deserve this moment just like anyone else. The inner pep talk surged and I forced my mind to comprehend. Rolling the updated thoughts around like marbles, warming them up with repetition: I deserve this moment, too. 

It’s easy to get scared. The nervous system has only experienced so much in our lifetime, so anything new to our physical being can activate all kinds of fight or flight. It’s inevitable. And, it’s how we change and grow. The body tries to keep you safe, at status quo, in the sameness you've always known. So breaking free from that flips the switch, activates the mind, and sends out our very own SOS signals.

When we hear who we are supposed to be over and over again, doing otherwise is a sacred act of rebellion.

All my life I had heard, either directly or indirectly, that I was supposed to be a lady. As a good Catholic girl, I was supposed to sit still, be quiet, act with grace, let the boys win. Don’t burp, always cross your legs and cover your knees. Don’t be a slut, save yourself for your husband, listen to your father, behave and tell your sins to a priest. I was supposed to be the one on the sidelines, cheering on and supporting and loving. I was supposed to be the one holding back, laying low, being quiet, full of grace. I was supposed to be small, out of the way, not asking for much.

The tangle of it all couldn't help but surface in that motel room bed. The sheets mirrored my thoughts, losing themselves in my limbs. I peeled them out from between my calves, lightly damp from my stress sweat.

I was in Leadville as an act of rebellion. As an embodiment of woman's strength -- of my strength.

Ok, Barbara, I thought in the third person. I pulled my eye mask away from my face and clipped on the small bedside lamp. Reaching for my journal and a pen, I scooted my body upward and rested the flat pillow on my lap, setting my notebook on top. Time to mind dump and see what’s here. 

I began to write:

Running has always been a part of me.

I’ve been a runner since I was a preteen. I saw my siblings go for runs and I wanted that, too. I wanted the freedom, I loved the fire, the competition, the sweat and the challenge. I got kind of good. I liked it. It became part of me, an extension of my legs and heart. High school running was so pure, so real. College running got complicated: I got injured, I discovered alcohol, I was out on my own for the first time. But damn, running never left me, it's stayed right with me through the years.

Remember? A smile emerged with the memory, I traveled from Chicago to Texas in a van full of running shoes with my college friend Darcy. What a blast! We met up with prestigious cross country teams, spent the week training with them, took footage of their workouts. I learned what heart could look like from those kids. I remember feeling so much purpose alongside them. 

But I also remember: I was a scared 22-year-old then. There was no guarantee what life would look like after that contract was up. There were no certainties that this job would take me anywhere meaningful or definite as a next step. But hell, I said yes anyway, even when scared, even when I didn’t know what would come of it all, didn’t I? I said yes anyway. 

I pressed the back of my head against the creaky wooden wall, side eying Chris as he continued to snore, trusting the direction of my scribbles: There’s always been someone courageous inside of me, huh? I wrote. 

Even when I’m scared, and I don't know the answer, the outcome, the possibilities – I still get to try, I still get to say yes to myself. My handwriting sprawled, as though the thoughts leapt through the pen.

I am alive and well, even when I have zero idea what is going to take place tomorrow. It’s the journey anyway, isn’t it? Because once you say “yes,” even when you’re scared, that’s when something new, different, and potentially life changing happens for you. 

I gulped in air and sent it out with a whispered whoosh. 

I don’t have to be lady-like out there. I can be anyone I want to be. So, I can and will be fierce. I can and I will be present in each wild step I take. I can and I will finish this fucking amazing thing.

Satisfied, I closed my notebook and set it on the bedside table. There, in a small colorful pile, was a collection of hand drawn cards from my nieces and nephews. I traced my fingers on a penciled drawing of me at a finish line -- here I was, setting an example of what a woman can do and how she can think, what she can believe. I was showing my family what can be accomplished when Auntie discarded the old story lines and created new ones that served her. There was a weightiness to it; a grand sense of purpose flooded through me.

Pressing my hand to my heart, I accepted the responsibility: I was in Leadville to embody my power. No one can take that power from me. No religion, no person, no egregious act of control over me. Not the patriarchy, not Catholicism, not the voice in my own mind that tried to slow me down or stop me. I was here to embody MY power.

Clicking off the light, I pulled the mask over my eyes once again and curled into the warmth of my partner’s body, feeling his love and support even as he slept.

In that quiet Leadville room, the night before my biggest life moment to date, my mind settled, my breath slowed, and my body found a deep and restful four hours of sleep.