This wasn’t the blog I wanted to write. This wasn’t how the summer was supposed to go.

This was supposed to be my revenge tour. My comeback story after two years of injuries, setbacks, heartbreak. My “I knew I could do it,” my “it was all worth it,” my “Wow, she’s an inspiration and a true testament of never giving up!”

And yet, I found myself watching the USA Track and Field Championships on the TV at home. Again. For the third year in a row.

There’s two main reasons why this happened:

1. My Achilles flared up with a vengeance, and

2. I ran out of money.

So no, this wasn’t the victory lap I pictured, but it was the wake-up call I probably needed. And what you need doesn’t always feel good in the moment. But it’s what is necessary to grow.

Here’s how it all unfolded.

My Achilles Heel is My Achilles Heel

I’m not sure if it’s the carbon-plated shoes, my workouts getting much harder, or if I’m just getting older, but I can’t seem to string together more than two weekends of racing without getting hurt.

In May 2023, I underwent surgery on my foot due to a navicular stress fracture. I did everything right: I returned back to running slowly, followed the doctor’s orders to a T, and came back to full fitness and feeling like I was in PR shape in April 2024.

I raced 3 weekends: The Stanford Invitational in late March, Bryan Clay in mid-April, and Payton Jordan at the end of April. And then it was over.

Achilles pain seemingly came out of nowhere, and I tried to push through so I could race at the Olympic Trials, but it just made everything so much worse.

I ended up having to take five months off from running and almost giving up entirely on the sport.

Somehow, though, I found that belief in myself again and built myself back up. I crosstrained for hours, started running again in October, and doing workouts in December of 2024. I was determined to have another season.

Calf Strain & Achilles Pain

Fast forward to March 2025, and I’m racing on the track again!

I raced a lowkey, co-ed meet in early March. I started things off with a 4:36 mile and doubling back two hours later to run 2:07 800. I felt like I was ready to roll.

I raced at the Stanford Invitational in early April, and finished with a disappointing 4:19. Two weeks later, I doubled at Bryan Clay and felt disappointed with a 2:04 in the 800 and 4:13 in the 1500.

Now I know progress isn’t always linear, but something just didn’t feel right.

I traveled back to LA to race at the Oxy Invitational, and felt a sharp pain in my calf during my warm up. My coach advised me not to race, so I packed up, flew back to Colorado, and scratched out of my next two races so I could fully recover from my strained calf.

Feeling healthy again, I traveled to Tennessee and finished second in the 1500 with a time of 4:15. Not great, but not bad. Progress.

A few days later, I arrived in St. Louis to race the Festival and Miles. And I finished dead last. And I was limping. And my Achilles pain was back.

I didn’t want to make the same mistake I did in 2024 and exacerbate the injury into something that required taking half the year off again, so I took a day off. Which led to four days, which led to a week, which led to four weeks. And then then my season just… fizzled out.

Then when my season ended sooner than expected, I was forced to confront another hard truth: chasing this dream costs a lot more than time and energy.

The Reality of Being Unsponsored: This Sh*t is Expensive

Listen, I’m not here to complain. I don’t feel entitled to a sponsorship. I don’t expect brands to just hand me money when I haven’t raced consistently in three years and don’t have much of a social media presence.

But the older I get, the more things I have to pay for, the more I think about my future, and the more my priorities shift. Sure, I am making more money now, but I can’t live paycheck to paycheck anymore and spend every dollar I earn on running.

And I don’t anymore.

In March of this year, my partner and I bought our first house. Being a homeowner has always been as equally as big of a dream as mine as running professionally. But no one can prepare you for how stressful buying a house is until you actually do it yourself.

I spent every single penny I had saved on securing this home, which included all of the little things that popped up along the way (ice machine needed repaired, hot water heater wasn’t working, water pressure wasn’t up, sprinklers needed fixing). All of that added up fast, and I suddenly realized that I had no money left to travel. A trip to Eugene for USAs was probably going to cost me around $1,500 alone.

I had already eaten the cost of races I booked earlier that summer but had to drop because of my calf strain. And unfortunately, the nature of sport often means you’re often flying by the seat of your pants and making last-second travel plans (which is not very friendly to your wallet).

Turns Out, Dreams Don’t Cover Travel Costs

In years past, I justified how much I was spending by thinking “okay, it’s going to pay off someday when I have the race of my life and catch the attention of a sponsor.” But that someday just never came and I kept getting injured instead.

When I looked at my bank account and considered the pain in my Achilles, I decided to take a pause on racing and running. And it felt like the end of the world. I felt stupid, like a failure, like all of the hard work I put in was for absolutely nothing.

What was the point of all the visualization I had done, seeing myself crossing finish lines and hitting big PRs? All of the time spent on meditation, saying “no” to going out so I could sleep instead, and getting my ass out the door when it was 20 degrees in the dead of winter?

It was a rough, emotional summer. I felt depressed for most of it. But now, a couple of months removed, I am starting to see the light. And when I look at it objectively, I don’t feel so critical of myself anymore. Actually, I almost feel a little proud.

My Other Life Goals Deserve Time and Money, Too

Growing up, I didn’t have my own room until I was 14. I slept on a futon in an open room at the top of the stairs, with my sisters’ and parents’ room opening up to it. I would often think about how I would decorate my own room and the privacy it would provide, and I begged one of my sisters to share her room when I was in seventh grade. And finally, I claimed a room as my own when my oldest sister went to college.

But it wasn’t everything I dreamed it would be. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and I wasn’t able to decorate it the way I wanted. Even when I went to college, my college dorm room looked bare and nothing like the Pottery Barn Pinterest boards I saved (which was a pretty unrealistic expectation, I admit).

I’m used to not having a lot of money. I’m used to buying pre-loved furniture from Goodwill and having mismatching bed stands. But when we bought our house, I admittedly splurged on a few things.

And while it temporarily wounded my bank account, it also felt a little healing. Not because buying “things” can make you happy, but because I’ve always wanted to own a home and decorate it exactly how I wanted it. And now I finally can.

We have a dining table for when our family and friends come over. A desk I love for writing and working. A big, cozy bed for sleeping and another one for our guests. A window seat for our puppy to look out the window and backyard for him to play.

Home, Identity, Peace

We didn’t just buy a house this summer. We created a home. And suddenly I felt a shift in how I see my life in Colorado.

I no longer feel like I’m in a transitional, temporary part of my life. I’m establishing myself here and becoming part of the community. I know the high school track coaches, I’m befriending the neighbors, and I find myself caring much more about local elections.

Before, everything I did and everything I thought about revolved around running. But that isn’t so much the case anymore. While I’m still training hard and planning to race in 2026, I’ve loosened my grip on trying to control the outcome as I realize there is so much more to life.

Though it might seem counterintuitive, I think this feeling of letting go will help me get back to a place of enjoying this sport again.

And maybe, just maybe, allow me to run faster than ever.

We’re older now and live much farther apart, but my sister and I still bond over running: past, present, and future goals, races, and training. Going for a run with her is one of my favorite parts about visiting home.

“I don’t know,” she reflected when I asked her about her freshman year of high school. “I just had this unwavering belief that I was going to win.”

For those that don’t know, my older sister Jessa is an insanely talented runner, and the reason I ever got into this sport in the first place. As a true freshman in high school, she won state in the 800m, 400m, and 4x400m relay (which she anchored).

A freshman winning all three of these events is not something that happens often. But Jessa, despite not having any real reason to believe that she was the best, didn't care that she was “only a freshman” and decided that she was going to win, anyways.

What Does It Mean to Rise to the Occasion?

Jessa never competed at a track meet of that caliber before. Sure, she won races during the regular season around Southwest Nebraska, but those meets were much, much smaller than the state meet. And they usually featured the same competition again and again and again.

But the stadium of 30,000 people, the unfamiliar competition, and the higher stakes didn’t cause alarm in Jessa’s head and heart. She simply laced up her spikes and did what she had always done: win.

Throughout Jessa’s running career, when it came down to it, whether it was anchoring the last leg of the 4x4 or scoring points at conference, Jessa rose to the occasion despite her previous struggles.

By definition, rising to the occasion happens when you successfully navigate a difficult situation or problem, especially by working harder or performing better than usual. Sports present the most obvious examples, but it happens in so many other life situations: giving a speech when you’re nervous, taking on more work when a coworker leaves, becoming a new parent, starting your own business.

Basically any time life presents you with a challenging, uncomfortable situation, you subconsciously make a decision on how you’re going to navigate it.

Is It Easier for Some People to Rise to the Occasion Than Others?

Andrew Fiouzi quotes clinical psychologist Allen Wagner in his blog “The Psychology of Rising to the Occasion.” According to Wagner, “If you see how it finishes, and you take the steps ahead of you, one at a time, as opposed to listening to inner voices of doubt or excuses, then you’re far more likely to execute. People are ultimately far more powerful than they think.”

On the flip side, though, Fiouzi brings up an article written by award-winning psychologist Ryan Niemic, who believes everyone possesses both tonic and phasic strengths. Tonic strengths are the ones that show up in your everyday life, while phasic strengths are situational. And when a situation calls for you to bring out your phasic strength, you do it very strongly. An example of this would be assuming a leadership position when a manager quits, despite you not being called on to do it.

And what do I believe? Well, I think it’s a mixture of both.

High School Me Rose Up. But How Did She Do It?

I struggled my freshman year of high school. Yes, I saw some success on the track, but it didn’t live up to the expectations I had for myself. In fact, I actually ran slower as a freshman in high school than I did as an eighth-grader.

At the state meet, I barely made the 400m final, and got almost dead-last in the 800m. I did manage to win a gold medal in the 4x4 though (thanks to my teammates, my sister included!).

But despite that year of struggle and disappointment, I had a huge breakthrough as a sophomore.

I remember chatting with my coach in the hotel lobby sitting the night before the state championship 800. I don’t remember exactly what I said or asked, but I remember my coach commenting, “it’s probably going to take 2:14 or 2:15 to win the All-Class Gold.” (For non-Nebraskan folk, that means the fastest of EVERYONE, despite what division your school is in.)

With no hesitation at all, I immediately thought “yeah I can do that,” even though I had only broken the 2:20 barrier once.

The next morning, I remember simultaneously feeling very nervous and very calm during my warmup. The gun went off, and I was not anywhere near the front. But I didn’t panic. I didn’t feel worried. After the first lap, I started picking people off, one by one, and crossed the finish line in 2:15 to win my first All-Class Gold.

How the Heck Did I Pull That Off?

I’ll never forget how I felt before this race: a feeling of calm, yet a feeling of nervousness. A feeling of “I can do it,” yet a feeling of no expectation.

Was it phasic strength that led me to win? Was it my inner voice? Probably both.

At that point in high school, I didn’t have the toll of social media constantly on my mind. I had NO idea what anybody else was doing in training, nor did I care. I assumed I was doing the hardest training of anyone I competed against (I later learned I definitely was not).

I think knowing/seeing what everyone else was doing silenced my inner critic, letting my phasic strength (whatever it might be? bravery?) shine.

Going Forward

So what is the takeaway here?

Training only takes you so far. Everyone on the start line is fit, hungry, and ready to go. And everyone wants to win.

But the ones who do end up winning are the ones in the right headspace. The ones who focus on themselves and their own training. The ones who stay calm by blocking out the noise and distractions going on around them.

So maybe you don’t have the ‘best’ workouts or the fastest race time going into the race. But don’t count yourself out. What matters is showing up with that unwavering belief in yourself and rising to the occasion. Like 15-year-old Jessa.

And as for me in my current quest to compete at the professional level… like my sophomore year of high school, like when I was the slowest runner in my college recruiting class and willed myself on the cross country team as a true freshman, I’ve risen to the top despite all odds.

I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.

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