Ponderings

• November 24, 2025
• 1 month

The First Pancake

3 years. That’s how long I should actually expect my business to take to find its groove. And here I am, beating myself up when it’s been 4 months.

I’ve been in a weird state for the past month or so, at times thriving, other times concerned for my health. For the most part, it’s been fun sprinkled with some moments of deep self-doubt and insecurity. The past week was especially high energy, since it was my birthday as well as one of my best friend’s, Casey’s. It felt like I was constantly socializing or eating something unhealthy, to the point where I actually did feel my social battery draining. I like being around people—people I’m close with—so this week didn’t seem like much of a drain. But internally, I knew I needed to be alone with my thoughts.

The perfect way to do that for me is LSD—long slow distance, in the running world. Just taking yourself out for some high mileage at a really slow pace. Ever since I ran practically a trail marathon in the heat last month, I haven’t really been able to sustain a run longer than 4 miles. But yesterday, I resolved to do 7 to 8, and just keep it chill. And I did exactly that.

One way to ensure I go slow is to listen to a podcast, rather than tunes. One of my favorite podcasts is called Second Nature, and it’s all about the outdoor industry. I think I found it on LinkedIn. One of the main reasons I enjoy it is because of its hosts, Aaron Lutze and Dylan Bowman. Aaron is a former Red Bull Marketing Manager, and during his tenure, he signed Dylan as an ultra-running athlete. The cool thing about Aaron is that for every athlete he signed, he would try that respective athlete’s sport. So he had Dylan help him train for a 50K, and gosh darn it, he’s now run several 50Ks—though he’s actually a mountain biker. Dylan no longer races much, but hosts his own ultra running podcast, Freetrail, and is recognized as an influencer in the trail running world. The two of them are just so knowledgeable about their fields and interview just as qualified individuals, so I find myself learning a lot every time I listen to them, usually running or resoling.

In fact, one episode last winter had really fired me up, concerning the resole business. I can’t remember who Aaron was interviewing, but it was an entrepreneur of some sort, talking about the launch of his business. In most businesses, the first iteration of a product is not the best. And Aaron equated it to the first pancake. You know how when you’re making pancakes, the first one always is a little weird? It’s hard to gauge if the griddle is hot enough, and it often is a little pale and sad. But with each subsequent pancake, the quality improves. You refine the temperature and achieve a golden brown. I had called my dad and told him all about the resoling idea, and how I knew initially it wouldn’t be very smooth, just like the first pancake never is. I was reminded of this concept yesterday, as I listened to Aaron and Dylan muse that it seems like 3 years is the magic number. The number that businesses hit their stride.

But the magic number wasn’t the only part that hit home. This particular episode was called “Where We’ve Been and Where We’re Going,” and it was essentially Aaron and Dylan recapping the year and talking about their individual trajectories. Something that Aaron said really resonated with me—it was something to the effect of, “I have a lot of irons in the fire, but none of them are boiling. I’m just trying to keep them all warm.”

“That’s me,” I thought. When I look at my life right now and the past year, that’s all it’s been—keeping various irons warm. My job at REI. Until August, my hostess job. My resoling business. Since September, coaching. My writing. My running. My climbing. My strength training. My nutrition. My hobbies. Applying to full-time jobs. Working on my own book. All of these things, to various degrees, have been in the fire. The resoling business has sometimes been in the center of the flames, other times on the fringes; so has practically all of these things. It harkened back to my realization a couple of weeks ago that I’m simply not going to be as good as I want to be at anything, because I want to do everything.

Aaron and Dylan had a good discussion about adding versus removing irons from the fire, the cost and benefit of doing so. One iron I have yet to add is an idea I had months ago: having a newsletter for the resole business. I thought it would help me write more regularly and perhaps drum up more attention. That iron is still waiting patiently outside the flames. The book I was working on, meanwhile, has been nearly removed from the fire. Not because I don’t want to do it anymore, but I stopped dedicating the time to it. Would either of these things be worth putting in? What would I remove if I did? Would I be sacrificing the quality of my work at everything else?

I can’t say that I came to a conclusion, but the metaphor stuck with me. It’ll be interesting to know what irons are in the fire after 3 years, when my business finally comes together…

Ponderings

• November 7, 2025
• 2 months

A Day in the Life

I remember a distinct moment in my junior year of college. I was in my apartment, chatting with my roommate, Ines. We were trying to make a plan to hang out, because despite living together, we barely saw each other each day.

“What about lunch tomorrow?” she asked.

“Can’t. I’ve got a drum lesson at 12:30.”

“Well, what about dinner Thursday night?”

“I’ve got newspaper editing all afternoon and evening.”

“Friday afternoon?”

“I’m monitoring the climbing gym.”

The back and forth continued, with every available slot that I had being taken by something that Ines had. It was at this moment I realized that I had taken on too much; the problem was, I liked everything I had taken on. Intuitively, I knew that having this much on my plate wasn’t sustainable and didn’t afford any free time. Still, I loathed the idea of dropping any of my hobbies or activities. I enjoyed all of them enough that it didn’t make sense to eliminate any of them. And so, I would continue on, perpetually scrambling in order to pursue all of the things that brought me joy.

I had a weird sense of déjà vu recently, and I think it was recalling this moment. Because not a whole lot has changed in adulthood (or I suppose post-college life). I’m STILL doing too much, STILL perpetually scrambling. And like college, there’s really nothing I wish to eliminate—or could bear eliminating. However, this re-realization reached another echelon. It was: “I’m doing too much but I don’t want to stop doing any of these things,” and also, “If I keep doing all of these things at once, I’ll never be as good at any of them as I want to be.”

I don’t think I had fully processed the thought as I told Ryan a couple of weeks ago, “Lately, I don’t feel very good at anything. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just like … I know I could be better at things. Right now, I don’t feel like I’m particularly GOOD at running, at climbing, at resoling, at drums, at my job at REI, at coaching. It’s OK, but I just don’t have the time to really dig into any of these things.”

Don’t get me wrong; I know I’m doing better than average at all of these things (except probably drumming. I’ll always be mediocre at that). But in terms of my own personal standards—standards I set for myself—I could be stronger. I’ve long known that as high a level as I’ve gotten as a runner and a climber, I will never be elite in either sport unless I drop one of them. And I refuse to do that. In my three jobs, resoling, coaching, and customer service, I do a good job, but I wonder if I just had one of them, how truly well I could deliver. From a financial perspective, I can’t really eliminate any of them, so my performance is going to wax and wane among all three depending on my energy level and time. I suppose I’m wistful about it all, because I think, If I just had more hours in the day, I could really crush all of these things. But I don’t. In fact, I am cramming so much into every hour of every day, there is literally no way I could squeeze one more bit of effort. And I’ve made peace with it; so long as I continue with all of this stuff, I will accept that I won’t be as good as I could be. Because the joy is in pursuing all of them, not crushing them.

I was recounting this conversation to my dad on the phone, and he was supportive—because he’s the same way. He recognizes that he could be a master at all sorts of aspects of his job, but like me, he’d rather be pretty good at a bunch of things so that he can switch up what he’s doing and stay engaged. “Yeah, I could become an expert at certain software. For example, I could learn all the nuances of Python. But then I’d have no time for anything else. So I’d rather understand the fundamentals of a lot of different programs and software, because it makes me more versatile. I can always bring an expert in if something is over my head.”

It’s no surprise that Steve felt my sentiment. Just look at our band, Double Dog Dare. We play classic rock tunes that aren’t polished, but they’re decent. Our renditions of Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite! and A Day in the Life are weird, given we’re a piano-drums duo, but hey, they’re not bad. They’re different, but passable. Being polished isn’t the point. The point is that we’re having fun, playing songs we like, for people we love, with each other.

We’re all our own greatest critics. But lately, I don’t feel the need to critique myself when I’m doing a pretty OK job at a lot of things. I could be a killer climber, runner, resoler, drummer, coach, etc. if I let some things go. But where’s the joy in that?

Ponderings

• October 26, 2025
• 2 months

Banana Bread at Work Today, Dude?

If you’re single as an adult and live far from your parents, certain asks can be tricky.

When you’re a kid or you’re dating someone, there’s no real doubt who’s going to drive you to the airport: your parent or your significant other. The same goes for the finish line of your race, your big performances, your presentations; you are guaranteed the support and presence of these people. Not to mention all the day-to-day favors that your parents or partner will do without a second thought: picking you up at your car appointment, letting out your dog.

As a single adult, all of these asks are directed to your friends. And yes, they’re your friends—it shouldn’t be a big ask. But there’s a level of vulnerability to it, because unlike a parent or partner, they’re not “required” to do it. It’s highly unlikely for a parent or partner to say no, but your friends have no obligation to say yes. To an extent, there’s a fear of rejection when asking your friends for help, but also there’s a feeling of imposition. How can I ask this person to take time out of their busy life to help me? But we don’t give it a second thought when we ask a parent or a partner—it’s what they’re supposed to do.

I have, out of fear of rejection, imposition, and vulnerability, avoided asking for help dozens of times over my adult years. I constantly pay for airport parking so that I don’t have to ask anyone to get me. I bring my bike to the auto shop so that I can cycle home once I’ve dropped my car. Last year, I signed up for a 50K race in Gunnison, naively assuming I’d have support. I made some very half-hearted attempts to get someone to come, saying to my friends, “if you’re free…”—only to feel guilty that I was implying that I wanted them to drive 3 hours to Gunnison just to watch me cross the start/finish line.

Well, that race I got 3rd overall, second woman. And it felt pretty lousy to have no one there to see it. I ate the remains of the chili they had at the finish line, mostly already devoured by all the 25K and 10K runners. I got my photo taken, then proceeded to drive myself home the 3 hours, covered in sweat and salt, my body aching from the effort I just put in. I can’t do that again, I thought.

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Though I’ve improved at accepting help the last few years, I still struggle asking. I remember the first time I felt caught in one of these situations. It was the fall after I graduated from college, and I just knew I couldn’t afford to fly home to New York for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I would stay in Colorado for Thanksgiving. But where would I go?

My dad suggested I ask my career counselor, John Mann, if I could join his family. I didn’t think it was a bad idea, but I didn’t know how to make the ask. My dad came up with a short and sweet email I could tailor to my liking. It was pretty good. “Wow, I’m impressed,” I told him. My dad replied, “I’ve spent a lot of time kissing ass on this earth.”

Of course, John was happy to have me and encouraged me to bring any roommates in the same situation. Warm receptions like that are so valuable, because it makes the next ask easier. I’ve ended up spending 4 of the last 6 Thanksgivings with John and his family, to the point that I am just another family member.

My most recent successful ask was for a race I just did, the Bridge Burner Ultra 35K. After Gunnison, I vowed to no longer attend a race without support. This one felt easier to ask, since it wasn’t as far away— just an hour. I told my friends Chelsea and Mira about it, and they were on board. And thank goodness they were.

I was worried about this race, mainly because I was coming off a marathon a month before. Though the marathon had gone well, my body hadn’t recovered like it usually did. My heart rate was constantly soaring, even during easy efforts, and my sleep was off balance. The start time for the race had also been pushed back from 8:00 to 8:45 am due to a permitting issue, and the forecast was looking hot. I got heat stroke in a race last February, and since then, I’ve been afraid of racing in high temperatures. Needless to say, I was genuinely concerned something bad would happen at this 35K, and I just wanted the reassurance that someone would be there for me if it did.

Mira and Chelsea saved the day in that respect. Not only was it such a relief to see them at the aid stations and finish line (with banana bread, Monster, chocolate milk, and beers!), but it calmed me a lot knowing that they were tracking me throughout. The sun did in fact come out in full force, and the course was so exposed. Though the final 6 miles of the race were almost all downhill, my heart rate raged. At one point, I found myself panicking, which happens if I feel like I can’t breathe. It honestly felt like my throat was closing, and I was out in the middle of the trail, no runners around me. The only way I was able to calm myself was remembering that Chelsea and Mira were there—that they’d make it OK. I basically walked-ran the end of the race, and somehow still managed 3rd woman and 7th overall. But it was a journey.

The race was a lesson for me about how valuable it is to be vulnerable and make the ask. I don’t know why I always think it’s such an imposition, when I know I would do the same for anyone else. My friend needs a ride to the airport? I’m there. Another friend is running a race? I’ll be at the finish line. It’s not even a question for me, so why do I assume it’s a huge hassle for someone else? Real friends show up for you when you need it.

I imagined what it would have been like yesterday if I had no Chelsea or Mira. Maybe I would have fainted out on that trail. Maybe I wouldn’t have fainted, but I’d have not spent the proper time at the aid stations and not gotten the fuel I needed. I definitely wouldn’t have downed a chocolate milk, waded in the Arkansas River, and gotten burgers and onion rings after the fact without them. I probably would’ve crossed the finish, given myself a pat on the back, got in my car, sweaty/salty and all, and driven myself home. And that would’ve been a real bummer.

Though making the ask isn’t always easy for me, it’s becoming easier. And I just hope that as it gets easier for me, it gets easier for others to ask for my help, too.