The Evolution of a Dream
Upon returning from my hike in Arizona last week, I tore through US long distance runner and Olympian Kara Goucher’s new book The Longest Race, which had arrived in the mail at home while I was on trail. I’ve been a fan of Kara’s since 2006 when I joined my college cross country team my senior year and got very into running. I was a music student as an undergrad and had been running casually before that time, but grew increasingly envious when I’d see the team run by on campus like a herd of graceful gazelles as I trudged down to the basement of the music center to practice piano for hours on end. Joining the cross country and track team ended up being one of the best decisions of my life. It got me outside. It began the trajectory of my amateur running career toward my Olympic Marathon Trials pursuit and lifelong dream of hiking the Appalachian Trail.
I devoured issues of Runner’s World and Running Times and eagerly followed race results by refreshing time sheets on my internet browser and live text updates before live video streaming became the norm. Kara, in my formative running years, was my hero. She was tough and gritty on the track and road, and a total sweetheart in her post-race interviews. She wore her emotions on her sleeve and came across as genuine and heartfelt. Grit and heart, things I’d like to think I can relate to! It was beyond exciting when she moved up to the marathon distance following the 2008 Olympics in Beijing.
In my early twenties, still very green in my own running and knowledge of running in general, I ignorantly considered the marathon something that runners “moved up” to when they became “old and slow”. I figured maybe I’d try one after I turned thirty, which seemed ancient at the time. Kara’s move to the marathon made a big enough impression on me to try it for myself sooner than planned. The next year at the age of 24, I lined up for the 2009 Portland Marathon donning my college bun huggers, crop top, and black Nike arm warmers in an attempt to mimic Kara’s 2009 Boston Marathon look, wanting to harness her fierce superhero energy. My hope was to finish under 3:10, the men’s qualifying time for the Boston Marathon, and I came up short in 3:17:18. I felt so disappointed in myself, which seems absurd now. That was a fine time!
In a way it was like a mini-version of my eventual AT hike. I figured hiking the trail was something I’d do when I’m “old” and retired, but then in 2015 I read about ultrarunner Scott Jurek breaking hiker Jennifer Pharr Davis’ AT record and it made me think, “I’m a runner, I want to hike the AT one day, maybe I could try this sooner”. In 2020 I set my sights set on beating Karel Sabbe’s brilliant 41 day record as a trail novice, in my first-ever long distance thru-hike, and ended up feeling like a giant failure not even halfway through the hike as I fell behind pace for both the overall and women’s record, still held by Jennifer. I don’t feel bad about it now, and have found that as more time continues to pass on, I can better appreciate what transpired that summer.
What I learned upon reading Kara’s book, now at the age of 37 and less starry-eyed and naïve about the rampant use of performance enhancing drugs by professional athletes (and non-professionals for that matter), as well as the sexual and emotional abuse athletes are vulnerable to by trusted coaches and and authoritative figures, saddened and angered me, though it did not surprise me. It made me sad to learn that this woman I respect and admire, and very much put on a pedestal for better or worse, was suffering and compartmentalizing (something athletes are very good at), for so many years.
I can’t stop thinking about Kara’s story, and perhaps part of it is that I can see and understand how it all happened, as someone that is quite driven, optimistic, and carrying the belief that those I come to trust in my life have my best interest at heart.
As I’ve grown and evolved, I can look at parts of my past with some more perspective, as far back to my teen years with instances of being led to believe that I specifically need “X” to achieve “Y”, as if there is only one specific formula, method, or person that can help me achieve my goals and dreams. There are times when I followed well-meaning advice from others, believing they knew better than me, despite my gut or inner voice protesting otherwise. I have been a fool in love, happily putting on my blinders. I’ve made lots of mistakes. But, I can think back to some crucial moments in my life where I listened to and trusted myself–my inner voice–and those are some of the best decisions I ever made. Joining my college cross country team. Ending an unhealthy relationship. Pursuing music full time. Failing in just about everything. Learning from my mistakes and trying again. Hiking the AT. Going back to school. Trusting that inner voice is still a work in progress, and it can be a scary thing because the right path is often not the easy one.
One of my teachers, in helping me with how to cohesively market myself as someone that likes to do a million different things, asked me what the end goal is with my running and hiking- like do I want to go to the Olympics or something? I paused and thought for a second and responded, “I think I’ve already done it. I’m doing it.” I’ve written before on how I don’t think I’ll ever truly “arrive”, at least in the way I initially thought. In the past I thought making the Olympic Trials would be my crowning achievement as an amateur runner, then I got wrapped up in thinking the Appalachian Trail record was my calling, and actually neither of those things have come true. Last year after three attempts I achieved a record on the oldest established trail in the US, the Long Trail, but ultimately it didn’t have me hanging up my trail shoes and dusting off my hands saying, “Well, I did it!” It felt more like another step in my personal evolution- to keep dreaming, discovering, learning, and seeing what’s around the next bend. There’s no end point. It’s the every day; it’s a way of being.
In the top photo I’m wearing a white Tracksmith cap that says Tokyo in pink letters. For me it’s a personal reminder of my unrealized dream in reaching the qualifying time standard of the 2020 Tokyo Olympics, not because I feel bad about it, quite the opposite. It reminds me of a time that I was working on being the best version of my marathoner self, a time I look back quite fondly on and feel proud of for following my heart and trying at all.
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