I’ve been a runner since I was 15. My mom ran before she had kids, and it was around
my teenage years that she picked it up again, and I was intrigued. My younger sister, mom and I
quickly settled into a daily run routine starting from our front door and embarking on a peaceful
loop past dairy farms, horse pastures and sweeping vistas of the Hudson River Valley in New
York.
As much as I loved running, there was always one monthly, looming dread, my period.
For one, I was scared of tampons. The whole concept was scary an I didn’t even want to try. I
would try to avoid running during that time, overwhelmed by the inconvenience of changing
sanitary products, embarrassed by the bloating and sluggish legs, and terrified I’d bleed through
my little running shorts. This dread continued throughout college and grad school as I continued
to run for fun, and competed on the Nordic Ski and Polo teams. I didn’t dare bring up my fears
with friends or teammates, I somehow though that everyone around me was perfect, didn’t have
any issues or fears and wouldn’t understand. I was so focused on hiding these issues that I
didn’t stop to think that maybe it would help to bring it up, so I didn’t.
Over the years, I kept running, I got into road racing, but then quickly found the trails and
fell in love. By 2015, I was out of grad school, living in Ohio and running obsessively, training for
my first 50k. That 50k changed my life and I was hooked on ultras. Fast forward to 2017 when I
signed up for my first 100k race, The Quicksilver 100k near Sam Jose, California. As I mapped
out my training, fueling and racing strategy, I paid particular attention to my menstrual cycle. I
predicted it would show up on race day and I was terrified. I considered not starting the race, but
quickly realized that wasn’t an option. As race day grew closer, I noticed my anxiety and fear
turning to excitement and curiosity. I wanted this race finish bad; a finish under 16 hours would
qualify me for the lottery for the Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run, my dream race, and I
was not going to let that go.
Race morning I woke up a 2:30am and sure enough, as I went to pee there it was, the
dreaded streak of blood on the TP as I wiped and flushed. I knew this was it and I took a
breathe and decided to harness this occurrence and see what I could do. I grabbed a tampon,
along with my hydration pack and race bib, and headed to the start line. The normal nervous
excitement was thick in the air, runners standing, stretching, jumping and jogging, all with our
little headlamps bouncing on our heads. I took a moment to reflect on what brought me here, as
well the each runner’s journey to that day. I wondered how many other women were on their
period and I smiled knowing that there was no way I was alone. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” The
countdown began, suddenly the start gun popped and we were off.
The race was a grind, far hillier and drier and hotter than I had ever imagined. I suffered.
It was what I came for so I dug in deep. 100 kilometers was a long way to go, and a lot of
tampons. At the halfway mark (arond 30 miles) I popped into a portapotty to change my tampon
and suddenly something in my mind clicked. I realized that I could choose to bemoan the fact
that I was bleeding today, or I could take this natural female bodily functional and harness it. At
least for me, once that bleeding begins, I realized that I can push harder, though the pain and
dead legs, ignoring the sometimes leaking tampons. I suddenly felt a certain superpower I could
harness and felt proud. I had an urge to shout “I’m freaking running on my period” but I
refrained, not wanting to draw undue attention to myself. I grabbed a gel and a fresh watter
bottle and headed back out on the trail. That race chewed me up and spit me back out, I cried a
lot, I sweated profusely, I bled, so much that I bled through my strategic black shorts and down
my legs, blood mixing with dust, grime and sweat, but I made it. Somehow, as the hours,
minutes, and seconds ticked by, I made it across that finish line with 15 minutes to spare for that
qualifying cutoff. I collapsed in a grimey heap. I was content not only in the finish but in my new
found self; my period was no longer my enemy but my secret power. At 28 years old I felt like I’d
finally learned to appreciate my body.
That race was in May and I had a bunch of big racs and adventures lined up throughout
the rest of the year. Well, you know what? My period decided to join me for every single big,
important event the remainer of that year, and beyond. I’ve gone on to have some of the best
races of my life, including a 100 mile PR and a third place finish at a State Championship 100k
trail race.
Don’t get me wrong; the annoyance of having to change tampons and feeling like
absolute crap leading up to the race sucks. No doubt about it. The increased portapotty time is
inconvenient, the fear of bleeding through your cute running shorts or looking bloated in your
favorite crop top is very real. However, if you can shift your mindset to one of curiousity and
positivity, you will be surprised what you learn. Try to embrace the womanly power, seek out
other women and lean on each other. Don’t be afraid to speak up about menstruation and if it is
not taken well, maybe those aren’t the best people to be around. Focus on truly enjoyng what it
means to be a badass woman on the trail and I doubt you’ll ever regret it. Trail running is an
incredible community and thanks to organizations ilke Tral Sisters and may race directors out
there, tampons are often available at aid stations now. Be on the lookout for “Trail Sisters
approved” races.
Categories: Writing
0 Comments