As the year winds down, I find myself thinking back over the miles — the dusty ones, the alpine ones, the gritty ones, the ones where the views made me forget the effort (for about three seconds), and the ones where I questioned all my life choices before eventually laughing about it.

Because this wasn’t just a year of running.

It was a year of trail running.
Of climbs that burned.
Of descents that asked for trust.
Of fueling, adjusting, hydrating, recalculating — and choosing to keep going.

Trail running has been my anchor, my therapy, my teacher, and sometimes… my humbler.
And I’m grateful for every uneven, rocky, breathtaking mile.

Here’s my look back at a year spent chasing dirt, sky, and meaning.

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The Races — And the Miles That Changed Me

This year took me to some truly magical places — the kind of courses that remind you why we leave pavement behind.

In March, I ran Run Red Rock in St. George, Utah — weaving through sandstone and desert color. Early-season legs. Big heart energy. The kind of day that whispers, “Yes. This is who you are.”

In June, I climbed into the clouds at Leadville, Colorado.
High altitude. Steady climbs. Thin air. Quiet grit. Running here is like layering gratitude over fatigue and calling it growth.

In August, I headed to Green River, Wyoming, where the horizon stretches and the trails feel wild and grounding — the kind of landscape that clears mental clutter.

In September, I ran in South Pass, Wyoming, tracing miles mixed with history and solitude. Every step felt both ancient and alive.

And then came October and November in Moab, Utah — my red-rock refuge. Slickrock. Canyon air. Trails that feel like conversation with the earth itself.

Some races felt strong.
Some felt like survival.
Every single one changed me.

Because trail miles don’t care about ego —
but they reward presence, patience, and respect.

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Running Trails With a Real-Life Body

Trail running with diabetes is a layered adventure.

It’s not just:

• the terrain
• the weather
• the vert
• the altitude

It’s also:

• blood sugar strategy
• fueling timing
• hydration that actually supports hormones + stress
• having backup plans for the backup plans

And through all of that, learning to stay calm.

Trail running has taught me:

You can be a strong athlete
and
a sensitive, body-aware human.

Those two truths belong together.

And on long mountain climbs or desert stretches, I learned (again and again) that honoring my body is the bravest strategy there is.

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What the Trails Taught Me This Year

Some lessons only arrive one dusty mile at a time:

• hiking is still forward
• slow is steady — and steady is resilient
• fueling early prevents bonks and meltdowns
• data informs — but effort tells the truth
• compassion keeps you in the sport long-term

And my favorite:

Trail runners don’t need to “earn” belonging.

If you’re moving through the mountains with heart, curiosity, and respect —
you’re already one of us.

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The Quiet Ultra Wins

This year, the biggest wins weren’t medals or PRs.

They were moments like:

• staying calm when things got hard
• letting go of pace
• fueling before I felt desperate
• trusting walk breaks
• laughing at chaos
• finishing — even when it wasn’t glamorous

Trail running keeps me honest.

And I love it for that.

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Looking Ahead — With Curiosity, Not Pressure

Yes, I still have trail goals.
Yes, there are distances and routes that call to me.
Yes, I still want big mountain days and long adventure runs.

But my guiding force is different now.

I want:

• more grounded effort
• more joy in the process
• more partnership with my body
• more meaning, less measuring

Because I want to stay in this sport.

For years.
For decades.
For the version of me who is still out there hiking ridgelines with a smile at 70.

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A Quiet Toast to My Body

So here’s my year-end gratitude:

Thank you legs,
for every climb and descent — especially the sketchy ones.

Thank you lungs,
for breathing through altitude and effort.

Thank you heart,
for staying open to the journey.

And thank you diabetes-management brain,
for the constant invisible calculations
that allow me to wander these wild places.

We did something meaningful this year.

And that matters.

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My Trail Intention for the New Year

Run with reverence.
Fuel with intention.
Rest like it’s training.
Trust my body.

And always choose compassion first.

Because the mountains, the mesas, the desert trails —
they don’t require perfection.

Just presence.

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Here’s to more dirt, more wonder, more slow breaths under wide open skies, and more miles that feel like coming home.

See you out there.
—The Fed Diabetic Runner