Tag: ultrarunning

When Size Doesn’t Matter: What We Miss Chasing the Summit

On By RocHostIn Coach Talk, MindsetLeave a comment

There is something funny that happens when flatlanders go to Colorado.

Suddenly, everybody needs to bag a 14er.

I get it. I really do. There is something incredibly satisfying about standing on top of a mountain over 14,000 feet and saying, I did that. Colorado has built an entire culture around its 14ers. People keep lists, collect summits and work toward completing all of them.

Achievement feels good.

But during my recent trip to Colorado, a local said something to me that stuck.

He talked about how many people come to Colorado focused on the 14ers and the well-known tourist destinations. Pikes Peak. The famous Incline. The places everyone has photographed and checked off their list.

His point was simple:

Look at everything you’re missing.

Colorado has thousands of mountains, trails, forests, alpine lakes, canyons and public lands that don’t come with a famous number attached to them.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized he wasn’t really just talking about mountains.

When Adventure Becomes a Checklist

We humans love measurable accomplishments.

How far did you run?

How fast?

How high did you climb?

How many have you completed?

Did you reach the summit?

Numbers give us a clean way to define success. There is a finish line. We can check the box, post the picture and know we accomplished something.

There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m a runner. I understand chasing numbers probably better than most.

But there’s a psychological difference between doing something because the experience itself matters to us and doing it because of what accomplishing it represents to other people.

Sometimes, without realizing it, the adventure becomes less about being there and more about being able to say we did it.

Colorado’s 14ers are a perfect example. Hundreds of thousands of hiking days are logged on them each year, with much of that traffic concentrated on a relatively small number of popular peaks.

Meanwhile, there is an enormous state sitting around them.

Maybe we’re looking up so hard that we’re forgetting to look around.

My Mountain Wasn’t a 14er

One of my favorite accomplishments from my Colorado trip won’t make anybody’s peak-bagging list.

I went out alone.

That alone was a big deal for me.

I’m comfortable running trails by myself at home, but this was different. I was a flatlander alone in the Colorado mountains, and I’ll admit that I was nervous.

At one point I heard a stick crack somewhere in the trees.

My brain immediately went:

Well, this is it. A bear is going to come out of there and eat me.

Then a cute little deer stepped out.

Okay.

Calm down.

You’re safe. So far.

I kept climbing.

And climbing.

And climbing.

I would make it up one steep section only to look ahead and see another steep climb.

Then another.

Eventually I was standing around 13,000 feet.

The lack of oxygen was very real. I was dizzy. Standing upright felt like an accomplishment of its own.

But I stood there and looked around.

And I was so damn happy.

Not because I had reached a particular number.

Because I had gotten myself there.

I had packed my things. Chosen a route. Gone into unfamiliar mountains alone despite being nervous. Kept climbing when it got hard. And eventually stood somewhere that made me feel incredibly small in the best possible way.

I enjoyed my moment.

And Then Someone Told Me It Wasn’t Quite Enough

Later I shared the experience on social media.

Someone privately messaged me and suggested I really needed to do a 14er because it would be more fulfilling.

For a second, I’ll admit it took the wind right out of my sails.

I had been proud of what I’d done.

Suddenly there was this suggestion that my mountain wasn’t quite big enough.

Then I remembered my conversation with the Colorado local.

And I laughed.

There it was.

People who think size matters.

Come on. I had to.

But seriously, why?

Why did adding another thousand feet suddenly determine how meaningful my experience was?

Would the view have become more beautiful?

Would I have become braver?

Would my solo hike suddenly count more?

Would another thousand feet magically unlock the deluxe version of fulfillment?

The Summit Is Something We Invented

A mountain doesn’t know its elevation.

It doesn’t know whether humans put it on a list.

The trees don’t care.

The wildlife certainly doesn’t care.

The earth isn’t handing out medals at 14,000 feet.

We created the significance of the number.

That doesn’t make pursuing a 14er meaningless. Far from it. Reaching one can require fitness, preparation, judgment and grit. For someone who dreams about doing it, standing on that summit can be an incredible achievement.

The problem comes when we start treating one particular achievement as the definition of adventure.

A 12,000-foot mountain isn’t a failed 14er.

A quiet forest trail isn’t a consolation prize.

A hike that turns around before the summit isn’t necessarily unsuccessful.

And an experience doesn’t become more meaningful simply because it’s easier to brag about.

Maybe We’re Chasing the Wrong Thing

There’s actually a bigger lesson here than Colorado.

We do this everywhere.

We chase finish lines.

Mileage.

Race buckles.

Summits.

Followers.

Job titles.

The biggest version of whatever we’re doing.

Some of that pursuit can push us into incredible experiences.

But it can also cause us to walk right past beautiful ones.

When the goal becomes collecting the achievement, it’s easy to stop noticing where we actually are.

Maybe fulfillment isn’t always at the top.

Maybe sometimes it’s standing alone at 13,000 feet, dizzy as hell, looking around and realizing you got yourself there.

Maybe it’s a trail nobody back home has ever heard of.

Maybe it’s stopping beside an alpine lake.

Maybe it’s turning around because your gut tells you today isn’t the day.

Maybe it’s simply realizing:

Holy shit. Look where I am.

I Still Might Climb a 14er

This isn’t my declaration that 14ers are stupid.

Quite the opposite.

I’d still like to climb one.

But when I do, I want it to be because I want the experience, not because someone convinced me the mountains I’ve already climbed weren’t enough.

Until then, I’ll keep exploring.

Colorado has far more to offer than its highest peaks, and so does every other place I travel.

I want the overlooked trails.

The mountains whose names nobody recognizes.

The places without a line of people waiting for the same summit photo.

I want to pack my bag, choose a trail and head out knowing I don’t need to prove anything when I get back.

Because I’ve realized something.

I don’t need bragging rights.

I need beauty.

I need adventure.

I need those moments that remind me how enormous this earth is and how lucky I am to get out there and experience a little piece of it.

If that happens at 14,000 feet, fantastic.

If it happens at 13,000, that’s pretty damn fantastic too.

And sometimes the best thing we can do is stop asking:

How high did I get?

And start asking:

What did I get to see along the way?

What I Gained From a Race I Didn’t Finish

On By RocHostIn Coach Talk, Race Reflections1 Comment

By Coach Jen Heller

There’s a moment in every ultrarunner’s journey that’s more defining than a finish line—and it’s the moment you don’t reach one for me.

I DNF’d at Sedona 125.

That sentence still feels heavy, but not in the way people might expect. Because here’s the truth: I gave it everything I had. I wasn’t fully trained the way I had hoped. I’d been battling a hip injury leading up to the race, and that derailed a lot of my training. Most of my runs were switched to power hikes—but honestly, that turned out to be one of the best things I could’ve done for this particular event. The movement felt strong and purposeful. But I also believe that the lack of running took a toll on my lungs. My VO2 max took a dive, and I’ve felt it even now back in Illinois. As someone with asthma, the allergens here are currently making breathing feel like a bit of a challenge.

What I couldn’t train for was the altitude.

It wasn’t on my radar. Coming from Illinois, I prepared in the ways I thought mattered—mileage, strength, heat acclimation in the sauna. But altitude? I didn’t think it would be the thing to take me out. And yet, there I was, laying on the side of the trail gasping for breath, unable to keep water down, vomiting, disoriented, and at one point, hallucinating. I thought a guy who helped me down a terrifying descent was my brother.

Eventually, the medics pulled me from the race. Going to the med tent was a last-ditch effort. I had already told my crew I was done. They were hoping the medics would somehow be the push I needed to keep going. That didn’t work out—because the medics made the call. And while I want to be clear that it was their decision, I was already done. I had no energy left. I had told my crew I wanted to stop. I was beyond empty.

In the weeks since, people have asked how I’m doing. Honestly? I’m okay. This was my first big DNF, but I don’t carry regret. I carry frustration, yes—but not shame. I didn’t quit because it was hard or because I wasn’t having fun—I quit because my body had absolutely nothing left to give. I had just finished the hardest part of the course—the first 50 miles—and made it up to the plateau where the terrain would finally ease up, and I’d soon have a pacer. Shame is walking away when you still have something in the tank but don’t want to hurt. This wasn’t that. This was my body completely shutting down. I can’t fully describe the feelings I experienced out there—I’ve never felt anything like it. Laying down on the trail was the only way I could find any relief and actually breathe. I know I left it all on that trail. My legs had more to give, but my lungs did not.

One of the hardest parts was feeling like I let people down—my crew, my friends and family back home in Illinois, everyone watching and cheering. I messaged my crew afterward to say I was sorry I couldn’t give them the finish. That still sits heavy on my heart. But I’m grateful they were out there for me, even if we didn’t all agree on when enough was enough.

I’ve had time to reflect on what I learned. I’ll always take altitude into account now—even if it’s just 5,000 to 7,000 feet, it’s a thing—not just for myself, but for my athletes. Whether that means going out early to acclimate, investing in an altitude mask, or reevaluating sauna training versus true elevation exposure, I’ll be more prepared next time. I’ll push my athletes to be too.

I’ve also learned that spending long stretches alone in a race isn’t something to fear. I handled that well. And I’ll keep dialing in my nutrition, especially liquid options that are easier to carry and absorb when your body starts rejecting everything else.

So what now?

I’m feeling a bit stuck right now. Not having a goal is hard for me. I’m a goal-driven person. It keeps me grounded, focused, and feeling like I’m moving forward. Without it, I feel like I’m tied to a tree, walking in circles. That’s where I am right now—in limbo. But I’m working on it. I’ve always found my way forward, and I will again.

That’s the question swirling in my brain. I don’t know what’s next yet. I don’t think I’ll go back to Sedona—not next year, maybe not ever. It’s expensive, and I can’t ask my crew to go through all that again.

But I know I’ll chase something. Maybe something solo. Maybe something with just the hubby or just a couple close people. I don’t know where yet, but I know I’m not done.

If you’ve got a race within 200 to 300 miles driving distance from Dixon that screams, “Here’s your next challenge,” I’m listening. I’ve already put some feelers out to a few people to get their thoughts on some big, scary goals I’ve been eyeing, and we’re chatting about possibilities. So, you never know—something might spark soon.

This wasn’t a failure. It was a reckoning. And I’m proud of how I showed up for it.

As a coach, I want to say this loud and clear: don’t be afraid to do hard things. Don’t be afraid of failure. That’s where the growth is. That’s where life is. If you’re scared to go after something because you might not succeed—do it anyway. “What if I fail?” Well, what if you don’t? And even if you do—you stood at the start line. You had the courage to try. That’s braver than most ever get.

There’s a quote I love: “Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.” – T.S. Eliot.

Another one I keep coming back to: “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” – Mary Anne Radmacher.

Just because I didn’t cross the finish line doesn’t mean I didn’t cross into something powerful. I grew. I got stronger. I’ll be a better coach because of this. A better human. A better athlete.

Don’t let someone else’s DNF scare you away from doing hard things. Don’t let your fear of failure talk you out of signing up. Go after the big, scary thing. That’s where the good stuff is.

This race gave me more than a belt buckle ever could.

It Takes Two: Your Guide to Hiring and Thriving with a Running Coach By Jen Heller

On By RocHostIn Coach TalkLeave a comment

It Takes Two:

Ah, the start of a new year—a fresh slate for goals, dreams, and maybe even a new coach to help you crush them. Whether you’re chasing a new PR or training for your first ultra, a running coach can be your secret weapon. But here’s the catch: coaching is a two-way street. If you’re paying for guidance, you need to do your part to make the relationship work.

Let’s dig into the nitty-gritty of finding the right coach and getting the most out of this partnership. Spoiler alert: it’s not just about having someone fast-track your running progress—it’s about creating a connection that helps you thrive.

Step 1: Do Your Homework

Not all coaches are created equal, and that’s okay. Start by researching potential candidates. Certifications are a great starting point—they show your coach has invested in learning the craft. But experience matters too. Are they seasoned runners, experienced coaches, or ultra-savvy crew members?

Don’t skip the vibe check! Set up a conversation to ensure your personalities click. A great coach-athlete relationship is built on trust and understanding. After all, you’re spending time (and money!) on this partnership—make sure you’re compatible.

Pro Tip: Avoid hiring a coach solely because they’re fast. Speedy runners don’t always make the best coaches. Coaching requires teaching skills, patience, and the ability to adapt training plans to different needs. If speed is your goal, find someone who knows how to coach it, not just someone who’s genetically blessed.

Step 2: Communicate Like a Champ

Communication is the backbone of any coaching relationship. Your coach can’t read your mind—so speak up! Share your thoughts on workouts, your struggles, your wins, and even those “meh” runs. The more they know, the better they can adjust your training plan.

Personally, I’m a huge fan of the Marco Polo app for video messaging. It allows my athletes to send quick video updates, and it’s a game-changer for context. Sometimes, a thumbs-up emoji just doesn’t cut it. I want to see your excitement when you crush a run—or your frustration when a workout doesn’t go as planned. It helps me tailor your training (and your pep talks) to exactly what you need.

Step 3: Know When to Break Up

Here’s a truth bomb: it’s okay to outgrow your coach. Whether your goals change, the relationship doesn’t feel right, or you just want some change moving on is normal. A good coach won’t take it personally—they’ll support your decision because your success is what matters most.

On the flip side, if things are working great, stick with it! Consistency with a coach who understands your needs can be a huge asset in reaching your long-term goals.

Step 4: Understand Your Coach’s Limits

Coaches aren’t superheroes (although we try). Every coach works within their certifications and the legal regulations of their state. For example, a running coach without a strength certification shouldn’t be designing your weightlifting program. Similarly, nutrition advice often has restrictions unless your coach is a licensed dietitian. We often do provide guidelines however.

Why? Liability. A coach who steps outside their expertise risks legal trouble—and so do you. Instead, ask about your coach’s qualifications and how they handle areas like strength training or nutrition. A great coach knows when to refer you to a specialist and when to stay in their lane.

Step 5: Demand Personalization

The real value of a coach lies in their ability to customize your training. A good coach doesn’t just hand you a cookie-cutter plan—they adapt it to your life, goals, and physical condition. For example, I recently noticed one of my athletes looking fatigued in her training metrics. Her communication confirmed this, and I adjusted her schedule to allow for more recovery. That’s what personalized coaching is all about.

Red Flag: If a coach has too many clients or a demanding full-time job, they might not have the bandwidth to give you the attention you deserve. Don’t hesitate to ask about their workload before signing up.

Final Thoughts: It Takes Two

Hiring a coach is more than just signing up for a training plan. It’s a partnership that requires effort from both sides. Do your homework, communicate openly, and don’t be afraid to reassess the fit. When you and your coach are in sync, magic happens—whether it’s crossing your first finish line, hitting a PR, or simply falling in love with running again.

Remember: it takes two to make this work. So, invest in the process, and let your coach help you soar. Here’s to crushing those goals in the new year and beyond!

Why Coaches Don’t Write Weight Lifting and Nutrition Plans: A Deep Dive

On By RocHostIn Coach TalkLeave a comment

As a running coach, one of the most common questions I hear is, “Why don’t you write weight lifting or nutrition plans to go along with my training plan?” It’s a great question, and the answer has to do with expertise, ethics, and legal boundaries. Let’s break it down.

Weight Lifting Plans: Staying in Our Lane
Running coaches, myself included, are trained to focus on running and endurance performance. While strength training is a critical component of overall fitness and injury prevention, crafting a detailed weight lifting plan requires specialized knowledge.
Some coaches may choose to write these plans, but it’s a slippery slope. Imagine a situation where an athlete gets injured while following a lifting plan provided by a coach who lacks proper certification. That scenario could lead to serious consequences—not just for the athlete, but for the coach as well.
For me, the risk isn’t worth it. While I’m happy to tell my athletes that strength training is essential and help integrate those workouts into their schedule, I won’t dictate specific exercises or techniques. I’m simply not certified in weight lifting (yet!), and I believe in leaving that expertise to certified strength coaches and personal trainers.
By staying within my scope of practice, I ensure that my athletes are safe and that I’m coaching responsibly.

Nutrition Plans: Legal Limits and Best Practices
Nutrition is another area where the boundaries can get blurry. I hold a certification in nutrition from NASM, which gives me a strong understanding of fueling strategies for endurance performance. However, in my home state of Illinois, only registered dietitians and licensed nutritionists are legally allowed to provide specific nutrition advice.
With $10,000 fines per incident for stepping over that legal line, I choose to respect the rules. That means I won’t create personalized meal plans or provide specific dietary prescriptions.
Here’s what I can do:
Share general population guidelines for calorie race needs.
Offer advice on staying hydrated and managing electrolytes.
Teach athletes how to fuel effectively during races—a skill we work on throughout training blocks.
Eating on the run is an art and a science. Together, we’ll practice techniques for consuming fuel during long runs without causing stomach upset. By race day, my athletes have a clear plan for staying fueled and hydrated to perform their best.

What About Injuries?
When it comes to injuries, I always defer to the experts. I’m not a doctor, and I don’t play one on social media. If an athlete gets injured, I rely on their feedback and encourage them to follow the advice of their medical team.
While I can help adjust training plans during recovery and provide guidance on easing back into running, I never override medical advice. The athlete’s health and safety always come first.

Why These Boundaries Matter
At first glance, it might seem like coaches should do more—after all, a lifting plan or detailed meal guidance could complement a running plan. But here’s the reality: staying in our lane as coaches protects both our athletes and ourselves.
Imagine a coach crafting a lifting plan without proper certification or giving specific dietary advice without a dietitian’s license. All it takes is one injury or health issue to result in legal and financial consequences—not to mention a loss of trust.
I’m proud to coach responsibly, and I stand up for other coaches who do the same. By respecting these boundaries, we ensure that our athletes receive the best care from qualified experts in every area.

The Takeaway
As a coach, my role is to help my athletes succeed safely and responsibly. That means:
I’ll encourage strength training and help schedule it into your plan, but for technique and programming, I recommend working with a certified strength coach.
I’ll provide general nutrition guidelines, hydration strategies, and race-day fueling techniques, but for personalized meal plans, a registered dietitian is your best resource.
I’ll always defer to your medical team for injury management, while supporting you in adjusting your training as needed.
At the end of the day, my priority is your success—and doing things the right way ensures we both reach the finish line safely.