Emily Articulated: Hard things

By Emily Erickson
Reader Columnist

I’m at the precipice of a hard thing, in pursuit of a harder thing — both of which, in comparison to most other parts of life, are inconsequential things.

(Confused? Let me explain). This morning, I’m setting out on a five-day run around Mont Blanc — the 16,000-foot-high glaciated crown of the European Alps — on a legendary route called the Tour du Mont Blanc (TMB). The trail spans three countries, covers 106 miles of rugged terrain, and includes 34,000 feet of elevation gain (roughly the equivalent of climbing Scotchman Peak two to three times per day).

The TMB has been at the top of my bucket list ever since I discovered trail running. The 360-degree views are ruin-you-for-all-other-scenery kind of good. And the route itself is home to the world’s most iconic ultramarathon, where thousands of runners attempt to complete the entire circuit in a single, continuous effort.

I remember watching that race for the first time — glued to my screen as a stream of headlamp-clad athletes snaked up a dark mountain, looking like an ant trail reaching toward the softening sky. At the time, the idea of moving one’s body 100 miles without pause felt unfathomable. And yet, people did it. Not just elite athletes, but regular runners—finishing where they started, 36 to 48 hours later. Coincidentally, in the very town where I’m now sitting to write this.

Emily Erickson. Courtesy photo.

Unlike the race (and in true bucket-list fashion), my friend and I are opting for the slow-go approach. We’ll take five full days — complete with espresso and croissant stops, panoramic trail lunches and time to properly soak in the Switzerland-Italy-France glory.

That pace also makes this the perfect training week as I prepare for my Very Hard Thing: An attempt to run 100 consecutive miles in roughly 24 hours this September.

Running 100 miles, while no longer unfathomable, still feels daunting — like something I can only get to by building toward it, slowly. Every day, I’m training not just my body, but the mindset and resilience required to make such an attempt.

Which brings me to the idea I’ve been ruminating on since setting this goal: While these are big, hard, and, yes — scary — things, they’re also chosen hard things. And that makes all the difference.

As someone who has faced their share of unchosen, unavoidable hard things, there’s something deeply comforting about choosing my own hurdles — setting goals, preparing well and then giving myself a chance to clear them.

And the lessons I’ve learned through this kind of training go far beyond running. I’ve come to understand that what you put into things, you often get out — and that there are no shortcuts to building strength, endurance or confidence. I’ve learned that rest isn’t a luxury; it’s essential. Without recovery, progress stalls. I’ve come to rely on the people around me—trail buddies, training partners and cheerleaders from afar — because community is not just helpful, it’s vital. I’ve realized that another snack is almost always a good idea, both literally and metaphorically: We need fuel and we need joy, even (especially) in the tough moments. And yes, I’ve also learned the hard way that anti-chafe cream is nonnegotiable. Some lessons are universal; some are very, very specific.

Right now, my Hard Thing is covering 106 miles in five days, in preparation for 100 in one. But that will change, as I do. Someday, my Hard Thing might be raising a family, writing a book or finally learning to play the banjo with some semblance of a tune.

Whatever form it takes, I want to keep choosing Hard Things — not for the pain or struggle, but for the growth, the insight and the trust it builds in myself.

And maybe this is your reminder: You can do hard things, too.

I have a long list of chosen challenges I hope to take on in this life. My hope is that each one makes me a little more prepared for the real hard things — the inevitable grief, loss, change and complexity of being a person.

Because, perhaps, with enough practice, we can learn to meet even life’s hardest moments with strength, softness and a little bit of trail-tested trust in ourselves.

Emily Erickson is a writer and business owner with an affinity for black coffee and playing in the mountains. Connect with her online at www.bigbluehat.studio.