Your destination is 1,967 miles away

In 19 days I officially become a resident of Bend, Oregon.

That happened quick.

One month ago I still hadn't found someone to take over the lease of my duplex in Wisconsin. One month ago I was still navigating life as a single, bewildered that I made the decision and unsure of what it'd mean for the next few months.

Hell, just 17 days ago, I completely panicked about the entire idea, almost rescheduled a planned work trip to the west coast to sort out logistics, and began, instead, feverishly searching for a new place to live in Madison.


In that one day, I pacified myself with a new plan: NO PLAN. I was going to stay in Wisconsin. I was going to find a new apartment -- with a pool! I'd have my running friends. I'd have my family. I'd having nothing to be scared of.

Fear is big. Fear is sassy.

Fear also told my mother of this plan.

World, when you set forth a plan to move a 29-hour drive or a $600 flight away from the woman who birthed you, and raised you, and rocked you on her knee, never, ever tease her with the notion of JUST KIDDING, I'M NOT GOING TO DO IT, I'M STAYING RIGHT HERE WITH YOU, MOM.

I believe that conversation went something like this:

Me: "Mom, I can't do it. I don't want to mo--"


Needless to say, the next morning I got on my previously-scheduled flight to Denver on route to Bend, still set on nixing my relocation plans.

And then I got to Bend.



I had two appointments first thing that afternoon to see apartments in town. I'd considered cancelling them, but chose to stick it out instead. That was Monday. By Friday, I'd filled out an application, signed an Agreement to Execute Rental Agreement, and put down a deposit on a two-bedroom apartment in a great location.


I had an address. I had a move-in date.

Oh shit. I was moving.

The first night of my visit, after spending the day posting photo after photo of gorgeous Bend scenery on social media, my mom called me, dejected.

"You're moving to Bend, aren't you?"

I couldn't tell her no. I couldn't tell her yes. I didn't know. But I did know one thing -- I absolutely could do this.

The last two weeks have felt like a brutal hurricane. I returned from my trip to Bend, packed up my entire home, loaded up a trailer, sent my belongings off to Portland, said goodbye to my good and comfortable life, gathered up the dog and the cat, and moved in for a three-week stay with my parents an hour away.

And here we are, 19 days from go time.

All of that said, I'm surprisingly calm. I've handled every logistic, I've made every plan, I've written countless to-do lists, crossing things off as I go. I'm not scared so much as I'm excited and nervous and clueless. I don't know what life will feel like in a month, but I know I can do it. I'm excited to do it. If I'd chosen fear instead of bravery, I know I'd feel silently regretful for a long, long time because the fear was right -- this isn't me.

I, Krista, am a chickenshit. I'm scared to take risks. I'm scared to let go of hands. I'm scared to not be within a stone's throw of my mom and dad. I'm scared of the unknown. I'm scared of being uncomfortable. I'm scared of hurting people.

But because I'm scared of all of those things, I'd never let myself experience the many things I'm slowly starting to experience. Signing up to raise $10,000 and run 165 miles across Colorado for MS Run the US was the first scary step I took this year. Raising that much money is terrifying, and yet, it's going so incredibly well.

That, alone, sort of lifted a burden off my shoulders. I realized, "You know what? I can do things."

I can do stuff, too. Things and stuff.

And so here I am, raising $10,000, running 165 miles from Utah to Colorado, and moving 2,000 miles away to Bend, Oregon, all in one year.

Let it be stated for the record that when I return from my MS Run the US Relay segment in late May, I'm not doing shit. I am retiring from doing things. Just so we're clear.

But the next step is here. In the wee early hours of January 16, my parents and I load up a couple vehicles and hit the long road west.

All that happens now is spending 19 days bidding farewell to almost 34 years of Wisconsin. TO BE CONTINUED.