What Am I Really Training For?

I often get asked, “What is your next race?” or “What are you training for?” The easy answer right now is, “a 200-mile race.” Or just replace that with whatever race is next on the schedule.

Training is strength sessions, hours on the trails, nutrition, sleep, mobility, constant recovery, and fine-tuning all of the pieces.

That’s my training plan in pursuit of 200 miles, but that’s not really what I’m training for. You might think I’m chasing the next big mileage number. I’m not.

I’m training to become someone.

Or maybe, to become more myself.

I Thought I Was Training My Body

Summers as a teenager meant softball tournaments that started on Friday and didn’t end until Sunday evening. As the team’s only catcher, I spent entire weekends squatting behind the plate. It was calling pitches, reading batters, commanding the field, and working to stay mentally sharp after four or five games in a day, and my legs were ready to quit.

Most weekdays, I taught kids’ karate classes for hours and followed by hours of my own Martial Arts training.

My black belt test lasted nine hours. It wasn’t designed to see how strong you were when you felt good. It was designed to see who you became when you were exhausted. Could you continue to perform after your body had already given everything it had?

I Thought I Was Becoming Tougher

At the time, I thought toughness was something you earned by choosing the hardest option available. So, I took on the GORUCK Recon HTB, a 48-hour team endurance event. After completing two of these, I felt I had proved enough in this space and wanted something harder. So, 68 miles self-supported through the Ocala National Forest in Florida with Green Beret Fitness was the answer. I knew it was going to be hard, and at the time, I was on a mission to be tough and hard.

I kept chasing harder events. Eventually, that led me to GBF CENTURY, a 100-mile ruck through the backcountry mountains of Idaho and Wyoming. My day ended after forty hours. My stomach gave out before my legs did.

This was becoming a pattern. My body usually wasn’t what stopped me. My mind was.

Not long after, I finished my first Ultramarathon, the Barkley Fall Classic 50K. I finished that race on pure grit. There was never a question in my mind that I was going to finish. I carried this throughout my first 100 miler, the San Diego 100. I finished, but felt empty and uncertain about why I was doing what I was doing. That question stayed with me: If these efforts aren’t just about running, what am I actually training for?

The Hardest Thing I’m Training For

With every single event, effort, and race, I have started to realize that each goal I’ve chased asks for something much deeper than the goal itself. During one conversation, my coach asked me what all of the elite runners at Western States had in common. His answer surprised me: none of them were just runners. They all had identities beyond the sport.

Machete Mueretos isn’t asking me to run 200 miles. It’s asking me:

• Who are you when things stop going according to plan?
• Who are you when you’re tired?
• Who are you when no one is watching?
• Who are you when the excitement wears off, and all that is left is the work?

The trails are simply my canvas; the place I practice answering those questions. Maybe that’s what training really is. It’s not preparing for a race, but practicing who you want to become.

I’m training to stay present when my mind wants to rush to the finish.

I’m training to stay calm and solve problems when something inevitably goes wrong.

I’m training to trust myself, even when doubt creeps over and gets loud.

I’m training to ask for and accept help. For someone who has always wanted to prove I could do it on my own, this is one of the hardest lessons.

I’m training to soften. To listen more, to compare less, and to remember that grit and grace aren’t opposites.

The Mountain Inside

Most importantly, I’m training to fight against the quiet voice that whispers, “You’re not the kind of person who gets to do extraordinary things.” The voice that keeps me small.

When the climb gets hard, I carry her with me. Not to prove anything, but to show her what was always possible. And to make her so damn proud.

Climb Your Mountain

It’s finally believing that you’re worthy of taking up space.

Running is just a medium. The real goal isn’t finishing 200 miles. Every run is another opportunity to become the woman my younger self needed to see.

We’re all training for something. The question is: What is this season of your life asking you to become? What are you actually training for?