Office Eulogy / Training Update

Part 1

This poor, small, plain room has changed a lot over the past few years that Max and I have lived here. It has seen shifts in full-time gigs, several contracts and part-time jobs, new guitars, a puppy who has since grown into a full-blown terror, and desktop monitors of increasing size. It once housed an expensive Cricut cutting machine that claimed it could engrave metal (it could not), and now an even more expensive laser with a hose that vents debris out the window.

This humble room has held sheets of training plans highlighted over, Sharpied over, taped and re-taped as weeks evolve and workouts change. It stores our suitcases and all our outdoor gear, photography setups and backdrops, tools, chains, and pendants. And it often contains me — sweaty and flat on my back — grunting or laughing in terror as I struggle through strength workouts for my Rainier aspirations.

This poor office is being torn up again, to an even greater extent than before. When I first started making jewelry, I had no idea it would require the amount of machinery I now use regularly. My laser is kept company by a welder and a magnetic tumbler. It sits on top of a wheeled printer stand with organizer shelves below that hold pendants, chains, polishing compounds, Dremel bits, sheet metal for cutting and testing, clasps, jump rings, and charms. Beneath those are maps of national parks that I use for photography, bubble mailers, a phone stand, a mini photography studio, and rolls of backdrops.

The room is now also home to my husband’s first backpacking pack (shoutout to Darren from the Columbus, OH REI store): a 75L Gregory that will serve him well on our September Yosemite trip with me, my dad, and our long-time family friend Kurt. In about a week, it will be joined by an 85L Gregory that will hopefully suit me for this summer’s Rainier climb, because I’ll be damned if I have to cram another five days’ worth of mountaineering gear into my 65L. My smaller Osprey served me well, but she’s simply too dainty for this endeavor.

With each new piece of equipment, jewelry experiment, or marketing material that enters the room, it becomes more of an eyesore — a far cry from the cute, neon-lit tech den it once was.

I’m someone who is deeply mentally influenced by the state of my surroundings. As much as I love the hobbies and pursuits that now fill my office to the brim, I also hate the mess. Still, it feels like a small price to pay when I reflect on what all of it represents. I’d rather be pushed to the edge of my patience as our lease nears its end and we start looking for a larger space in order to house enormous backpacks and bigger dreams. I’d rather sacrifice the optics of minimalism if it means making jewelry that feels meaningful to me and to others — and having a great time doing it.

The Christmas tree in the spare closet may be buried beneath layers of equipment and threaten to rip the wall-mounted shelving down every season when it emerges from hiding. But it’s better to be buried beneath cool shit than to be painlessly set up after a year without adventure.

How our office started, 2023

Pre-Rainier, 2024

Training, present

Part 2

Tomorrow marks the beginning of week 9 of my 24-week Rainier training plan. We’re already more than nine weeks into the year, despite the fact that I started training on 1/1/26. A significant amount of wiggle room had to be used early on to accommodate the onslaught of bad luck that seemed to hit the moment training began. Because of that, I now have virtually no buffer for any sickness or injuries that might come up over the next 15 weeks. The final day of my training plan is the day before my climb begins. That’s incredibly nerve-wracking.

At the end of week 7 and the start of week 8, I hit my first significant wall. My right knee began giving me issues, and seasonal depression took a solid jab at my motivation. At the same time, the stress of a career change that I’m currently navigating — a welcome and exciting one, nonetheless — has had a larger impact on my training than I anticipated. For a moment, I slipped back into a mindset very similar to the one I operated in before my first summit attempt.

Yes, my physical endurance and adverse reactions to altitude played a huge role in that attempt going wrong. But my mindset and mental rigidity were equally to blame. As soon as I landed back in Ohio after turning around on the mountain, I knew my next training cycle would require nothing short of a complete 180º shift if I wanted a real chance at succeeding.

During my 2024 training cycle, I was serving as the Executive Director of a small non-profit — a role that was truly my pride and joy. I loved the work, the team, and the mission deeply. But because the organization had experienced a financial catastrophe before I came on board — and it became my responsibility to stabilize both the finances and the team — training for Rainier quickly transformed into a high-pressure obligation. Living through all 24 weeks of training in that kind of environment wired my brain to associate the process with stress and urgency. Even now, two years later, it’s surprisingly easy to slip back into that mental space if I don’t actively catch it.

This time, I caught myself.

Despite legitimate concerns about whether my knee would hold up under continued training, I decided it was more important to try pushing through the mental barrier than risk becoming stuck in that mindset again. Don’t get me wrong — I’ve dealt with my share of injuries and setbacks while training in the past. They’ve never been severe compared to what many athletes experience, and they’ve never required more than a couple of weeks of rest or reduced activity. But based on my own history, it takes far more effort and intentionality to break through a mental wall than a physical one.

So I’m still here. I’m still kicking. I’ve pushed through challenges that would have completely derailed me two years ago. And now I find myself training harder than I was able to during my first attempt, reaching strength and stamina milestones that surpass where I left off in 2024. I’m incredibly grateful — and genuinely excited to share more positive updates as this journey continues.

Some things haven’t changed: Turkish Get Ups are still the bane of my existence. I still can’t do an L-sit for the life of me. And YES, I skip the type-writer pull up in my training regimen. Sue me.

But I’m feeling pretty badass and resilient. And that’s not something I could say two years ago :-)