Endurance Riding

A few days before the Lake Almanor Hustle, I was having a lot of anxiety about Tevis. I am not sure what exactly triggered all of my fear. My guess is that it was a combination of things, coupled with “one of those days.” I had a pretty good pity party for myself before I got things packed up for the Lake Almanor 75-Mile Endurance Ride, our last competition before the Tevis Cup.

I was one of the first riders to pull into ride camp on Friday morning. After getting set up, I took a much needed nap while I waited for my friends, Linda and Teresa, to arrive. Once they got there, it was lunch and pre-ride time! Then Teresa and I decided to vet our horses in before attending the pre-ride meeting.

That night, as I was in the camper, I remember thinking I felt different about this ride. I wasn’t excited like I usually was for an endurance ride. I was feeling a bit lonely, since I was there without my family. I felt only half-committed to the 75 miles we were supposed to do the next day…

My alarm went off just before 5 am and I suddenly sprung into action, preparing for the long ride ahead of us with serious concentration. Two minutes before our start time, I was mounted and ready to go. Asali took off at the start with the usual power she displays in the beginning. The air was cool and I was looking forward to the sun warming my back later in the day.

We were only half way into that first 25-mile loop when I started getting this feeling that something just wasn’t right. Asali seemed a little “off” – maybe because she hadn’t been warmed up properly at the start? I felt disorganized mentally and kept thinking this must not be our day. Asali had thrown one back boot, and while I recovered it from the trail, it was useless, as the wire was broken. The trail was so rocky that I knew I was going to have to walk my horse the rest of that first loop until I could figure out a back-up boot in ride camp. That’s when I decided to call my horse trainer, mentor, and personal friend, Sheri Braun. I told her Asali didn’t feel right to me, although she wasn’t lame. I told her she was all over the trail and we had thrown a back boot and I felt like this wasn’t our day. The first thing Sheri asked me was why I was doing the ride. I told her it was for me. I had no doubt that Asali could go 75 miles, but I doubted myself and needed to prove that I could do it. That’s when Sheri told me I needed to let go of my agenda. I needed to center myself, put my focus back on my horse, and calm the heck down. And she told me I needed to follow my intuition, to listen to my gut.

I hung up the phone, dismounted, took a deep breath, and spent some time stretching Asali’s front legs out. When we threw a second back boot a few miles up the trail, Asali became a rodeo pony when the wire caught around her pastern. She bucked circles around me for what seemed like forever, and that’s when I decided I was going to rider option out of the ride at the vet check. Things just weren’t “right” that morning…

I walked into the vet check, excited about the fact that we were done. I decided I was going to help Linda crew for Teresa for the rest of the ride, but then Teresa told me her horse Magic had been pulled for lameness, a result of the hard, rocky trail. I told Teresa and Linda I had to pull as well because I couldn’t ride Asali barefoot with the kind of terrain this ride offered. I felt the fact we had thrown our back boots was a sign that we weren’t supposed to go on. Linda looked at my boots and said it wasn’t a sign; we had just simply worn our boots out (it’s true, we had hundreds of miles on those dang boots). Five minutes later, Linda returned with two Easyboot gloves in the exact size Asali needed. And then when I went to vet Asali, she received all “As”. There was no reason for us to quit.

I changed my attitude before we headed out for that next loop. I knew we had four 12.5-mile loops left and I decided we would just take it one loop at a time and see how far we got. I let go of my personal agenda. I knew we were one of the last horse and rider teams competing in the 75-miler, but I didn’t care. I threw away the anxiety I usually have about being in last place and decided we would just ride our own ride and enjoy the trail as we went.

On the second loop, I rode a few miles with a woman who was on the 50-miler. The company was nice, but we eventually had to go our separate ways. It was just Asali and me after that and I was reminded that some of my best rides had been when it was just the two of us. I was able to reconnect with my horse and I had time to reflect on and face my own personal doubts and fears. Asali carried me when I needed it and when I felt she needed encouragement, I would get off and walk or jog next to her. I can’t tell you what happened, but one 12.5 mile loop turned into 2 and then 3 and then 4. Asali and I were both pretty wiped out at 62.5 miles, but we had an amazing crew in Linda and Teresa, and when we headed out for that last loop, we both got a second wind.

We crossed the finish line just before dark and I was left feeling both exhilarated and grateful. Our completion was the result of a team effort – a friend who gave me some paramount advice, a crew who took care of my horse at every vet check so I could take care of myself, and an honest partnership between horse and rider. I learned one important lesson at this ride: if you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, you will eventually reach your destination. Take life one step at a time… it’s all about the journey!

I feel like I need to have a good cry. I had a discouraging day. I am feeling defeated. I’m recovering from an injury and my horse (not my Tevis horse, thank goodness) came up lame. And then Asali didn’t accept the crupper again today after I’ve tried a few times with her now. My girlfriend let me know she isn’t doing Tevis after all and I had been looking forward to riding with her. I am flooded with thoughts of failure. What if we don’t ride fast enough? What if we get lost somewhere in the middle of nowhere, all by ourselves? What if my horse is injured? What if I’m injured? What if the heat gets to us? What if I have to ride at night by myself? Seriously, I must be crazy! It’s just a ride. What is it about Tevis that can instill fear like no other ride does? I’ve always claimed to be fearless, but this ride – this ride named the world’s most difficult endurance ride – is teaching me things I never knew about myself and things I never knew about my horse. I am sitting here in front of my computer hoping writing these words down will take away my anxiety. Writing has always been, along with my horses, a kind of therapy for me. I do feel awfully silly, complaining about my fears of Tevis. There are starving children in India. There is war, no running water, homelessness, despair all over this world. And I’m comfortable in my Gap jeans, my warm shirt, wearing diamond earrings, and an expensive wedding band. I have a husband who supports me and keeps me feeling safe. And two beautiful, healthy boys who teach me so much every day. I am foolish to weep for myself and not the world.

I am glancing at the inspiration board next to this computer, hoping for some strength:

“It will hurt. It will take time. It will require dedication. It will require willpower. You will need to make healthy decisions. It requires sacrifice. You will need to push your body to its max. There will be temptation. But, I promise you, when you reach your goal, it’s worth it.”

This is sport. I need to wipe away the tears and put my big girl panties on.

On Friday afternoon, the 31st of May, I found myself in Foresthill, camping off Bath Road, in the place that would turn into a busy vet check come the day of the Tevis Cup 100-Mile-One-Day-Ride. I parked next to my hoof trimmer and friend, Dianna, who was there with her Arabian gelding, Launi. Once I got camp set up, I decided to head out for a warm-up ride with another friend, April. I threw on a bareback pad and a pair of shorts and set out on foot, leading Asali down into Volcano Canyon. We went down into the canyon, back up the other side, and then turned back for camp, in order to return in time for the seminars hosted by the Western States Trail Foundation.

At 7:30 am the next morning, I was headed out to meet the California Loop. I jogged through downtown Foresthill with Asali, on our way to the trailhead. Once on the narrow dirt trail, I mounted Asali and our ride began. We were surrounded by trees on either side of us and, except for some riders’ voices heard up ahead in the distance, it was silent. We were alone in the wilderness and it was both peaceful and intimidating.

By the time Asali and I reached Fransisco’s, it was incredibly warm out. I dunked my cooling vest in the water trough and scooped water over my head using my helmet. I sponged Asali off and allowed her to drink her fill before heading back down the trail.

Not far from Fransisco’s we ended up on this cool sandy trail that bordered the American River. I had picked up a rider who asked to tag along with me through the river crossing. Her horse had never crossed a river before and she was nervous how he’d react to the water. So, Phyllis and I rode together, sharing horse stories along the way.

The river crossing was, in a word, amazing. A large group of us reached the edge of the water at the same time and we all laughed our way across the river, as the horses drank, splashed, and made their way through. Many of us sponged our horses off from their backs before receiving our own relief from the cold water. I tried to imagine what the river would look like on the night of Tevis, when it will be lit up with glow sticks, and we’ll make our way in the dark.

After the river crossing, we headed to Lower Quarry, the stop that will mark the final check point before the finish, on the night we ride the real ride. Phyllis and I took it slow with our horses, hiking quite a ways on foot next to them. Right before Lower Quarry, we received some much needed air conditioning from the entryway to a dark cave. We stood in front of the cave, enjoying the cold breeze that touched our backs.

From Lower Quarry, Phyllis and I parted ways. I went on ahead of her, as my horse was ready to move out. Asali galloped across No Hands Bridge, almost running away with me. She knew she was almost to Auburn and there was no stopping her!

Sunday morning found us up early, at 4 am. I loaded Asali in Dianna’s trailer and we headed from our campground at the Foresthill Mill Site to Robinson Flat. Robinson Flat marks the first one hour hold vet check the day of Tevis. The plan this day was to ride from Robinson Flat to Foresthill, which is the second third of the Tevis trail. We started out on Cavanaugh Ridge, Dianna and I, with Launi and Asali matching pace well. Unfortunately, we missed the cut-off to the Pucker’s Point trail and ended up riding the long, boring, gravel road until it reconnected to where we were supposed to be.

Our first stop of the day was at Last Chance, a shady spot tucked away in the woods. At first, it surprised me because it didn’t remind me of a typical vet check. It had an eerie mystery about it. I could almost hear the stories from history lingering there in the trees. Not far off, old mining camps and dated, rusted equipment lay around, as if we were in a museum.

From Last Chance, Dianna and I disappeared past a hazardous trail warning, descending down a narrow, rocky trail that would lead us into our first canyon. Both Dianna and I got off and hand-walked our horses down the precarious trail. Once in the bottom of the canyon, the heat of the day started to wear on us. We crossed the swinging bridge and headed up out of the canyon. I stayed on the ground, behind my horse, tailing-up each steep switchback. Every now and then, I would glance on up ahead, only to see another switchback. Little did I know, I would see 42 switchbacks before reaching the top. Two-thirds of the way, I stopped, out of breath, tired, hungry, thirsty, and discouraged. I knew Dianna and her horse, Launi, would be leaving us at Deadwood, after this canyon. The thought of traversing two more canyons by myself left me with an overwhelming anxiety. I looked at Dianna saying, “If this is just a training ride, how am I going to feel on the day of Tevis?” I was flooded with doubt, feeling completely lost. Dianna half-laughed, saying we were almost there, reminding me that near the top, I’d see Devil’s Thumb, the unusual rock formation that protrudes from the side of the mountain, as if keeping watch.

Several more switchbacks and we did make it to the site of the Devil’s Thumb. At first, I didn’t care to see it, but the breeze that suddenly whipped through my shirt left me feeling rejuvenated and when I did look, I smiled. It was just a rock. But it was Devil’s Thumb and now I could say I’d seen it. I felt something spiritual at that moment, realizing I had just climbed the toughest canyon of my life in order to see this interesting formation that was, well, yes, a rock, but a damn interesting one.

Once we reached Deadwood, I was again flooded with the anxiety that I’d be continuing on alone. Laurie, Dianna’s friend, was waiting for Dianna at Deadwood with her horse trailer. She crewed for us, helping feed both the horses and getting Dianna and me food and drinks. Laurie picked up on my anxiety and right away, looked at me in earnest and assured me that Asali and I were ready for Tevis. I remember her saying, “Dianna and I would not send you and your horse back down into another canyon if we didn’t think you could do it. Look at your horse! She looks great. And you – if you just did that entire canyon on foot, you are fit enough to go on.” Her pep talk had me convinced and I made the commitment to keep on going.

I ended up trailing behind my friend April and experienced Tevis rider, Nicole Chappell, into El Dorado Canyon, but once at the bottom of the canyon, I hung around to cool myself and my horse in the water. I climbed out alone, with just my horse, and at the top, I was filled with a confidence that I knew would keep me going all the way to Foresthill.

In Michigan Bluff, we ran into a group of riders who were visiting with a few residents of the small town. Asali and I rode with our friends for a short ways before galloping off on our way to Chicken Hawk, another check point. At Chicken Hawk, I let Asali eat quite a bit of hay and after I had some watermelon and two chocolate chip cookies, we were on our way to conquer Volcano Canyon, the last canyon before Foresthill. Right before our descent into the canyon, I dismounted. I jogged down to the bottom, and then tailed up out of the canyon. I never remounted. I walked my horse up Bath Road and into the Foresthill Mill Site. While climbing up Bath Road, it was quiet, just me and Asali and the sound of our feet, all 6 of them, on the pavement. A banner that read “Welcome to Foresthill” almost brought tears to my eyes. We had done it. And in less than 6 weeks, we’ll do it all over again, on the 58th Annual Tevis Cup “100 Miles One Day” Ride.

This was my third consecutive year at the Cache Creek Ridge Ride. It was Jakob’s second. Although Jakob wanted to ride the 50 this year, I wanted a relaxing, casual ride. So I signed us up for the 25-mile limited distance and was looking forward to an easy ride.

Jakob and I had anything but an easy ride on Saturday, May 11th.  The weather was not only hot – in the upper nineties – but it was also humid. After the first hill that morning, Beauty began sweating and panting. We slowed down our pace and kept a close watch on her.

We also had boot troubles. After riding through the bog at the start, Beauty’s boots were covered in mud and sliding all over the place. A few times her boots simply twisted around her hooves, but later, she began actually throwing her boots.  I had to dismount and backtrack on foot to pick up boots on trail we thought we had left behind us. I finally decided to make Beauty go barefoot after one of her front boots got tangled around her pastern and I spent 20 minutes prying the boot off.

At the vet check, I talked to Jakob about taking a rider option out of the ride. Beauty took 20 minutes to recover to her baseline breathing pattern and she wasn’t eating and drinking as well as she usually did. However, after a little rest, she allowed a volunteer to hold a bucket of water up to her. She drank two bucket fulls and when the vet looked at her again, he said he thought she looked great and could make it to the finish. So, we continued on down the trail for another 12 miles.

We picked up the pace on this last loop and we began to finally enjoy the ride. The stress we experienced in the beginning of the ride seemed to be behind us. However, we were still a little ways from the finish when I realized we were barely going to make time. We kept up our consistent pace, passing 6 other riders on our way to the finish. The more trail we covered, the more confident I became that we were going to make it to the finish by the cut-off time.

It was 2:06 when we came to the end. And it was another 10 minutes or so before we reached the vets to P & R (evaluation of pulse and respirations). Ride cut-off time was 2 pm. We may have ridden the 25 miles, but we did not get a completion.

Even with the heat and humidity slowing us down and losing time messing with thrown boots on the trail, we still would have made time and received a completion if I had not made one crucial mistake at the start. I wasted time — 25 minutes, putting us out on the trail at 8:25 instead of at 8 ‘o clock. I had the “it’s just a 25” attitude, as well as the “I’ve done this ride before” attitude. I took my time getting ready in the morning and I allowed Jakob to do the same. And then we both forgot our vet cards at the camper and had to ride back through camp to retrieve them. So, in the end, the “just 25 that I’ve done before” kicked me in the butt and did so laughing. I got a huge dose of humility and I won’t ever forget a little piece of Tevis advice Barbara White gave me when I met her at Cuyama: “Every minute counts. Don’t waste time at the vet checks. Get through, move on.”

Several weeks ago, as I had thoughts of the Tevis Cup ride racing through my head as I tried to sleep, I thought of my friend Bren. She is a fellow equestrian and we also share the same occupation of Registered Nurse. Bren and I have shared many stories in the saddle and I have always known it was on Bren’s bucket list to ride the Tevis trail, if not enter the Tevis Cup ride. When I told her I was going to attempt my first Tevis ride in 2013, she asked if she could serve on my crew. I was thrilled that I was going to have not only a close friend, but such a knowledgeable horse woman on my side come July 20th, 2013. It was when Bren told me last year, right before the holidays, that she had breast cancer, when I realized she may not be able to crew for me.

A few weeks ago I decided that I wanted to dedicate my ride to Bren — that way, she could be a part of it whether or not she was able to crew. But when I told Bren that I wanted to use the ride as an opportunity to raise money for her, to help her with her medical expenses, she politely declined. She asked that I, instead, ride for a charity of her choice. Knowing Bren and her big heart, this did not surprise me. She never wants to take anything for herself; she is always giving to others. This is what Bren had to say:

“Living with cancer has brought surprise blessings. I don’t say that too often because people give me the strangest looks, but it’s true. Last October, my doctor gave me the results of my bone biopsy: stage IV metastatic breast cancer. For those first few days post diagnosis, my outlook wasn’t so positive. As a nurse, I have seen so many patients lose the battle against cancer, and being an ICU nurse, I see those patients who want to fight it; they choose to grapple and claw with their disease for every minute they are alive. It was those patients I first thought of, and for a few days, I’ll admit, I felt like it was curtains down on the rest of my life. I imagined never seeing my husband become a father, never riding the Tevis with my beautiful mare, Jezebel, or traveling with my cousin Kim on one of her mission trips to Kenya to see the beautiful faces of the girls she saves.

I remember the despair I felt when that curtain came crashing down, but I can’t recall exactly when the curtain began to pull aside and show me a world I had never fully appreciated before. I don’t know if my chemo is going to cure me, and yes, there have been days when I thought it was killing me, but I am grateful for being reminded that every day is a gift for all of us and an opportunity to make a difference in the lives of others.

A few weeks ago, Jaya asked if she could dedicate her Tevis ride to me and I could choose the charity her ride would raise money for. My first thought was the mission in Kenya I have always wanted to help with; it is organized by Global Village Ministries in their endeavor to help young Maasai girls escape genital mutilation. They house and educate these girls, some of them as young as 5 years old, who would be otherwise exchanged for cattle as wives to adult men.

Thank you for helping such a worthy cause.”

When Bren first approached me with her choice of charities, I was immediately on board. Bren did not know that back in my first years of college, I had performed in Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues at Chico State University. (The Vagina Monologues is a moving performance, which through a series of soliloquies, describes the many varied aspects of womanhood. Ticket sales from the shows go to various charities that work tirelessly to end violence against women, all over the globe.)

Through an email with Bren’s cousin, Kim DeWitt, who has partnered with Global Village Ministries, I learned that Kim is trying to raise money to finish the building of a girls’ home in Kenya: “The home we are building is called THE OLMALAIKA HOME, which means Angel in KiMaasai. It will be able to fit 42 young girls, ages 5 – 14. The girls coming into the home are at high risk of female genital mutilation, early childhood marriage and/or orphans. We are always looking for sponsors for the girls, and that money covers their education, medical care, food, and care at the home.” (To find out more, read Kim’s blog at http://globalvillageministries.blogspot.com/.)

So, because of my friend, Bren, I have re-dedicated my ride and named it The Olmalaika Project: Riding for Maasai (because girls are beautiful just the way God made them!)

Please consider sponsoring Asali and me as we cover 100 miles through the Sierra Nevada Mountains this summer — as we ride for our cause! Donations can be made by clicking the donate button on the right-hand side of our home page. 100% of the money received will go directly to the Olmalaika home in Kenya. My goal is to raise $500 for the home. In addition, through my own nonprofit organization, Spirit Quilts, I have agreed to make 1 quilt for every $100 we raise. The quilts will be given to the girls living in the Olmalaika home. THANK YOU!

Cuyama

By Jakob Gregory

My family and I went to Cuyama for an endurance ride with our horses. My mom and I rode thirty miles on the first day. We got to ride with the cows! It was very fun. The second day, I took a break and my mom rode fifty miles with her friend, Peggy.

On the third day, I rode my first fifty mile ride! The beginning of the ride was pretty. I could see lots of mountains, trees, and bushes. I could smell junipers, which smell like fresh air! I could see out for miles. I could see the riders in front and in back of me! At the top of a ridge, there was a ditch and my horse fell into it. I fell off. I went under her and she stepped on me, but I was ok. I learned to hold on tighter after that.

It was a long and beautiful ride. My favorite part of the ride was the beginning because I liked the narrow, windy trail that had trees on both sides of me. I could look into the canyon from this trail too. My least favorite part was when I fell off. About 12 miles before the finish, I had another silly accident. My horse crashed into a tree and the branches cut me. But I stayed in the saddle this time! When I got to the finish, I was happy the ride was over.

After the ride, we drove to my papa’s house. I was excited to see him. Papa gave me fifty dollars for completing my first fifty mile ride!

Cuyama couldn’t come soon enough. For days, weeks before the ride, I had been itching to get back into competition. Training rides are fun, but there is something different about an endurance ride… there is the thrill of the race. And Cuyama would be our first XP Ride — our first three days of back-to-back riding.

We left very early on Thursday morning. I was blessed that my husband, Gary, was willing to drive. I had just finished working three 12-hour night shifts in a row, and after all the packing and preparing I had done, I was exhausted. We hooked up the cabover camper (our first time using it) onto the bed of our new truck and then hitched up the trailer. After an 11-hour haul (this included 4 stops, 2 of which we stopped for an hour each time, unloading the horses and walking them around), we made it to ride camp in New Cuyama, California. Jakob and I didn’t have time for a pre-ride, so we set up camp instead, clipped the horses (with Peggy’s help), and then let them rest.

Friday morning was our first ride. Jakob and I rode the limited distance (or luxury distance, as some like to call it) 30-mile ride. At first, we weren’t impressed with the trail. We started out on a long, dusty, windy trail where the terrain was all the same. But once we got on to the narrow, single track trails, we discovered why people say Cuyama is such a beautiful ride. It’s not covered in forest like we are used to, but the mountains in the distance, the interesting rocks, and the sweet-smelling junipers scattered about makes the terrain much more inviting.

We rode the 30 miles conservatively, especially because Asali had a mild muscle cramp in the beginning, which she eventually worked out. Beauty did really well… she never had a moment where she made me nervous (like she had at both Cache Creek and Gold Country). The weather was on our side and so the horses barely worked up sweats.

On Saturday morning, I crawled out of bed early. This was it… our first endurance ride of the season! Jakob and Beauty stayed behind in ride camp and I went out with my friend, Peggy, and her horse, Fire.

We had an incredible ride! Fire and Asali were freight trains – pulling on our arms if we tried to hold them back. They powered up hills with strength that amazed me. We moved out the entire time, keeping up a consistent pace. And as our horses moved out, and we moved up and down in our saddles, Peggy and I enjoyed each other’s company, sharing stories the entire way. We made it to the finish line somewhere around 6 hours! This was Asali’s fastest time ever and when she finished, she didn’t look like she had just raced. I sure felt it though – my calves were sore and my entire body felt both the miles and the speed, all at once.

Sunday was our last ride. After how well Jakob and Beauty did on Friday, I finally decided they were ready for their first 50. So, we changed our entry from the limited distance ride to the endurance ride and headed out to the start! The first half of the ride, however, turned out to be brutal. There were several steep climbs. I dismounted and tailed Asali up those trails, followed by leading her down. I continued to check in with Jakob and Beauty, worried that the terrain was exhausting Jakob’s horse. At about mile 10, Beauty tripped in a ditch on the side of a ridge, causing Jakob to lose his balance. He fell off, ended up underneath his horse, and Beauty, with nowhere to go but forward, accidentally stepped on him. After some tears, wiping away the blood and some dusting off, however, Jakob was okay. He remounted and we were once again heading down the trail.

When we made it to the vet check, I was hot, tired, hungry, and thirsty. I was also doubtful of the horses ability to keep going, even though neither horse had shown signs of exhaustion. I told Jakob I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue on, but after some rejuvenation, and a pep talk from my husband (“Gregorys don’t quit”), we were back out there in the backcountry, exposed to the elements.

The second half of the ride was just as long, but I was committed to the trail, and I let everything go and decided to just enjoy the ride. There is a moment of peace that comes during every ride. Being out there in the wilderness, hearing the wind and feeling the sun on my face, with the realization that nobody in the world knows exactly where I am at that moment, is humbling. I sometimes reach a meditative state, rocking to the rhythm of my horse, overlooking land that only God could create.

There wasn’t any better company on Sunday than the company of my son. Hearing Jakob’s dreams and plans for his future, learning about what makes him unique and feel alive, I was flooded with insights. His resilience was inspiring. After Jakob’s fall, he also got scraped up on a gnarly tree. He was able to save a second fall, but this trail was not kind to him, and he knew he needed to be a more diligent rider from that point on.

In the heat of the afternoon, the winding, rocky canyon trail provided some shade. Jakob and I took it slow, enjoying the scenery. This landscape was a change from the vast openness we experienced earlier. We had enjoyed the wide trails as well, where you could see for miles in front of you. Riders in the distance comforted us, confirming that we were on the right track, and riders behind encouraged us to keep moving.

As the afternoon turned to evening and the weather became more forgiving, the horses perked up. They knew they were headed in the direction of camp, and just a few miles before the finish, both horses took off galloping. We had played leap frog with some other riders earlier in the day, but we knew now that we were probably the last ones, racing to the finish, trying to beat the clock. As we turned into the yellow gate, our indication we were almost there, I was flooded with pride. I was proud of myself for pushing past what I thought my limits were, but most of all, I was proud of my son – a young rider who shares a special bond with another creature, a horse named Beauty. The two of them took care of each other all day long, enduring the technicalities of the trail and the exposure of the elements. They both proved to be outstanding athletes and I was impressed and honored to be the one to witness their finish, just 4 minutes before the 12-hour cutoff time.

Jakob and Beauty looking fantastic as they head for the finish! Declan, Jakob’s younger brother, was up ahead, jumping up and down, with his arms in the air, cheering them on.

One week ago I ran my first 5K. I have never been a runner. I hated running. In high school, I was a swimmer. And I had no desire to do track and field. EVER.

After the New Year, even though I had been going to the gym, I decided I had to incorporate running into my cross-training in preparation for Tevis. I put a star on the resolution board at the gym that declares “I am going to be just as fit as my horse.” I decided to sign up for a 5K because I knew if I had a goal, it would cause me to purposefully and more seriously train. Sounded good, right?

The first 4-6 weeks of training were brutal. At first, I couldn’t even run a mile. Then, when I pushed myself and got to that mile mark, I felt nauseous, dizzy, and faint all at once. My lungs felt like they were on fire inside my chest. I remember telling Gary I didn’t think I could do it. Maybe I just wasn’t meant to be a runner.

I can’t tell you exactly what happened, but somewhere between that 4^th and 6^th week, I had pushed through this wall. I could suddenly run a mile and not feel like I was going to fall off the back of the treadmill. And then I did a mile and a quarter, a mile and a half, and then it just got fun to see how far I could go. It was just fun to see how far I could push it.

On March 2^nd, one day after my 31^st birthday, I was lined up for the start of the Bidwell Classic 5K. I had woken up late that morning and almost didn’t make it to the race. I didn’t have time to stretch. I had been yelled at by a fellow runner when I (unknowingly) cut in line at the bathrooms. I was stressed out and about to cry, wondering, again, if maybe I just wasn’t meant to be a runner.

And then it was time to run. And I ran. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other…

When I crossed the finish line, I learned that I had run an almost 10-minute mile average, with a finishing time of 32.53.9 (that’s just shy of 32 minutes, 54 seconds). I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t high-five. I didn’t even smile, at first. I put one foot in front of the other and just kept on walking. And on that walk, I learned something about myself: I can do it.

You can do it. When you believe that, you will be empowered. You can do it. Anything is possible.

The look of surprise after my husband, Gary, told me my finishing time.

Oranges never tasted so good.

My beautiful children, who are always cheering me on. Jakob will be running with me at my next 5K.

I had six days off work. The plan was to leave town the day after my husband’s birthday. I was going to stay with Teresa, my friend and fellow endurance rider. We had planned a girls’ night together and then a full day of training on the Tevis trail starting early the following day. Well, things didn’t exactly work out as planned…

Asali was loaded in the horse trailer. I was driving my husband’s truck, the trusted Mighty Might, since the new (used) truck I had bought myself a few months ago was back at the dealer getting fixed for the second time following some issues with the clutch. I decided to swing by the hospital where I work to pick up something from a coworker on my way out to the 70 freeway. Just as I was turning into the parking lot of the emergency room, I noticed smoke escaping from under the driver’s side of the hood. Not good! I immediately turned on my blinkers, shut the engine off, and popped the hood. When Heidi came out to hand me the item she had for me and saw what was going on, she decided to call the security guard out to help me. Between him and texting photos to a mechanic friend, we collectively decided I should not drive the truck and trailer home. No problem. I was out of back-up trucks, but I still had back-up transportation: Asali.

I safely parked the truck and trailer, unloaded Asali, and tacked her up. She was acting crazy as I was putting the saddle on – the same high-strung way she acts right before every endurance ride. Her ears were perked up and forward, her nostrils wide, and as she snorted, I knew she was wondering where all the other horses were.

After changing into my riding breeches and half chaps, I mounted Asali, and we were off, headed out to Pentz Road. I kept Asali on the easement to avoid the cars in the street, as well as the pavement. It was a busy afternoon, but most of the motorists were polite as they passed us. We even got some subtle honks, quite a few waves, and many smiles. Asali was moving out and I remember telling her if she kept up this consistent pace for the entirety of each race, we’d Top Ten every time!

As I was riding up Pentz Road, I realized I was going to have a problem when I got to Skyway. Skyway is a two-lane highway, with no easement, very little bike lane, and blind curves. I didn’t have more than a mile to travel on Skyway before I hit the trail, but I knew it was just too dangerous. I decided to call my coworker and good friend, Nakia, to ask if she’d be my follow car and protect me as I traveled on the Skyway. I knew she’d be getting off work right about the time I needed her.

Asali and I made it the 3 miles to Skyway in 30 minutes, and sure enough, only had to wait five minutes for Nakia’s arrival. We stood in a driveway of a small house on the corner of the street as we waited. The home owner came out with her daughter and I enjoyed a nice chat with them. They loved Asali and really got a kick out of our travels – I was left feeling like a small town celebrity.

As I was at the stop sign, with Nakia behind me, Asali danced around in the street with cars whizzing by on the Skyway just ahead. That’s when I realized that if I crossed the Skyway, I could use a side street to bypass it, head over a hill, and then drop back down to where I could cross Skyway again, and then hit the trail! Nakia made sure I made it across the busy Skyway safely, then watched me canter off. When we found a big driveway for Nakia to pull into, she parked and held my horse for me so I could squat behind a rock when the tea I had enjoyed before we left caught up with my kidneys.

It was a beautiful day and I was enjoying the ride. When Asali and I reached the stoplight to once again cross Skyway, I waved a happy good-bye to my friend, and Asali and I ran for the trailhead that greeted us on the other side of the street. We rode our well-worn, familiar trail home, enjoying the journey, not worrying at the moment about the (second) broken-down truck that would need repair.

I knew it was going to be cold. I chose my riding apparel carefully – an undershirt, a long sleeve shirt, the warm fuzzy zip-up hoody my mom gave me, my favorite riding vest over that, and then a coat on top of it all. I wore long underwear under my jeans and stuck toe warmers in my boots. Then I wrapped a strip of fleece fabric, leftover from a robe I had made my husband as a gift years earlier, around my head to cover my ears. I grabbed two carrots, a handful of dog treats for Caine, kissed the boys goodnight, and was out the door. I didn’t waste any time throwing my bareback pad on Asali. At the last minute, I decided to pony Forest, thinking that bringing another horse along would calm Asali’s nerves in the dark. 

It was black on the road. I had hoped for some light from the almost-full moon, but I couldn’t spot it in the sky. The trash cans lining the street at our neighbors’ houses looked different in the darkness and spooked both the horses. 

We crossed the street and I switched on my headlamp momentarily in order to see the trailhead. We headed down the hill and disappeared into the forest. I kept waiting for my eyes to adjust, hoping I would be able to see past Asali’s ears. When a Christmas tree brushed my face with its needles, I realized my nerves were keeping me too warm under all the layers of my clothes. 

The narrow trail we were on finally veered to the right and widened, leading us to the body of water below. I could hear cars in the distance, humming as they crossed the bridge, their headlights flooding the sky. The puddles in our path slowed us down, startling me with their silver, glass-like stillness, but we continued to follow the trail downwards, knowing it would wrap itself around the water.

I suddenly felt a frost rise up against my legs. The wind was catching speed off the tiny ripples in the water, causing the air to suddenly turn cold. It chilled me, whispering in my ears, but my feet stayed warm in my boots. I caught a glimpse of the world above and was amazed at the stars in the sky. Every now and then I would see a light from a house in the distance. It would caste an eerie glow on the water and I could see our reflection outlining shapes on the hills to our right. I wondered what the families in those houses were doing. I imagined them wrapped up, in pajamas, tucking themselves into bed in their big, warm, inviting homes. 

Just then, Asali sped up, causing Forest to trot next to us. I realized I was much more aware of my surroundings at night. I could hear every beat of the horses’ hooves, the breath leaving their nostrils, and the “tink tink” of the dog tag on Caine’s collar. I suddenly felt very vulnerable, but very much alive. I took a cold, deep breath in, closed my eyes, and pushed my horse forward. 

When we got to the creek, I allowed the horses to drink. Caine was swimming and I could see steam rise up off his back in the cool night. We spent only a few moments and then continued on. I knew it was going to be tricky finding the trail that would lead us back home, and when a tree thrusted my headlamp to the ground, I panicked, searching frantically for it in the dark. I found it and remounted Asali using a log.

When the horses spotted the trail that led up a steep hill, they began cantering and I knew they knew their way home. We cut off to the left, taking a short cut through the woods. Asali jumped a fallen tree, and when we reached the top, we were greeted by the moon that had been hiding on the other side of the sky. That moon lit our trail home, guiding us every step of the way, flooding the trail with welcoming shadows.