421: Running Up A Mountain

Running Up A Mountain And What It Showed Us About The Battle in Our Minds

Have you ever been out on a run, a hike, or doing something challenging—and suddenly those negative thoughts start creeping in? The ones that whisper “You’re too slow…you can’t do this…why did you even try?”

That happened to me—big time—recently.

Last week, Kevin and I were in Tahoe. It’s one of our favorite places to visit, surrounded by breathtaking mountains and crystal-clear lakes. While we were there, I got this idea stuck in my head: I want to run up a mountain.

It sounded adventurous, exhilarating, and honestly, like a fun challenge. But here’s the thing: Kevin is much faster than me. So before I even asked him, the negative thoughts started rolling in:

He’s not going to want to do this with me.

I’ll hold him back.

He’s going to say yes out of obligation and not enjoy it.

Still, I really wanted to do it, so I asked—and he said yes.

He seemed excited about it, so I told him to pick a trail for us. He ran up this mountain last year, and told me it was 4 miles to the top. I knew I could run 4 miles, so I didn’t doubt that I could do it. 

It was just a matter of how long it would take.

The Plan

There are several trails up the mountain, and Kevin picked one called Thunder Mountain Trail. It climbed about 2,000 feet over three miles. He told me it was a combination of double track and single track trails (not double wide and single wide LOL), so it sounded like it would be challenging but manageable.

At least, that’s what I thought.

We set off early in the morning. At first, I felt good—excited, strong, ready to prove to myself that I could do this. But not even a quarter mile in, reality hit me like a wall. My legs felt like lead, my lungs were on fire, and I was gasping for air.

(For context, we live in Florida, where we run at sea level, well actually 13 feet above sea level according to Garmin. Tahoe starts at 6,200 feet. That altitude is no joke!)

Within minutes, I had to walk. And the thoughts came flooding in again:

You’re not as fit as you thought you were.
You’re already slowing him down.
This was a dumb idea. He probably regrets saying yes.

I started apologizing. 

I’m sorry I’m walking already.

You can go ahead if you want and just circle back for me. 

I don’t want to hold you back - I want you to have a good time too.

He graciously said it was no big deal, and that this was going to be a combination of running and walking. 

It’s ok, Angie. We’ll walk when we need to walk, and we’ll run when the trail flattens out, even if it’s only 10 feet. 

He was saying all the right things, but every time I had to stop to walk or catch my breath, I was getting more and more frustrated with myself.

The trail is flat now - I should be running now, but if I run I might pass out. I can’t catch my breath and my legs feel so heavy.

The “runnable” trail quickly turned into a rocky, narrow, technical climb. We didn’t have trail shoes, just worn-out road running shoes with no grip. At points, we were scrambling on hands and feet just to get over boulders.

I actually love trails like this, but this wasn’t exactly “running up a mountain” like I had originally planned for. 

My thoughts started to spiral, and I even thought, ridiculously…

He probably wishes he married someone else who could keep up with him on this trail.

Yes, my brain really went there.

The Shift

About 30 minutes in, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped, looked out over the stunning valley, and finally said it:

My brain is being so mean right now. I’m literally thinking that you probably wish you married someone else who could actually RUN this with you.

Kevin laughed and said something only Kevin would say: 

I’m just enjoying the view from behind. God bless, Spandex.

And just like that—I started laughing.

Then he admitted, 

My brain’s being mean too. I’ve been beating myself up for picking this terrible trail.

That moment shifted everything. We started sharing the rest of the negative thoughts out loud. And you know what happened?

They lost their power.

Instead of spiraling silently, we realized how ridiculous they were. We laughed at ourselves. We supported each other. We slowed down when we needed to. We took pictures. We actually started enjoying the climb.

I thought he wanted to run more. 

He thought I hated the trail (which I actually really liked!)

Once we talked it out, something incredible happened:

My breathing got easier.

I didn’t feel the need to keep stopping.

The pressure to “perform” lifted.

We actually felt together in the challenge, not separate.

We made it to the top—smiling, laughing, and proud. And while we could’ve run back down, we took the tram instead, soaking in the views of everything we’d just conquered.

The Real Lesson

That day reminded me of something powerful:

Negative thoughts will come. Always.

You can’t stop them from showing up, but you can stop them from running the show.

By speaking them out loud, reframing them, and focusing on what actually matters, you take away their grip.

Climbing that mountain wasn’t just a physical challenge—it was a mental one. And it taught me (again) that the hardest journey we’ll ever run is those seven inches between our ears.

Because here’s the truth:

You are stronger than your brain tells you.

You are more capable than you believe.

You are not alone in your struggles.

Sometimes, you just need to stop, take a breath, and remember—you’re not broken, you’re human.

Our brains are RIDICULOUS sometimes, but we get to choose how we react to every thought that pops into our heads. 

So why not speak it out loud, share it with others, and laugh at the absurdity of them?

Remember, you have the power. 

You can keep moving forward…one intentional step at a time.

If you’ve ever battled those same inner voices on a run or hike, I’d love to hear from you. Come say hi on Instagram @RealLifeRunners. And if this story resonated with you, please share it with a fellow runner who needs that reminder today.