The air in Sacramento this morning is cold, crisp, unmistakably fall. I step outside, my feet hitting the pavement, and for the first time in a long while, I feel calm. Two miles at 6:30 pace, smooth, easy. No excitement, no anxiety, no elation. Just a quiet acceptance. I have felt this way before in fleeting moments, but today it lingers, steady and unfamiliar. For someone who thrives on the adrenaline of racing, this calm is strange. But perhaps it is good. Perhaps it is necessary.

For many, the first marathon, half, or Ironman is a maelstrom of emotion: nerves that keep you awake at night, fear that gnaws at your gut, joy that hits unexpectedly, and tears that come without warning. I have felt all of that. Tomorrow, though, as I prepare for a 50-miler that I never fully trained for, I feel none of it. No spikes of fear, no rush of excitement. Only focus. Only presence.

I came to Sacramento at the last minute. A race cancellation in New York and the staleness of my routine nudged me to leave. The city I have lived in and loved had become predictable, good but old. I needed change. Change is rarely comfortable, and yet there is something vital about it. It forces perspective. It forces growth. The cold air in Sacramento, the smell of leaves and distant rain, feels like a reset.

Tomorrow I will run 50 miles. My longest run leading into this was 24 miles. By traditional standards, I am unprepared. But mentally, I am ready. Years of running and racing have taught me that preparation is not just measured in mileage. It is measured in patience, in understanding your own limits, in accepting the ebb and flow of the body and mind. Running is never just about distance. It is about clarity. About acceptance. About confronting yourself in ways that nothing else does.

I have spent years coaching, building a following on TikTok, helping athletes push past limits they never thought they could reach. The messages I receive, the stories I hear, the moments when someone says they were inspired by a video, a post, or a coaching tip, these are my purpose. It is not the personal records, the medals, or the accolades. It is the impact I have on others. Showing what is possible, reminding people that limits are often illusions. That the only approval that matters is your own.

This year, I am attempting something few would call reasonable. Twelve ultras. To any coach, no. To anyone who values conventional wisdom, no. But it is my goal. A goal only I fully understand, only I fully appreciate. And that is enough. It is not about showing off, it is about showing up for myself, and for the people who draw inspiration alongside me.

Big challenges expose more than physical limits. They reveal character. They reveal who truly supports you. The people who reach out during the struggle, who check in when the finish line is hours away and you are crawling on pain and fatigue, these are the ones worth keeping close. The rest fade into background noise. I have learned to watch silently, to take note, to see who comes back around when the stakes are high. That lesson alone is invaluable.

My preparation is deliberate. Cadence, my favorite fuel brand and one I am proud to work with this year, will provide my race nutrition. Twenty-five ounces of fluid, 100 grams of carbohydrates minimum, 1,000 milligrams of sodium, all carefully measured to sustain me over fifty miles. On my feet, Adidas Pro 4s. On my wrist, Garmin Fenix. Equipment alone will not carry me. It is focus, presence, and the willingness to endure that will.

Tomorrow is not about pressure. There is no personal record to chase. No expectation beyond showing up, moving forward, mile by mile, hour by hour. Running, in its purest form, is about freedom. About testing limits while remaining present. About letting your body and mind guide you through discomfort and clarity alike. Twelve ultras this year will be hard. Tomorrow will show me just how hard, much like the first marathon does for a first-timer. It is not bad. It is good. It is instructive. It exposes what I need to work on, who I am, and who I want to be.

I feel tired. Calm. Emotionless. Not sure if that is good or bad. Perhaps it is neutral, a reset, a blank slate for the race ahead. Running has taught me that the mind flows in ways the body cannot predict. That acceptance often precedes breakthrough. That discomfort, fatigue, and challenge reveal clarity.

As I prepare for tomorrow, I acknowledge the paradox. The routine I left behind in New York was good, familiar, and safe, yet it had become old. Sacrifice for growth often demands leaving comfort behind. Change is uncomfortable, but necessary. Tomorrow, Sacramento will witness fifty miles of patience, persistence, and purpose.

This year, it is not about me. It is about everyone who dares to push themselves, who dares to follow a path that seems unreasonable, impossible, or reckless. It is about showing them what is possible. To show that no one word means anything, that external approval is fleeting, and that perseverance, integrity, and presence matter far more than recognition.

Tomorrow will be long. It will be revealing. It will test my limits and my mind. But it will also be a testament to why I run, why I coach, and why I share my journey. To inspire others, to push limits together, and to embrace the clarity that comes from stepping into the unknown, mile after mile. No personal record, no pressure, just fifty miles of learning, freedom, and gratitude.