Why I’m running 50 miles

There's so much to learn.

I’m running 50 miles on Sunday because I want to know what it feels like. I mean, I have a pretty good idea. My quads are going to be trashed, my stomach will probably blow up, and there may be times when I’d rather be anywhere else than out on the Vermont 50 course. 

Then again, who knows? Perhaps I’ll fall into an idyllic flowstate that will carry me up and over 9,000 feet of rolling New England countryside through the changing of the seasons in an autumnal wonderland. That would be nice. Unlikely, but nice.  

What I love about running is it doesn't make its intentions known until you’re right there in the thick of it; feeling every muscle in your body, questioning your intentions all the way down to the core. If you allow yourself the grace to persevere during those difficult moments, you’re bound to learn something about who you are, and what makes you tick. 

When people ask me why I run, that’s pretty much the answer right there. You don’t need to cover an absurdly long distance for the experience to be valid, nor do you need to suffer. The challenge is what counts, whether it’s 50 miles or a 5K. You don’t even really need a race. Those flashes of insight can occur on an everyday basis, so long as you appreciate there is something inherently valuable about making the effort to put one foot in front of the other. 

At the start of training in early July, I began a Twitter thread updated with all my runs. Included in the posts were some relevant data points -- pace, heart rate, climb, etc. -- along with a short description of the run, and what it was trying to accomplish. My intent was to simply document the whole process, from the slow build up to the epic days. 

Paul Flannery @Pflanns

The first recovery run after a race is always weird. You’re rested but still sore. Frisky but wary. The solution is to keep it chill and consistent.

There were obvious limitations with the approach. For example, it was impossible to convey just how freaking epic some of those runs really were. It’s not everyday you knock out three sets of 3-mile tempos on the Appalachian Trail in late August humidity while battling morning spider webs, moth-sized mosquitoes, and the distinct feeling you’re being tracked. 

I never saw whatever it was that was following me, but it made sure to let me know it was watching. I’d like to think my new woodland friend was impressed with my dedication. I did see herons taking off from marshes and snakes curled around trees. There were bugs, so many bugs, and one time a large buck chased me down the trail. To be fair, I was going pretty fast and I think he was having fun stretching his legs. I know I was.  

I experienced so many once-in-a-lifetime moments during training that I’m still coming to terms with the whole process. I’ve never pushed my body so hard and demanded so much of myself, and I’ve never felt more sure of my purpose on this planet than being right there in those challenging moments. Not just experiencing them, but learning from them, growing, evolving.  

Try communicating that in a Twitter update. Of course, the vast majority of those training runs were not epic. Some were relatively easy outings that just about everyone can do. Many of them were slow, way slower than anyone in their right mind would brag about on social media. 

I wanted to show that you can accomplish great things by taking it one step at a time and not getting ahead of whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish. Take pride in the big moments because they are mighty, but also take comfort in the fact that there’s validation to be found in the mundane. 

By validation, I certainly don’t mean external. It was clear from the start there was a niche audience for this thread. That validation has to come from within, because the person I was most trying to convince that completing a 50-mile race was possible was me. When I started running consistently in my late 30s, I wasn’t even aware these kinds of races existed. Besides, the distance was too insane to be taken seriously. 

I’m officially in my late 40s now, and I have to be honest with myself, and with you. At the beginning of the training cycle, I had so little confidence in my ability to run 50 miles, that I vowed to resist any expression of optimism or cynicism until I had a clearer picture of what this was all about.

In retrospect, remaining non-judgmental throughout training was the most important decision I made. It allowed me to accept the physical and mental adaptations that were taking place without having to understand or them. 

The beauty of that thread is you can see hints and clues along the way. My pace starts to pick up, my HR begins to go down, my body becomes fit. Then the workouts kick in and the heavy mileage builds to a point where I was doing things I could never imagine doing. There were long runs, monster workouts, and finally, back-to-back long runs with monster workouts attached that stretched me so far beyond my limits I’ve begun reassessing what those limits really are, or if they’re even there at all. 

I can also see the exact moment when I believed that running 50 miles was possible.

The face of a human who has been through some stuff.

It was at that point of utter exhaustion mixed with the satisfaction of knowing that I had given everything I had to give, when my coach, Avery Collins, told me, “You’re an ultrarunner now.” Coming from a veteran of some of the toughest races in the world, Avery’s words carry a lot of weight. My immediate thought was, “Huh. So that’s what it feels like.” 

I never set out to become an ultrarunner, and I’m still not convinced that I am one. Maybe I’ll feel differently after the race. Maybe not. I don’t think it’s really important either way. All I know is that after completing the training, I am a different person, and I’m not entirely sure what that means yet. Perhaps this race will provide the answer, but I tend to think it’ll be just one more piece of a puzzle that will never totally be solved. 

I’m cool with that. When I ran my first 50K a few years ago, I went into the race with no expectations or goals, other than to finish and to remain present throughout the day. That strategy worked out pretty well, except for the wrong turn that added three very unnecessary miles toward the end. 

When I crossed the finish line that had been literally drawn in the dirt hours earlier, I knew I had passed through something much greater than a line in the sand. I’d like to experience that feeling again, minus the wrong turn. So, I’m going into this race with those same goals and expectations. Finish and find out.  

Does my story resonate with you? Is it applicable to your own experience? If so, I think you’d like the community we have at Running, Probably. There are runners of all descriptions from competitive racers to occasional joggers. We also have non-runners who relate the things we talk about to their own pursuits and experiences, whether it’s triathletes, cyclists, yogis, or walkers.  

It’s an amazing group of people and I’m proud that RP exists because creating a space like that on the Internet has been a goal of mine ever since I ran that first 50K. There are lots of places to go online to read about running. Many of them are free and informative, some of them are sketchy. 

I wanted this newsletter to be different. I wanted to explore what it means to be a runner with no preconditions attached. The first, and only, rule of RP is simply: If you run, you’re a runner. No equivocations, no time trials, no self-imposed restrictions allowed. 

By tearing down the arbitrary limits we put on ourselves, we created a place where people can talk about their goals and aspirations without fear of being judged or mocked. It’s a place where we can all learn from one another, and hopefully, feel just a little bit better about the world. To be sure, there’s also hardcore training stuff, along with workout tips, gear guides, and plenty of recipes. 

At its heart, RP is about accepting that life is inherently difficult. Through running, or other forms of exercise, we can construct a framework to deal with everyday challenges. That’s why we’re all here, right? To keep moving forward, and in the process, discover something real and important about who we are, and what we’re all about. 

If my words have moved or inspired or resonated, please consider joining us with a paid subscription. I’ll do my best to make it worth your while.