From the Ozarks to Chamonix: Finding My Place in the Running World

Growing up as a Latina in Ozark, Missouri was already a bit of an anomaly. But what really made me stand out was joining the cross country team. Picture the typical XC lineup: tall, lanky, white guys in short shorts flying down wooded trails. Then there was me—an average-height brown girl, lacing up and showing up. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t see anyone like me in the sport, but I didn’t realize how much my identity would come to matter later.

To be honest, I hated long-distance running when I started. My dad basically forced me into it  following a life-threatening accident that left me in a wheelchair for nearly a year. I was slow. I couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly put themselves through that kind of pain.

High School Cross Country in Ozark, Missouri

But something shifted as I kept showing up. The pain transformed—it became a challenge I could conquer. It was mine. I had created it and I had the power to overcome it. And somewhere along the way, I got good. I got fast. I kept running, year after year, and eventually, I took my love for the sport with me to college, where I fell in love with marathon running—the crowds, the atmosphere, the energy.

Still, there was something missing.

As I raced through the Midwest, I rarely saw runners who looked like me. The typical scene was white, middle-aged women or young white men. But where were mi gente?

I’ve never shied away from being the only one. I’ve actually embraced it. But as I moved to more diverse places—like Phoenix, a city that’s over 40% Latino—I couldn’t understand why the running community didn’t reflect the population. I moved again to Washington, DC, the so-called “Chocolate City,” rich in Black and brown culture, excited to finally find a running crew that felt like home. I joined run club after run club—and still, none of mi gente.

It didn’t add up. Endurance sports are not foreign to people of color. We know that many world record holders are runners of color. Indigenous groups across Central America have long histories of barefoot ultra-running—entire books and documentaries have celebrated their strength and tradition. So why were we so absent from the community spaces here?

I began to realize that it wasn’t about culture—it was about representation. While the space existed, the leadership didn’t reflect us. The conversations weren’t inclusive. And naturally, people seek community in places where they feel seen. So I asked myself: what can I do?

Then, fate stepped in. Not long after arriving in DC, I was introduced to someone from GRIT, a Black-owned triathlon and training organization that empowers athletes of color. They were preparing for The Speed Project, an invite-only ultra marathon relay from LA to Vegas—and they needed a woman. A diverse woman.

Ding ding ding—hello, that’s me!

Running The Speed Project - LA to Vegas

That one opportunity cracked the world wide open. I began forming my own teams for The Speed Project and eventually received an invitation to run across the French Alps. Yes—Chamonix to Marseille. It was the kind of experience you dream about: grueling, inspiring, unforgettable. Our team was beautifully diverse—Black, Latino, Filipino, Caucasian—and we moved as one. That’s the power of running.

And that brings me here.

Chamonix captured my heart. That race taught me that while running can be competition, growth, and adrenaline—it can also be peace. It can be your calm in the chaos. Running is a place to heal, reflect, and rebuild. The pain we face on the trail? That’s ours to conquer. It’s not imposed on us—we choose it, we embrace it, and we rise through it.

The Speed Project - Chamonix to Marsielle

So when the chance came to partner with Alchemy on their retreat in Chamonix, it was a no-brainer. Alchemy isn’t just about running. It’s about representation. It’s about honoring your body and celebrating movement. I joined to support other runners—especially those who may not have always seen themselves in this space—on their own journey.

Joining Alchemy as a Latina in the French Alps is something 15-year-old me could have never imagined. But now that I’m here? The bar is higher. The standard is set. And I’m not turning back. Alchemy was born to create representation in the fitness world—to carve out space where people of all backgrounds feel seen, valued, and empowered. That mission spoke to me instantly. I knew I had found a community that wasn’t just about movement, but about meaning.

See you in Chamonix.