RPL: 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.
