Tag: travel

My experience in Utah with 29029 was truly life-changing—just ask my family and closest friends. They can tell you how my daily rhythms have shifted and how new boundaries have taken root in my life. But honestly, I think much of what happened there was only possible because of two things that unfolded before I ever boarded the plane.

About ten days before I was set to leave, I had an unfortunate accident on a trail run that left me unable to stand—or sleep. For a couple of nights, I tried to sleep on the couch just to manage the pain. Thankfully, I know some incredible people at Embody in Chattanooga who worked their magic. They got me standing straight again, at least enough to move forward. But from that moment on, my goals for Utah changed. Running was no longer on the table; I decided I would simply try to hike as much of the three half-marathons that I could.

The second thing was harder for me emotionally—my family wasn’t coming with me. Originally, this was meant to be our last family vacation together before Piper left for college in Scotland. I also wanted them to experience the unique community of 29029. Realizing they wouldn’t be there was, for me, the most disappointing part.

The past eight years have been incredibly difficult. We’ve been blessed with amazing people in our lives, but the topic of church—and more specifically, true community—has been painful and complicated. Looking back, I know the unfortunate experiences we endured in Maine left a deep mark, one that has kept most of our family guarded ever since. I wanted them to be there to experience this community.

So… what happened in Utah?

I decided to head to Park City five days early, hoping to give myself a chance to acclimate to the elevation. (Great in theory, but not in actuality.) There was a woman who lived nearby who was also participating—we’d connected a few times online but had never actually met in person. She had already booked her tickets, so I asked if I could tag along. The first time we met face-to-face was at the airport, where we snapped this selfie to send to our coach, Paul.

Karen, my roomie for the next five days, is hilarious. We have very different political leanings, which lent itself to some great conversations… and reminders that it IS possible to find common ground and a path forward. I would also soon find out that Karen is a 29029 celebrity! (You can see her story HERE.)

On our second night in Park City, a group of us went out to dinner. Many of the Park City Trail participants were part of a group thread on Instagram, so we planned a dinner for those who arrived early.

There’s so much I could share about moments like this one, but for the purpose of this project I want to focus on two things: our differences and our connections.

This picture captures six people whose lives look completely different on the surface. During dinner, we went around the table, each sharing a little about our journeys and our why for being at 29029. Four of them were alumni—seasoned climbers who knew what to expect. Carey (on the right) and I were the new faces at the table, wide-eyed and eager to learn. Among us were people with stories of extraordinary, jet-setting adventures and others of us simply trying to keep our heads above water in everyday life.

And yet, around that table, none of that created distance.

At the end of the dinner, Carey took the check to pay for everyone. We all protested, and Carey simply said, “You guys just make a donation to Deirdre’s organization and we’ll call it even.”

That’s when I began to truly understand what people mean when they talk about the magic of the 29029 community. It’s not about status or success—it’s about showing up authentically, encouraging one another, and realizing that even in our differences, we share a common thread: the desire to push ourselves, to grow, and to belong… but also to support one another in the journey of life outside of 29029.

And, even in the middle of something as physically demanding and wildly unique as 29029, I couldn’t escape the whispers of faith. The following morning, as I was quietly working in the lobby, Eric (pictured on the left) walked over and gently asked if he could pray for me. Even now, I get emotional just thinking about it. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t loud or showy—it was simple, genuine, and full of care.

That moment reminded me that faith has a way of finding us, even when we’re not actively searching for it. Sometimes it looks like a whispered prayer, other times like the presence of someone who sees you and chooses to stop, sit, and lift you up.

Eric was also one of the many 29029 participants who checked in after I returned home unexpectedly early and I’m finding that this kind of care is becoming more and more rare in our society. But, it also revealed something to me: 29029 is about so much more than climbing a mountain. It’s about the people you meet on the path, the connections that form in unexpected ways, and the reminders that even in the most unlikely settings, God has a way of showing up.

The following day, I also had the chance to see another amazing side to this community. 29029 doesn’t just challenge participants to push past their personal limits, it also encourages them to look outward and support causes bigger than themselves. One of those causes is The Kyle Pease Foundation, an Atlanta-based nonprofit dedicated to improving the lives of individuals with disabilities through sports.

Through this partnership, many 29029 participants choose to dedicate their climbs and their training journey to raising funds for the foundation. It’s inspiring to see athletes who are already working so hard physically also channel that determination into opening doors for others—helping provide adaptive equipment, race entries, and opportunities for inclusion that otherwise might not be possible.

(The owner of The Happi Brand made these shirts as a fundraiser for The Kyle Pease Foundation and you know I’m working on a way for BTCYI to work with her!)

It’s one thing to witness people summiting mountains for their own growth, but it’s another to see them do it while carrying others with them, ensuring that every step on the mountain creates a ripple of impact far beyond the event itself. This spirit of generosity is what makes the 29029 community so unique: it’s not just about climbing your own mountain, but making sure someone else gets to climb theirs too.

Two days in, I was hoping the altitude would start to feel a little easier, but instead the headache lingered and the nausea only grew worse. I finally made the tough decision to skip a group hike the day before the race. That’s when another participant, John, offered to walk with me to grab a coffee—his way of helping me fight through the relentless headache. It may have seemed like a small gesture, but to me it was another powerful reminder of the kind of community 29029 creates: one where people truly notice, show up, and care for one another in the simplest yet most meaningful ways.

And when it came to race day, I had two goals: go as far as I could go and to make the most of the time I had alone on the mountain. This event begins at approximately 7,000 feet above sea level and tops out at about 10,000 feet. And on Day One, arguably the toughest day, the first 10 miles are pretty much all up hill. So, like everything else in life… it was just about putting one foot in front of the other. And that’s what I did for the first four miles…

Until I started throwing up.

And it wasn’t pretty.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I texted my coach (Paul) for advice hoping he’d have some miracle cure, or trick, I could try. And I’m going to be honest: I was scared. I knew it wasn’t something I ate because I was eating the EXACT same things that I trained with. And NOTHING I did made it any better… and I tried everything. Paul was stationed at the end of the race, so he couldn’t come out to help me, but he sent reinforcements, another coach, Jen.

And my time with Jen was the highlight of my trip.

Coach Jen, a cornerstone of the 29029 community, has spent over 20 years at the top of ultra running and adventure racing, cementing her reputation as one of the world’s leading endurance coaches. Known for her expertise and empathetic approach, she has guided athletes to some of the toughest challenges on earth, including Western States 100, Badwater 135, Tahoe 200, and even multi-day expedition, and even climbing Everest. Celebrated globally for transforming both novice and elite athletes, Jen continues to compete, coach, and inspire—making her one of the most trusted and respected voices in endurance sports.

She walked beside me for two miles on the mountain—through waves of nausea and bouts of vomiting—steady, patient, reminding me that all I needed to do was take one step at a time. In those two miles, something deeper unfolded. Coach Jen shared pieces of her story, and I opened up about mine. Before long, our conversation turned to our kids, to the complicated world they are growing up in, to the relentless pressures pressing down on them, and to the ways we as parents often feel unprepared to guide them through it all. That exchange reminded me that 29029 isn’t just about the physical climb—it’s about what the mountain represents. The grit, the setbacks, the mental battles, and the emotional weight we carry. The ethos of 29029 is not only conquering vertical feet, but facing life’s challenges head-on, step by step, and realizing we’re not alone in the climb.

It sounds cheesy.

I know.

But, it’s true.

After those two miles, I faced a choice: step aside or keep going. Coach Jen asked how I was feeling—both physically and mentally. By mile six, the vomiting had stopped, and by mile seven, the nausea had nearly faded. I decided to push on, aiming for the half marathon, but also knowing there was a very good chance I wouldn’t make it. But it truly didn’t matter. The finisher’s scarf, the medals, the pieces of leather you get to brand with the TRAIL logo…. everything that acknowledges the accomplishment.

They no longer mattered.

If Coach Jen hadn’t been there beside me, I’m almost certain I would have quit. I felt completely defeated—every step felt heavier than the last, and the mountain seemed insurmountable. Her presence, her steady encouragement, and the simple act of walking with me made all the difference. She reminded me that I didn’t have to face the struggle alone, and that sometimes the support of another person is enough to turn defeat into determination.

With just eight minutes to spare, I reached the first-aid station—exhausted but still moving. Coach Chris, the head coach, looked me in the eye and told me I’d have to hustle if I wanted any shot at reaching the half-marathon mark before the sweep. The medics quickly retaped my feet, Coach Emilee handed me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and then I was back on the trail.

And then, as if the mountain had a sense of humor, it was literally all uphill from there—at 10,000 feet no less. Every 20 feet I had to stop, trying to catch my breath, fighting the altitude and the fatigue. (Vomiting drained me of nutrition and energy.) But step by step, break by break, I pushed forward. And somehow, I made it to the half-marathon point before the sweep cut me off.

The downside: I had two more miles to the next aid station and I had nothing left in the tank… and the vomiting was back. Somewhere past Mile 14, Coach Chris caught up to me, and God bless him, he stayed with me for a mile and a half. I won’t rehash all the details of that stretch—let’s just say it was humbling—but I will say this: the 29029 coaching staff is extraordinary. They aren’t just there to get you up the mountain; they’re there to walk with you through the darkest, hardest parts, when your body is shutting down and your mind is begging you to quit. They embody the ethos of 29029: that the climb is about so much more than vertical feet—it’s about resilience, about finding strength you didn’t know you had, and about realizing that sometimes the only way forward is because someone else believes in you enough to stay by your side.

I got back to the hotel and immediately went to get an IV and have my feet taped up, because here’s the crazy part: despite everything my body had just gone through, I was planning to head back up the mountain the very next day. It sounds wild, but in that moment, my mindset wasn’t about quitting—it was about getting back to the mountain, because up there I was learning things about myself I couldn’t find anywhere else. Every step, every wave of exhaustion, every doubt that crept in—it was all stripping away the noise and showing me what I was really made of and what was ACTUALLY important in my life…

…which has led to some significant changes since I’ve been back home.

The mountain was less about conquering an elevation and more about uncovering a deeper resilience, and I wasn’t ready to walk away from that lesson just yet.

But my body demanded a different kind of strength—knowing when to stop.

Also, something I’ve taken to heart since being home.