Countdown to VT: The Why

Beyond exhaustion, into the great unknown

In the final installment of our countdown to the Vermont 50 this Sunday, we tackle the existential question all runners must answer: Why? 

Previously in this series, we discussed race day gear, lessons learned during training, and fueling strategy. These posts are free and unlocked for all subscribers. Please consider becoming a paid member of the RP community. 

The first steps of every run are always the toughest. Muscles ache, tendons throb, you feel every bit your age. Still, you know this condition is only temporary. 

Via some combination of muscle memory and physiological alchemy, your body will eventually unlock a cadence where you can exist free of trouble, strife, or worry. Of this, you have no doubt. 

On good days, this transformation may allow you to tap into a flow where everything feels exactly perfect. On others, it may be more of a struggle. As runners, we lean into those experiences as well, because they reveal much about ourselves.

The goal of your run is neither bliss nor pain. It’s simply allowing yourself the opportunity to be present and engaged. That’s when the world begins to take on different qualities. Things you never noticed before become more resonant. Life itself seems more vibrant. 

A recent piece in the Washington Post suggested that “experiencing awe” can lead to lower levels of stress along with a deeper sense of meaning about the world, and our place in it. 

Awe has two fundamental components, say researchers who study the emotion. It is a response to encountering something more vast, complex, or mind-blowing than we had conceived of either physically or conceptually. The experience also induces a change in how we see the world, producing “little earthquakes in the mind.”

I have found this to be true. On many runs, something will happen that shakes the magma of complacency deep in my core, opening my mind to fresh ideas and new possibilities. The moment may be subtle, profound, or even deeply spiritual, but it’s real. I can feel it. 

This occurs during workouts when I turn myself inside out and test my limits. It happens during long runs when I come across a coyote amid wild flowers, nature showing its teeth, as well as its beauty. It mostly happens on easy runs when everything slows down and is given a chance to breathe. 

When people ask me why I run as much as I do, I can point to these moments as examples of a life well led. On some level, isn’t the pursuit of meaningful experiences why we’re here? 

For me, and I suspect many of you reading this, running isn’t merely a hobby or a way of staying fit. It’s a vehicle for experiencing the world as it really is; from the lowest of the lows to its awe-inspiring grandeur.  

There have been many mornings over the past few months when I have woken up an hour before daybreak completely and utterly exhausted. Fumbling around in the darkness for my shoes, wondering how I’m going to run however many miles at whatever pace is in my training plan. 

In these moments, I’ve discovered there is a space beyond exhaustion where neither fear nor hope have any utility, for they are useless concepts. This is the space I live to explore. I hold it sacred, and at times, crave its existence. 

As I’ve become a more efficient runner, I’ve found that I need to go deeper than ever before to reach this place of equanimity. I not only need to go farther in terms of distance, but further into my psyche to draw it out. That means more miles, more time spent on the trails, more energy devoted to this singular pursuit. 

This is hard on my family, I must admit. Even though I do everything I can to lessen their burden, my running schedule is still a cross they must bear. This has been the hardest training cycle of my life, not only because of the physical demands, but the emotional toll, as well. 

My wife has asked me where it’s going. I don’t have an answer to that question because I honestly don’t know where it’s going. The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to stop. 

This is me, I say. Running is an expression of who I am. 

And who am I, exactly? A 48-year-old, stay-at-home dad with a handful of moderately competitive results in local races, trying to prove that running this much is a valid use of my time. That it has purpose beyond my own ego. That it can affect people’s lives, or at least, offer a different perspective. 

Over the past two years since launching RP, I’ve received hundreds of messages from runnersof all backgrounds and abilities. Whether something I wrote changed their perception about a training variable, or motivated them to take on a new challenge, their responses are inspirational in their own right. Through running, complete strangers have exchanged empathy and humanity with one another.   

Is that valid? I’d like to think so, but real life is intruding on this idyllic little world I’ve tried to create. It’s all getting more complicated, and I’m forced to ask myself, again, where is this going? I keep running, hoping the answer will reveal itself eventually. 

Her hat tells no lies.

Ultras are not something you do by happenstance. They require dedication, sacrifice, and a willingness to suffer that’s far enough off the charts of normal human behavior to be considered crazy by the general populace. 

If you were to examine my life before I started running ultras, I’d be one of the last people you’d think would take on this kind of challenge. Not that I’m particularly lazy or undisciplined. I’ve just always had trouble staying on course. As for suffering, I’m no martyr. There’s enough pain in this world without looking for more. 

Yet, within all of us lies an ocean of untapped potential. As my runs grew longer, I discovered I had the capacity to grow stronger. This revelation was intriguing, and I became consumed with unlocking its mysteries. 

As it turns out, the answers are fairly obvious. Run lots of easy miles to build your base, mix in occasional workouts, go a little bit longer once a week. Rest, recover, repeat. Any running program worth its salt begins with those basic principles, and every runner who adheres to them will make progress over time.    

If you take nothing else from this piece, remember that each of us is capable of going beyond our limits and achieving what we thought was impossible. That may be completing a 5K, or a half, or it could be something completely unrelated to running. Just remember that it’s there, inside all of us, waiting to be explored. 

When I take the starting line for the Vermont 50 on Sunday, I will arrive with thousands of miles of training on my legs. Those legs have run over twisted roots and jagged rock. They have pounded unforgiving asphalt, sank in muddy puddles, and braved snow and ice. They have run as fast as they could churn, and they have climbed hills, slowly and methodically. 

Those legs are strong. They are powerful. They are not enough. 

Ultras are endurance contests of the mind. There is competition, yes, but the true battle rages within the brain of every runner brave enough to enter the race. You go into something like this knowing there will be moments of doubt and uncertainty, and that you will have to confront those feelings. There is no other option. 

Still, experience has taught me that if I go into an event with nothing but grim determination, I will not have a successful day. In order to feel good about my performance, my mind must be willing to embrace joy, as well as suffering. 

There’s a strategic component, as well. I will need to be patient for hours on end to execute my game plan, ensuring my body has enough fuel to make it to the finish. A finish, by the way, that is not guaranteed. 

Assuming everything goes reasonably well, or at least not horribly wrong, I must then be prepared to go beyond exhaustion and channel some inner force beyond comprehension. One can hope. 

The competition, then, is not with the other runners, but within each of us as individuals. There are no judges or juries on the course. Only we can determine whether our race was successful or not. 

Ultimately, an ultra is an invitation to push past our preconceived notions and experience awe in our surroundings, as well as ourselves. I’ll see you all on the other side of this journey.