For a year, I trained with a singular vision — to finish the Hennepin Hundred race in Chicago in early October of 2024. I pictured crossing that finish line so many times that it felt like an inevitability. The belief in my ability to finish wasn’t just strong, it was absolute. I did the work and thoroughly prepared myself to overcome any of the known and unknown obstacles that might stand in the way of my feet meeting that finish line. When I arrived in Chicago, I was ready to prove to myself that all the time, energy, and miles I’d invested had been worthwhile.
But life has a funny way of shifting our narratives when we least expect it.
“The race didn’t go as planned. Around mile three, a handful of runners, myself included, were stung by bees.”
For about 15 miles after a shirt change and stinger check, I dealt with pain and swelling caused by a bee allergy, which I closely managed. I thought I’d seen the worst of it, but then hit a turning point around mile 32. I didn’t know this yet, but things were about to get significantly worse. I began experiencing bouts of nausea and vomiting, which is not unusual during ultramarathons, but this time, it didn’t let up. Over a distance of 33.97 miles, my condition deteriorated as dehydration took over, and by mile 65.97, I had nothing left. I wasn’t calling it quits because I didn’t want to push forward — I was calling it because I physically couldn’t continue. I would later learn that somewhere between miles 32 and 65.97, my body began breaking down from rhabdomyolysis, which would cause me to suffer from an acute kidney injury.
Not long before the DNF, I was determined to make it to mile 80. Not because I wanted to run at least 80 miles, but instead because I was told that at mile 80 things would get easier. I thought if I could just reach that point, I’d have a shot at still being able to finish the race. But there was no mile 80 for me — there was only the realization that continuing would mean risking more than just failure. Continuing might have meant risking my life.
“By the time I called it, I couldn’t even cry because I was too dehydrated to produce tears.”
I felt hollow, devastated, and overwhelmed by what I perceived as one of my greatest failures. Logging a DNF felt like admitting defeat. I had poured everything into this goal, and yet, giving it literally everything I had in me to finish the race still wouldn’t be enough to meet the finish of the race. But while I struggled to process what had happened, what took me by surprise was that others around me celebrated what I had accomplished. I had run nearly sixty-six miles, a 100k, a feat most people can’t even fathom. Still, all I could feel was disappointment.
It took time for me to see it differently. That race wasn’t just about crossing a finish line. It became about something deeper — about showing up for myself in ways I never had before. It was about recognizing that choosing myself isn’t always about pushing harder. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to stop, when to listen, and when to trust that stepping back doesn’t mean failure — but that it instead means survival.
Running taught me how to push myself. But ultra-running? That taught me how to exercise care & compassion for myself. It taught me that showing up isn’t just about grit and determination — it’s about balance. It’s about preparation, persistence, and patience. It’s about being intentional with your energy, your efforts, and most importantly, your well-being.
The New Year Shift
Fast forward to New Year’s Day. I walked into a packed gym, ready for a long run on the treadmill. The energy was different — the gym was crowded with new faces, people who had likely shown up as part of a New Year’s resolution. And while I respect that everyone starts somewhere, this time felt different for me. For the first time, I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t someone stepping into the gym for the first time in months, driven by a fleeting goal. I was someone who shows up regularly, someone who had an arsenal of running gear, someone who knew the routine. I realized that I had crossed a significant line somewhere along my journey. I was living in a space I never thought I’d reach — I was on the other side.
That realization hit me hard. I wasn’t here on a whim. I was here because this is who I am now — someone who shows up, not just once a year, but consistently. Someone who doesn’t need external motivation because the drive comes from within. And as I ran that day, I began to process everything I hadn’t fully confronted since Chicago.
The grief of that DNF, the weight of my perceived failure, the disappointment I hadn’t allowed myself to fully feel — it all came rushing back. But so did the gratitude. Gratitude for how far I’d come, for the lessons I’d learned, and for the strength it takes to keep showing up. Tears flowed freely as I mourned the versions of myself that had accepted less than I deserved, and as I honored the journey that had brought me to this moment.
What I’ve Learned
I’ve spent a lot of my life internalizing what others thought of me. I’ve spent years feeling like I wasn’t enough, that I’d never measure up. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. I stopped trying to prove myself to others and started proving to myself what I was capable of. The Chicago race was a turning point — not because I crossed a finish line, but because I didn’t. And yet, I still found a way to see the value in what I did accomplish. I kept moving forward, even when it was hard, even when it hurt.
In every facet of my life, whether it’s running, my career, or relationships, I’ve learned that you earn through action. You don’t just talk about showing up — you show up. You don’t just set goals — you do the work to achieve them. Chicago taught me that even when the outcome isn’t what you envisioned, the effort matters. The journey matters.
Running isn’t just about finishing the race — it’s about embracing the journey. Each step, each mile, each moment of suffering and triumph is part of a larger story. A story of resilience, grit, and growth. A story about learning to care for yourself as fiercely as you push yourself. A story about showing up, again and again, even when it’s hard, even when it hurts.
When I woke up on New Year’s Day, it wasn’t just another morning — it was a reminder of how far I’ve come and how far I still have to go. It was a reminder that life, like running, is about preparation, persistence, and the choice to keep moving forward. It’s about earning your progress through action and intention, with the understanding that every finish line is just the beginning of a new journey.
So here I am, starting 2025 with intention.
Ready to keep showing up.
Ready to keep growing.
Ready to keep running — not just on the trails and treadmills, but in every area of my life. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about how fast you get there. It’s about the journey, how you evolve, and who you become along the way.
This is my story. This is my journey.
© 2025 Kimberly Beth Thomas. All rights reserved.
This wasn’t just a race — it was a reckoning. Have you ever chased something so hard that even your “failure” changed you forever? What’s your 65.97-mile moment? I’d love to hear your story below.
Kim!!! I’m fighting back tears. That was so beautifully and eloquently written!!! Knowing you for such a long time and seeing some of your struggles over the years, this gives my heart warmth beyond belief. I love this for you and I’m so glad you created this! It was certainly inspiring to read and I will continue to follow your journey. I’m sure it will help me greatly as well as I continue to navigate my own. Reading this first post already has. I’m sad that we’ve lost touch a bit over the years, but just know you’ve always got a friend in me and I’m extremely proud of you and your impressive accomplishments in all aspects of your life!!!
Thank you so much, Dustin! Your words mean a lot to me. I want to reach people in a way that lets them know they’re not alone and I want to inspire people to never give up on themselves. I thought a blog would be effective in doing that so I really value your feedback and your friendship.
Thank you again. 🥹❤️