Finding joy

What’s time when compared with happiness?

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I’m running the Vermont 50 on Sunday, which feels a bit surreal after everything that’s happened recently. To wit: My primary race was canceled in July because of flooding in Vermont, my chakras went full tilt in late August, and we just survived a two-week Covid ordeal where only one person in our house got sick. (Masks work, guys.) 

At various points this summer, I wasn’t sure if this race would actually take place because of lasting damage from the floods, or if I really wanted to participate. Given that I accomplished everything I wanted to accomplish at last year’s event, there’s not much left for me to prove. 

Set a PR? Move up 5-10 spots? Be competitive in my age group? 

All of those things would be cool, and if we’re making a race day goal checklist they’d be on my personal punchcard. Still, there has to be more to this than personal glory and external validation. When you really get down to it, the only person who truly cares about your goals is you. 

“The goals you have are totally imposed on yourself, by yourself. You're the one who creates these fantasies in your head. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter who you are: No one gives a damn about your goals.” – Avery Collins 

Avery said that to me back in May and it stopped me in my tracks because he’s absolutely right. Sure, there are people on your side who want you to do well, but think about it from their perspective. They’re invested in you, not your precious time goals. 

If you’re happy, they’re happy, and if your happiness is dependent on running a sub 10-hour 50-miler, then they’ll do everything they can to help you achieve your goal. Honestly, they don’t care about any of that. They just want you to feel good about yourself, and please, for the love of God, try not to get injured.  

So this year, rather than time or place, my primary race goal is to have fun. Real fun, from start to finish. I mean, when you think about it, what could be more fun than running on an early fall Sunday in Vermont? 

Magic.

With experience comes wisdom. I’ve run this course enough to know that it’s best thought of in terms of sections between crew stations. There’s a beginning, a middle, and an end. Each section contains its own identity and purpose. 

For the first 12 miles, my goal is to have the biggest smile on my face no matter what the day throws my way. Doesn’t matter if it’s rain or cold or humidity, I’m ready for anything. When I see my family for the first time, I want to be laughing and loose. There’s another goal: Every time I see my crew, try to laugh and have fun.

It’s a long 19 miles until I see them again, so my focus for this section is to relax and enjoy the day. There are some incredible sights along the way: horses and green hills and red barns radiating autumn perfection. It’s like running in a postcard. 

At Mile 31, my gratitude will know no bounds for my family who has been up with me since 4 in the morning. I will try to hug them. They will be like – ick dad, no – as they gingerly hand me a towel and a fresh shirt. I will hug them anyway (after drying off) because I love them. No apologies. 

Best crew ever.

If all goes well, my race will officially begin here, with a section that has humbled me over the years. This series of unrelenting switchbacks is incredibly aggravating to run because they don't allow you to generate any momentum or flow. 

It took me 105 minutes to complete this 7-mile section last year, an average pace of 15 minutes per mile. My goal is to take 15 minutes off the overall time, an ambitious target, but we trained specifically for this moment. 

The key is to never give in mentally. Just continue to push forward. No quit, no surrender. This is when my competitive spark needs to flicker, and I kind of think it will based on everything we’ve done since July. (Seriously, shoutout to Avery who pushed all the right buttons this summer, even while he was training and racing in Slovenia.) 

Assuming my fuse stays lit, my goal will then be to race my heart out and ride the wave for as long as I can. Last year’s mantra was “Make it hurt,” but I’m hesitant to drink from that cup again this year. Maybe something like, “Find your joy.” Yeah, that’ll work. 

Regardless of how I’m doing, my goal coming into the final crew station at Mile 47 is to extend kindness to my family for supporting me on this journey. (I’ll probably be too tired for hugs, but no promises!) 

Sure, there’s one final monster climb literally staring down at me from the top of Mt. Ascutney, but I’ve been here before. What’s one more hill after I’ve been through so much already? 

And when you finally reach the top of the climb, all that’s left is to smash your turbo button one final time by going full send all the way through the final downhill chute. Leave absolutely nothing on the table because after crossing the finish line, the only thing I want to be able to say is, “Man, that was fun.” 

Taken two years ago. Let’s find that spark again.