The most dangerous place I can get to as an athlete is not injury.
It’s comfort.
It’s the moment when I know exactly what I’m capable of. When my pace falls into predictable ranges. When I know, before I even start, roughly how it will go. Because for me, comfort is where growth quietly stops. So every year, I make a choice that doesn’t always make sense on paper. A choice that, honestly… terrifies me and makes my skip a beat when I think about it.
I choose something that exposes me and humbles me. Essentially, I become a beginner again.
Recently, I was reintroduced to a quote by Maya Angelou that I’ve been quietly putting into action for years — but didn’t fully realize until I took a moment to look back at some of my patterns, thanks to a conversation with my boys.
“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” – Maya Angelou
I had just read it to them after one of them asked me, “Mama, will I ever know how to spell? I keep making spelling mistakes. Should I even keep writing?” Over the last couple weeks here in New Zealand, they’ve both spent hours every day drawing and writing their own little books. Pages filled with misspelled words, wild creativity, and complete belief in themselves.
It’s been amazing to watch, and deeply inspiring. After I read them the quote, we talked about it for a while. Then one of them asked: “So you start things, even though you don’t always know how to do it?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
After they went to bed that night, I laid there thinking about that question. Because this quote… it sounds beautiful when you read it.
Simple. Clean. Inspiring.
But I’ll be honest. It’s far less beautiful when you’re living it. Because living it means failing.
Again.
And again.
And again.
It means feeling disappointment, frustration and doubt. It means feeling all of the very human emotions that come with caring deeply about something. And if I’m honest, there are moments when those feelings crack me open.
But I would still choose that Every. Single. Time.
Because feeling all of it — the highs, the lows, the growth, the becoming — is so much better than never trying at all.
Below are a few of the stories I shared with my boys that night. Stories of times when I didn’t know. Stories of times when I failed. Stories of times when I kept going anyway.
And most definitely stories my future self will need again someday… when she inevitably finds herself back at the beginning.
Learning to Swim While Carrying Life
When I was pregnant, after having to stop running and biking at 20 weeks in, I chose one goal: To be able to swim across a handful of lakes in Central Oregon. The goal was not speed based, it was comfort based.
Open water terrified me.
I started in New Zealand, where the lakes are cold, clear and deep enough to steal your breath if you let them. At first, even putting my face in the water felt like too much. My chest would tighten. My breath would shorten. My body resisted.
So I did the best I could. Some days, that meant floating close to shore. Some days, a few uncertain strokes.
I didn’t rush it. I just kept returning.
Eventually, I could swim out to the middle of the lake near our home. I remember the first time I rolled onto my back and rested there, my pregnant belly rising above the surface, the sky wide and endless above me.
I wasn’t afraid anymore. I wasn’t the fastest swimmer either, but I was better than when I started… and I was better in all the ways when it came to the open water: mentally, physically and emotionally.
Running Toward Strength
Last summer, a few months before Adventure Race World Championships I wanted to get stronger on my feet for my team. Running has always been a bit of a weakness of mine, especially when racing with long legged people! Matching their speed and stride while carrying gear was always hard for me. Instead of dreading the long treks and sprint starts, I wanted to see if I could begin to look forward to them and also add some strength to the team.
So I started chasing small goals on my favorite mountains near our cabin in Oregon.
The first efforts were humbling. I remember finishing one hill sprint set and bending over my knees, lungs burning, wondering if I would ever feel powerful instead of just exhausted.
I felt disappointed. But when I went back a week later after some rest and other specific workouts, I hurt a little less and the week after that – even less. And slowly, the gap between who I was when I first started and who I wanted to become began to close.
By the end of the summer, I had set fastest known times on two of the mountains near my cabin including the FKT of both of them combined.
And it wasn’t because it suddenly became easy.
But because I stayed long enough to grow into someone stronger and who loved being on their feet.
This Season: Being Dropped
This winter, growth looked different.
It was being alone in my pain cave, staring at a screen, watching my avatar get dropped. Since I started sprint racing online on my bike trainer, I’ve been dropped more times than I can count. Not eased off the back.
Dropped.
One moment I’m there, holding on, believing I belong. And the next, the elastic snaps. They surge forward and I’m left behind, pedaling harder than ever – watching them all pedal away as if they were flying.
The first few times, I didn’t handle it well. I was disappointed. Then If I’m being honest (which I am) I was angry. Like 6 year old temper tantrum/ 40 year old adult pouty style. If you want to know the details, I’m sure my husband can give you a good reenactment of it. In hindsight I probably just needed a snack, but still.
I was Angry at my legs. Angry at my lungs. Angry at myself.
I started questioning everything. My training. My preparation. My mental strength. I’ve spent years building myself into an endurance athlete. Someone who can go for days and get stronger by the day. But here, none of that seemed to matter. These races are short and are decided in moments. Once you lose the pelaton it was over.
It exposed me. And it hooked me immediately.
After I finished the first couple I would sit there on the bike, heart still pounding, fighting back tears. Wondering if I was ever going to be strong enough. And then, after sitting with it, something shifted.
I realized this wasn’t evidence of failure. It was opportunity. Of course this was hard. It was a brand new sport all together that took not only strength, but skill and tactics. This, my boys joke is “Mama’s perfect video game!”
I come from expedition racing, where 24 hours is considered a short race. Here, I was racing athletes from around the world who had been sharpening this exact skill and muscle for years.
I was a beginner. Somewhere in that realization, I remembered something simple.
I like hard. Not because it feels good. But because of who it asks me to become.
So now, when I get dropped it still hurts, but it also fuels me. Because every time it happens, I know I’m exactly where I need to be. Learning, growing and becoming…. better.
The Quiet Work of Becoming
This same lesson is waiting for me in this old boat now too. Early mornings, cold air, a beautiful lake and an old, super tippy boat that still doesn’t always feel like mine.
The first day, I could barely keep it upright. Every stroke felt shaky. I was fighting the boat more than moving with it. But the next day, I went 5 min longer, then 10 and now I’m up to an hour!
There are still mornings where I paddle back to shore feeling frustrated, like I should be further along than I am. Where that is? I’m not really sure but I let myself feel it all anyway. Because those feelings mean I care.
But I don’t stay there. I sit with them, and then – I come back the next day with a new drill, a new little goal, or a new muscle to focus on.
And slowly, what once felt impossible has begun to feel familiar and almost… like I really do know what I’m doing.
The Example I Hope to Set
My boys see this. They see the early mornings, the tired days, the struggles and the successes. What I hope they learn isn’t how to win, but how to stay. How to face something hard, how to fail, and not let it define them. How to feel all the feelings and not be destroyed by them, but rather how to turn it all into fuel to become better in what ever way that means to them.
Looking Ahead
There are races ahead now that will demand more from me than I can give today. More speed, more skill, more strength and more endurance. Right now, I’m not ready. But I am becoming ready. And I trust this process, because I’ve lived it MANY times before. I know what happens when you keep showing up for yourself. Because when you allow failure to become your teacher, you learn more, you grow more, and ultimately you become.. better.
Special thanks and a ton of extra love to my husband and coach for loving me and fully accepting me for exactly where I am and who I am. I love you.