Community

Sometimes you need all the help you can get

In the spring of 2019, I found myself trapped in a very bad place during my second 50k race. Emotionally spent, physically drained, and lacking any sense of internal motivation that might carry me through a particularly rough patch, I was on the verge of completely shutting down. 

This self-preservation strategy, while not particularly “healthy” in any kind of holistic sense, had nonetheless pulled me through many a tough time in the past. After all, you can’t hurt if you don’t feel. 

Yet, something deep inside was resisting this impulse. I’d been through this blank void of nothingness before, and had no desire to return. The internal struggle was as real as the cramping in my legs, and it felt as if this particular moment was a battle I couldn’t afford to lose. 

It was around this time when I came upon another person who asked how I was doing. “Pretty terrible,” I told her.

“No you’re not,” she answered. “You’re doing great.” 

I didn’t really believe her, but it was nice to hear. She asked how many of the five 10K loops I had completed, and I told her three. This was my fourth. I was pretty much ready to pack it in and take my L with a DNF (Did Not Finish.)  

She was on her second loop with no hope of actually completing the race before the cutoff time, but that wasn’t her reason for being out here. She just liked being around the other runners, vibing off their energy and enthusiasm. If she could lift someone up whose spirits were sagging, well that just made her day even better. 

We spent a few minutes chatting about this and that before she sent me on my way with instructions to finish what I started. Sometimes all it takes is someone saying they believe in you at the exact moment when you need to hear those words the most. 

The final 15K was every bit the physical slog the previous 35 had been, but I embraced the struggle instead of turning away. That made all the difference. 

So much carnage after this one.

I’ve been a solo runner most of my life. Even when I’ve been part of a team, my reasons for running are so personal that I’ve gone out of my way to protect that space from any and all outside forces, including other people. 

Give me an hour of running in the woods by myself and I’ll come back a happier person than when I left. Give me two and I’ll be feeling really good in that worked kind of way. Give me three, and I’ll know I challenged myself. Give me anything longer than that and I guarantee I will have learned something important about who I am, and what I’m about. 

It would probably be more convenient if I could go through this journey of self-discovery with something a little less time consuming and arduous. What can I say? The runner's life chose me, just as much as I chose to pursue this path. I wouldn’t call it a lonely existence, but it is a solitary one, all of which suits me just fine.  

For the past month, I’ve been slowly venturing outside my comfort zone by volunteering at local trail races. My duties have included sweeping courses for directional signs and confidence ribbons, filling water bottles, and making PB+J’s at aid stations. 

There’s a lot of standing around with people you’ve never met when you volunteer for a trail race, which inevitably leads to lots of conversations about running. In between tales of epic adventures and the drudgery of heart zone training, valuable bits of information are passed down on everything from navigating the White Mountains to old school fueling techniques. 

I’ve been helping out at races partly because volunteer hours are a requirement for running the Vermont 100K in July, and partly just to have these kinds of conversations. It’s nice knowing there are other people out there doing the same crazy stuff you are, and often way crazier than you would ever dare. 

(My favorite out of context quote: “It was an opportunity to have an in depth conversation with myself on the true nature of what it meant to be cold.”)

Volunteering at races also offers the chance to tell someone they can go on, when their body and mind are telling them they can’t. “I’m entering uncharted territory,” one runner told me last weekend at a notoriously difficult 50K before leaving the aid station at Mile 26. 

It was his first ultra, and boy did he pick a doozy. With almost 6,000 feet of climbing and descent over gnarly, unmarked terrain, this was the kind of race where pace is secondary to survival, and the only thing that matters is taking the next step. 

I knew exactly how he was feeling because I had been in literally the same place a few years before when I did my first ultra. At that moment, you're too exhausted to be excited, but you’re still anxious to find out what lays ahead. 

I wanted to tell him that he was about to enter a sacred space that would alter his perspective in ways he hadn’t ever considered. That he would find out things about himself he never knew existed. And once he crossed that finish line, there would be no turning back. 

Instead I smiled and said, “You’re doing great.” 

Course sweeping after an event. Leave no trace.

On Saturday, I’m returning to the scene of my near collapse back in the spring of 2019 to take another shot at the 50K distance. I’d like to think that I’m coming back as a stronger runner, both in terms of fitness and mental toughness. I’m certainly more experienced, which I’ve come to view as the best part of getting older. 

I have specific goals and ambitions, but I’ll keep those to myself because this race isn’t really about personal glory or validation. The interesting twist is that I’m running completely alone because the fam is out of town. It’ll be the first time I can ever remember competing without them waiting for me at the finish line. 

That’s OK because I know they’ll be with me in spirit, just like I hope many of you reading this will be with me, as well. It’s a rare privilege for a runner to share their journey with an audience. My main goal is to honor you all by giving my absolute best, no matter the circumstances. 

I also know that my physical and emotional needs will be taken care of by a welcoming and supportive community of volunteers. Both strangers and familiar faces alike will go out of their way to fill my water bottle and tell me I’m doing great whenever I’m feeling low. 

At some point, it will come down to a decision: Will I turn away from the struggle or will I embrace the reality of the moment? That’s every runner’s choice to make, but it’s a much easier decision knowing so many people are willing to stand in your corner. 

Second time’s the charm. Let’s get it.