At Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, one of the world’s oldest ultra races and one of the toughest to get into, I crewed and paced for Ladia Albertson-Junkans, a Brooks-sponsored runner who lives in Snoqualmie, Washington. Ladia ran the storied race to honor her best friend Gabe Grunewald, a professional runner and founder of the Brave Like Gabe foundation, who died in June. (Check out Erin Strout’s stories on Women’s Running for more information.)
Honestly, Ladia’s training wasn’t optimal. She dedicated much of the race lead-up to being by Gabe’s side and to supporting Gabe’s husband Justin Grunewald and her family and friends. But Ladia was ready in that she was brave. Determined to accomplish a feat that most people (I’m guessing) cannot even fathom, she dove in.
It’s a physical, logistical, and tactical challenge to run from Squaw Valley to Auburn, California—not just for racers, but for their crew, too. It captivated me and the rest of Team Brave Like Gabe. Ladia assembled a strong, smart, and funny team, and we over-filled our roles whenever we could. We worked exceedingly well together; that’s what believing and listening and trying can get you. It was an honor for us to witness incredible racing, from the front to the back of the pack, be it between competitors or against the clock. (For in-depth and interesting coverage of the race, check out iRunFar.)
I paced Ladia from Foresthill to the Green Gate aid station. For just over 18 miles, we moved the slowest I’ve ever gone on a trail with Ladia, but her effort was likely the highest. Despite our lack of speed, it was gut-wrenching.
Afterward, I couldn’t sleep. Maybe because of the Coke I drank at aid stations when trail angels aka volunteers doted on her with kindness and attention to detail and I danced a little to Robyn to lighten the mood. Maybe because of tears that rolled hot down my face. Maybe because headlights beamed into my eyes each time a car zoomed past our rental, Dusty Daisy, parked in the shoulder near No Hands Bridge. As the rest of the crew slept, or at least closed their eyes and breathed heavy, I tapped a long text message chain to myself with blue, glittered thumbs. I wrote:
She is with you
when you take the race out strong and fast, the way you know how
She is with you
when you climb the escarpment and turn to look at the sunrise and hug it out with your fierce competitors
She is with you
as you float past wildflowers and green leaves that reach out and up over the trail
She is with you
when your stomach flops and turns
when your heels shrivel and blister
when your quads seize, slowing you to a ginger wog down a rocky path
She is with you
as the sun sinks low and shines golden light on the ridges across the valley from us
as you sit, head down and crestfallen that this path it goes up and up and up
as you puke (profusely) and rally
as you say “Good job” to passing runners who express their concern, excitement, focus
She is with you
as you nibble on a corner of a saltine cracker, drier than a communion wafer
as wisps of clouds turn pink, reflecting another miraculous sunset
as a planet emerges and twinkles red-hot
as stars shine in infinite constellations I misidentify
as ribbits and croaks echo around us
as crickets start their evening songs
as the river rushes clear then beyond our vision in the dark, way past our “expected arrival” window, but the best-laid plans, well, they look good on the spreadsheet and on paper
It never happens like they say it will. There’s pain in leaving and being left, in running into and through and away, and struggle in these journeys. And peace and love and light and the darkest of darks and all the things you are and feel.
She is with you
when you’re on the couch
when you want to text her
when you’re startled by the absence
if or when you sob
if or when you get confused
if or when you don’t know what to do
She is with you
just different than before.
The waves, they say, roll through like the ocean or this undulating trail that winds itself away from you and, simultaneously, to you. It’s impossible until it’s not. It’s giving it everything you’ve got and, let me tell you, you squeezed every last drop with a steely grip again and again until there was nothing left. Not even bile in the middle of the trail, not even blood down your shorts.
that is brave AF
the toughest, grittiest effort I’ve witnessed
the most painful heart-wrenching game I’ve played
the most earnest and helpess/ful shadow I’ve been
I can’t take away your hurt
I can’t fill in
I can’t make you eat
But I feel the jagged edges of a gaping, aching wound
and I want to tend to it
But all I can do is stand back
and hope
hope
hope
shine my glitter nails in the headlamp
hope
hope
hope
tell you we are proud, no matter what happens, and oh we are
hope
hope
hope
say right, left, cracker
sip, sip, nibble, nibble
like three legends advised, encouraged, reinforced
even when you say NO
even when you say THIS IS WRONG
even when you say I DON’T WANT TO PUKE IT BACK UP
I know, shhh, I know
you don’t have to say anything
you don’t have to do this
you don’t have to make anyone proud
we already are and we
hope
hope
hope
you take care of yourself
she understands
she knows
she loves you
pain is not weakness leaving the body
pain is not the answer
pain won’t make it all go away
rather
hope
hope
hope
fills itself
like the white beam you bounce along the trail
like
like
like
your shine when you see friends
your hug when you pass a spectating acquaintance
your stride when you run
anything but this, I think once, your longest race by far, on the heels of an incredibly taxing month and, no, it’s not an excuse but it’s a large factor
I’m sorry I’m not her
I’m sorry I can’t even come close
But I ask her, I pray to her. Can you give me her nausea? her pain? or could I even bear it? I would try. Please, Gabe, just give me some. So she can run free or run at all and fuel and tend to her own light, which is yellow like yours and shimmering but now fading, wavering, then flickering and alighting again. By some act of God, or maybe you, maybe it’s you, keeping her upright, maybe it’s you lifting one leg then the other. Please, I hope it’s you.
Help her believe in herself
Help her take care of herself
Help her refuel and repower up, like that eccentric man sitting on a rock next to the trail said
Help her believe me when we find ourselves on another impossible hill or descent in this dusty ravine into which we’ve worked ourselves for you
for you
she will listen
she will smile
she will breathe deep
and drink from whatever flows
like the most beautiful waterfall that bubbles and pools over the trail, that carves its way through stone and root, finding the way to the river, with gravity on its side, unlike us.
hope
hope
hope
that’s the power of this B.S.
of sparkling
of emptying the tank
and filling it with technicolor fuel
When we see her next, at No Hand’s Bridge, she is moving and intent. She sips a blue icy and brushes off the bubbles that float on a warming breeze, and then ultra-shuffles across the span. When we see her next she’s striding up from Robie Point, gazelleness intact, eyes more shiny than glazed, and spirit high with the rising sun. I think Gabe is extra, extra, extra proud of her right now, and tears overflow my dam, even before she runs through the iron gate and turns onto the red track at Placer High and throws her arms wide and crosses the line.
Elizabeth W. Carey 
Elizabeth – what a joy it was to meet you this weekend. Thank you for this – it is so very beautiful ❤️
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This is beautiful! Brave like Gabe! I never heard of her before reading online she only had days left to live. After that, I searched her name and inspiration continues to flow from that moment on. Thank you all!
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This is so incredibly beautiful.
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