Oh, do I have a story for you. I had wrestled with whether to share it, as it is kinda embarrassing, deeply personal, and I am choosing to share because I am proud of the choice I made. Dare I say, thankful that it happened?

It contrasts with how differently I would have handled this situation in the past, and how differently it could have ended if I made the other choice.

It is a long story, but one that every person I have shared it with has giggled with delight (and maybe relief!) in hearing. It is one of those "tell your grandkids" kinda stories.

So,

This is my friend Daniel, a firefighter in Umbria, Italy. Next to him, Mirko. These two firefighters, and their crewmates, Mattia and Simone, rescued me off Mount Pale in Foligno, Italy.

It was the scariest moment of my life, a moment when I genuinely thought I could die (and still believe I easily could have), and was accompanied by debilitating panic, an anxiety level I have never experienced before.

So let's go back:

In June, I shared that I spent six days in Italy with my husband, Steve. It was our first trip solo without our kids, and we had the most wonderful time. It was just how we wanted it, and we cherished it.

I am training for a 100k next month, and knew my running in Italy (and England) was not going to be ideal, but I was determined to do the best I could with the time I had, while also not spending seven hours a day running. I was going to focus on "vert" (trail speak for hills/climbing) to balance out the reduction of running time. Most bang for my buck.

We were flying Ryanair, so I packed one pair of running shoes in our shared carry on suitcase: a pair of road shoes. This is an important detail ;)

Over the first few days, I had beautiful runs on gorgeous trails, in stunning towns, and along breathtaking coastlines. Steve and I intentionally went away from the big cities, and into the countryside, into the small towns where they barely spoke English (if at all).

On our third night, we ended up in a small village, Pale. It had views of lush and green Mount Pale, which I figured would be a great place to get a hard run/hike in under an hour.

I did research, spent at least 45 minutes looking for a route that wasn't extremely (and unrealistically) steep. I found a loop on AllTrails that was 3.0 miles with 1624ft of climbing. I have done plenty of climbs like that, steep, but doable.

At 8:57am, I began the green trail up Mount Pale. Quickly, it turned steep enough to have to hike, then I was climbing scree and shale (very loose rocks) in my road shoes, not ideal. Before long, I was having to pull myself up some large rocks, hold on to tree roots to hoist myself up, and wedge my foot between random boulders to push up.

A bit of rock climbing is okay; I know what I am doing. Parts of Lookout Mountain (in Chattanooga) require this too. Besides, I must be near the top by now.

Except I couldn't see the top; it was too steep. I was proud of myself for not panicking, and continuing to focus on one obstacle after the next.

Ryan told me to work on my problem solving for ultras; look at me doing that.

Wow, I am working hard! You know what, I'll skip the rest of my run today. Three miles it is. I am so mature and balanced. Just gotta find the top.

The climbs continued to get steeper, the risks escalated, and soon my heart was pounding, as I knew every pull, every place I wedged my foot, every hold my fingers grasped, could be deadly if I fell and smashed my head on a rock or tumbled down the mountain.

Then I saw that the rock signs guiding my way were no longer green, but red.

I stopped to figure out how I had lost the trail, and the green trail appeared to be about 50 ft to my left. It looked doable to just cut across and get back on that trail. By this point I was even considering going back down the green trail; enough is enough, let's be smart here.

So I began to work my way horizontally, relieved there were no poison plants to worry about. I did have to pull myself through brambly bushes (scratched up from head to toe) and hold on to tree roots with my entire weight as I swung myself across sections. I then had to take even more risky moves to climb across dropoffs or very steep sections.

You will soon be back on the green trail. You got this.

Except all of a sudden, I couldn't go any direction. I did not have this.

In front of me was a cliff, to my right and behind me was a steep rock with almost no places (with my skill level) to hold my weight. I can rock climb better than average, but I am not able to hold my weight with my fingertips alone.

The idea of going back the way I came suddenly seemed absolutely out of the question; I was lucky I didn't fall to get to this point.

Then panic hit.

I hyperventilated, wide-eyed and terrified. Unsure of what to do.

I talked to myself like a child, and calmed my body down.

I tried all the directions (except going back) again. Nope, not happening. The likelihood of falling was too high. I panicked again. My brain flew ideas around, desperately grasping for a solution.

This really was one of those fork-in-the-road moments where I could keep trying because I didn't want to be that (white) girl who needed rescuing off the mountain.

But I also didn't want to be that headline: mother of two dies falling off a mountain.

Nope.

At 9:30am, I called 112, the emergency line in Europe. For about 20 minutes, I had a frustrating call with the emergency services. They were doing the best they could, but my service was spotty and having a translator in the call was hard, especially when I knew very little of where I was, and instead of pronouncing Pale as it was meant to be (Pa-ley) I was saying it, well, how English people would, Pale (like a white person's skin).

My stubbornness rearing its head and the realization of the gravity of what this call meant kept pushing me to tell them I would try to figure my own way down. The one thing I kept hearing:

DO NOT MOVE! We have your location. If you move, we cannot find you! Help is on the way.

I tried to protest, but relented. I understood; they were right.

For the next 20 minutes:

I called (and cried) to Steve, simultaneously apologizing and letting all my fears and emotions out as I waited.

I tried to admire the views; it really was breathtaking from up here, I should at least enjoy it.

And I had calls or texts with multiple groups. I couldn't really figure out what was going on. There seemed to be multiple response groups who were on their way to help me.

At one point, a helicopter flew near.

Oh no, please no, not a helicopter!

Thankfully, it flew on.

At 10:14am, I received a call. He spoke perfect English, and had the same level of confidence in his tone that my surgeon (Dr Haytmanek) had before my Achilles surgery. I got you.

"Hi, my name is Daniel. I am here with my team, we are on the mountain, and coming to get you. We will see you soon."

I cried all over again. Hearing someone that calm and confident, who spoke English, knew my exact location, and could find me, was everything in that moment. For that moment alone, Daniel was my hero.

About 30 minutes later, I saw them. I teared up again.

And they proceeded to help me find a way back down the mountain. Daniel and Simone (carrying gear in case I was hurt or needed something) up ahead, looking for the easiest path down. Mirko with me, holding my hand when needed, telling me where to put my foot (in Italian!), and generally guiding me down. I instantly felt safe with Mirko. And then Mattia behind me, supporting as needed (and translating when I needed it).

Over the next 45 minutes, we climbed back down the mountain.

Daniel asked me questions about myself, my life, my story. At first I struggled to comprehend; I felt like I had nearly died, and they had to spend half their day getting some stupid woman (I know, I know, but inner critic voice) off the mountain. Why would he be so....friendly and curious? Why wasn't he annoyed at me for being so dumb?!

Then he told me that they have to do this almost daily in the summer(!), and so this was just another day at work.

I relaxed (especially once we got back on the green path) and while my cortisol was still spiked, my adrenaline high, I began to realize that this was all part of the story, of my life journey, of this moment I had been presented with.

Not that I should be glad it happened, but that I could at least make the most of what I was presented with.

When we were close to the bottom, we came across another group on their way to rescue me. Turns out, multiple departments get the call and mobilize. Daniel and his group just happened to get to me first (by a long way!), quickly and efficiently.

At the bottom of the mountain, I met their chief, and we all laughed at the situation. By this point, I was feeling embarrassed and wanting it to be over, as I imagined the inner voices of the locals watching the fire truck:

Stupid tourist girl, thinking she can climb Mount Pale by herself!

Despite that, when offered the option of riding in a pickup truck with the chief or in the firetruck with the other guys, I chose the firetruck (why not appease the child in me!) back to my hotel, to Steve standing outside.

I didn't cry when I saw him; I didn't really have emotions at all. I was overwhelmed with all of them.

I insisted that we go out almost immediately, frustrated I had used up half our day. Steve said, "Yes, we can go out, but you are going to crash, I know you, so let's just go for a few hours."

We walked around the adorable town (and actually, my favorite town of the trip), Spello, and had lunch. I kept going back to that moment, processing, talking through it from every angle.

Until suddenly, Steve was right.

I was almost falling asleep from the mental and physical emotion of it all. We drove back and I collapsed into a deep (short) nap, curled up next to Steve.

On we went with the rest of our trip, finding the ability to laugh about it as the days went by.

Looking back on that moment now, over a month removed, a few things stand out.

Compassion for myself in making the choices I did that day. I truly did the best I could with each of those moments. Going up that mountain, yes, many would not have done it at all, many would have turned back immediately, but I made the choices that align with who I am, while also recognizing at a certain point that I had gone far beyond my abilities; I needed help. Not taking it could cost me my life (and irrevocably harm the lives of those who love me).

Gratitude for Daniel, Mirko, Mattia, and Simone, who responded quickly and efficiently, who made me feel safe and taken care of from the first moment I interacted with them (even though only two of them spoke English!). Gratitude for the Perugia Fire Service who did everything right, and gratitude for the 112 people I spoke to that day. While it was a terrifying experience, and one I don't wish to repeat, I knew I was going to get home to see my husband, my daughters, because of them.

Scary, overwhelming, big moments happen to all of us, even if for others they are a part of life. Allowing myself the time to process it over and over again that day, and listen to periods of rest my brain needed for rejuvenation, helped me work through the trauma of it all. Steve was the perfect person to do that with, along with calls with a few close friends who helped me work through the emotions in the days following.

Sometimes you are faced with a moment when you have to swallow your pride and make the right choice. The choice is yours: what is most important to you?

And as for Daniel, you noticed I said "friend" at the start of this email. Daniel and I have stayed in touch, sharing photos of our families, sharing similar life moments of transition and change, of following our hearts, and it has become a friendship I am grateful for.

I may someday introduce Daniel to other friends or my family as the person who rescued me off the mountain, but I also believe it is such a good example of finding good in the hard, the tough, the dark, life's scariest moments.

There is good to be gleaned from every moment; it is a lesson I try to instill in my girls, and turns out, this moment was one of the best examples of that.

Gonna keep these sections brief. So far, we have almost 40 runners representing Racing For Sustainability this fall. Last night we had our first fall meeting, and it was wonderful to meet almost half of them on a Zoom call. We still have opportunities available for this fall, including Twin Cities, Montreal, Boulderthon, Philadelphia, Indianapolis, and of course, the race of your choice.

It's hot out. The perfect time to get used to carrying your own hydration. I broke down everything I have learned into a five minute video.

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“Asking for help is never a sign of weakness. It's one of the bravest things you can do. And it can save your life.”

― Lily Collins

Thanks to our partner, Precision Fuel & Hydration.

You better believe mid fumbling around on Mount Pale, I ate a Precision chew. I knew I needed to be focused and paying attention (cause, you know, it was kinda important!), and even in that moment as I struggled to stay calm, I knew Precision would help me.

As I prepare for my goal race, which (Announcement!) is UTMB Whistler 100K, I am deep in training. Last week, between running, treadmill hiking, and strength training, I spent 15+ hours exercising, and Precision fueled me through those long days. My goal is to qualify for UTMB CCC 100k in 2027, one of the most prestigious races in the world, ending at Chamonix, France. Precision gets me there; I know that.

I mostly use Flow gel from their 300g bulk bag, squeezed into my reusable HydraPak nutrition flask, interspersed with occasional caffeine gels and watermelon chews. I have PH 1000 electrolytes in all my water while running to keep my electrolytes topped up.

As a friend of mine, you can get 15% off below with code TINASENTME

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Be kind to one another, yourself, and this beautiful planet of ours.

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