Who in the world wants to run an ultramarathon?
How could I ever DO that? How are there more and more people doing that these days? Are they crazy?
I’m not sure if the idea of running 30 or 50 or 100 miles in a single day is incredibly appealing and interesting or just as long and slow and terrible as it seems…but somehow it keeps drawing me back in. As if there is some kind of invisible string that is attached to my gut and keeps tugging me back closer to the dream of running not just farther than I’ve ever gone, but MUCH farther.
But as people, we learn from past experience. It is in fact the only way we know how to see things. We compare what we have seen and heard to what the current and future situation is looking like and draw a kind of dotted line across the page to attempt to predict an outcome. My past experience with running a very long distance has been objectively unsuccessful!
Past long distance experience #1: Running from Rim-to Rim in the Grand Canyon in 2019. Distance: approximately 25 miles. Time: 9+ hours. Even with what I felt was substantial training, this run turned out to be an immense struggle. Running the first 10 miles or so went quite smoothly and in the Grand Canyon, they are almost all downhill. You are, after all, plunging into one of the World’s Natural Wonders. It’s a very very deep hole. But on the way out I was slowed to the point of taking breaks more often than actually moving forward. Crushed by dehydration and apparent lack of training, it took as long to meander up the last couple miles of trail as it did to run the first 10. Did I think we would be stuck there, need medical attention, or die? No, never. Not seriously anyway. But it was fairly bleak as emotional experiences go. I definitely was doubtful that opting into the mess we were in was a good idea in the first place.
Past long distance experience #2: Pacing my friend in the last 20 miles of his 50-Mile ultra-marathon. When you pay to run a race, you’re paying for help along the way, a set route, camaraderie and competition, and a feeling of accomplishment. But when the race is an ultra distance, sometimes you need extra help. So race organizers often allow “Pacers” to join the runners to join them for a portion of the race for moral support and a helping hand. This often can be physical help in the form of carrying food and water as well as helping people stay on track literally and figuratively. It almost always is emotional support as well. Runners are likely fatigued and a bit of an emotional wreck, so having someone who is not yet exhausted there with you can be a big help.
My friend had already completed an ultra-marathon on the day I joined him. Finishing 30 miles is a great accomplishment. But he had signed up for the 50 Mile distance. So he was barely 60% done. At least via distance. He was probably only 35% done in totality. We left the start/finish line together and he was skeptical that he could finish the next 20 miles at all, let alone finish them fast enough to reach critical checkpoints along the trail quickly enough to not get disqualified. For me, this was an exciting opportunity and one I had trained for. We were GOING TO FINISH. But the kind of encouraging someone needs to finish something that is, in reality, completely optional and non-essential, that is also causing them tremendous discomfort is a tricky sort. You have to be optimistic but realistic. Firm but empathetic. Realistic but also aware of the likelihood for failure.
We just moved with a kind of stubborn and slow simmering intensity. We made it in and out of the first checkpoint with seconds to spare. But the team of volunteers there was so incredible and encouraging that we ran toward the upcoming peak with an unexpected level of support and hope. The climb took a long time but we simmered up then down it’s back. Running when we could and walking when we couldn’t. I think being focused solely on time and on my friend accomplishing his goal kept me out of my own head enough to be a helpful distraction. I was fine, everything was fine, how are “WE” doing? Are we going to make it to the next cutoff? Are we feeling dehydrated? We apparently felt just good enough to keep going.
After sunset we slowly galloped along like old donkeys down the trails, illuminated by our headlamps and the stars. Somehow there were 2 runners behind us that had also made it through the cutoffs and were visible only by glowing little dots of light. Their own headlamps. They were chasing us….and gaining! Despite our focus being condensed on ourselves, our bodies, our scraping by each checkpoint just attempting to finish before we got disqualified, somehow those little bounding dots of light rekindled one fact we had completely ignored: we were still in a race! We couldn’t let that little dot up on the last ridge catch us!
Renewed with a silly and competitive vigor, we ran more often! (This is a big move at the end of an ultra-marathon, ha!) Thankfully the end of this long run was downhill (unlike clawing your way out of the Grand Canyon like some kind of lowly swamp creature emerging from a bog!). We flowed down the winding switchbacks like baby giraffes learning to walk. Despite having run many many less miles than my friend that day, I assured him he was probably still more capable than me and had more left in the tank that was untapped. We pushed to just continue running for the last 2.5 miles, waiting to hear the music and see the lights that would signal our approaching the finish line. Finally after what felt like hours, we saw it. And we made it! We finished before the cutoff time and were somehow shocked that it had happened despite being the participants.
The whole experience felt very different than the Grand Canyon, and better. But it was still “only” 20 miles, many of which were spent walking.
So….
That’s it. Those are the 2 and only truly long runs I’ve done. Hardly a resume for an ultra. But there is something unique in both of those experiences and in the ultras I hear about from videos online, from books, and from other people. An ultra is a wild combination and confluence of events and emotions, every time it’s run. It feels (apparently) like an oddly meditative time and like a blank space filled with nothing but doubt and discomfort. It feels like a purge and like a consuming fire. It feels like an adventure and a chore. All simultaneously.
And somehow, despite the lack of logical appeal, those paradoxes and others are just SO DARN APPEALING. I WANT to see the trail winding up and around a mountain like an intricate piece of jewelry on someone’s neck. I want to experience the view from peak after peak. I want to feel the rush and the thrill of pouncing on a downhill in a state of flow. I even want to suffer and doubt and feel something inside me say over and over again that there is no way this is doable or wise and that we should stop as soon as possible…then defy it over and over.
Is there potential for glory or acclaim or reward in some form? Highly doubtful. Some people may want to read posts like this or watch a video or two documenting the progress or results, but that’s not ample reason to train and suffer through the next year to get in shape for a 50k. It has to be done for a deeper reason. Reasons tied to pursuing those illogically appealing traits and journeys described before. It has to be something I would do anyway, even and especially if there was no one there to notice. The experience of it is it’s own reward. The tribulation to get there in the first place in any kind of shape to complete such a thing is the vast majority of the reason to choose the goal in the first place. I trust the race will just be the period at the end of the sentence. Important, final, but just a dot.
So it is with great hesitancy and trepidation that I post this, claiming I want to run an ultra-marathon. Claiming I will run one before I die. And claiming that it likely should happen in the next 67 weeks. It will only get harder as time passes. As they say, “The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is today.”
“The reasons we do things are more important than the things we do”.
Abacus Fitness and Money 