Resurrection Pass: The Trail That Resurrected Me

It’s late and quiet. I’m sitting with my thoughts, staring at my gear, knowing I’ll soon return to Resurrection Pass Trail. The same trail that changed everything for me. As I pack, memories stir, ones that rise from the deepest part of me and walk alongside every mile I’ve ever run out there.

I think back to 2017.

I was in a small coffee shop, staring out the window. The weight I carried inside felt unbearable. The words came out softly, like a secret I wasn’t sure I should say out loud.

“I’m feeling depressed.”

My friend looked at me and replied with something simple, but life-changing.

“You need something to look forward to. There’s a 50-mile race coming up at Resurrection Pass. You can do it.”

Back then, I didn’t know much about the trail. I didn’t know that this path, stretching through the Kenai Mountains, would become the one that would make me fall in love with long distances.

Where Do I Begin?

Resurrection Pass isn’t just a racecourse. It’s not even just a trail. It’s a part of me now.

It winds through the wild heart of southern Alaska. Starting from either Hope or Cooper Landing, it stretches across remote miles, climbing through spruce/birch forests, over creeks and wooden bridges, into the open tundra where the sky feels close and sacred.

You pass lakes so still they mirror heaven. You cross rivers that flow like ocean waves. And all the while, it’s just you, the earth, and something ancient whispering in the silence.

It’s wild. It’s isolating. And it’s healing.

The First Time – 2017

I signed up for the 50-miler.

It had rained the night before the race. The sky was heavy with gray.

I didn’t know if I belonged there, but I started anyway.

The trail was slick and unforgiving. Tree stumps looked like bears. The silence was loud. I was alone most of the way, just me and the mountains.

I fell. I bled. I got scared. I prayed more times than I can count.

But I kept moving.

Somewhere past Juneau Lake, where the stillness looks like a mirror of the sky, I cried.

Not because I was in pain… but because I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Alive.

Those miles hold memories sacred.

And when I crossed that finish line, I broke down in quiet tears.

That moment wasn’t about the distance.

It was about reclaiming something I thought I had lost.

Myself.

The 100 Miler – 2020

In 2020, I returned to conquer 100 miles.

This time, I wasn’t just running for me. I was running for my people. For my ancestors. For everyone still fighting silent battles.

I cried in the mountains again, not just from exhaustion, but from love.

The land held me. The wind was kind.

Wolves howled in the distance, their cries echoing through the trees like ancient songs. And for a quarter mile, a lynx moved beside me. Silent, wild, and calm.

And my friends showed up like angels, meeting me at the right moments with food, notes, and hugs that carried me further than I thought I could go.

That finish line wasn’t the end of a race, it was the beginning of reaching new heights.

If I can go 100 miles, I can surely go farther.

This 100 mile finish deserves its own book, there’s so much I felt, so much I experienced out there. Maybe one day, I’ll sit down and write it all. But for now, I’ll just say this— it made me feel stronger.

A Reunion – 2022

I went back again in 2022 for another 50. Another reunion with the trail that resurrected me.

By then, Resurrection Pass felt like an old friend.

One who had seen me cry, scream, fall, laugh, and rise again and again.

A friend who never speaks, but always understands.

Why I’m Returning Again

And now… it’s time again.

I’m going back to Resurrection Pass.

I’ll lace up my shoes in the same quiet way. I’ll breathe in that mountain air that smells like spruce and rain and something holy.

I don’t run to prove anything.

I run because I still can.

Because I still have breath.

Because my legs still carry me.

Because I still hear the voice that says,

“Keep going.”

This trail gave me something I didn’t know I needed.

And now I’m going back to say thank you with every single step.

Whatever happens—rain, bears, pain, fear…I will move forward.

The trail taught me that strength is quiet.

That healing can come in pain, in stillness, and in motion.

That even in the darkest miles, there’s a light inside that doesn’t give up.

It showed me I’m not alone. My ancestors are with me, and the land remembers me.

Most of all, it taught me to keep going, even when it hurts.

Because every step forward is a promise to myself:

I am still here.

—Carol

Welcome to my blog

Hello! This is a space where I’ll be writing 1–3 times a week, or month…sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on what life brings. Here, you’ll find reflections from the trail, moments of solitude and strength, memories from races that tested everything in me, and glimpses into how I train my body, mind, and spirit for endurance both on the land and in life.

I’ll share stories of upcoming races, training days on the tundra, the dogs and people who keep me company, and the miracles that remind me to keep going. Some days might be filled with laughter or adventure, others with honesty and healing. It won’t always be pretty, but it will always be real.

My hope is that something here will spark strength in you too. Whether you’re a runner, a dreamer, someone healing, or just walking your own path, I hope this inspires you. Thanks for walking with me.