My Story

When I saw an ad for a team relay race for trail-running in the mountains, I had a light-bulb moment go off in my mind. I hadn’t run in several years, I was embarrassingly out of shape, and had no idea how to train for a high-elevation relay. In fact, I had never even run on a trail before – my routes had always been paved. Nevertheless, I felt a determination to do it, and even more determined to find friends to do it with me.

 I started by getting to know my neighbors and organized weekly women-only social hikes. While they did not share my interest in the race, I loved the bonding it provided. I then reached out to local women’s groups, asking if anyone would be interested in joining me for a summer mountain race. Unfortunately, I got the same response: that race was too intimidating, too daunting, too many miles, and just too hard. 

Like a constant, gentle tap on the shoulder, that race kept nudging me, demanding I find a way to make it happen. I changed my approach and offered to train women to do the race with me. That got their attention, and soon I had women wanting to participate. I offered free group training sessions every Saturday with the promise of a fun race weekend together that summer. I immersed myself in learning the local trail systems and asked the race organizer for training plans. I was ecstatic. Not only would I have accountability to start exercising, but I hoped seeing these women consistently would lead to much needed friendship.

Our weekly trail runs did wonders for my mental health. We spent five months training together and those Saturday mornings quickly became the highlight of my week. I finally felt like I belonged somewhere. I finally had friends. My body was getting stronger, and the clouds darkening my mind were increasingly lifting. As my confidence grew, so did our attendance and range of activities.

By the end of 2023, I had organized multiple climbs up the Manitou Incline, led a group to the summit of Mt. Bierstadt, started a stroller walking group, and trained a team for a half marathon. Our weekly trail runs kept going strong, welcoming women of all paces across Parker and the Front Range. In total, I had hosted well over 60 events—and the best part? The women kept showing up, again and again.

And as they kept showing up, something else happened—the ache of loneliness that had once felt so heavy started to fade. I had a village of women around me—friends I could talk to, lean on, get advice from, and share both victories and struggles with. I had created what I so desperately needed: a group of supportive women that worked together to improve their health. It attracted ultra-runners and first-time adventurers alike; women rearing babies and others in retirement. It became obvious that women of all ages and abilities were hungry for their own support network. They needed a safe, judgement-free place to make friends and improve their health, just as I did.

As I have talked with these amazing women over the last year, I have come to realize an invaluable truth: my struggle with mental health is not unique. Not even close. But ironically, I thought it was for many, many years. I thought no one else would understand the terrifying thoughts, mood swings, fears, and nightmares that were my constant companion. I didn’t know that in the fight for my own sanity, my opponent was a treatable assailant. That a diagnosis of Postpartum Psychosis, Anxiety, and PTSD would lead me to helpful medical professionals. And that with time, all would be well again.

I do know that the more I share my story, the more I feel like this story isn’t just mine anymore; because each time I share it, someone else expresses a similar battle with their mental health. The diagnosis may differ, but the fight remains the same. I’m proud to say that I fought my battle and emerged stronger. And as I grew stronger, I felt compelled to turn my small club into an organization that could offer the same support to women on a larger scale.

The structure of our events today are a direct reflection of that experience. Our training programs mirror those early Saturday trail runs, where a group of women trained together for a shared goal, supporting and pushing each other along the way. Our special events capture the spirit of adventure that came from tackling bucket list challenges after we finished our first race together. Our free weekly events stay true to our roots—gathering consistently to move our bodies, spend time outside, and build friendships. And our blog serves as a space to hold the conversations women need to have, just as we did on those runs when we shared our struggles, victories, and everything in between.

This isn’t just an organization—it’s a movement created from lived experience. It exists to provide women with the same life-changing opportunities for connection, adventure, and wellness that helped me reclaim my own health. The Women’s Adventure Club was born from my own journey, but it thrives because of the incredible women who continue to show up—for themselves and for each other. Together, we are building something powerful: a community where every woman can find strength, adventure, and belonging. And most importantly, we are reaching the women who need it most—the ones who feel alone, who are struggling, who are searching for a way forward—just like I once was. This is why we exist: to lift each other up, to heal through movement and nature, and to remind every woman that she is never alone.

Kaylene Macias
President, Founder