There is just something about hope: gratitude in every climb
Yesterday, I had the chance to run Hope Pass. If you’re a trail runner in Colorado, you probably know this iconic stretch of trail that lies at the crux of the Leadville Trail 100. It’s my favorite run in the state — a place layered with memories built over years of forging my way up and over that 12,600-foot summit.
Like any hard-earned challenge, not all of those memories are ones I’d want to relive. But the overarching theme is this: each time I reach that summit, I come away a stronger runner and a more grateful human.
Yesterday’s run marked my first time climbing above 12,000 feet in two years — something I didn’t even realize until I reached the final valley before the summit. I paused, taking in the vast green landscape, the patches of snowfields, and visualizing the llamas at the Hopeless Aid Station this summer, when LT100 runners will once again question their life choices somewhere around mile 45.
At the top, I took the usual summit photos and stood quietly, recalling all the moments I’ve found myself in this very place over the past 15 years. To honor that and ground myself for this next season — one focused on another go at the LT100 — I want to reflect on a few defining Hope Pass moments that shaped me.
2017 – A New Chapter
I returned to race the Leadville 100 after a six-year hiatus. My first attempt in 2011 was a blur — my first child was 10 months old, and I had no business running 100 miles. I finished, but it was a painful death march. I'm surprised I ever laced up my shoes again after that.
In 2017, I was navigating post-divorce life, single parenting, and rediscovering myself. It was a season of rebuilding, and I was ready for something that would challenge me in all the right ways. I had met Mike that summer, who had agreed to coach me, and we were at the start of an incredible love story, forged in the mountains, of course.
Creating a successful race plan means choosing pacers who can help you stay steady and focused. It’s not enough to ask just any runner who is crazy enough to sign up for this painful task, but to choose and bribe the right ones who know you and who know when to push, when to be quiet, when to tell you that maybe you’ve had enough if you are injured, and who know when to tell you to stop whining. I asked Jeff, a close friend who had been one of my favorite training partners for years on many road runs, as we discussed all things life, as running friends often do. Jeff is a speedy road runner who had barely touched trails but who willingly volunteered to pace me over Hope Pass. He trained hard, studied the course, and even created a car aid station during one of my long runs on the course earlier that summer. On race day, he met me at mile 50 with snacks, encouragement, and an arsenal of lies about how great I looked.
Climbing the back side of Hope is brutal. It’s steep, unrelenting, and often humid and overgrown in parts. It seemed we were moving at a snail’s pace, but we kept moving. At the summit, when I could take a breath and visualize finishing this thing, Jeff surprised me with a black-and-white photo of my two kids — something he had reprinted that I had shared online months earlier. His words didn’t matter as much as the reminder: You’re doing this for them. The fire was relit, and I went on to have an incredible day, surprising myself by landing on the podium. It was a team effort with many of my favorite people giving up their weekend to support me, and I’ll never forget it.
2018 – Knowing When to Let Go
The next year, I made the mistake of trying to outdo my 2017 performance. I had trained hard all summer but entered race week sick. I started antibiotics, stopped them too soon in hopes of clearing them from my system before the big day, and my condition worsened. In a scramble, I made a dumb decision to restart a new medication the night before the race.
I struggled from the gun, pushing on through a fog of pain and negativity. Soaked by rain and effort, I climbed Hope Pass, and on the summit, I made the tough, but right call—it was time to stop. I cut my armband at the halfway point. It was heartbreaking and disappointing, as I imagine all DNFs are. I allowed myself to feel that loss for a few hours.
With Mike by my side, encouraging me to make the decisions I needed to make, I eventually returned to my grounding mantra: while this means a lot to me, it’s still just running—and I’m still grateful for it. That same day, a good friend texted me one of my favorite speeches, The Man in the Arena by Teddy Roosevelt:
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.
I moved from disappointment towards acceptance and gratitude, and was reminded once again that I have really good friends. That climb taught me the importance of listening to my body and knowing that sometimes, strength means stopping.
2021 – Saying Goodbye
Before moving to New Zealand in 2021 with my husband, Mike, and our kids, we spent two weeks quarantining in Leadville — our final stop before an international relocation made even more complex by the pandemic. Two days before our flight, we decided to hike Hope Pass as a family. Our kids, then 10 and 7, weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea — but they did it, and they stood proudly with us at the summit, beside the prayer flags that endure wind and weather and mark the top of a long, hard climb.
It was the perfect goodbye. Maybe a little cheesy, but deeply meaningful. I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for the mountains, for everything they’d given me over the years, and for the life we were building together.
2025 – Climbing Back
Earlier this week, on June 19, 2025—12½ months after major knee surgery—I returned to that summit. During the long recovery, I often wondered if I’d ever again move freely, lightly, up and down mountains on my own two feet. But I made it—relentlessly, steadily, gratefully.
If I earn that coin at the Leadville Marathon next weekend, I’ll get to find out what Hope has in store for me once again on the third Saturday of August. I can’t wait.
Gratitude: Why It Matters
Gratitude isn’t just a warm, fuzzy feeling. It’s a skill that we should all focus on and spend time developing, and not only in our athletic lives. For endurance athletes, it is a powerful tool for long-term growth, mental strength, and sustainable performance.
How Gratitude SUPPORTS mental performance
Prevents burnout – Helps you find joy in the process, not just the outcome
Builds resilience – Supports you through setbacks, injuries, and hard days
Boosts motivation – Reminds you why you started, especially when things get tough
Improves focus and mindset – Reduces stress and helps you stay present
Supports recovery – Encourages rest, balance, and emotional well-being
Strengthens relationships – Fosters appreciation for the people in your corner
Final Thoughts
I feel grateful for most of my hard runs, not just the three I’ve shared here. Reflecting on them reminds me why I continue to show up. Hope Pass continues to humble me, challenge me, and remind me how lucky I am to do something I love, year after year.
When things aren’t going to plan, when your goals feel out of reach, or when you question why you keep chasing seemingly silly things, pause. Think back to why you started. Let those early lessons remind you who you are and what you’re capable of.
If you’re curious about building or strengthening your mental game—so you can show up as your best self in sport, work, or life—I’d love to connect. Let’s talk about how you can develop the mindset to chase those big goals that excite you.
