I’m lucky enough to know Anastasia personally and have gotten the chance to talk about Inkwell’s growth over the past year. It was awesome to have this conversation for Munger!

I read something I didn’t know: that the seed for Inkwell came from trying to get your mom into KenKen, and that she would sneak away rather than play. I would love to hear that story in your own words, and how a moment that small turned into an actual business idea in your head.

There are a lot of founding stories for Inkwell, and my mom is definitely one of them. The other is that I was working with a foundation called Carina Initiatives, and they had this initial insight that maybe you could capitalize on the success of Wordle, but do it with logic games instead.

I come from a startup background, so I was really focused on narrowing in on the actual problem. What I landed on was that older adults want to keep their brains active, and a lot of them are retiring. Logic puzzles are perfect for that. I know it because I lived it with my mom. She does her daily crossword to stay sharp, but I always thought it was too easy for her, so I kept trying to get her hooked on KenKen (a math puzzle). She never took to it. But over a year later, she’s still playing Inkwell every day.

You have an engineering background from Dartmouth, and your path before Inkwell included time at Metaculus and Carina Initiatives. I am curious how that year as an entrepreneur in residence actually worked. What did that year ask of you, and what did it feel like the moment you got the greenlight to go build Inkwell?

Carina had the seed of an idea, and my whole year was about validating whether there was actually a product and a market there. My first goal was identifying our audience, and I started with a strong focus on a boomer demographic. Then it was building a quick, scrappy prototype to see if people would actually use it. They did. We launched Stars, and then we asked ourselves if we’d just gotten lucky, so we launched Fields to test it again. That’s when we knew we had real product-market fit, and we put a lot of energy into building community and our mailing list. Getting someone to hand over their email is a huge signal of trust.

Funny enough, the greenlight moment wasn’t the emotional one for me. What actually felt scary was a couple months later, when we launched our subscription and asked people for money for the first time. Someone giving you their time is one thing. Someone giving you their email is another. But money? Seeing our first subscribers come through was the most relieved and happy I’ve felt building this company.

The gaming industry, and puzzle games especially, still skews toward being a male dominated space, at least from the outside looking in. I would love to hear what it has actually been like for you to found and build a company in that world. Has that shaped any of the decisions you have made?

I started as a mechanical engineer and then moved into early-stage tech startups, so gaming has honestly felt like one of the more diverse spaces I’ve worked in, sadly. I don’t want to speak for the industry as a whole so much as how I’ve tried to build my own company, which I think holds true regardless of industry: I want to work with people who are high integrity, high follow-through, and genuinely talented. We uild things we believe in, and have fun doing it. I’ve been lucky to find amazing collaborators who want that too.

I have learned founders get advice from every direction, investors, other founders, mentors, even well-meaning friends. I am curious how you have learned to sort through it all. What has your process looked like for figuring out which advice to actually apply to Inkwell, and which to let go of?

“Have you considered an app?” is probably the one I hear most. My process is to remember that advice comes from a place of wanting to help. So I say I’ll think about it, I don’t promise anything, and I don’t reject it in the moment either. That way I can actually take it in. Sometimes an idea sounds terrible at first and turns out to be excellent. Sometimes I’m just blind to a good one. And if I hear the same thing over and over, that’s usually a sign there’s something worth digging into (like an app).

Our power users especially have a lot of ideas, a lot of tools and features they want built. Other puzzle sites have all of that. But I’ve been really intentional about keeping our experience minimal. I want Inkwell to welcome someone brand new to games, not require them to learn advanced solving techniques first. I’ve probably frustrated some power users by turning down features that would be simple to build but would complicate things for a newer or more casual player.

You have built a real subscriber base at this point, people who show up for Inkwell every single day. What does it mean to you to know that many people have made you part of their routine, and did you expect that kind of loyalty when you started?

It’s touching in a way I don’t think I ever really sat down to process. We have people who’ve played every single morning for a year, or sent their score to a friend every day for six months. I feel honored to be part of people’s lives like that.

The funny part is I don’t actually know who’s playing. I could go look at our database, but I don’t have time for that,. Every so often I’ll send a newsletter and my mom’s college roommate will replyor I’ll be at the gym and someone will say, “Friday’s puzzle kicked my butt,” or my neighbor will comment on a YouTube video and I’ll think, I didn’t even know you played! It’s become a really fun way to connect with people in my own life.

I know you hear from your players often. Do you have a favorite piece of feedback or testimonial that has stuck with you, something someone said that really captured why they play?

One player in our Facebook group, who’d never posted before, wrote about being a new mom struggling with feeding and sleep. She’s often up at 2am with the baby, and that’s when she plays. She didn’t want to be on social media in that moment, but she wanted to keep her brain engaged, and it became her quiet ritual in this really tender stretch of new motherhood.

Since then, we’ve actually heard from quite a few new parents that they love Inkwell! (And the fact that the puzzles reset at midnight!)

What is your favorite part of knowing you are part of someone’s everyday ritual? Is there a specific kind of moment you picture when you think about someone opening the app in their morning or at night?

Knowing I’m bringing something positive into someone’s day, and often that I’m replacing a habit that wasn’t serving them, like scrolling, with something that is. Being able to give someone that feels like a gift.

What do you hope to see for Inkwell over the next year? What would feel like real progress to you, personally, not just as a business milestone?

I want to bring these puzzles, and this way of thinking and playing, to so many more people. I want us to be just as popular as Wordle. The milestone I’m really waiting for is the day I glance over at someone’s phone in an airport and see them playing an Inkwell game. I cannot wait for that to happen.

I’ve tried Stars and I loved it….and thought it was hard! I definitely need to be training my brain. Do you have a favorite puzzle and any tips for solving?

Our puzzles ARE hard. That’s by design! But it’s really intimidating if you’re new to Inkwell. For new users, I always suggest starting with Lazy River…I think it’s a lot more intuitive to get started! But, Stars was my first love and my personal favorite ;) My main tip is to not be afraid to use the Hints! They’re great ways to learn some of the strategies and logic.

Thank you for the time, Anastasia! If you are looking for a new puzzle or want to try a logic game for the first time, check out Inkwell and give them a follow!

Had to end with Tilly’s sweet face!

The SoleMates program has been part of Challenge Aspen’s fundraising strategy since 2003, before you came on board. When you first got involved, what did you see as its potential?

I was a fundraiser and strategist long before I considered myself a runner, so I immediately saw the potential of peer-to-peer fundraising, especially in a community like ours.

Since 2003, the SoleMates have raised more than $1.3 million to support Challenge Aspen’s mission. That’s remarkable in itself, but what excited me even more was the visibility and reach. Every runner becomes an ambassador for our mission and shares it with their friends, family, and colleagues while they literally hit the pavement for us.

What I didn’t fully appreciate until I became part of the program was just how deeply people would embody that role. Our runners aren’t just out fundraising; they become some of our fiercest advocates.

This is probably the first time I’ve used this analogy publicly, but the SoleMates kind of remind me of an ant colony. We’re all just little ants, each carrying one small piece of the workload. On our own, it doesn’t seem like much, but collectively, we’re building the home we want to live in. For us, that’s a community without barriers, where diversity is celebrated, and everyone has the opportunity to experience the outdoors.

When I think about the SoleMates’ untapped potential, I don’t just think about raising more money and increasing visibility. I think about how we strengthen each person’s connection to the mission and engage more people in building a more inclusive community.

New Zealand is such a big swing for this year’s race. What made you choose it, and what are you most excited or nervous about when it comes to pulling off a race that far from home?

Our group has traveled all over the world, so New Zealand isn’t as big of a leap for us as it might seem.

There are a few requirements we look for when selecting a location. The race needs to be in the early fall so our team can train throughout the summer, and it needs to offer multiple distances so everyone, from the casual hiker to the competitive athlete, can choose a goal that fits them.

New Zealand and the Crater Rim Ultra have been on our radar for several years. Once we connected with the race director, we knew it was the right fit. They were excited to welcome the SoleMates, and on top of that, New Zealand has a strong culture of outdoor recreation and accessibility, so this felt like the perfect time, especially since we have a visually impaired athlete on our team this year.

One thing that gives me a lot of confidence is that I’m not doing this alone. Jenni Petersen has planned SoleMates travel for years, and she’s built an incredibly thoughtful process. At this point it’s a well-oiled machine, and I’m so grateful to keep leaning on her experience and support.

I’m not so nervous about getting everyone to New Zealand. I just want to make sure everyone feels successful. I want every participant to reach their fundraising goal, feel supported throughout the journey, and come home believing the experience was worth every early morning training run and every fundraising ask. I want them to feel like they’ve won regardless of what happens at the finish line.

You’re guiding a blind runner in the 12K this year, a first for you. What has training looked like, and what excites you about becoming a guide runner?

I had the opportunity to start training in mid-July with Joseph Gray, a visually impaired Paralympian, coach, speaker, educator, and longtime friend of Challenge Aspen. I can’t believe how lucky I am to learn from such an accomplished athlete.

I started with the blindfold, and Joseph guided me, which completely changed my perspective. Before we even talked about running, we talked about trust, communication, and what it feels like to put your confidence in another person. Then we practiced with the equipment we’ll use and the constant stream of verbal and nonverbal communication that makes guiding possible.

I’ve guided visually impaired skiers before, but trail running is a whole different challenge. On snow, the terrain is relatively predictable. On a trail, every root, rock, switchback, drop, or change in footing has to be communicated clearly and at exactly the right moment. It’s incredibly technical.

For race day, our team will include Theo, the athlete, and two guides. One guide will focus on the big picture, upcoming turns, climbs, descents, and pacing. The other guide communicates what’s happening directly under his feet. It’ll take a lot of practice, coordination, and trust to work as a team.

What excites me most is that guiding isn’t about leading someone through the course. It’s about giving them the precise information they need to move on their own.

Aspen is such a fiercely athletic, mountain-oriented community. What has it been like watching that same community show up and invest so deeply in adaptive recreation? Has anything surprised you, or changed how you see this valley?

For a lot of people, they’re motivated by performance, yes, but just being outside is also the baseline for almost everyone. Several years ago, I met a former Challenge Aspen participant who is now a ski instructor for Aspen Skiing Company. He told me, “Skiing is the valley’s love language,” and that resonated so deep for me.

The same thing could be said for any type of year-round outdoor recreation. Choose your own adventure, but being outside is where and how we spend time with the people we love. It’s where we find joy and inspiration, have hard conversations, challenge ourselves, and make some of our most meaningful memories. I can say without a doubt that it’s where I live my best life.

And people here totally get it. They already understand, on a deeply personal level, what being outside truly means, and therefore, as a community, we believe everyone should have the opportunity to live their fullest life too. Not a ton of convincing required.

That’s actually one of the things I admire most about this valley. Challenge Aspen is completely woven into the fabric of the community. I hear people on chairlifts say, “I’ve never seen so many disabled athletes on the hill.” To me, that’s something to celebrate. It means adaptive recreation isn’t hidden or exceptional; it’s simply part of what this community looks like. Challenge Aspen has helped build that home for everyone.

When someone tells you they’re nervous about signing up for SoleMates, especially if they don’t think of themselves as a real runner, what do you find yourself saying to them?

First, I’d probably say, “Girl, me too.”

I’ve always been an OK athlete, but I’ve never considered myself a runner. What I’ve come to love about SoleMates isn’t running; it’s the opportunity to challenge myself, discover what I’m capable of, and share that experience with other people. And let’s face it, it’s trail, so I walk a lot.

One thing I’ll never say is, “Look at that adaptive athlete; if they can do it, you can too.” I hear it a lot, but honestly, that’s not fair to the athlete or their lived experience, and it’s certainly not the point.

What I am inspired by is this: for many people with disabilities, the world has spent a lifetime telling them what they can’t do. But when that same person is given access, opportunity, and the right support, they discover what they can do instead.

That kind of courage and tenacity is catching. The willingness to step outside your comfort zone, the attitude to say, “Eff it, I’m doing this anyway.” That’s the mindset I encourage anyone who’s thinking about joining the SoleMates to embrace. You don’t have to be a runner, you just have to be willing to give it a try.

Is there a piece of gear you’ve come to rely on, whether it’s specific to guide running or just something that’s made a difference for you on the trail in general?

Snacks, actually Snickers bars. But I’m not a nutritionist, and I’m very much an amateur runner, so I wouldn’t recommend anyone take nutrition advice from me.

What I do want to talk about are the two most important tools our team will be using to guide Theo in the upcoming race: our voices and a short tether.

When I first started this guiding journey, I assumed there would be a lot more physical support involved. But during my first training with Joseph, whose name I can’t say without acknowledging how incredibly lucky I am to know him, I realized my assumptions were so far from reality.

The tether is essentially a short piece of rope that I hold in one hand and Theo holds in the other. That’s it. That, and clear voice commands, provide an incredible amount of information and feedback. Again, it’s not about pulling someone through the course or telling them where to go. It’s about providing just enough information at the right time so they can navigate the trail on their own.

The goal isn’t to do the race for Theo. It’s to provide the support, trust, and access he needs to experience the race for himself.

Fundraising is its own kind of endurance sport, it takes patience and persistence that a lot of people underestimate. What has genuinely helped you succeed in this role, and what would you tell another fundraiser looking for advice?

I’m a professional fundraiser. As the Director of Development at Challenge Aspen, fundraising is literally my day job. And honestly, I still have a hard time asking people to support my own fundraising efforts.

I think fundraising gets a bad reputation because people assume it’s about asking for money. It’s really not that. It’s about connecting people to something they genuinely care about and giving them the opportunity to make a difference.

I like to remind first-time fundraisers that not everyone is going to say yes, sometimes you’ll get crickets, and that’s fine. Most of the people who do say yes are going to support within their means and are going to feel really freaking good about being part of something meaningful.

Challenge Aspen is one of those missions that people are genuinely proud to support, especially in this community. People here understand what outdoor recreation means. They know it’s where life is lived to the fullest. They also get what it means to be unfairly excluded from those experiences. When you invite someone to support Challenge Aspen, you’re inviting them to create opportunity and access for people with disabilities to have life-changing experiences outdoors.

You’re a little ant asking someone to help you build a better home.

Thank you, Brenna, so much for the time and inspiration. For more info on Challenge Aspen, check them out on the web and consider donating!

The trip, on top of other big life moments that year, had clarified two things. Her relationship to mountain biking has always been quieter than what gets shown in the mainstream. She uses her bike to move through places, not just over them. “Less extractive and more immersive,” she says. And her career, meaningful as it was, was missing something she couldn’t shake: the urge to make something with her hands, something concrete. She came home to Bozeman, opened Pinterest, and started building. Moonspin was the answer to both.

Moonspin is a women’s mountain bike apparel brand, but describing it that way sort of misses the point. It’s fully self-funded, built slowly and collaboratively, and shaped by Lindsay’s belief that a brand shouldn’t just belong to one person. Her first product was bike socks made in collaboration with The Athletic Community, a women-owned sock brand out of Portland. Cold outreach turned into a partnership that turned into one of her most important small business friendships. Her branding came from Molly, co-founder of RAR (Radical Adventure Riders), whose work she’d been following on Instagram. The Ocotillo Desert collection came from that same partnership. “You never know where things will iterate and expand,” she says.

Growth has never really been the point. Lindsay would rather be at a women’s gravel race or a community bike event than running ad campaigns, and she’s the first to admit it. “I’m a horrible capitalist,” she laughs. “I lead with community. I lead with care”.

Lindsay left her nonprofit career last month to give Moonspin what it had been asking for. She’d been building the brand alongside full-time leadership work, fulfilling orders over lunch, drafting Instagram posts during slow meetings. She doesn’t want to romanticize it. “I’m not a stay-up-late, get-up-at-5-AM person. I pace,” she says. What she will say is that Moonspin eventually outgrew the time she had for it. “I created something I needed to feed,” she says, and the way she says it, there’s real pride in it.

That’s really it.

The customer messages that keep her going aren’t the ones about fit or feel, though she loves those too. They’re the ones that say: “I love what you’re doing. I see what you’re doing. Do more of it. This is needed.” The ones that catch something underneath the gear. Something quieter, more connected, worth building slowly.

Thanks Lindsay for speaking with us, we are huge fans!

Follow Moonspin on social media to stay in the loop!

Dry smoke hit our eyes and throats as we sang around the crackling campfire. Woodsmoke clung to our sweatshirts and hair long after the songs ended. The fire itself almost felt like part of the music, its rhythm and crackle filling the spaces between songs and complementing the ringing of guitar strings. I was a city kid seeing clear mountain stars for the first time on these nights at summer camp in Wyoming. The sky felt impossibly big compared to what I was used to in Chicago. That sense of scale made everything, including the music, more meaningful.

In those early camp days, I recall staff members passing their guitars around that “stage” of dirt and smoke. I was absolutely enamoured with their sound. They sang cowboy tunes and old camp songs. Not in a polished or formal way, but in the way they could hold everyone’s attention and create a shared experience. To a young girl with a guitar of her own, it felt deeply moving. I knew immediately I wanted to center my life on what I was hearing, feeling, and learning around that campfire.

We all sang. Some people harmonized, some people sang off-key, some people just listened. But everyone was part of it, or at least invited to be a part of it, and that was the magic of it all.

The outdoors removes the pressure of formal performance. There are no acoustics to manage, no perfect sound balance to be expected. Sound travels differently outside. It drifts and fades, then disappears instead of bouncing off walls. That looseness makes it feel honest and less rigid.

Those campfire songs taught me to see music as participation rather than perfection. Songs became something I learned gradually over time simply by showing up and singing them again and again. The repetition of singing my favorite songs at home became a kind of practice regimen, though I did not recognize it as such at the time. I was singing for the sake of making sound.

Music feels ancient and human when done outside. Singing under the open sky reminds you that people have been gathering around fires and making music long before concert halls or recording studios existed. The natural world, too, has its own kind of music if you pay attention to it. Patterns repeat. Sounds layer together. Silence becomes just as important as sound. When you spend enough time outside, you start noticing rhythm and repetition everywhere. Hoofbeats on a trail, wind through aspens, the steady tempo of your own footsteps in the dirt. But rare moments of true silence outdoors have always captivated me the most.

While I was playing in a music improvisation ensemble in college, one of my professors often emphasized the importance of pauses and stillness during improvisation. Space gives the listener time to absorb what they have heard. It is the brief moments of silence that give the listener time for the sound to resonate. I have come to realize that the quiet found outdoors mirrors this idea; it often isn’t until background noise is stripped away that we can really absorb what we have heard and experienced in the past hours, days, or even weeks.

That same connection appears in my visual art. My paintings and creative work are heavily inspired by Western landscapes and traditions rooted in open spaces and outdoor living. In these places, the land itself becomes part of cultural identity.

I process my emotions and thoughts in big spaces and expansive landscapes. When I’m surrounded by mountains, fields, or long stretches of trail, my mind seems to expand in the same way the landscape does. Wide-open spaces create reflection, but more importantly, they create the time necessary for reflection. Like silence, these moments of stillness are essential to my creative process. Reflection is oftenwhat allows the art itself to take shape and come to fruition.

There was a link I was learning between being an outdoor athlete and a musician. Both required faith and trust in the long-term process, hours of practice, and intentional work with no guarantee of immediate payoff.

Like trail running or climbing toward a summit, artistic growth rarely happens all at once. You do not reach the top of a mountain in a single step. Progress happens slowly, often quietly, and you have to trust that the effort you are putting in today will reveal itself later.

Running, hiking, and training physically also have a strong connection to creativity. Movement unlocks thought. When the body settles into steady motion, the mind often relaxes enough for ideas to surface naturally. Some of my clearest creative thoughts arrive while moving through a landscape rather than while sitting down intentionally trying to create.

Both music and outdoor athletics require routine, repetition, patience, and attention to detail. Both require the discipline to show up consistently, even when progress feels slow. Both require energy allocated to minute details and supplemental training. A runner focused entirely on race pace can forget the importance of strength training; a violinist obsessed with playing through a piece can neglect the scales and etudes that form its foundation. In both disciplines, growth depends on small, consistent efforts that often go unnoticed in the moment.

I try to remember that immediate gratification rarely exists within artistic, musical, or outdoor spaces. Strength, endurance, and creative ability are all built gradually. Day to day, the changes can feel invisible, but over time, the accumulation of effort becomes undeniable.

The outdoors and my creative work have both taught me a quieter kind of confidence, one that does not rely on validation or an audience. In nature, there is no performance. You are simply moving through a landscape and responding to it honestly.

The confidence built outdoors comes from capability rather than recognition. Knowing you can navigate a trail, complete a difficult hike, or move comfortably through wilderness alone builds trust in yourself. That trust spills into every other area of life, including creative work. You begin to trust your own voice more. You worry less about whether your art is “good enough” and focus instead on whether it feels authentic and genuine.

After my first solo violin recital at music school, I recall feeling dismay after my performance. The expectations I set for myself going into the evening were impossibly high, and I walked off stage feeling like I had underperformed. I had built the performance up so heavily in my mind beforehand that anything short of perfection felt like failure. My bow shook through difficult passages, and my tone tightened under pressure. Standing backstage afterward, those mistakes were all I could hear replaying in my head.

What surprised me was that the people who had listened to the performance experienced it entirely differently. My parents, professors, peers, and friends were emotional afterward. They were not responding to technical perfection. What resonated with them, I learned, was the vulnerability of it all —the visible nerves, the effort, the humanity behind the sound. They saw fear, tension, relief, determination, and triumph existing all at once within the music.

That realization changed the way I understood both performance and art itself. Around campfires, nobody cared whether a voice cracked or a chord buzzed. What mattered was the willingness to participate, to contribute something honest. The same thing, I realized, was true onstage. The moments that move people most are often not the polished ones, but the deeply human ones. Audiences connect to vulnerability because vulnerability reminds us of ourselves. They remember the feeling behind a performance far longer than they remember whether every note landed perfectly in tune.

The outdoors taught me this long before I had the language for it. After climbing a mountain, nobody asks how fast you made it to the summit or whether your gear looked impressive along the way. What matters is that you experienced it wholeheartedly, that you challenged yourself, that you made it back down safely with stories to tell and a deeper understanding of yourself than you had before. Art feels similar to me now. The value of creating does not come from flawless execution or external praise, but from the willingness to show up honestly despite discomfort, fear, or imperfection.

In both the outdoors and creative work, the most meaningful experiences are rarely the most controlled ones. They are the moments where you are pushed beyond self-consciousness and forced to simply be present. Whether it is singing around a fire, performing alone onstage, or standing breathless at the top of a trail, the experience becomes meaningful because of the humanity within it, not the perfection of it. Ultimately, the outdoors has shaped not only the way I create, but the reason I create at all. It taught me that art does not have to be perfect to be meaningful, and that creativity grows best through patience, observation, repetition, and presence. When I am singing around a fire, running a trail, painting a landscape, or practicing violin alone, I return to the same lesson over and over again: the most meaningful art often comes from paying close attention to the world around us, to moments of quiet, and to ourselves.

I never joined the cross country team, but I always ran. I made my now best friend by deciding to run a marathon together our senior year of high school. Another best friend emerged when we ran a marathon together our freshman year of college, and then we ran my first (and only) 50k together just a few years back. We trained well, and chatted for the entire race. My husband is a professional runner, and getting out for mellow movement together was one of our earliest forms of connection. Running to me has always signified connection and deepening. Connection to people and to nature and to myself, and it offers the space that few other venues do to go deeper - ask another question, reflect a little harder, have a profound conversation on a beautiful trail, and sometimes (though not often) to dig a little deeper and work a little harder. I’ve run hard and sometimes somewhat fast, but for the most part, I am a leisure and social runner, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When I envisioned myself as a pregnant woman, running consistently and with a big bump was always part of that vision. I wanted to be a fit pregnant goddess, keeping up with my girlfriends with my growing human inside of me. Pregnancy, and in turn my relationship with running, has been far from what I envisioned.

It took my husband and me a year to get pregnant. That year was filled with treatments and interventions. A surgery to remove a fallopian tube, rounds of IUI, lots of medications and appointments, and underneath all of it, a growing despair and anxiety that dismantled my consistency with running. We ultimately got pregnant via IVF (shoutout to modern science), but by the time my little embryo took hold, my routine was already disrupted, I felt out of shape, and I was scared of running her right back out of my body.

Running while pregnant has not been easy, but it has continued.

Today, I am 27 weeks pregnant, just on the cusp of my third trimester. I’ve gained about 20+ pounds, and my husband and I joke that I am rucking through life. And, here and there, I continue to sneak a run in. Last weekend, I ran a local town trail race, completing 10 miles in about 2 hours and 20 minutes on some beautiful terrain. A dear girlfriend ran (read: hiked) with me the entire time, and we chatted nonstop. My speed has slowed, as has my desire to push myself (has running uphill always felt this hard?), but the experience of getting out for movement and connecting with people I love remains the same.

Just this morning, two friends reached out about walking, hiking or jogging for the next two mornings. I of course said yes, and warned them of how slow I am. They of course responded that they don’t care. I considered running this morning, but instead I walked my dog to the track where I knew some of my running buddies were doing a track workout. All my friends are getting FIT and FAST this spring for some big summer goals, and I’m over here rucking my way to the finish line of pregnancy. I wanted to run more than I have been, and yet, what a beautiful exercise in listening and responding to my body. Slowly, over the past 7 weeks, it has been whispering, I think you might be done soon.

I watched Clare Gallagher’s recent short film “Coming to Term” about running while pregnant. While I could relate to the peeing everywhere content, I couldn’t relate to her consistency. I was in awe of the way her body appeared unchanged minus the basketball in her belly, and the way she ran freely, no dorky bellyband in sight. That is not me. I am a social, recreational runner, and that foundation has carried me as far as it could, which, it turns out, is not quite as far into pregnancy as I’d hoped. I am working on being ok with that, and on knowing that I’ll have some fit windows in my future. It was perhaps naive to assume pregnancy, and growing this small being, would be one of them.

Next week, a best friend is getting married and she has a “Miles before the Aisle” event on the morning of her wedding. It’s a 5k, and I’m hoping to jog most of it. I think that will be my final running goal of pregnancy, and if I make it out for a few more after that, we’ll call it a win. It’s easy to look around and compare myself to the women I know who have run until 36, 38 and even 40 weeks. I’m finding peace with the fact that that isn’t me, finding connection in all my relationships on and off trails, and reminding the 6th grader who started to run to mostly hang with her mom, but also to be fit and healthy and deemed acceptable in the eyes of the world, that she is still an acceptable and celebrated member of society, regardless of weight gained, fitness lost, or miles not run.

I miss it, and I am in awe when I see my running friends on Strava pushing themselves and working toward big summer goals. At long last, my goal is different — to birth a healthy baby at the end of this summer. I’m beyond grateful to have this little coconut sized gal growing inside of me, swimming, dancing and kicking, constantly reminding me that she’s with me, and to give myself some grace. It’s the same grace I will of course extend to her as she navigates the world as a woman in our society.

Backyard dinner parties

One of my favorite things on this planet is gathering some of my favorite people for a shared meal. If I ask you to hang out over the next few months, be warned that activity is likely sitting down to a meal in my backyard. The second it stayed light past 7pm, the patio table got dusted, the candles went everywhere, and suddenly I was hosting dinner parties like it was my job. There is something about eating outside with good people that makes everything taste better and the conversations go longer. Been going through a lot of candles and staying up past my bedtime lately, but it’s been worth it.

Biking & Feuling

I’m doing the same ol’ trying to push myself up big hills on my bike shtick so far this spring. I recently got a new chamois from Giordana that screams simple elegance, and invested in a new pair of speed googles from Goodr. Also gone are the days where I get outside for a big adventure with little to no planning, that’s right, your girl has been researching better nutrition methods besides just relying on watermelon sour patch. I recently tried Neve when Madison and I had the chance to learn more about the company, and am obsessed. Additionally, I have been cooking a lot of recipes from one of my favorite cook books, “Run Fast, Eat Slow”. You should try the muffins. I am curious about the new Feulin app, but haven’t tried it yet.

Outside of trying to make sure I feel (and look) good on athletic ventures on the bike- I’ve been learning a new form of biking…tandem biking. Catch me at the farmer’s market, pickleball court, or just biking around town in this bad boy.

Hobby Maxxing

I’ve been hitting my hobbies hard this month- knitting, silversmithing, playing sudoku at the park. I recently gifted someone one of my 5+ beanies created this month, and felt so much pride seeing a few hours + TikTok instructional videos upon their head. My show stopper pattern from this month is something I found through Madison at Idaho Stitched.

Happy summer, friends. Go outside. Call your people. Light the candles.

XO, MAE

Zina had already landed on the name. Kat had already filed an LLC. I asked them what the process looked like of coming together to formally form the repair business and what each of them were bringing to the table.

Zina shared, “Kat has a much more official background in sewing. She trained with a seamstress and grew up sewing her whole life. When we first partnered up, I had never used a sewing machine. I was doing all of the repairs for my friends in town by hand. And then somehow it did feel like a no brainer. We were just like, oh, you’re doing this? I’m doing this? Great.

Kat then added. “So, we just combined our little portfolio” to which Zina chimed “Retrospectively it’s kind of crazy that we just said yeah, let’s do it. Like the universe just knew.” Our conversation flowed from there. I hope you enjoy the interview!

MW: You both describe yourselves as having very different lives that come together for Rip N’ Stitch. What does that actually look like day to day?

Zina: I almost always say that Kat and I are perfect business partners because we’re able to flex in a way that’s hard to articulate. Kat is running the kayak shop all day, dealing with staff, doing all kinds of crazy projects, a whole career’s worth of things, and is still doing this. And I’m teaching. We just have very different worlds but somehow run a cohesive business. We feel lucky.

Kat: This was our first winter where we could design our own schedule and really be in the shop together. And now we’re in spring and we’re juggling more and seeing less of each other. It’s cool to watch a business stretch with what you need. The other part of it is just how naturally it works between us. When I drop something, Zina picks it up. We’ve had to consciously communicate about some parts of running this together, but other parts just happen on their own, and that’s been really cool to watch. And yeah, sometimes I fantasize about going all in, quitting everything and doing Rip N’ Stitch with Zina full time. But you don’t have to be hard on yourself about that not being viable right now. You can do it differently than what everyone else does.

Zina: And in Jackson, maybe you just have to.

MW: Jackson is not a cheap place to live. I’m in Carbondale near Aspen so I get it. When you were forming Rip N’ Stitch, what made you feel confident that people really wanted to repair their things?

Zina: I think there’s something countercultural about it that really matters here. What I love so much about Jackson is this community of really down-to-earth people who are just ever-present. I was working as a raft guide, inherently around a bunch of raft guides with broken stuff. And they’d be like, ah, it’s broken, I’ll throw it away. And I’d say no, I can fix it. And they were like, what? And from there it was just friends of friends of friends, snowballing. I was doing everything by hand at that point like a total crazy person. And I was like, I can’t do this alone.

Kat: I think we had good timing on our side. There have been some legendary repair shops in Jackson over the years. We heard of these two women, maybe in the 70s or 80s, who called themselves the Mogul Mice and were just out there repairing gear. But after COVID, there wasn’t really a go-to gear repair brand anymore. And it’s cool because you have kids who want to repair their gear, and then you also have really high-value clients who bring in things that they deeply care about. They’re asking us to repair Louboutins, fancy things. Two very different groups of people who don’t know it but have the same goal.

MW: When you’re holding something, someone has really lived in, does it tell you something about how they’ve lived?

Kat: There are little windows into people’s personalities. You can see habit in the way they behave through their wear. Somebody maybe has a kid they walk to school with on the right side, so their backpack has a tear on the left. And then there are the deep sentiment ones. I had this guy in Salt Lake who said, I got married in these ski pants and now they’re torn. And a guide who’d been in the Himalayas with this jacket. We repaired pants that had been on Everest. It’s just fun.

Zina: We have a closet full of little windows into this community. It’s fun to see what people care about investing in.

Kat: And Zina just finished a project, we’re both working on things like this right now, adaptive repairs for people in wheelchairs or who have lost limbs. People need clothes that fit them no matter what their body is. That’s another layer of this work that has been really cool and rewarding.

MW: What has learning to really repair something looked like? Zina, you mentioned you had never used a sewing machine before.

Kat: One of the first things I learned, and I think we all learn this eventually, is that there’s more than one way to do everything. Anytime there’s a repair, maybe I see one way to do it. And Zina is one of the most efficient and quick sewing learners I’ve ever seen. She’d say, oh, maybe we do it this way. You bring two different approaches and you either adopt each other’s or you keep your own style.

Zina: Kat gave me my first sewing machine. This old beater machine. She said go take this and learn. I’m in the basement and I broke it. And I’m panicking because I’m watching every YouTube video I can find, convinced I had destroyed her most prized possession. And she was like, literally, that is not a big deal. But it has been fun. The trial and error. I grew up with this mentality that if your stuff has a hole in it, it’ll have a hole in it unless you do something about it. So it was just that trial and error, hand sewing, getting obsessed. And then I met this guy named Roley in Salt Lake. He’s like my 84-year-old best friend. He used to own a repair shop, was retiring, getting rid of his shop, and he taught me about industrial machines, how to work on them, how to be less intimidated by them. I think it’s just not being afraid to try different things. And it is scary, because it is so easy to destroy someone’s most prized possession. But you figure out that there are so many ways to skin this cat. I spend most of my time deciding not how to do something, but which method to use.

Kat: We’ve also learned so much from talking to other seamstresses and people in the repair industry. We’ve met a handful of people, I don’t want to use the O word, but they are kind of older folks who grew up in Home Ec and just have so much knowledge. They meet us and they’re like, you want to learn about this? And we’re like, we need to know. Because as many YouTube tutorials as there are, there’s nothing quite like learning from another person. There is information that literally doesn’t exist on the internet. It’s just in people’s brains. And that’s where it lives.

MW: What is the piece of gear in your own life that you would never get rid of, and what has it been through?

Zina: This is kind of a lame answer, but I don’t think I have one specific thing. It’s more like a commitment to my things. I’m going to care for them and get as much as I possibly can out of them, whatever that means. I mean, I have one item. It’s always that jacket. It’s been around forever.

Kat: I love clothes. I think that’s probably why I learned to sew so early, I just loved my things. My mom would find sweet clothes for me and we’d go fabric shopping together. Some of my pieces I would run into a fire to rescue. Skirts I wore in kindergarten that I can still wear. That’s kind of wild.

I loved this conversation and left this interview with a desire to invest in the things I own. Thanks to Kat and Zina for the time, excited to stay in touch!!

Go check out Rip N’ Stitch or find them on Instagram at @ripnstitchrepairs. And if you’re ever in Jackson with something worth saving, you know where to take it.

“I felt really excited and drawn to learning more about water and to the challenge of communicating about water with people,” she told me. “It can be so sticky, it can be so complicated, and so the creative challenge is like, how do we communicate about water in a way that makes sense, that’s not scary, that’s not overwhelming?”

Colorado Water Trust is the only water trust in the entire state, and one of only a handful in the West. The simplest way Barrett describes it: think of it like a land trust, but for water rights, and super flexible. In Colorado, water law has historically operated on a “use it or lose it” principle, meaning if you weren’t actively pulling water out of a river for agriculture, industry, or municipal use, you risked losing your right to it. Leaving water in a stream? That was considered wasteful. It wasn’t until the 1970s that in-stream flow was legally recognized as a valid use of water at all. That shift is essentially where the Water Trust’s work lives: helping people who hold water rights choose to use them for the benefit of the river.

This is where it gets interesting. Colorado Water Trust never cold-calls ranchers or farmers. They don’t show up uninvited with clipboards asking to look at anyone’s water rights. Water rights are sensitive, often tied to multigenerational family land, and genuinely expensive. So instead, the Water Trust does broad community outreach, makes sure people know who they are and what they do, and waits for landowners to come to them. I personally admire this strategy so much.

“From the get-go, the people we’re working with are coming to us,” Barrett said. “And then it’s really just listening. Especially with producers and ranchers who have been in Colorado for a really long time, coming in and hearing how they’ve managed their water, what they’re looking to do with it, and really bringing that into our plans with them.”

She described the initial tension that often shows up in those early conversations, and how the Water Trust tries to dissolve it quickly: they pay for the water they use, they’re transparent, and they’re explicit that they’re protecting a water right, not taking it away. That framing, she said, changes the relationship.

I asked Barrett what she wishes regular people, recreators especially, understood better about water. Her answer genuinely surprised me. Essentially every single drop of water in Colorado is already owned by somebody. All of it. There is actually more water allocated than has ever existed in the system. When you’re floating the Roaring Fork or watching a river run high after a storm, that water is on its way somewhere specific, pulled by someone with a legal right to it. It doesn’t just belong to the landscape.

She walked me through something I had personally never considered prior: a significant amount of what flows through the Arkansas River near the headwaters isn’t native to that watershed at all. Water gets pumped over the Continental Divide from places like the Roaring Fork basin into Turquoise Lake, then moves through the Lake Fork Creek into the Arkansas, where it’s eventually pulled out for communities along the Front Range. “You’re like, I’m at the headwaters of the Arkansas, look at this beautiful water,” she said, “and actually a ton of that water is literally from the other side of the Continental Divide.”

We talked about the drought, too, because it’s impossible not to right now and it’s why I was particularly excited to chat with her. 2026 is the driest year on record in Colorado and it feels dystopian to be wondering what is about to happen. Barrett was just at a water conference in Salida where state climatologists said plainly: we have not seen this before. Farmers and ranchers are deciding whether to plant at all, some are selling cattle because there simply won’t be enough water to support their operations, and utility companies are facing hard prioritization decisions. The 15-mile reach of the Colorado River near Palisade, home to a significant population of endangered fish, is running at a fraction of where it should be.

And yet Barrett isn’t despairing. “We’ve been planning for this for a long time,” she said, describing the sentiment she heard from water managers at the conference. “This is not an asteroid hitting us. This is something we’ve seen coming.” The scariness of this year, she thinks, might actually be the thing that finally makes people change behavior in ways they’ve been slow to adopt. More water sharing, more efficiency, and more willingness to do more with less is what will be required moving forward.

That kind of hope is something Barrett has had to be intentional about. She told me about a moment in a CC classroom, reading about mass extinction, when the author came to speak and Barrett asked how she stays hopeful. The answer wasn’t satisfying. Barrett decided then that despair couldn’t be her answer, that she’d have to find the hope somewhere else. She finds it now in the partners the Water Trust works with, in people who show up committed and collaborative across wildly different backgrounds, in the growing number of projects they’ve been able to complete. They started in 2001 with their first project taking five or six years to get off the ground. They now have 27.

“I think even like 20 or 50 to 100 years ago, people really treated rivers as dumping grounds,” she told me near the end of our conversation, and she meant it literally. In towns like Buena Vista and Salida, she said, the dump was right next to the river. Old cars, fires, trash. Rivers were fenced off from the public in some places. You couldn’t even get to them. A lot of older town layouts reflect that, which is why so many communities aren’t oriented toward their waterfronts the way newer development tends to be.

But in our lifetime, she said, something has shifted. Communities have started rallying around their rivers, building river parks and riverwalk paths, showing up to protect what’s there. People who love a place and are doing something about it because they love it.

For Barrett personally, getting through the heavy parts looks like running the Arkansas River trails near her home in Buena Vista, her big dog splashing in the water, putting her hands in the river to feel the temperature. Grounding into the exact places she’s working so hard to protect.

“It’s a reminder of why we do it,” she said.

If Barrett’s work resonates with you, learn more about Colorado Water Trust at ColoradoWaterTrust.org and follow along on Instagram at @cowatertrust. They’re doing things worth knowing about!

Thank you, Barrett!!

A few weeks ago, Nora Fierman flew to her current manufacturer's facility to hand-fill smoothie pouches one by one for twelve hours straight. She didn't know you could get blisters from screwing caps on. She did not let that stop her.

The founder of Neve Foods, a Vail-based sports nutrition brand, is bootstrapped, self-funded, working a full-time day job, and building something she genuinely believes in on every hour she has left over. The blisters were because a big string of orders came in fast, including, casually, from a few NFL teams, and she was about to run out of inventory.

Nora calls herself an "accidental endurance athlete." She grew up ski racing, moved to Colorado, and fell hard into backcountry skiing, always chasing what was around the next corner, over the next ridge. The days got long. The fueling didn't keep up. She was underfueling in ways that started edging toward disordered eating territory, something she talks about with real honesty, and is a deeply relatable reality, "I hated energy bars," she told us. "I wanted nothing to do with them, so I was like, I'd rather just not eat." She started making her own trail snacks, noticed people using applesauce and baby food pouches in the field, and thought: interesting concept, but sixty calories isn't going to cut it for a twelve-hour day in the mountains.

The concept clicked during a month in Chile, ski mountaineering as a vegetarian in a very meat-heavy culture. She tested the pouch concept on a boot pack, resealable, easy to squeeze mid-climb, no gut issues, no stopping, and came home knowing exactly what she needed to build. Nothing like it existed for athletes. She decided to make it herself.

One of the first things Nora did was bring in a registered dietitian, not as an afterthought, but as a core part of product development. She was clear-eyed about why. "There's a lot of bad marketing information around fuel out there," she said, "and I'm just aware that I'm not the expert." The RD came into the food lab in Boulder with her, helped dial in the macros specifically for athlete needs, and made calls Nora wouldn't have known to make on her own. Like adding pea protein alongside rice protein in the tart cherry SKU because together they form a complete protein source.

The result is two flavors: Boysenberry Beet for energy, Tart Cherry Cacao for recovery. Both built on the same philosophy, nutrition that actually performs, and actually tastes good - we can confirm! 

Finding someone to make the thing was a completely different mountain. It took four years, and Nora is not being dramatic when she calls it an awful process. Pouches are notoriously tricky. Manufacturers want to run hundreds of thousands of units to make the economics work, and she couldn't take on that kind of risk. She also needed hot fill capability, a specific process where ingredients are heated, sealed into the pouch, and cooled to make the product shelf-stable. Most manufacturers couldn't do both at a small scale.

She posted in a Slack community for CPG founders, got a lead four months later, and got her foot in the door with a manufacturer who, she'll admit, probably took a chance on her partly because he felt a little sorry for her. She'll take it. That relationship eventually fell apart when they started pushing small brands out for higher-volume clients, which is how she ended up with her current manufacturer, the one who was literally hand-filling pouches. "This business wouldn't have survived if he wasn't willing to do that," she said.

Outside of her core athlete audience, Nora noted a few other groups she was surprised to see find Neve. The Cleveland Browns' RD was specifically looking for a product with a certain amount of beet juice. The Boysenberry Beet has beet juice. Order placed. The Pittsburgh Steelers followed. She's still a little stunned by it, honestly, and we love that for her.

Then there are the breastfeeding women keeping Neve pouches on their nightstands for 3am hunger strikes, a market she absolutely did not see coming. And the beet skeptics who try the Boysenberry Beet and immediately recant. These are her favorite reactions, that sports nutrition doesn't have to be chalky and grim and taste like "fine, I guess."

Neve is not Nora's full-time job. She's working a full-time day job, getting tours before work in the winter, mountain biking after work in the summer, and grinding on Neve until she can't keep her eyes open. Fully bootstrapped, navigating the delicate dance of building something on the side while staying fully present at work.

She was the most candid about something that a lot of founder content glosses over. "People don't recognize how utterly painful, challenging and lonely building a business is," she said. "There are so many more reasons to quit than to keep going." Behind every win she posts about are years of quiet, hard work that didn't make it onto anyone's feed. If you have a founder friend who says things are going okay, she points out, there's probably a lot more underneath that.

What I love most about Neve, and about Nora, is that it all started from a deeply personal place.  She wanted to figure out how to actually feed herself on long days in the mountains without feeling terrible and created something with serious legs. Start with the Boysenberry Beet. You'll understand immediately!

Follow eat_neve on instagram and try the very first variety pack! 

I am a self-proclaimed “woo-woo” woman. I grew up surrounded by hippies and spiritual people. Unorthodox ways of approaching life’s trials, physical health, and modern issues were always a part of my thinking. Whether or not you are coming from a similar background, the reality is that grief sometimes makes absolutely no sense, and we periodically have to do things that feel irrational to help us through the process. In this article, I outline four tools for approaching some of the trials that come with loss. Losing my dad, my brother, and many younger versions of myself has given me a deep well of knowledge on what works best for moving through my own grief. I hope to transmit some of these lessons to you. Take what is useful and leave behind what is not.

1. Performing Personal Rituals

In the United States, there are rarely opportunities to perform rituals that are specific to our understanding of the world. Funerals and memorial services are the most common death rituals that we might encounter in our lives. While these events can hold great meaning and be intensely cathartic, the time after these communal rituals can be disorienting. Returning to solitude after fielding the emotions of others can make the quietness of being alone with your own thoughts feel extremely jarring.

Personal rituals can provide opportunities to move through pain, work with emotions, and sit with who you are without the person who passed. There are so many beautiful death and bereavement rituals stemming from religious, spiritual, and Indigenous practices. Symbols, prayers, and many other elements meant to guide sorrowful energy through action are often used during these ceremonies. While these celebrated traditions contain deep wisdom, each of us speaks a unique language on how we relate to the person we lost, to the world with and without them in it, and to ourselves, all based on the cultural context in which we live and grew up. Using this personal language is not only a powerful way to honor our lost loved ones; it is also a way to pay attention to emotional needs with compassion.

My dad loved sneaking out of work and going to our neighborhood Stewart’s gas station to get a scoop of “Death by Chocolate” ice cream in a waffle cone (a fitting flavor name, indeed). On the occasions when I would join him, he would eat his cone all the way to the bottom, with only the miniature cone remaining with a small amount of ice cream, and say, “Now Eliza, this is the best part. It would be a shame if someone stole the best part from me.” I would then grab the little treat out of his hand and gobble it down, delighting in the playfully aghast reaction he would exaggerate to make me laugh.

Now, almost five years after his death, I still go to Stewart’s, order a “Death by Chocolate” scoop, and revel in my triumph of eating the tiny cone. In that moment of repeating this little childhood ritual, things feel bittersweet. Sometimes tears stream, knowing that I am now alone carrying out a cherished memory between the two of us, but reliving that small action of playfulness allows the memory of our time together to exist beyond his passing.

Rather than denying the rituals we had together after he was gone out of sadness, or what I call the helpless “WHY, GOD????” feeling that comes with difficult life experiences, these rituals can exist as something else entirely. Allowing yourself to revisit small memories you have with a person or create entirely new rituals are ways to pay attention to emotional needs by choosing to sit through the complicated parts. People might look at you with a strange curiosity if you are sobbing in the Stewart’s parking lot, chocolate ice cream smeared over your face, but unapologetically allowing your sorrow to work its way through you is one of the healthiest things you can do.

2. Allowing Yourself to Cry

Crying is H E A L T H Y. Do not let anyone make you feel otherwise. In addition to releasing soothing brain chemicals like oxytocin and endorphins, crying is a form of surrender. Rather than bottling up all the emotions that go along with loss and having this repression come out in other ways in our lives, crying can be a huge release.

We have all had experiences of our unconscious minds manifesting in unproductive ways. On one occasion after my dad’s death, I got irrationally angry at an innocent Starbucks barista. The café was busy—a million mobile orders, people flying through the drive-through, and a growing line of caffeine-deprived humans behind the counter. When it was my turn to order, the barista, obviously red and frazzled by the volume of customers, kept coming over to ask me what I wanted, only to turn around and do something else without ever actually inputting my order. I felt myself getting flustered and annoyed. This repeated several times before a wave of panic came over me, and I fled the store.

Once back in my car, I burst into tears and slowly came to realize that I was not, in fact, upset because of the barista. I was upset because I recognized a familiar dynamic of not feeling listened to. My dad was a wonderful man, but boy, did he have selective hearing that made me feel completely unheard throughout my life. Allowing myself to cry through this moment brought that realization to fruition. I was able to recognize the pattern, be sorrowful for little Eliza, who never got the chance to be heard by her dad, and move forward with the awareness that this dynamic lives within me and deserves attention. Part of grieving a loved one is recognizing which needs were and were not met by that person and deciding to honor or let go of dynamics that no longer serve us. When we allow ourselves to cry, we allow our bodies to process experiences rather than attempting to keep the lid on a pressurized container of emotion.

Crying in groups of people is also intensely cathartic. I was lucky enough to join a group of women who attend a traditional Indigenous sweat lodge to work through various types of life experiences and talk about moving forward. Sitting in darkness, sweat pouring from our bodies, the space vibrates with the intention to process grief that has accumulated outside the insulated dome. Amidst songs, tending the hot stones that heat the space, and the facilitator speaking, there is a dedicated time during these group meetings to cry. Nothing needs to be said between us—we all simply sit around, wail, and put a loving hand on each other’s backs. The feeling of being surrounded by people completely empowered in their sorrow is one of the most underrated experiences of being a human being. Learning about and relying on Indigenous wisdom opened my mind to practices that continue to exist outside the largely secularized and medicalized culture of the United States. I am forever grateful for the ways in which my mind has broadened as a result of being invited into these spaces as a humble student.

During these gatherings, all my feelings of lost time with my dad, anger, and simply missing him feel safe to emerge. While emotionally naked, getting these underlying and powerful feelings out of my body leaves me more able to move forward and through the next wave of grief, rather than resisting it. Finding a small community of people like I did or simply allowing yourself to cry in front of a trusted friend creates the opportunity to affirm your experience of sorrow and provide solace in the fact that you are not alone in it.

3. Dealing With Unhelpful People

While we are on the topic of finding community, you may also encounter people who are incapable of understanding what you are going through. Someone might say that you should throw away all your lost loved one’s belongings or that it is too soon to begin dating again after the death of a partner. These people, most likely unconscious of what they are doing, are projecting their understanding of loss onto you. There is no “right” or “wrong” way of doing anything when it comes to YOUR grief. Notice how you feel in your body when you are around certain people. Do you feel supported and seen? Do you feel anxious or a sense of weird energy? Let your body intuit if someone is understanding of your experience and assess their access to your internal world.

Death makes some people very uncomfortable. There are a million reasons for this; they do not like being confronted with their own mortality, they had an extremely painful or unresolved experience of loss themselves, or they are simply incapable of feeling the depth of emotion that we have been thrust into. Whatever the reason, these people exist, and it is important to set boundaries, reserve your energy, and contemplate what your version of grief looks like. Developing a relationship with grief and respecting it as a course that your mind instinctively knows how to work through—like childbirth or getting over a cold—can allow you to create mental armor impermeable to people projecting their own limitations.

Likewise, you may encounter friends who ghost you. This one hurts. A lot. In the period after my father’s death, people whom I considered some of my closest friends pulled back completely. No check-ins, no communication, no nothing. I struggled with feelings of “Did I do something wrong?” and felt completely alone as their calls, texts, and replies back to me began to disappear. I could not understand why they did not like me anymore, and any time I tried to articulate what I was experiencing to them, it never felt like they truly got it.

I lost my dad in my early twenties, at a time when I was constantly surrounded by people fresh out of college, eager to explore the world. A catastrophic event like this was something not a lot of my friends had experienced in their young lives. While their disappearance was incredibly painful, I look back now and see that they were incapable of understanding what I was going through. After I emerged from the depths of my despair, some of these people slowly began showing up again. I still hold a lot of these people at arm’s length, but the compassion for their lack of understanding has transformed the initial “Did I do something wrong?” question into a deeper awareness of the capabilities of others, how I could best understand myself, and who my true ride-or-die friends are. You may feel your friendship or family circles recalibrating as you go through this experience. Notice where you find yourself desperate for understanding, and be unafraid to become the one who understands you best.

4. Repetitive Movement Without Distraction

After my dad died, sitting still felt extremely uncomfortable. It felt like my mind was spinning out of control as I cycled through seventy-five different emotions within the span of ten minutes. Sitting on the couch alone, buckets of tears creating pools around me, I would try, in earnest, to bury my head in the depths of the couch crevices in an attempt to escape my own brain. In the beginning, the only thing that would ease this turbulent, stormy sea of emotions was going for a walk. Getting my butt off the couch and into my sneakers was the hardest part, but once outside and briskly on my way to who knows where, my mind would begin to settle. The sound of my shoes hitting the pavement, birds chirping around me, and people going about their days as if nothing horrible had ever happened was equally as painful as it was comforting. Walking outside reminded me that the world carries on regardless of destruction, and that I, too, would carry on.

Repetitive action, whether it is running, walking, or any other physical movement, can help us get out of our minds and into our bodies. Having to focus on whatever movement we choose brings the brain into flow state or trance, states of awareness that can transform physical effort into intense focus and altered states of consciousness. In the context of grief, this space that our brains enter while getting lost in movement is where neural connections can be made that we would otherwise resist. Repetitive action allows emotion to materialize through our bodies. On those long walks by myself, anger would come out in hard stomps on the pavement, explosive emotion would exit my fingertips, and tears would convert to sweat as I marched up hills and past neighbors minding their business, probably processing something of their own.

In order to reach this state where our internal worlds manifest in our actions, eliminating distraction is key. Deciding to leave my phone at home or to not listen to music were two small things I integrated into this physical routine. Oftentimes, our phones are sources of an overload of information. It can feel like we are moving through life with constant despair and anticipation for the next atrocity happening across the world. During grief that is personal to you, it is important to prioritize your experience over taking on the grief of the world. In order to jump into action to alleviate the suffering of others, we must begin with ourselves. Taking the time to mend our hearts is neither selfish nor ignorant—it makes us stronger, more present, and able to understand others with a clarity we may have been previously unaware of. When we lessen the world’s intrusion as we walk, jazzercise, or cartwheel through an experience that mandates internal soul-searching, answers and discoveries can emerge with a little more ease.

Whether or not you choose to integrate any of this advice into your grieving process, becoming more aware of the fact that you are moving through grief is the goal. Rather than clawing your way through a thicket of gnarly vines that emerge when confronted with the confusion of losing someone you love, my hope is that I have provided you with a few tools to help bushwhack your way to a clear path. Performing rituals that might feel a little absurd, growing an intuitive sense for people’s energy and intentions, making space to let tears flow freely, and integrating intentional movement are all ways in which we can express what is happening internally. What some might consider “woo-woo” in a critical sense may actually help us go beyond suppressing ourselves and become exactly what our minds, hearts, and souls need to move forward.

Looking back at the younger version of Eliza, who just learned that her father was dying, I wish someone had sat me down and articulated some of the internal hardships I might experience during my own expedition through grief’s landscape. I am not only speaking to you, dear reader; I am speaking to that version of Eliza when I say: Give yourself time. Give yourself grace. Most of all, have the courage to see yourself, your experiences, and your memories as limitless sources of intelligence on who you are, who you are meant to become, and how you can best honor yourself and the person you lost.

Within 10 minutes of arriving at Boot Tan, I was soaking wet, had been cheered into two shot skis, ran into Jenny, cried happy tears, danced in the rain, and was in the process of designing a custom palm hat. As the sky brought us much needed moisture (several months too late…) the humans of Boot Tan were unaffected and if anything more stoked in spite of the conditions. And really… isn’t that the point? Turns or no turns, we were celebrating being outside, being together, being a part of such an accepting community, and having fun while doing it. THAT is the real spirit of Boot Tan, and this year it was stronger than ever.

This year’s Boot Tan theme was “Joy as Resistance” which showed up in the fashion just as much as the energy of the attendees. There were folks hiking up to ski the 20ft patch of snow left, about 100ft up the mountain. There was a fashion show with hoots and hollering so loud that you would have thought it was Justin Bieber in 2012. There were chaps and glitter and the flower head folks (shoutout whomever you were), alongside candy necklaces and ringpops, cowgirl hats, wigs, and bandanas. If this is the resistance I can firmly say I want IN.

Just about when the energy and hype seemed like it couldn’t continue, LVDY and Ani + Lena took the stage. Have you ever really listened to the lyrics of Wide Open Spaces? Because I will never listen to that song quite the same after hearing their rendition. Under the now clear skies, stars ablaze, energy peaking, 800+ people belted together, brought together by the idea of togetherness and joy and the pursuit of a life well lived. Safe to say, rain, snow or shine I’ll be back again next year 🫶🏼

“She needs wide open spaces,

Room to make her big mistakes

She needs new faces —

She knows the high stakes.”

I live in a quiet, cozy little town called Solana Beach in San Diego, CA, where the weather rarely, if ever, dips below 50 and I get to see the ocean everyday (something I will never take for granted). Basically, it feels like summer year-round. That said, I still fall into the end-of-winter mediocrity trap now and then. Here are some of my favorite things from March that brought me back to myself.

SOURDOUGH

I, like many others, found myself drawn to the act of bread making this month. After receiving a beautiful Dutch oven as a Christmas gift, I made it a goal of mine to learn and perfect the sourdough process. Getting started; I was super overwhelmed. The number of different recipes and baking times that I came across caused a major head spin. After reading through an entire cookbook, getting tips from friends, and scouring the web, I ultimately settled on following a random Instagram video (I know) that seemed simple and basic. After a couple tweaks and trial and error moments, I got a hang of it. And not to toot my own horn, but I mastered it fairly quickly.

Don’t let the initial swarm of info scare you! I recommend the King Arthur Unbleached Bread Flour and a little bit of optimism. Once I found out what worked for me and my kitchen, I began baking biweekly and now there’s nothing better than a fresh loaf with a big ole’ slab of Kerigold butter and flaky sea salt.

WRITING LETTERS, JUST BECAUSE!

One of my new year’s resolutions this year was to bring back the lost art of writing letters to friends and family. There’s something so meaningful about receiving a handwritten letter expressing gratitude and love in a world of quickly written texts and missed calls.

Maybe I’m just overly sentimental, but I keep every birthday card, note, or meaningful message I’ve ever gotten. So I like to think that other people do this too and that maybe they can come back and reread my words when they need a little pick-me-up.

Quick disclaimer… stamps are really expensive now??? Don’t know what that’s about but my local bookstore carries some cute flowery ones that I think are worth the extra spend, especially when it can make someone’s day a little better.

LOCAL FARM VEGGIES
One of the best things I have ever done: start a subscription with a local farm that delivers a huge box of fresh veggies weekly or monthly. If you live anywhere in the SD area, Yasukochi Family Farms in Oceanside, CA offers Community Supported Agriculture boxes full of gorgeous in-season produce delivered straight to your door. All the fruits and veggies are grown using organic farming methods and you can seriously taste the love that went into growing them.

Adding this into my grocery rotation has taught me so many things: namely how to store produce to keep it as fresh as possible for as long as possible, and how to incorporate produce that I never would’ve thought to buy into my meals. Finding new recipes and ways to incorporate fresh fruits and veggies has given me a creative boost in the kitchen and helped me fuel my body in the best way.

Look at this haul!

VISITING FRIENDS & FAM
Growing up we always had a spring break to look forward to, and now as a working “adult”, I feel nostalgic for the days of family trips and a break from math homework. Having a trip to look forward to always keeps me motivated and makes the days and weeks leading up to it feel purposeful. I highly recommend a visit to friends and family in March to add that spring –seasonal pun intended – back into your step.

Thank goodness for TSA precheck and really great people who make quick visits feel like coming home. This March I was lucky enough to squeeze in a visit to Denver to see my favorite people and get some skiing in.

I got really lucky in the sisters department (my real sister, Charlotte, and my non-blood sister, Mary Alice AKA cofounder of Munger AKA She-EO of fun) who always fill my cup until it overflows. Thanks sisters!

READING

Okay so I recently got a kindle… and while I will always be a paperback book’s #1 fan, the ease and accessibility of a kindle have really changed the game for me. There’s a free app called Libby that acts as an online library database and lets you reserve books for free (after some waiting time if the book is already reserved) and I’m a sucker for anything sans payment. Plus, the waiting time builds anticipation and makes you appreciate the books even more.

Some of my recent favorite reads:

• God of the Woods, Liz Moore

• All the Colors of the Dark, Chris Whitaker

• Wild Dark Shore, Charlotte McConaghy

If you have any recommendations, I always need more books to add to my list.

Happy spring! Thanks for taking a look into my mixed bag of March goodies. XOXO

The first time Kit Bredrup skied Jackson Hole, she was a management consultant living in Washington, D.C., tagging along with a roommate whose family had a house in town. That was 1994. She had skied before. Park City, Vail, Beaver Creek. But nothing had prepared her for the wildness of it. The terrain that could swallow you whole. The backcountry that beckoned. She was hooked.

More than three decades later, Kit is still there. She watched her children grow up on those slopes. She got engaged, and her husband surprised her with a post-proposal trip to Jackson with friends flying in the very next day. The mountain wove itself into the fabric of her family’s life. A place to unplug, to be present, to be together.

But something had always been unfinished.

“I wanted to be a ski instructor since I was thirteen,” she says, laughing a little at herself. Her mother had taken her to Vail for her birthday, and she’d watched the instructors move through the snow with this easy authority and thought: that. Then came college, graduate school, a career in consulting, and eventually executive search. The dream got folded away like a winter coat in July.

It wasn’t until her late fifties that Kit finally said it out loud. She had been working intensively with a ski coach, one who went on to make the U.S. national demo team, and her coach turned to her one day: you could do this. So she signed up for instructor training. In her clinics, she is often the oldest person in the room by a wide margin, surrounded by instructors in their mid-twenties. When they go around asking how long everyone has been in Jackson, her answer, thirty-one or thirty-two years now, draws a beat of silence. “They’re just like... but I’m not even that old,” she says, grinning.

“The ceilings are self-imposed. We can do so much more than we think we can but you have to say it out loud first.”

She teaches never-evers. People who don’t know how to clip into their bindings, who are terrified, who’ve been dropped off by a nervous partner at the ski school desk. Kit loves this most of all. “I introduce people to a sport I really love and to a place I really love,” she says. “To get someone up that learning curve and make them feel confident, that’s just special.” Her background in consulting, she believes, makes her a better teacher. She reads people quickly. Establishes trust fast. Knows when to switch approaches mid-lesson, the same way you pivot in the backcountry when the snowpack tells you something’s changed.

One of her favorite recent memories came on a rainy, socked-in afternoon. She’d been out since nine with a student, a guy in his early thirties, a never-ever from D.C., and by three-thirty they were both soaked head to toe. She’d gotten him all the way up to Sweetwater. Standing there, dripping, he looked at her and said: this has been the best day. He wanted one more run. “I told him,” Kit says, “if you love skiing this much today, in the rain, on a beginner slope, just wait until you have a powder day. Your mind is going to be blown.”

On the gear front, Kit doesn’t overthink it. She just knows what works. She layers up in an Icebreaker 260 Merino pullover she was gifted once and now won’t ski without. For wet days, she reaches for her Mammut jacket and pants. And for everything in between, she swears by Stio, the Jackson-born outerwear brand started by the founders of Cloudveil. “They just get it,” she says. “They’re making gear for people who actually live this life.”

Kit took that same instinct, noticed a gap and built something at the UNC Kenan-Flagler Business School, where she got her MBA. She noticed the percentage of women in the classroom hadn’t meaningfully budged in decades. So she went to the dean, ran what amounted to a mini consulting project, and found that women weren’t feeling supported. Research shows that when women drop below roughly 30% of a room, they start to assimilate rather than advocate for each other. Kit wasn’t having it. What started as a focused enrollment effort has grown into a network of 250 alumni mentors, scholarships, a speaking series, and programming that reaches students across all programs. She called it 100 Women.

The advice she gives those women is the same advice she eventually gave herself, standing at the edge of instructor training at fifty-seven: believe in yourself. Name what you want. Say it into the world.

“It becomes a possibility the moment you say it out loud. Before that, it’s just a thought you keep to yourself.”

Next up: Kit is heading to Peru in April with ten other women to trek a seven-day route to Machu Picchu, crossing a 15,000-foot mountain pass along the way. She’s been training. She has a plan. And she’s ready to pivot!

Thanks for the interview, Mom!

GG’s story starts on a glacier. She was guiding in Alaska during her summer break from Middlebury College, doing what most women in the backcountry had just quietly accepted as part of the deal: dehydrating herself to avoid the whole ordeal of trying to pee in the field. With harnesses, cold weather, and exposed terrain … it wasn’t the most welcoming of environments to pull down the pants for a pee. Her male counterparts had the luxury of discreetly unzipping their fly, but pants she realized weren’t made for women to do the same. Something most would identify as an anatomy problem, on that glacier, she started thinking of it as a design problem.

That realization would eventually become Gnara, a brand built around the GoFly, a discreet zipper system sewn into women’s pants that makes it possible to pee in the field without taking anything off. It sounds simple. And that’s kind of the point. The fact that it didn’t exist before GG came along says a lot about who has historically been designing women’s outdoor gear.

She sat on the idea for two years, just talking about it constantly. Friends later told her she’d been “the pee pants girl on campus” long before she realized how much she was bringing it up. Her senior year, a four-week entrepreneurship program at Middlebury gave her the nudge she needed. She started sewing prototypes from different fabrics, velcro, and zippers. “I hadn’t sewn since seventh grade home economics class,” she told us, “so it was rough.”

Those early versions were not as polished as they are now. Pink and lime green zippers, fully exposed on whatever pants someone handed over to be altered (honestly very stylish IMO). But they worked, and the feedback from every friend, professor, and classmate slowly helped dial in the design. Today the GoFly is so discreet that women would try on pants in Gnara’s most recent pop-up store in Boulder, fall in love with the fit, and walk out without ever noticing the zipper was there. While I think I would rock a bright pink zipper, I am so inspired by GG’s continued persistence to evolve the design - to make a pant so specifically designed for women even more accessible, stylish and something you wouldn’t bat an eye to in your day-to-day.

Getting it off the ground:

GG is really candid about how non-linear the path was. A Fulbright fellowship in the Czech Republic, economic consulting in Boston, a Goldman Sachs internship. She was deliberate about collecting experiences that could lend credibility to a product solving a problem most investors had genuinely never thought about. When COVID led to her factory closing down overnight, she pivoted to accelerators, eventually landing a $50,000 purchase order from Moosejaw and a $100,000 cash prize from MassChallenge. She wired it all overseas for a manufacturing run almost immediately. She didn’t go full time until late 2021, and she’s clear that was the right call. “That narrative of dropping out and building a unicorn in two years is super inaccessible to most people, especially female founders”. She put in the work over the course of several years… collecting feedback, iterating on her product, and eventually was able to step into supporting Gnara full time.

The women actually wearing it:

The customer stories are where it gets really good. Cole Brauer, the first American woman to sail solo around the world, did it in the Go There pants and shorts, with GoFly® technology. A bridge inspector named Krista was saving over an hour a day, time previously spent climbing up and down off bridges and removing a 40-pound harness just to use the bathroom. A private pilot told Georgia she’d been planning to retire because she couldn’t hold it on missions longer than two hours. The pants changed that. “Changing the course of someone’s professional career is something I never anticipated,” GG said. These stories illuminated for me something GG said early on, how fixing one problem can compound to have larger effects beyond what you realized. If you can help a girl pee in peace - that is one less thing to worry about on the path to her total world domination.

What’s next:

The big launch this winter was the Burton Ski Bibs and compatible base layers, bringing the GoFly into mountain apparel in a big way. Gnara is also licensing the GoFly technology to other brands, and GG hinted at more products in the pipeline. I for one am excited to see this brand grow it’s reach, because you know what, I actually don’t want to peel off all my layers every time I have to pee (and I have to pee all the time).

What we love most about GG and Gnara is that the mission is really clear underneath all of it. Women have been quietly absorbing the cost of poorly designed gear for a long time, and GG decided to actually fix it. Go check out Gnara HERE!

I wanted to talk with my Tuesday morning coach, Carolyn Williams for this weeks Munger piece. Carolyn coaches with Ripple Effect in Carbondale, Colorado, and runs her own training business, NEVE. Her approach to training blends mobility, strength, endurance, and education in a way that feels particularly thoughtful for all athletes but especially for women.

We talked about what traditional fitness models often miss, why strength and power matter more than many women realize, and how to build bodies that stay capable and adventurous for decades.

MW: A lot of training programs promise results but often treat people as if they all move through life the same way. Can you talk about the moment when you realized the typical fitness model wasn’t serving the mountain athletes you care about?

CW: Reading Built to Move by Kelly and Juliet Starrett was a turning point for me. It helped me understand mobility not as stretching, but as a foundational component of performance. When athletes move well and in alignment, they do not leak strength. Their power transfers efficiently through the body.

When I took mobility coaching courses through The Ready State, I began to see something clearly. Many of the overuse injuries I had experienced were not random at all. They were predictable consequences of mobility limitations that had never been screened.

I remember training for an ultra and finishing a 20 mile run only to have my hip completely fall apart. I needed weeks of physical therapy. Looking back, it was obvious. I lacked adequate hip external rotation. A simple mobility screen would have caught that, and targeted work could have prevented the injury entirely.

That realization reshaped the way I think about coaching. Athletes need programs that respect their individual bodies, their age, and the demands of their sport.

Mountain athletes move dynamically through unpredictable terrain. Training needs to reflect that. Isometrics, plyometrics, and dynamic strength work help maintain tendon resilience, proprioception, and the spring in our joints that protects knees and hips over time.

I spent more than a decade doing CrossFit with incredible coaches, and I learned a lot there. But I eventually realized the model was not aligned with my goals as a mountain athlete. It was not periodized for long days in the mountains, ski touring seasons, or endurance objectives. I was trying to skin up mountains while maintaining a full CrossFit schedule and it simply led to overtraining.

That experience taught me something important. Great coaching must be specific to the athlete and the life they want to live.

MW: You’ve spoken about wanting to create a space where people can train hard while still prioritizing longevity and respect for different life stages. What did you feel was missing in the coaching world that pushed you to build something different with NEVE?

CW: I have always been deeply interested in women’s health, and historically there has been a real gap in both medical and training research on female physiology. That is finally changing thanks to leaders like Stacy Sims and Vonda Wright, who are helping reshape how we think about performance and aging for women.

As women move through midlife, their needs shift in meaningful ways. Strength training, sprint intervals, plyometrics, and higher intensity work become essential for maintaining bone density, metabolic health, and muscle mass. Yet many traditional endurance programs still emphasize long slow miles while neglecting these critical elements.

My curiosity led me to pursue certification through Girls Gone Strong, which provides outstanding education on female physiology and training. That learning reinforced what I had already begun to observe in my own body and in athletes I coach.

What I saw missing in the coaching world was a program that allowed athletes, especially women, to train seriously while also honoring longevity.

At NEVE, the goal is not just performance for one race or one season. It is helping athletes build bodies that remain strong, capable, and adventurous for decades.

MW: As an athlete yourself navigating injuries, different seasons of life, and the long arc of staying active, what from your personal experience shaped the way you coach others?

CW: My biggest aha moment was realizing that I cannot do just one thing.

For years I experimented with different training styles. Endurance, CrossFit, yoga, strength training. Each had great coaches and valuable lessons. But what finally made my body feel its best was the combination of all of them.

I need yoga for recovery and body awareness.
I need mobility work to keep my hips and joints moving well.
I need heavy lifting to maintain strength and bone density.
And I need plyometrics and sprint work to maintain power and elasticity.

The mix that works best for me and many mountain athletes includes long Zone 2 days in the mountains, true sprint intervals on Nordic skis, bikes, or uphill, progressive heavy lifting, and dynamic work like plyometrics and isometrics.

That combination has made my body feel stronger and more resilient than any single training modality ever did.

Sometimes I hear people say they just do yoga and walk, or only do Pilates, or only lift weights. All of those are valuable, but none of them alone provide the full picture of long term durability.

The research is increasingly supporting what many athletes discover through experience. Our bodies thrive on variety and complementary training stimuli.

MW: There’s often pressure in fitness culture to chase intensity above everything else. How do you help athletes shift their mindset toward training for longevity and resilience?

CW: Education is key. My background as an educator shapes how I coach. When athletes understand why they are doing something, why heavy lifts matter, why sprint intervals matter, why mobility work matters, they become much more invested in the process.

I spend time explaining the science, sharing real world examples, and most importantly helping athletes feel the difference in their own bodies.

Mobility screens are incredibly powerful for this. When someone sees how improving ankle mobility or hip rotation suddenly changes how they squat, run, or ski, the learning becomes immediate and tangible.

That shift from chasing intensity to building resilience is incredibly empowering.

MW: You’ve talked about how many capable, motivated women, especially in outdoor spaces, were being underserved by one size fits all programming. What patterns were you seeing that made you realize there was a real gap to fill for female athletes?

CW: Many women simply have not had access to strength training environments that feel welcoming or educational.If they did not enter the CrossFit world or organized strength training earlier in life, many women are still using five pound dumbbells and have never learned foundational movements like deadlifting.

There is also a persistent fear that lifting heavy will make women bulky, which we now know simply is not true for the vast majority of women.

At the same time, many programs aimed at women still focus heavily on weight loss rather than strength, durability, and long term health.

Whether it is spin classes, yoga only routines, or endless cardio, women are often missing key components of training that support longevity. Heavy lifting, power work, and true interval training.

Women need flexibility and mobility, but we also need strength to control our bodies when we trip on a trail, jump across rocks, or ski variable terrain. Strength and power are protective.Helping women discover that capability is one of the most rewarding parts of my work.

MW: For athletes who are used to measuring success by pace or podiums, how do you help them redefine progress in a way that supports a sustainable life in the mountains?

CW: Many athletes never learn how to truly listen to their bodies. One of the beautiful things about yoga and mobility work is that they create space for that awareness. They teach us how to notice subtle signals before they become injuries.

When athletes only focus on outcomes like pace, podiums, or Strava segments, they often miss those signals.

But when we learn to listen, adapt, and respond intelligently, we can actually perform better over the long haul.

The goal is not to remove ambition. It is to build bodies that can pursue adventure and performance for decades, not just a few peak seasons.

MW: Favorite trail snack?

CW: Swiss chocolate. Always.

MW: You’re also a lover of good gear. What are a few pieces you’re reaching for right now?

• A lightweight Black Diamond 15L trail pack. Perfect for everything from Colorado 14ers to hut to hut days in the Alps.

• My ultralight Black Diamond puffy. Essential for alpine weather swings.

• Carbon poles from Leki.

• Hoka Mafate trail shoes for long mountain days.

• My new 64 mm skis from Dynafit for ski mountaineering.

• And my favorite indulgence. Carbon ski boots from Pierre Gignoux.

Good gear does not replace good training, but it certainly makes mountain days more enjoyable.

______

So fun to chat with you Carolyn, thank you so much! If you’re in the Carbondale area, Carolyn’s trail ready workshop starts in April!

So when I was asked to put together the February mixed bag, I jumped on it. Yes, the ski season has felt like a perpetual low tide. I’m keeping a watchful eye on years like this, which, unfortunately, may become more common with climate change. But at the same time, I still get to fill my days doing the sports I love with the people I love—and I’m making the most of it.

For this month’s mixed bag, I want to revel in Colorado living. This state continues to offer endless opportunities to explore new places, meet new people, and push my envelope.

Breakfast Burritos

I don’t like waking up early, ever. Well… except for all the days I get up early to do an uphill ski, bike ride, or trail run. On those mornings, motivation comes in tortilla form. Specifically: the promise of a hot breakfast burrito drowned in hot sauce after my activity of choice.

If you’re local to Boulder, La Choza delivers serious bang for the buck. The burritos are hefty, the salsa hits just right, and the horchata might honestly be the real reason I keep coming back.

Softshell Pants

A bit of a funny story, I bought an epic pair of the Arc’teryx Leutia Pant before a trip to the Cordillera Huayhuash and was so excited to wear them around the circuit. Lo and behold, I left them sitting neatly on my bed and had to buy a random knockoff pair once I got to Peru.

They got the job done… but since being back, the real ones have become a daily driver. Uphill and backcountry skiing, sessions at the climbing gym, even hitting the town with friends—they somehow work for all of it. The pockets are endless, they’re insanely comfortable, and they’re warm without crossing into swampy territory once you start moving.

Hydration That Goes Everywhere

I’ve also become a big believer in the humble soft flask, specifically the ones from HydraPak. These things are sneaky good. They collapse when empty, weigh basically nothing, and fit just about anywhere.

You can toss one in a jacket pocket for a quick ski lap, stash it in your purse for a night on the town (hydration is chic, people), or slide it into a chest pocket on a skimo pack and sip straight from the nub while skinning. It’s the kind of simple gear that quietly becomes indispensable once you start using it.

Face Glitter

This one’s a no-brainer. As a woman in sports that are often hyper-serious and male-dominated, nothing feels more badass and empowering than dusting your cheekbones with glitter and then showing ’em who’s boss down the fall line or trail.

More power to the men who show solidarity with the girlies by rocking glitter or painting their nails. Sparkle is for everyone.

Good Base Layers

Santa Claus (read: my dad) recently added some fresh base layers to my gear pile. I’ve been rocking the midweight layers from Le Bent, and they’ve been awesome for layering—especially since I’m such a cold gal when the alpine wind is ripping.

They’re warm without being bulky, and they breathe well enough for high-output days. I’ve also heard their featherweight layer is excellent for skinning missions when you’re moving fast uphill.

Bed Essentials

After a few strategic bedroom upgrades, I feel like I’m living in luxury. I regret to inform you how much my pillows actually cost (though I did find them new on Facebook Marketplace), but I am now the proud owner of the Aireloom Nimbus High Profile Visco Pillow.

Between that, a sleep mask, and some rain noise from my Hatch Restore Alarm Clock, I can sleep through the night no matter my schedule—and wake up ready for whatever adventure is next.

Setting Up Your Friends

Alright, this isn’t technically a thing, but in the unending exhaustion of our chronically online existence, connecting friends might be the most special and human thing we can do.

Dating apps are brutal. So why not introduce your two badass single friends? If they hit it off, you get to take all the credit. And beyond dating, there’s nothing cooler than heading out for a backcountry ski, bike ride, or other adventure with a crew of homies who may not all know each other yet. Suddenly, everyone has new friends and the world feels a little bigger.

Speed Shades

Every once in a while you find a piece of gear that makes you feel objectively faster—and significantly cooler. Enter the Oakley HSTN Sunglasses (mine are the Highland colorway). They somehow strike that perfect balance between new-age alien and old-school ripper. The oversized lenses give full coverage for high-speed ski lines, windy ridge traverses, and long bike rides, but they still look good enough to keep on once the helmets come off.

I love gear that doesn’t force you to switch modes between athlete and human, and these pass that test. I’ll wear them dropping into a spicy line and then keep them on while sitting on the deck at Cloud Nine Alpine Bistro for après. Function meets ultra-cool girl energy, and I’m not mad about it.

See you out there,

Grace

Munger sat down with Quincey, QEJA’s wearer of many hats: the brands operations lead, customer experience guru, expo road warrior and steady center, to talk about building a brand with her family, entering the performance space as a woman, and learning to trust yourself when the beginning feels overwhelming.

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Munger: I feel like you are the go to person at QEJA. You wear a lot of hats. How did you first get involved and what pulled you into this world?

Quincey: QEJA started Christmas of 2020, that first pandemic holiday. I was lucky to be home in Utah for nine weeks, living in my parents’ basement with my sister, my brother and his family, and my husband. It was tight in the best way. We cooked, hung out, and just got to be together when so many people could not.

At the same time, there was a lot of career transition happening. My husband and I had been running sailboat charters and instruction for almost a decade, and that industry dried up overnight. Travel stopped. People did not want to be in tight spaces. We were also recognizing some burnout.

So we started tossing around ideas. We are a very active family, lots of cycling and skiing, and we kept coming back to how disappointing most athletic socks were. My dad finally said, well, why don’t we make one.

None of us had done it before. My sister is a designer so she took the lead there. We wanted to create something thoughtful, using organic cotton and certified materials that were safe for the people making them and the people wearing them. Then suddenly we had an LLC and had to figure out who was doing what.

My background was in customer service and working directly with people, so I stepped into that role naturally. I also had to learn email marketing from scratch. That was humbling. But I have had incredible mentors along the way.

M: It is still mostly family running the show?

Q: Yes, and it has grown. We are a team of six now. Myself, my husband, my sister who designs the socks, my sister in law who runs digital marketing, and then Andrew, who we met at Sea Otter a few years ago. He reached out later after being laid off and basically said, I remembered you guys. Can I join.

He brought deep bike industry experience and was exactly what we needed. Now his fiancée works with us too and is helping us open QEJA in Chile. So we are still keeping it close, just expanding the circle a bit.

M: What has surprised you most about building this brand?

Q: I am always surprised at how overwhelmed I feel at the beginning of something new. I will look at a big task and think, I have no idea where to start. It feels huge and intimidating.

But once I take that first step, then the second, and reach out to mentors or dig into research, it starts to feel manageable. I know this about myself now. The beginning is the hardest part. Small inches forward make it possible.

You do not have to do everything at once. You just have to start.

M: Entering the performance space can be intense. What has that felt like, especially using cotton when the sport world tends to dismiss it?

Q: It has been daunting. Cotton has a reputation in performance spaces, and sometimes that reputation is earned. But we use organic cotton, which has different properties. It is breathable, moisture wicking, and because our socks are thin, they do not trap moisture the way a thick cotton crew sock would.

We also built the sock as a hybrid. The upper is organic cotton for comfort and breathability. The bottom uses a high performance fabric that is durable and resists friction and holes. So it is about versatility.

The biggest challenge has been getting people to try them. Once the sock is on someone’s foot, nine times out of ten they are surprised in a good way. So a lot of our work is just getting socks on feet.

M: You are a cyclist and skier yourself. How has your own experience shaped how you talk about the product?

Q: I grew up skiing but did not really consider myself a skier until my late twenties. I used to wear thick socks because I thought that meant warmer feet, especially with boots that did not fit properly. Now I am a big believer in properly fitted boots and thin socks. Thick socks can actually restrict circulation and make your feet colder.

That is something we try to share, especially with newer skiers. Cycling is similar. Your shoes are tight. You do not want bulk. You want something that dries quickly and stays put. Being active ourselves helps us speak honestly about what works.

M: What has it felt like merging your passions with your work?

Q: It has been really fun. My husband and I are the main expo team, so we travel in our van during the summer with all our gear. We get to show up at gravel races, bike festivals, ski premieres. It feels special to be part of those spaces, not just as participants but as contributors.

Meeting other women building brands has been especially inspiring. There is something powerful about seeing real people behind the logos. And it helps to know everyone is navigating hard things too.

M: What advice would you give to women who have an idea but feel nervous about entering the performance space?

Q: Seek out mentors. Seek out other women doing what you want to do. There is so much support out there. We are part of Women Led Wednesday through Wild Rye, and I am part of local e commerce groups in Utah that host women focused events.

Do not be afraid to reach out. Most people are more generous than you expect.

M: If you could outfit any iconic woman in QEJA socks, who would it be?

Q: Any of the women racing in the Tour de Femmes. That would be incredible.

M: What are you most excited about next?

Q: We are expanding beyond North America and launching in Chile with Andrew and his fiancée. It comes with hurdles, but we are figuring it out. After that, Europe. My sister who designs the socks lives in London, so we are small but international.

We are growing slowly and intentionally. That feels right

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I really enjoyed this conversation With Quincey ( thank you!!!) and getting the ins and outs of how QEJA got started. Personally, I love that QEJA did not begin with a polished business plan. It began with family, frustration over bad socks, and the courage to try something new during an uncertain season. In a world that often rewards loud launches and fast growth, there is something quietly powerful about building this way, one small step at a time.

Be sure to check QEJA out online and also follow them on social!

Happy Friday!

When I think of a marine biologist I think of white sandy beaches and saving sea turtles, not crowded subways and persistent pigeons. Six months ago I traded said tropical paradise in northern Australia for the streets of Brooklyn. It was just as diabolical as it sounds. I’ve lived in some wild and remote places, but somehow NYC feels like the biggest frontier I’ve faced so far.

My daily routine has drastically changed, to say the least. As a marine biologist, I’ve grown accustomed to living in small coastal towns with the ocean a stones throw away. I’ve grounded myself by spending my free time exploring the adjacent natural spaces and have come to believe that the ocean can heal pretty much anything. I’ve had adventure and wildlife right at my doorstep (and unfortunately sometimes in my home). Now, I have a different kind of adventure.

Most days, the only fish I see are on my coveted Skida headband (shoutout!), or smoked in a bagel from the bodega. Ironically, the most surprising thing I’ve seen since moving to the city is the amount of people wearing hiking boots and trail running shoes in the west village. My fashion savvy friends have informed me that they’re trending. SO fetch.

Over the last 3 months I have had to learn how to keep myself grounded when I’m faced with the harsh truths of city life. I wanted to share some of the changes to my routine that have brought me slivers of joy and peace in this crazy cityscape.

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This is my survival guide to the concrete jungle:

One. Treat NYC like the concrete jungle that it is.

In Australia there were MANY venomous and prickly organisms to attempt to avoid. This prepared me be vigilant outdoors and has helped me avoid being hit by rogue bus drivers, getting in the subway car with people who overshare their thoughts and odors, and most importantly staying out of frame during influencers filming. Honestly, I’m lucky I came so prepared with my quick feet and laser sharp observation skills honed from hours searching for cryptic wildlife. Many people are staring at you and everything all the time. Trust me, DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT.

Two. Never pass up an opportunity for a wildlife viewing.

Nuts as it sounds, I get a little micro thrill every time I see a subway rat. Believe me, I have seen the job postings for exterminators so you could say I’m familiar with the scale of the problem. But dang, I love watching them carry three times their body weight in garbage. It’s cute in a sad and admittedly demented way. Did I move here for the rats? Most likely not, but those little squeakers are impressive in their resiliency and I have to respect that.

Unfortunately, I don’t see the rats as often as I thought I would since I mostly work from home in the winter (while the whales have migrated down to the Caribbean). Thus, I haven’t been able to truly study city rat behavior. I do like to ask new people what the craziest thing they’ve seen a subway rat carry is, and it’s really entertaining.

Three. Create games that might be a little unhinged.

I grew up with a sausage dog and really love them. Their bodies seem to defy all laws of evolution and although they seem wildly physiologically inefficient (as a biologist I can say this) I love them. It so happens that sausage dogs are also trending. Until moving here I wasn’t aware that dog breeds could be a trend, but as they say, the more you know. So needless to say I also get micro thrills every time I see a little dachshund. When I go to Manhattan I play a game called “how many hotdogs”. It’s played in my head and is very official and it goes like this: I count the number of hotdog dogs vs. hotdog carts and see what number is higher by the time I get home. My record highs are 7 floofs to 6 glizzy carts. As far as I know I also hold the record number of sightings.

Four. Accept that that you will cry in public.

Some days the city really ribs at me. It’s loud and chaotic and fully in your face. Even when I’m feeling all the creepy thoughts that accompany re-learning how to winter (as Madison put it for me once), I force myself to spend at least 30 minutes outside everyday. I put on my noise canceling headphones, blast Taylor (yes, okay, my biggest accomplishment of 2025 was being a top 0.5 listener to the most popular artist on Spotify but like, it’s whatever), and beeline for the park. Then I breathe. And I find a tree or a dog or a person pretending to be a tree or a dog (one of these has happened), but the important thing is finding a natural looking object that reminds me of life. And I take it all in. And I walk for a good while. I might dance a little. I’m recently finding a lot of comfort in knowing that no matter how I look or act, I won’t be the weirdest thing anyone has seen today. The anonymity is freeing.

Five. The wildlife around you can teach valuable lessons. Let it.

As someone who has moved far and often, I’m a self-proclaimed successful nest builder. Pigeons are also nesters! However, they will literally put together two sticks, a once red sock, and a cigarette butt and call it home. I’m choosing to call them selective rather than lazy, and take that advice myself. In general, I’m really picky with what I fill my space with. After moving so many times I’ve learned that anything you own also owns you. So, in homage to the sparse- nesting pigeon, I try to only surround myself with things that are essential or truly bring me joy. Coincidentally I can almost touch all the walls of my room at once, so space is definitely a little scarce. But at the end of the day, I love having my own little oasis at home away from all the bustle and filled with things that are beautiful to me.

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I’m accustomed to living a gentle life. NYC offers the opposite experience. This city pulses with electricity and potential, and can also be completely alienating and unpredictable. I’m saying YES to new experiences. I believe that’s important in life generally, but it’s also allowed me to watch sets in music stores, attend a cookbook launch, introduce my high school and college besties, and attend a Singaporean dinner party that was definitely-not-a-Friendsgiving-and-just-happened- to-be-in-November. My two plus hour commute has given me time and space to read, listen to more podcasts, and write this on my phones notes app. It’s not always a glamorous life but it is for sure entertaining, and I plan on maximizing my aliveness as much as possible in it.

I wanted to talk with her about what goes into pulling off these kinds of adventures from training and logistics to mindset, motivation, and the joy of doing it all with friends. Whether you’re scheming your first destination race or just craving something a little bigger than your local loop, her perspective might be the spark you need!

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MW: When you think back to Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim and the Arctic Triple, what first drew you to each adventure?

JA: It was the adventure of it. The new place, the experience, and the challenge. I love trail running because of the experience of it all. It allows me to explore new (or old) places in a way that feels freeing. I love the feeling of running, having a lighter pack, moving quick and covering more ground than if I just hiked or backpacked in the Grand Canyon or Norway. For R2R2R, I wanted to experience the vastness of the canyon and wanted a longer run. I wanted the challenge of running a far distance without an official race & support. For the Arctic Triple, I wanted to experience an international race and, honestly, it just looked super cool!

How do you decide what kind of trip or race feels worth the effort is it the place, the challenge, or the people?

I am someone who has strong gut reactions. I think mainly, “is this something that sounds fun and exciting?” Then I consider logistics. I also can’t deny that most of the races and big runs I have done, I have signed up because someone said “hey do you want to do this with me?”. The first marathon I ever ran was an unsupported marathon in Leadville as a junior in high-school. A friend of mine on a whim asked if I wanted to run a marathon with her and I said yes. My first ultra was the same. I am sure you recall, we were in a bar in Denver in January, and all you needed to say to me was “I am thinking about signing up for Leadville 50”.

Since then, I have learned that my limit on distance is about 50 miles and my favorite distance is 50k. I don’t have the most time to train so I usually have energy for 2 races/adventure runs a year. I consider what place I haven’t explored yet and look for races or routes that are doable in those distance parameters. I also think that now I have done a couple of races, gotten a solid understanding of what it takes to train, what my body is capable of, and have done a couple races in Colorado, I am more interested in the adventure of exploring a new place.

What does “adventure running” mean to you personally? Why do you like it?

I am so glad you mentioned “adventure running”. For me, I am not out there running for time or the competition of a race. For me ultras are all about the experience and having fun. That means doing it with friends, experiencing a new place, and challenging myself. I always choose something that is slightly outside my comfort zone or something that I haven’t done before-usually something that scares me a bit.

I love ultras because when I am trail running and going far I feel most connected to my body. It’s more than just pushing the limits of my body for me. I really have to listen to how I am feeling and know when I can tolerate the discomfort and when to make a shift to get what I need to keep going. I also feel connected to the place I am in when I am running. It’s a unique way to explore trails and see new places.

How do you usually start planning a big trip what comes first: the goal, the logistics, or the training plan?

The goal comes first. I usually have decided if I want to do something before I look too far into the logistics. As someone who gets anxious, if I focus on the distance, elevation profile, and read up too much at first, I will psych myself out and not do it.

The one logistic thing I consider before I sign up is cost. For the destination runs I looked into flight, hotel, and race fee costs to make sure it’s something reasonable. Then I usually hit up some friends to get on board. For me, the adventure is 1000% better when it is shared with others.

Once I have those things settled, then I plan out my training. I use the course information to develop my plan so I am prepared, but I also don’t let myself obsess because I have learned that no matter how much you plan, you have to be flexible on race day.

What tools, resources, or strategies helped most when mapping out travel, gear, and routes?

Hmm, I honestly Google things a lot and read blogs or websites to help me decide how I want to approach training, get information about travel, and gear. I wish I could say I had a go to blog or website but each adventure was different. For the Arctic Triple, there was a lot of helpful information on the race’s website. I read through it several times to figure out the best way to get to the race, where to stay, etc. I compared that to other travel blogs. I also happened to know someone who ran it the year before, but, they didn’t give too much advice on travel logistics. For the R2R2R, there was a Facebook page with information from other runners. They talked about the best time to go, when the water would be turned off, the various routes they took etc.

When I look at planning runs for my training, I often take inspiration from other people on Strava. If I see a friend who just ran in a spot that looked fun I will look it up, either on Strava maps or AllTrails.

What’s one planning mistake you’ve learned from (and how would you do it differently next time)?

For the R2R2R I don’t think I considered how long the last climb out of the canyon would take. We originally planned to take a shuttle back to our car but didn’t make it up in time for the last shuttle. Thankfully we had a friend who met us at the top, it would have been fine to walk back to the car, just painful. I would recommend leaving a car at the end if possible. I also learned that I need to focus more on getting elevation in my training plans. I feel like each time I do a training block I learn something and make little shifts for next time.

How do you balance specific training for a big route or race with keeping running fun and sustainable?

Running with friends, going on new routes for long runs, doing my best to approach training with a flexible mindset. When I was training for Norway, I knew I needed to do a long run Saturday and a long-ish run Sunday so I joined a run club on Sunday and then either added more miles before or after. It was a great way to meet new people and get the miles I needed. Even if I need to go further than my friends, I will invite them to come for a portion of the run and get creative with my routes.

Was there a moment during either trip where you had to rely on your mental toughness more than your physical fitness?

Oh for sure. In every single ultra I have done. The Arctic Triple probably the most. The terrain was nothing I had experienced before and more than halfway through the race there was a several mile long section of exposed scramble and then snow. I get scared when there’s a lot of scramble but there was no other option so I just had to keep going forward and literally talked out loud to myself various positive affirmations. I am pretty sure the guy behind me thought I was going to drop at the next aid. The thing is, once I got down that portion and at the aid, I didn’t even consider it because I knew I could physically finish the race, it was putting my mind to keep going and I had done it before. It’s always a mental game at a certain point, you can’t let yourself think you won’t finish.

I often find myself playing the game where I decide if I make it to X marker on the course, I know I will finish. Then I just tell myself that throughout the run.

What do you do in the weeks leading up to a big adventure to feel prepared physically and mentally?

This is where I get into the logistics of the trip and the race or run itself. I make sure I have all my gear, the clothes I want, the food I will eat etc. I usually pack the day or two before and make a list & lay everything out. I can get pretty detailed with it but it makes me feel mentally prepared because I know I have spent time thinking about it all. Once I have started the travel, I get more relaxed. The day before the run, I usually eat something I know won’t upset my stomach and I drink some calming tea before bed. I also pack my vest the night before and again lay out all of my clothes and prep all of my drop bags or resupply stuff etc. I also remind myself that I have done all of the physical training I can and I need to trust the work that I put in to that. Now it’s time to enjoy what is the ultra.

What’s your favorite part about these kinds of trips the training grind, the travel, the community, or the moment you cross the finish line?

Probably the community. I love the excuse to travel and I do enjoy the discipline and how my body feels when I am in a training cycle, but I think the people that I connect with are more important. I don’t sign up for races alone. It’s about sharing it with someone for me.

How do you keep things playful when the conditions are rough or the miles feel endless?

I learned this from you actually, it is so so fun to make little vlogs. I will also chat with other people around me and learn about their lives. I will listen to music and appreciate the views.

I once heard Rachel Entrekin (who is such a badass by the way) talk about how she keeps a positive attitude and she said “we paid to do this for fun”. I like to remind myself of that and how absolutely crazy it is to be doing something like an ultra. When we were running in Norway, it was so muddy and boggy, and you just have to laugh about it. We were going up a mud waterfall! I also enjoy joking that the race directors love to add things “just to mess with you”. It’s very sadistic at times and so I like to joke that the race directors look at the terrain and say, “oh you just ran 28 miles, here, now go down this steep hill slick from melting snow”.

What advice would you give someone who’s inspired to plan their first “bucket-list” running trip but doesn’t know where to start?

Find something that excites you and then start googling! Read a bit about the race, and look up that area that it is in. Look at photos. That always gets me excited enough to take the jump and sign up! Then you have to do it because you’ve already committed ;). But actually, I find the hardest part is deciding to do it. Once I decide I think about it like any other trip or vacation I have been on. Start with the big things, training plan, how will you get there, where will you stay.

Looking back, what have these adventures taught you about yourself and your relationship to movement?

That I am very strong willed, determined, and beyond capable. You develop such an intimate relationship with your body and your needs when training for long periods of time and then when you’re out in the mountains. You really need to be listening to it. I think that practice has helped me be more mindful in other areas of my life. I also think in some ways it has intensified my relationship to movement and other ways it has softened it. I feel that my relationship to running has changed significantly. Because I approach it as an adventure instead of a race or a workout, I loosened up my definition. I don’t pay attention to pace, I let myself walk when I need, the goal is to do the run and enjoy it.

What’s next on your dream adventure list and how do you hope to grow from it?

Ooh great question. I have had 4 pass loop on my list now for a while. I’ve backpacked it twice and really want to run it. It was on my list for this summer but I got a mild injury right when I was about to ramp up training so didn’t get to do it this year. I think the part that scares me the most is the exposure and getting stuck in between passes. I often find I minimize my own knowledge and experience and default to others. This will be a good practice in trusting myself and my risk assessment skills.

For people reading this what do you hope they take away about the power of saying yes to something a little wild?

You are more capable than you think. You also might surprise yourself and find a new interest or enjoy an experience that you never thought you would do.

Whats a must in your bag ( vest) when doing these kind of adventures?

A pickle juice shot. It’s just come in handy too many times at this point. Also glitter isn’t in my vest but is an absolute must for any adventure run. Everyone needs to have a bit of fun with it!

Any other secret hacks?

Train your stomach and bring the food you know will do you good. For both Norway and R2R2R I packed so many snacks and food in my bag. I think almost an absurd amount, but I am someone who mainly relies on my own food, not the aid station stuff. I’ll do watermelon, chips, broth, and m&ms from aid, but most of my food is stuff I know will sit.

Favorite adventure snack?

I am big “real food” person so I would say, something salty like chips or, honestly, when we were running in Norway, I ran with a comically long meat stick and that was a highlight snack I had. Also, the rolls they had at aid stations were amazing.

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Happy Friday!!

As 2026 continues the theme of packing a punch, community gatherings like this feel like a remedy to some of the heaviness in the news.

Since this interview took place Charlotte has moved from Carbondale which has been a sad loss but an awesome reminder to spend time with people you care about.

Charlotte Asks Sabra!

What first sparked the idea for Fiber Arts & Friends and how did you picture it in the beginning?

SD: I was sitting and knitting at True Nature one morning and a woman asked me what I was working on and if I knew if there was a club for knitters in the valley. She said she used to knit and had been wanting to get back into it. Instantly my mind went to “well I could do that, right?”. My less than 6 months of knitting experience certainly gave me the title of novice knitter and made me feel slightly unqualified for the endeavor. But I couldn’t help dreaming of a circle of women of different ages sitting around to yap and knit together (PSA this club is not only for women and we would be so psyched to knit with any and all men and non binary folks who are interested in knitting)

What do you think makes this space welcoming and special?

What makes knitting so special to me is the slow, meditative, and extremely rewarding nature of the craft. After lacking a creative hobby outside of my job since leaving college I was thrilled to have that outlet again. It’s a joy to challenge yourself to learn something new as an adult. I felt such gratitude to Charlotte for teaching me to knit, and I think this club could really be special in helping others learn to knit. We have had lots of people tell us that they’ve never knit before and have hesitations about learning. We are always saying that knitting is not a hobby that requires innate talent, it only requires the drive to learn a new skill.

What’s been your favorite surprise something about the group that turned out differently than you expected?

My favorite part about the group has been seeing what people are working on and hearing about what they want to knit next. It is so fun to see what people are drawn to make and watch their progress.

If Fiber Arts & Friends had an inside joke, what would it be?

A very strong and prevalent joke for Charlotte and I is that our club’s roster is filled with just two dedicated participants and a few rotating stragglers. That is to say that knitting club most weeks looks like just Charlotte and I sitting together to yap and knit! And what is there to complain about that?! It is a wildly unserious club that brings me great joy to sit and knit with my pal Charlotte. My initial vision has not quite come to fruition but hope is not lost! Maybe this newsletter will serve as Fiber Arts and Friends’ dating profile for all knitting-curious people in the valley.

Any tips for people picking up knitting (or any fiber art) this winter?

Knit kits are a really wonderful way to start knitting. The kits will come with all of the materials you need, the pattern, and often videos to help you learn the skills.

Don’t be afraid to start! I felt like a tiny baby learning to use my hands in a completely new way and it is so silly and fun.

Come to knit club and we can help teach you!

What has knitting taught you?

Knitting has taught me patience, to trust in my abilities, and the value of fostering relationships through shared craft and activity. Beautiful magic happens when you make your first article of clothing and I was hooked ever since that moment.

What are you working on making this winter?

The list of things that I want to knit is always growing, but I just cast on a beanie with alpaca yarn from Sopris Alpaca Farm in New Castle. It’s so soft and I definitely recommend visiting the alpacas if you need a boost of dopamine. In my queue is the Ski Ya Later sweater by Idaho Stitched and I would love to make a bright red cardigan this winter!

Sabra Asks Charlotte!

Why did you say yes to starting this?

CF: What did you want to bring into your week or your community?

Ever since I moved to the valley I’ve been searching for a knitting + crafting community. Knitting is a near daily practice for me and I love to share that with anyone and everyone. I think talking and connecting becomes so much more meaningful when you’re making something at the same time.

How has knitting changed your sense of making or design?

It’s taught me to take a pattern that seems complicated or difficult and just attack it one step at a time. So much of knitting has been encountering something new and having to figure it out. It’s incredibly rewarding to go through that learning process and come out on the other side with something so tangible. It makes so many other new things seem less scary, when you continuously show yourself you are capable.

What’s one thing you’ve learned from watching others in the group

I’ve watched Sabra go from literally step one showing her how to hold the yarn and needles to making beautiful sweaters and pieces that she loves. It makes me so happy to see her enjoy it so much and genuinely I just love seeing other people find so much joy in their crafts. Yes it’s great to have the end products but it’s totally and completely about loving the act of making by hand, the slowing down, the one tiny stitch at a time, the beautiful details, that make hobbies and crafts so purposeful.

Why are clubs especially ones built around making things by hand important?

I think it brings us back to some really fundamental part of being human, like the basics of community, before capitalism ruined everything. We have shared interests and hopefully people find belonging in that. Also I think there’s a huge emphasis on recreation/physical activities in the valley and I wanted to help create space for people with some slower/inside hobbies to find eachother.

Any tips for people picking up knitting (or any fiber art) this winter?

Start small, but with something you want to make. YouTube has tons of helpful videos. Please come to knit club and share what you’re making or ask for help!

What has knitting taught you?

To be kind to myself. To forgive and learn from mistakes and still love the misshapen and ill fitting result. It’s been a companion on dark days, I can always count on knitting to ground me when I’m feeling lonely, anxious, frustrated, grief. Every sweater I’ve made is imbued with feeling and memory. It’s a practice that connects me to others but it also constantly shows me how much I’ve grown. What a blessing to be so in love with something!

What are you working on making this winter?

I’m currently making the Sheep Sweater by Rosa Pomar with wool from Portugal (the motherland). I’m also making an alpaca scarf with wool from Sopris Alpaca Farm. I’m hoping to do something stripey next and also want to take a stab at designing something for the first time - did someone say hotdog sweatervest?

Happy Friday and February from Munger!