We are excited to introduce our 2025 Camp & Run mentors: Dani Reyes-Acostas and Laura Ochoa.
Dani Reyes-Acosta is a Latina-API athlete and storyteller rewriting the narrative of how we find the limits of our possible—and how we build community with others on this planet. Based in SW Colorado, Dani is Mexican, Filipina, and Mestiza—and proudly reclaiming the complexities of her heritage as a food producer, cultivator, and legacy Coloradan. Her goal as a mountain athlete is to find the limits of her possible, searching for peaks and valleys that tell the story of Mother Earth’s most impacted places.
We asked Dani and Laura a few questions about their work on and off the trails. See their answers below.
Tell us a little bit about your path to running.
Dani: My earliest memory of running unfolds in the rainbow sherbet palette of a Southern California sunset: I’m chasing our big, fluffy dogs down the bike path, my dad calling from the hill—“COME ON, MIJA. CATCH THE SUN.” From the very beginning, running was filled with joy. In high school, I joined the cross-country team, mostly because my new friends were doing it—and my parents approved since it was a non-contact sport. Over the years, I dabbled in running: through college and beyond, always as an accent to other “primary” sports like surfing or rock climbing.
But in 2020, everything changed. I had a broken back and a restricted range of movement—both literally and metaphorically. With limited options, running became my go-to. It started with country roads, game trails, and rough paths in a forgotten corner of Colorado. Over time, I found myself chasing ridgelines and summits in iconic landscapes—all because I chose to embrace the difficult, consistent work of showing up. I never expected running to take me here, to this intersection of movement, identity, and connection. But here I am—still running, still learning, and discovering new ways of being through this deceptively simple act.
Laura: My first stint with running actually started freshman year of high school. My older brother was a runner, so I thought I was, too. Unfortunately, I was the slowest and I felt that my talents could be better used by NOT running. I re-introduced myself to running in graduate school. It was a way to combat the stress of working full time while being a full time student, and maintaining a social life. Maybe at 14 I was not a “good” runner, but in my mid twenties I decided to try it again, and run the LA Marathon. I joined a training club that met at Griffith Park every Sunday morning. I found that running in community and being in the appropriate pace group, I could chat and enjoy the company of all types of runners. I loved this community and I felt that this experience deserved a moment of its own. I was just grateful that my body moved and that I was outside, and I felt happy to be in their company. I have signed up for a few races here and there since then and enjoy the places it’s taken me, and the challenge it brings.
Where are you in your running today?
Dani: In the last five years, running has become a core part of who I am—a way to explore interconnectedness between self, culture, and place. Sometimes it’s moving meditation. Sometimes it’s processing grief. Sometimes it’s pure joy in finding right relations. Often, it’s all of the above. I don’t run for records or podiums, FKTs or Instagram likes. I run, truly, to remember who I am.
The irony, of course, is that documenting the skills built and miles traveled has brought me a certain level of visibility. But the real gift lies in surrendering to the path unknown—in choosing wonder, curiosity, and the practice of presence. It was in Mexico that I first truly understood how the ground beneath my feet gives me everything. I ran barefoot on sand that squished between my toes, just like in childhood, chasing the surf. Narrow trails led past cascading waterfalls in the Sierra Norte. I sat beneath a sacred Ceiba tree, basking in the richness of my heritage—something I hadn’t experienced so viscerally before. Padding through my grandmother’s kitchen as a child, eating tamales, was one thing. But this? This was embodied. Padded steps through the tropical jungle with friends pull on that long-frayed ancestral thread.
It’s the ground that gives me resilience: chasing big, scary peaks in the San Juanes taught me how to rebound and push through. It gives me creativity: linking ridgelines in the Sierra taught me that there’s always a way forward, if I’m willing to find the path of least resistance. And most of all, it gives me connection: running routes in the Wasatch with my friend Vanessa brought belly laughs and sunburns from turning our faces toward the sky. Somos las hijas del sol: to be kissed by the sun as we run, together in joy, is the greatest gift of all. Running reminds me that connection isn’t just to each other—it’s also to culture, to community, and to this land. And maybe that’s the heart of why we go outside: to remember we belong.
Laura: Running has changed over time. I do it less, I take care of my body more, and when I return my perspective about my running changes every time. Because every time I return after a break, I am a slightly different version of myself (physically/mentally) and my needs from my runs are different each time, except for the connection to the natural world, that stays constant.
Today running feels like a distant friend. Glad we keep in touch, but struggle to make the time and always happy when we can connect. I also just moved to Leadville in recent years and have not hit my stride in cold weather running (mostly because I have access to skiing instead!), so I may be accepting the fact that I am a fairweather runner and I’m ok with that. The summer before moving here, I ran my first 50K and would consider doing that again, but I need to work through how to manage long winters. At the end of the day, running is always my reset, my grounding, and my refresh button when life gets wild.
What’s a (trail) running mantra you’re thinking about these days?
Dani: “Running is real, / Real is now; / Now is what counts, / Counts toward tomorrow.” Running is the original form of human-powered movement—a primal connection between humanity and Mother Earth. It began as transportation, escape, predation, celebration. Over millennia, it has evolved into something more: a pathway to deeper self-awareness, cultural memory, and connection with Nature. These days, I think of running not just as training or movement, but as a modality for mindfulness. A return to presence. A way to remember.
Laura: It depends on the run. I can’t take credit for this because Mike Scarber was part of my bodywork team while training for that 50K and he said it once and it stuck. But I think something about “slow is fast” or “steady is fast”. I try to be present and focus on how my body feels with each stride, but sometimes I throw on my running playlist which is largely 90s hip hop and reggaeton, and that gets me through a run just the same.
Who or what is inspiring you right now in the trail running world?
Dani: People and place are what keep me moving. People like those involved with Runners for Public Lands—who believe in the simple act of showing up, on trail and in community—not just for themselves but for the land, remind me that our individual motivation gains strength through collective action. Places like the San Juan Mountains and the Sierra Nevada—places I’m lucky to call home—inspire me to keep honing this craft called running. These landscapes teach me to meet each moment with intentionality, presence, and reverence.
Laura: My former coach for the 50K Dr. Jess Mena. She is inspirational in her personal and professional life. She keeps it real. She is a tough but graceful coach, with a good sense of humor. She is always challenging herself and pushing her own limits and acknowledging when something is not working, but recognizing adapting is part of the process of having a relationship with running. She is a people connector and a community leader. In an industry that is slow to create space for POC runners (road and trail)- she doesn’t wait, she creates that community and is that representation on the trails.
Photo Matthew Tangeman