There are those friends you can count on one hand in your lifetime, who you can talk to about anything, laugh with, cry with, dream, hope, and brainstorm with, commiserate with, turn to and trust with every ounce of your being. Those who, in a heartbeat, you would jump in your car, load up the podcasts, and drive 330 miles nonstop to spend a weekend with.

And there is the one friend you’ve known since your late teens, since the days of college apartment living in Boulder, eating cookie dough out of a plastic tub, scraping by with baked potatoes for dinner or sneaking through the soup-and-salad joint to score a 2-for-1, wearing socks (they may have been red) with Duegi sandals to the bar on The Hill because we thrived on laughing at ourselves and each other, late-night slalom-style Rollerblading down the winding levels of the campus parking garage, seeing how many grapes we could fit in our mouth for those selfies taken with a 35mm film camera, loading up our books in our fluorescently-trendy Invicta backpacks to drive five hours to Moab — only to hike a mile and a half at sunrise up to Delicate Arch to study for finals. Those were the days… yet I’m grateful that we remain equally as young at heart, that we still laugh at ourselves and each other, that we still eat cookie dough and wear baseball caps more often than not. …

WARNING: The subject of poop is present in the story below and while this may be a longer read than it needs to be, that’s a significant part of the story.

Hard core fatigue and that motion sickness feeling like I was reading in the backseat of a car on a winding mountain road. These were the two symptoms that hit me on July 25th like an athlete in the MLB batting a thousand swings for the outfield. Immediately followed by a complete loss of appetite, where the mere thought of eating, cooking, or even walking into the kitchen made me nauseated. I couldn’t stomach the thought of my normal healthy diet loaded with fruits, veggies, whole grains, protein, avocados and peanut or almond butter. I couldn’t fathom putting together a beautiful meal and setting the table for my family. …

I have always been a competitor at heart and have thrived on events that test my endurance — a.k.a a glutton for punishment some might say; so when I signed up for the Rebecca’s Private Idaho Challenge with all intention of conquering the Queen Stage Race this coming Labor Day weekend, my mind, energy, and complete focus turned to specific and more intense training, to diligently reaching new levels of power output and strength, to making sure I had all green boxes in my TrainingPeaks dashboard at the end of each week.

My ‘why’ was to prove I could cover the 196 miles and 12,646 vertical feet of predominantly gravel roads on my bike feeling stronger than ever. For me, this would be a greater feat than anything I’ve tackled before including Ironman, XTerra Worlds, pacing a friend at the Leadville 100 Trail Run, trekking Rim to Rim to Rim of the Grand Canyon in two days, any of the marathons on foot. This would be my next epic challenge both physically and mentally, a goal to have on the calendar, a plan that wouldn’t get cancelled due to a global pandemic. …

“Heather, if I were a film director and I was making a movie about your life based on the bits I’ve read and what you’ve shared, I could without a doubt direct every scene down to the finest detail. But there is something so interesting to me. I wouldn’t know how to direct the characters — because I have no idea how they feel.” — S. Jagger

And so my great big journey began. On a Skype call with Steph Jagger, author of the latest book I simply couldn't get enough of — Unbound: A Story of Snow and Self-Discovery. My reading Unbound came complete with full-on snort-laughing, eyes welling, head nodding, heartbeat elevating — page-by-page I devoured her story as I (in my typical approach to reading) highlighted passages and tabbed corners where I found experiences I could relate to, refer to, learn from, and perhaps aspire to in my own life. …

Inspired, intrigued, in awe, and maybe just a little bit envious of a memoir I read recently, I couldn’t help but dive deeper. The author’s story spoke to my unquenched thirst for what’s to come down the road, to my endless curiosity, to my competitive spirit, and to the opportunity to explore if there is (or isn’t) a piece missing from my 1,000+ piece puzzle.

Think Eat, Pray, Love meets Outside Magazine meets Lonely Planet. Page after page, the author’s words shared a story of risk and reward, of tenacity and perseverance, of humility and courage, of exploration and of comfort in the familiar, all while striving for a pre-determined goal. …

Solitude. On its own, the word may insinuate isolation, emptiness, seclusion. But the context within which one experiences solitude can make it a time of invaluable reflection, perspective, inspiration. This past long weekend, I took the opportunity to head northwest on a solo road trip. Seventeen — yes, 17 episodes of NPR’s “How I Built This” later, I didn’t feel drained from this time on the road — but rather longing for more of this time to think, dream, listen, explore the corners of my mind and that of others along the way.

Along the road, I soaked up the stories shared by founders of various brands and companies. Some of my favorites. Some I barely know. Each one engaging me with a different nuance of how they took their idea from concept to reality and beyond. I was like a sponge that reached that point to be squeezed like a big bear hug so I could take more in. Some resonated deeply. Others not as much. But each handed me a little nugget of wisdom. Like that ant colonies succeed because no one is in charge. And it is possible in some cases to be blessed with the advantage of naivete and/or inexperience. …

As I rounded the final switchback on my bike to reach the summit, I wasn’t sure if I was going to burst into tears, smile until it hurt because that’s what I do, scream (or swear) with joy and perhaps a little disbelief, or maybe a combination of them all. …

This was the first bit of commentary slung my way when I posted a photo on June 18th of a big brown shipping box, and announced that “my travel companion to Italia has arrived.” I could back this story up to another time marked by giddy excitement when exactly six months earlier to the day, my first big brown shipping box arrived from Allied Cycle Works.

And while to some these two big brown boxes may seem the same, like any siblings of the human variety born into this world, in my eyes these ‘siblings’ couldn’t be more different.