Running has never just been about fitness for me—it’s been about finding my way back to myself. I grew up loving animals, but after a seizure disorder and severe anxiety pushed me away from the outdoors, I thought those trails were lost to me. Then Kato came into my life during my last semester of college. He was a stubborn, vocal, fiercely loyal husky—and he refused to let me stay inside.

I knew that if I was going to give him the life he deserved, I had to get back out there. So we started small—dog parks, group hikes, then steeper, more technical trails. From the very first moment we hit the mountains, I saw it: Kato was in his element. And somehow, so was I. He didn’t just run beside me; he anchored me. When my anxiety crept in, he’d nuzzle closer. When I hesitated on a rocky descent, he’d look back as if to say, “Keep going.” He reads emotions like no other dog I’ve known—and he used that gift to pull me out of my own head.

My most memorable runs aren’t about medals or times. They’re the ones where I watch Kato—ears flapping, tongue out, pure joy—tearing down a singletrack, and I realize I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. That feeling is like hearing a song that never fails to lift you, or watching someone you love talk about their passion. You can’t help but be present.

With a dog by your side, trail running becomes less about performance and more about connection. I feel grateful, confident, and never alone. Kato taught me that adventure isn’t about conquering mountains—it’s about showing up, being patient, and letting your partner remind you why you started. He got me into the best shape of my life, but more importantly, he gave me back my courage.

To anyone thinking about bringing their dog into the wild: start small, learn your dog’s strengths, and be patient. You’re about to change your life for the better—and one day, you’ll look back and know you gave that dog the life it deserved. And in return, that dog will do the same for you.