My God... Why?

Everyone who runs ultras gets this question. Why? Why would you do that? Sometimes it is kind of fun, sometimes it gets tiresome. But it is a fair question. 200+ milers, for example, take a ton of preparation, training, gear, and lifestyle mods that all amount to a large amount of time and money. And sacrifices from other people, whether they are family members, crew members, pacers, etc. So why would you choose to do that with all of that time, money, and sacrifice? You could pick a lot of things to do with that.

I assume if anyone who runs races like these really takes the time to think about it, they will come up with their own reason(s). Some, if truly honest, may realize that they are doing it for attention, or likes, or other people's reactions. This seems like a fleeting and ultimately insufficient reason, but maybe not. For some it is the amazing community of like-minded people trying to do really hard things and helping each other along the way. For some it is competition. For some it is a relatively safe, supported way to travel through amazing parts of the world. There are probably a million more reasons that are just as good as any other.

But I think there are two kinds of why. There is the why that gets you to the start and the why that gets you from start to finish. Maybe they are the same but maybe not. For me, what gets me to the start, and the somewhat flippant answer I usually throw out when asked, is a combination of these:

• I love adventures in wild places

• I love competition

• I love my brother

That is easily enough to get me excited to register, train, travel, and pay for all it takes to get to every race as prepared as I can. I love thinking about how to train and prepare and I can't wait to be in the mountains in the middle of the night, pushing to move as fast as I can, and sharing it all with my younger brother.

And sometimes, once in a while, in the middle of a race, you get to touch something different and amazing. Flow and runner's high don't capture it at all. Highs and lows are inevitable in long races and runner's high is great. And at some point in a long race I will occasionally no longer feel like I'm fighting against the course, and I see that I'm running with it. The effort decreases and everything gets simpler as it feels like I'm finally aligned with the course and running downstream. That is great and what I think of as flow. But that's just on the way to what I'm talking about. Sometimes, somewhere in the later stages of a multi-day race, in the midst of sleep deprivation, hunger, and fatigue, the whole thing changes. Sometimes, very rarely, the boundary between me and the mountain and the woods starts to fade and I'm no longer moving with them. Or in them. I am them. I recognize that I just am another interdependent part of the landscape and that there is no boundary between us. That there isn't me and the world, there is just the world, and moving from one part to another is like recognizing that I have two hands. I don't move from one to the other, I just am both and they are both me. I am inextricably part of the world I'm in and getting from one part to another is just recognizing that I am both places. Nothing teleports and I'm not suddenly at the finish line. And when the feeling fades I again see that I am separate from the world and still trying to move between places, but all with the lingering sense that feeling that way is not quite right. If you haven't had this experience none of this will make sense (not sure it does even if you have), but for me it is an experience worth pursuing and running has been one way for me to get there.

In the end, however, I think that the real why is what you turn to when things get really bad. Not just hard. Really, really bad. When you are so tired and in so much pain that all of the gear, training, preparation, community, likes, etc. fade away and all that is left is discomfort and despair. When all the motivation is gone and what is left is the seemingly endless darkness of self-doubt and fear. The overwhelming sense that it all hurts too much and you aren't fit enough or strong enough to go on. That you have limits and what this race requires is beyond that limit. That you just aren't enough.

This experience is what I'm looking for. The opportunity to be faced with the prospect that I am not enough. That I can't. That I have a limit and I cannot do anymore. And that all I have to do in order to feel better is to stop. Stop, and I get to sit, sleep, shower, and rest. The gift of ultrarunning, particularly multi-day ultrarunning, is the chance to truly doubt yourself and feel that you cannot do more. And then to do more. To face the looming doubt and scratch, claw, and fight against it to take one more step. Then go one more mile. Then get to one more aid station. And then realize you never had to stop. This, for me, is the true promise of 200+ mile races. It gives me the chance to show myself that the limit that I thought I had was always just a story that I was telling myself. That the fear and doubt were just an idea and the limit was never really there. And past what I thought it was is the huge, unknown possibility of what I actually can do and who I actually am. That, to me, is an extraordinary opportunity and a space worth exploring. So when things are really, really hard and I feel the doubt grow up from the pain, this is why I try remind myself that the limit is the why.