In 2017, I signed up for my first 50K. After completing the New York City Marathon, I wanted something more. I wanted something different. I had been witnessing the joy my friends were experiencing on the trails, and I wanted in. I didn’t run a 50K that year. A torn hamstring derailed my training, and I dropped down to the 20K. Yamacraw 2018 wasn’t a 50K, but I fell in love with the trails. I fell in love with the community.
In 2019, I returned to Yamacraw for another 20K. As I watched friends cross the finish line of the 50K, I shrunk a little. I wanted to share that finish line with them, but the 20K destroyed me that day. There was no way I could do what they did.
2020 was 2020. While the trails were my therapy, dreaming of more slipped further away.
In 2021, Christian ran his first 50 miler. Running had always been mine, and I willingly took a back seat to prioritize his running. It was his turn.
In 2022, I printed off a “16 weeks to your first 50K” training plan. I didn’t make it far into the training cycle before I realized my goal race was the same weekend as Cole’s final high school rhythm project performance. I let the dream go again. Cole graduated high school, and Christian went on to run his first 100 miler.
Running has never been just running for me. My running has always been a reflection of my living. The less I dreamt of race goals, the more I felt myself shrinking. I spent years convincing myself that I was content running shorter distances. I told myself it worked better for our family. I told myself I was aging, gaining weight, and getting slower, so the shorter distances were better suited for me now. I told myself I wasn’t fast enough or strong enough to run a 50K on trails. The voice that loves to echo over and over in my head that says I’m not good enough had become too loud.
In 2023, I knew something had to change. We had hit a dead end in the life we were living. Instead of shrinking, it was time to expand. We quit vacationing in the mountains, and we made them our home. Colorado became home. Waking up every morning and seeing Longs Peak from our yard has brought me back to the place of dreaming.
But there is a difference between dreaming and doing. I don’t know when it happened, or how or why, but at some point, all those millions of reasons for not chasing the dream of running a 50K got quiet enough for me to recognize what I’ve always known. I’ve never wanted to live my life from the sidelines. I wanted to reclaim the dream that lived dormant inside of me for years. I wanted to run a 50K.
My training plan started on January 8th. I started a new job, based in Colorado, on January 9th. I knew that to be successful, to not let the voice that tells me I’m not enough takeover, I needed someone else to do the thinking for me. In my first call with my coach, Ryne, I mentioned that “this is probably the worst time to try for something new.” His response, “or it could be the best time,” set the tone for the entire training cycle.
Training through my first Colorado winter wasn’t easy. Training with my husband for the same race wasn’t easy. I rearranged runs due to heavy snow and freezing temperatures and high winds. I overcompensated for my mom guilt by paying Chet to babysit himself on long run mornings. I had meltdowns. I had doubts. I worried I wasn’t running far enough or fast enough. I wrestled with every single doubt that cemented itself in my psyche since I didn’t run the first 50K I signed up for in 2017, but I always showed up. Every time I showed up for a run, showed up for myself, I wanted it more.
As we got ready on race morning, our power started to flicker. By the time we left the house, the power was out. My dad said he would figure it out when he got back from dropping us off. My nerves were calm as we made our way down our long dirt driveway. Our tiny rental house was set on the Royal Gorge’s property, and the driveway was hidden behind a gate off the main road. As we approached the gate, it didn’t open. We reversed and attempted to trigger the sensor again with no luck. Christian hopped out of the car and jumped the gate to use the keypad. The gate didn’t open. The power was out! It was 30 minutes before the race started, and we were stuck behind a gate that wouldn’t open.
I’m not sure how long we were actually stuck. Christian called the facility manager, my dad stayed calm, and I lost my shit. I frantically waved at every car that drove by assuming everyone was driving to the race that was 2 miles away. At one point, I sobbed. I was going to miss the race. That voice that says I’m not good enough was going to win because the power was out. This was the moment I knew exactly how bad I wanted this for myself.
A truck slowed down on the main road and rolled down their windows. They were runners and thought I might need help. I stood in the middle of the road (YES! in oncoming traffic, loosing my shit) and begged them for a ride. The driver calmly reminded me I was standing in the way of traffic and told us to hop in. We grabbed our stuff and hopped in the back seat with their adorable dog who smothered us in kisses. I said thank you over and over again and tried to calm my nerves.
We made it to the start line just in time for me to release a few more tears. I have wanted this for so long, and I was so close to missing it again.
Maybe I wore myself out over the last 8 years.
Maybe the training cycle purged me of all my extreme doubts.
Maybe I exhausted myself in my meltdown on the side of the road.
Maybe I was finally ready.
When I finally lined up at the start line, I wanted it!
Kristy Maute 