Leadville isn’t just a rugged mountain town or a legendary place where runners chase altitude and endurance dreams.
For me, Leadville is part of my bloodline.
In 1887, my second great-grandfather, Reverend Arthur Edison Armstrong I, moved his family to this tough little mining town tucked high in the Colorado Rockies. He became the second Presbyterian minister in Leadville, stepping into a community that was raw, worn, hopeful, and constantly balancing faith with survival.
I imagine him standing there for the first time — boots on dusty ground, lungs adjusting to the thin air, heart determined to build something steady in a place where life was anything but predictable.
Leadville in 1887 — Hardship, Hope, and Human Spirit
This wasn’t a quiet mountain retreat back then.
Leadville was booming — and breaking — all at once. Mines opened and closed. Fortunes rose and fell. Winters were long. Work was relentless. And people came here chasing possibility, even when the cost was steep.
Into that whirlwind walked Reverend Armstrong.
He wasn’t mining silver.
He was mining faith, connection, and belonging.
He served families who were tired, grieving, celebrating, rebuilding.
He showed up in homes, in prayer, in heartache, in joy.
His ministry wasn’t about polished pews — it was about people doing the best they could in a town where the mountains never let you forget how small you are… or how strong you can become.
And his children grew up breathing that same thin-air resilience.
The Weight and Gift of Legacy
When I think about my great-great-grandfather walking those streets, talking with miners, comforting widows, baptizing babies, and guiding souls — I feel an incredible connection to the way Leadville shapes people.
This town has always been a test of endurance.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Spiritually.
And that endurance didn’t disappear when my family eventually moved on.
It simply threaded itself into the generations that followed.
Including me.
Coming Back to Leadville — As The Fed Diabetic Runner
Years later, I came back to Leadville not as clergy or miner family — but as a runner.
A runner with diabetes.
A runner who tracks numbers, fuel, stress, and effort.
A runner who knows that showing up sometimes requires more internal negotiation than mileage charts.
Standing in Leadville today — whether on the streets or the trails — I feel like I’m walking beside my ancestors.
The same altitude.
The same wind.
The same stubborn courage.
Except now, instead of sermons and hymn books, I carry gels, glucose tabs, and hydration flasks.
In a way, our work is the same:
✨ Stay present
✨ Serve the body and soul
✨ Keep faith in forward motion
What My Family’s Story Means to Me
Reverend Arthur Edison Armstrong I didn’t come to Leadville for ease.
He came for purpose.
And when I lace up my shoes and breathe that sharp, thin air, I remember that I am not the first in my family to do hard things here.
I come from people who:
✔️ built community
✔️ healed hearts
✔️ chose hope
✔️ stayed steady — even when life felt uncertain
As a chronic-health athlete, that history matters.
It reminds me that:
I can carry my diagnosis and my dreams.
I can honor my body and push my limits.
I can be tender and tough.
Because my people have always lived courage at altitude.
Leadville, Then and Now
What began in 1887 as a calling for a Presbyterian minister has become, generations later, a calling of my own:
To keep moving.
To keep believing.
To keep honoring this body — exactly as it is — at 10,152 feet and beyond.
Leadville holds my history.
It shapes my present.
And it whispers:
Strength runs in your family.
So does faith.
So does endurance.
And every time I return, it feels less like travel…
And more like coming home.
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