Sometimes I get the “voice in my head” confused with my “inner voice.”

This becomes a problem when I need to tell the “voice in my head” to fuck off.

You see, the “voice in my head” is an expert at camouflaging itself as my kinder, gentler “inner voice” – so sometimes it’s hard to figure out which of them is talking to me.

The “voice in my head” is the one that tries to sabotage me by whispering negative, judgmental, or fearful things. It’s the voice that tells me I’m socially awkward, so I shouldn’t go to an event where I might have to talk to people I don’t know. It’s the voice that discourages me of trying physically challenging activities that I might fail at. It’s the voice that whispers I’m an old lady and should act my age.

I’m exceedingly lucky that the “voice in my head” typically isn’t very loud or persistent. But, it’s there nonetheless and can sneak up on me if I’m not watching out for it.

Conversely, my “inner voice” is more the voice of my higher self. This voice always has my best interests at heart. It guides me through life and encourages me to show up as the best version of myself. It wants me to step outside of my comfort zone, to be present in the moment, and to trust my instincts.

I experience the “voice in my head” as my voice talking to myself. It’s not a dialogue, but more like I’m thinking out loud (but silently, if that makes sense?). My “inner voice” doesn’t really talk to me…it’s more of a deep knowing. An intuition. A gut feeling.

But, when the “voice in my head” whispers quietly enough, it can feel just like the sensation of my “inner voice” – which means I start to trust the nefarious things it is telling me. I recently caught the “voice in my head” in the act of sabotage and wrote about it in Fat Bodies Doing Things.

Long story short – I had seen a few social media postings by Mirna Valerio (@themirnavator) inviting folks to join her for a running retreat in the Azores (Portuguese islands in the North Atlantic), culminating in a long-distance trail race up and over the volcano on the island of Faial.

I looked at Mirna’s posts longingly with a “you’re too old and out of shape to do those things anymore” narrative looping in my head. The “voice in my head” was certain I had no business contemplating such an adventure and was working overtime to ensure I didn’t seriously consider it.

But here’s the thing about Mirna – she’s a powerful force for good in the world. The “voice in my head” was no match for her magic.

Mirna lives her life in active pursuit of the things that bring her joy and openly shares the good and bad of those experiences. By extension, she invites others pursue their own joy with wild abandon and deep determination. She squashes the internet trolls and real-world naysayers by breaking stereotypes about what it means to be an athlete.   

Mirna is an ultrarunner, an author and a badass adventurer. Next year she’ll be joining other world class athletes to test the bounds of female endurance as part of lululemon’s Further ultramarathon research study. She’s the real deal.

So, as the “voice in my head” was weaving the story about why I couldn’t race over a volcanic island in the middle of the ocean, Mirna’s voice tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Whatever. You can totally do this. Just give it a try! I’ve got you.”

The next think you know, I found myself in the Azores meeting the other fabulous “Team Mirnavator – Azores Slow as Fuck” retreat participants.

The retreat included lots of hiking and trail running in the days leading up to the race. Before arriving, I was quite nervous about these pre-race activities. How far were they? How hard were they? Would I be able to keep up with the group?

The “voice in my head” was making another go at convincing me I couldn’t do this.

On a pre-trip “get to know you” phone call with Mike, one of the group’s running coaches, I asked about these activities to assess if I had gotten in over my head. Mike proceeded to tell Glenn and I all about the pre-race hikes and trail runs…by going into great detail about the amazing food and wine we’d be consuming along the way…sometimes mid-run!?!

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…we’ll be doing some running. That won’t be an issue for you. Now, let me tell you about the food!”

I knew right then that these were my kind of folks because they didn’t take things too seriously, and all (errr…most?) of my fears drained away.

When Glenn and I arrived in the Azores, our batteries were running on empty. We had spent the prior month hiking ~100 miles across Portugal and Northern Spain. To top it off, we had come down with a nasty (and long-lasting!) respiratory virus that made every activity exceedingly more challenging.

In all honesty, we were ready to just go home.

Spending yet another week engaged in significant physical activity was the last thing we felt like doing. But, as soon as we were in the care of Mirna and the amazing group of folks she’d pulled together, we felt buoyed. We were filled with joyful anticipation of what was to come, and although we were still struggling with fatigue from our illness, we found our energy levels increasing each day.

The days leading up to the race were filled with beautiful hikes and runs that were at times challenging because of the terrain…not to mention the copious amounts of Portuguese wine often consumed at lunch!

We spent one day running sections of the trail we’d be racing – which helped boost our confidence and gave us a reality check about the difficulty of the conditions we could expect in terms of mud and wind.

Finally, race day arrived. This was it, the big moment!

Glenn and I marveled at finding ourselves about to race 25k (~15.5 miles) up and over a volcano. (Actually, the course took us past a series of 10 volcanoes…but one of them is huge!) We’d never done anything like this.

When I envisioned this moment, I had expected to be filled with trepidation, if not outright certainty that I wasn’t going to be able to do this.

But standing at the starting line…proudly at the back of the pack with my other Slow AF team members…I felt tremendous excitement. I knew that regardless of what happened next, I had already “won” by just showing up and giving it a try.

The race itself was one of the most difficult, magical, and transformational things I’ve ever experienced.

It was muddy, windy, steep, muddy, foggy, exhilarating, muddy and incredibly rewarding. (Did I mention it was muddy?) At times Glenn and I were wrapped in the camaraderie and shared misery of our fellow Slow AF teammates, and at other times it was just the two of us trudging along up and down the series of soul-sucking muddy hills.

As I mentioned in my last blog post – what had driven me to this point was the vision of triumphantly standing atop the volcano’s caldera. I fanaticized about what the photo of me there – smile of accomplishment plastered across my face – would look like.

In reality, the volcano was shrouded in dense fog and I never got the chance to see the view I had dreamt about.

But at that point, it didn’t matter.

I had made it to the top of the volcano and the ferocious wind and fog that blasted and buffeted me as I crawled through the mud along the rim of the caldera made sure it was a visceral experience that I’d never forget, even without a picture.

In many ways, the lack of a view…and the intensity of the mud…made me hyper-focused on only my most immediate surroundings. A barbed wire fence on one side, and a precipitous drop far down into the mouth of the volcano on the other, meant I could only be worried about the next step in front of me. All my other worries, doubts, and expectations simply dropped away.

I’ve never felt more alive!           

I can’t put into words what the race was like. It was indescribable in so many ways. It took Glenn and I nearly 8.5 hours to complete, and my fitness watch says I logged over 47,000 steps and climbed the equivalent of 481 flights of stairs. Say what?!?!

I made a video diary along the way – check it out if you’d like to get a better feel for what it was like in the moment (video is also posted at the end of this blog post).

I asked Glenn what he got out of or learned from the race.

Although we were together for the entire thing, we both had somewhat different experiences. Glenn told me that the moment we stepped on top of the caldera, he was certain that he wasn’t going to be able to finish. Not because he couldn’t do the distance, but because the mud was so bad (and his hips so tight) that he felt it was inevitable that he was going to fall and get seriously injured.

At multiple points along the way he’d mentally mapped out where he was going to drop out and quit the race (e.g., at the next aid station). Yet, when we got to those points, he’d decide to try to go a little further and instead drop out at the next viable place. This pattern of “going a little further” continued for him throughout the race.

About 1.5 miles from the finish, I jokingly asked Glenn if he thought we were going to make it (for me, finishing had been a given all along). He said, “we just might do this!” He told me later that it wasn’t until that very moment — when he vocalized that statement — that he actually believed he was going to be able to finish.

He said it was the first time in his life he had to dig deep to find the “grit” to keep going. The closest other such experience he could think of was after his first day of hiking the Camino de Santiago (Spain) when he had to climb up and over the Pyrenees Mountains with a full pack.

I get the impression (based on the numerous links to other trail runs he’s been sending me lately) that Glenn is eager to find more experiences that put him in a position to “dig for the grit to keep going.”

For me, one of the most powerful factors in our success — and the joy we found along the way — was the amazing group of folks we found ourselves surrounded by.

I can’t speak for Mirna about her motivations and visions for putting on this retreat, but I can say that what I experienced as a participant was pure magic.

She curated an incredibly inclusive experience that met folks where they were at and enabled them to participate an all facets of the retreat as their full, authentic selves. It was an environment where folks who either needed or wanted to run at a slower pace were empowered to joyfully embrace that reality, where our efforts were celebrated, and our hard work validated.

Although Mirna set the stage for such an experience, it was a group effort to make it a reality.

Mirna, the running coaches (Mike and Beth), the island adventure guides (Luis, Pedro and Alejandro), the race director and organizers, the amazing chefs and wine purveyors, the yoga instructor, and all the retreat participants came together in a way that, I think, lived into Mirna’s vision of what’s possible in the world of outdoor adventure, recreation, and athleticism. It was beautiful to behold, and transformational to experience.

This experience gifted me several life lessons.

First, it’s so important to stretch into the discomfort and reach for those things that simultaneously intimidate me, while also igniting my curiosity. That is the path I am meant to be on…even if the “voice in my head” tells me to play it safe.

A lot of folks might say I already lead an adventurous life based on what they glimpse via social media or this blog. I’ll admit that my “pursuit of adventure” baseline is already pretty high compared with some folks, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t battle my own fears or doubts about what I “could” or “should” be doing.

As I get older, I find it harder and harder not to dim down or tarnish my dreams about the things I want to do, see, and experience. With each trip around the sun, it gets a little easier for that “voice in my head” to take root by saying “that’s not for you.”

This experience reminded me that I must stay vigilant to catch that voice in the act, and I need to say “yes” more often when my curiosity is tickled by a challenge or experience that intimidates me.

Second, I saw firsthand the transformational power of being surrounded by like-minded folks who are working to create and participate in fun, empowering and inclusive experiences.

I’ve aspired to create such spaces in the past (Running in the Buff), and I’m lucky enough to volunteer as a grant writer for an amazing non-profit, Wild Diversity, for whom this is their mission.

My time in the Azores reminded me, in a larger-than-life way, of the power of community. Of being in community, and of building community. I am invigorated by the idea of finding my people, including creating more inclusive spaces and inviting others to join me.

Lastly, I was reminded how important it is to let my light shine. I’ve talked about this a bit in the past (Charmed, I’m Sure), but I often struggle to embrace the dreamy reality of my life. Several times a month someone says to me something akin to “you’re living the dream.” In response, I often experience a sinking sensation in my stomach.

I absolutely live a charmed life…or as my dear friend Salsa Lady sometimes says, “rainbows and unicorns shoot out of my ass!” On balance (and knock on wood it continues), my life really is as fucking amazing as it outwardly seems…on all levels and in nearly every aspect. It’s too good to be true, and always has been.

But, I spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about how the reality of my life makes others feel about theirs. I am a people-pleaser at heart (not a healthy way to go through life, I know) and have a deep-seated need to be liked (again, not healthy).

So…I fret, with each conversation or social media post, that I am engendering in other people feelings of jealously, regret, inadequacy or (insert any number of negative words here). My worries over how others might feel about my life can cause me to try to shrink and become invisible in the corner.

Mirna reminded me of the profound power of being unapologetically joyful, and honestly vulnerable, for all the world to see.

Of course, Mirna and I have very different lived experiences. Much of the ease with which I move through the world is rooted in the white privilege and systemic racism I benefit from every day.

Although the motivations, importance and impacts of me sharing my life more visibly isn’t the same as it is for Mirna sharing hers (the stakes are infinitely higher for her, in so many ways), I think there is a commonality in our wish for others to see themselves, and their potential, reflected back at them through how they view us.

Even if I had never flown halfway around the world to meet Mirna in person, she still would have impacted my life for the better by causing me to question the limiting internal narrative I was telling myself.

Mirna’s bright light left an indelible mark on my soul and I’m eternally grateful she puts herself out there. In doing so, she unknowingly helped guide me back to my path.

I’m under no illusions that I might do something similar for others, but Mirna reminded me that it is important to shine brightly, if only (and often most importantly) for yourself.

Video Highlights of the Azores

(This 7 minute video is a compilation of Instagram Reels I made documenting our experience. Apologies, royalty free music leaves a lot to be desired!)

Video Diary of Race Day

(Warning: This video is almost 20 minutes long and filled with the sounds of my heavy breathing and prolific bitching about climbing hills. Oh, and mud. Lots of mud.)

Pre-race hiking and running adventures: