I decided in December 2023 to run a 24-hour ultramarathon in 2024. The idea felt insane, honestly. My body was wrecked from rheumatoid arthritis, and I was always tired. I’d lost weight for the first time in years due to medication that helped a little bit but drained me. Still, I kept telling my friend Nick, “I’m doing this.”

He was like, “I’m doing this with you.”

In February, I started Humira. By April, something shifted—I felt human again. I tried running. At first, I couldn’t go thirty seconds without walking. It was humbling. But every week, I got stronger. Food stopped being the enemy, and I learned to eat again, crucial for running long distances. By summer, it hit me: I could actually pull this off.

That’s when our friend Richard decided to join us.

The Oakwood24 is my kind of race. It’s held in a historic cemetery on the winter solstice. You run 2.1-mile loops for 24 hours. It’s gritty, local, and benefits Healing Transitions, a recovery and rehab program in Raleigh for people fighting substance abuse disorders. Running for a cause? That’s all the motivation I need.

The race wasn’t about pace. It was about endurance and eating—two things I could control. Training meant long runs in brutal summer heat, eating like I was training for a food challenge, and tackling the Chicago Marathon as a “warm-up.” I experimented with fuel—what kept me moving, what made me gag, and what sent me sprinting to the bathroom. It was not scientific, but it was messy and gross.

I knew I wasn’t hitting 100 miles at the ultramarathon, so I set my goal: 50 miles, with a stretch goal of 60. We pitched a tent in the cemetery, stocked a table full of snacks that looked like craft services for a low-budget indie film, and brought a portable stove since bonfires were banned. My husband, Ken, and my friend Jennifer McClure were my crew—feeding me, helping me into dry clothes, and reminding me to keep moving when my body screamed to stop.

The first half-marathon flew by. Around mile 14, I spotted my local friends Jennie and Erin holding a sign with pictures of Roxy and Spicy that made me laugh. Jennifer was there too, but I didn’t recognize her at first—she was bundled up like every other Raleigh woman who might secretly own horses.

The first marathon distance—26.2 miles—felt smooth. Richard is the coach for a local run club and kept me motivated. The weather was crisp, snacks were plentiful, and Ken even brought chicken nuggets and Mexican Coke. He helped me layer up when the sun fell, and Jennifer took over around 8 PM.

That’s when the real work started. Temperatures dropped to 25 degrees, which is bone-chilling for Raleigh. My knees and hips, already fragile from training, began to revolt. I’d seen a physical therapist before the race who warned me: “When your pain hits an 8, you’ve got two hours left. That’s it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

By mile 46, I was squatting on the side of the trail, wrapping myself into a human ball just to keep going. Nick called it my “squatting fetal position.” Each mile took over 30 minutes.

After 50 miles, I crawled into my car (because I needed heat) and slept for 90 minutes. When I woke up, I asked myself: “Did you come out here to do the minimum? Are you really a basic bitch?”

Answer: Yes. But also no. I had more in me. If I could walk, I could try.

The last laps—26 and 27—were pure grit. They were walks, not runs. In the dark, people shared their stories with me. One runner said, “I’ve been chasing you all night.” Another said, “You’ve motivated me since the beginning. Thank you.”

But the moment that got me? A woman told me, “I’m only doing 30 miles. I’m not a real athlete like you.” It was 5:45 AM. We were both out there, freezing, exhausted, and alive. I looked at her and said, “If you’re here, you’re an athlete. We both are.”

I finished 27 laps. My watch said 55.83, but everybody else’s watches had weird readings. GPS and satellites are not perfect. I was the second-place woman overall in distance. The winner ran 77.1 miles, and several dudes beat the 100-mile mark.

Will I do another ultra? Maybe. Right now, I’m enjoying the break. I haven’t run in two weeks, and it feels luxurious. But I’m grateful to Humira, my doctors, my friends, and all of you who donated or sent kind words.

I live an interesting life. Sometimes, it’s messy and challenging, but it’s mine. And I’ll keep showing up for these wild adventures—because they teach me more about myself than anything else ever could. And as long as you keep reading, I’ll keep sharing them for your enjoyment.

PS: The photo was taken after my race. You can see the look of relief. Glad to be done!

Category: Work