I occasionally run…

Sus will occasionally mention that I ran cross country when I was in middle or maybe, high school. When she says this, I remember the dank smell of wet grass and sweat. I think of bumpy school bus rides and lukewarm, mushy orange slices. I recall pink cheeks and chafed thighs and mostly feeling like I was slower than everyone else, always.   

I want to correct her in those moments, tell whomever that I wasn’t really a runner, not really, and maybe include that I’m not really a runner now, either. I want to share that I love the videos on social media where elite runners say that if you run you are a runner, but I’m not sure I believe them. I want to, but I’m not sure I know how. And that’s not to say that I don’t think of others as runners. That’s only to say that I’m not sure I am, and I’m not interested in exploring the logic.

In addition to roasted chickpea recipes and cuddly baby animals, my algorithm for the better part of three years as shown me the crème de la crème of runners. Not just any runners, not just fast runners, but the incredibly distinctive group of humans who run ultra marathons. These are individuals who run distances longer than a marathon, which is 26.2 miles. These are humans who run for hours and days, covering thirty, fifty, and even 200 miles.

I think Sally McRae was the first runner I stumbled upon. Sally is a professional mountain and ultra runner. She quite literally runs up and down mountains. To say I am in awe of her physical prowess and mental fortitude would be woefully inadequate. She is an absolute wonder. And to be clear, Sally may be a magical human, but her success comes from unrelenting and staggering effort. She puts in hours of work to train her body and tune her mind for these super-human events that she participates in.

I followed Sally for a year or more and something started to itch. I wanted to do what she does, or I wanted to attempt a fraction of it, anyway. It felt insane and impossible and still, it felt important to explore. I wanted to understand the depth of my own fortitude. I wanted to really know what it would be like to push myself to the furthest reaches of my abilities, what it might feel like and what the results might be.

I wasn’t really scared at the time because it felt incredibly far-fetched. It felt like any goal even close to an ultra was beyond my reach, so the trying was just that, trying. And I was good with trying.

I hired a coach. You know this if you’ve followed me before, because that in itself was challenging. When you don’t feel like a runner, it’s hard to justify hiring an expert to help with that thing that you don’t really do. But I did. I trusted the process and I hired myself a coach. I also disclaimed in a way that was borderline shameless. I ended the first conversation with my coach by sharing the sentiment that I really wanted to run an ultra, just once, and I wasn’t sure that I could, but I intended to try like hell.

And I did. I put the work in exactly as it was prescribed for me. I ran long distances at easy pace, and shorter distances with speed pushes. I did hill workouts and light strength and so much yoga and stretching. I experienced exhaustion like I never have before, and found myself emotional on more than one occasion. I had aches and pains and mental blocks, but I pushed through all of it. I was singularly minded: I wanted to make it to the end of my training cycle. I wanted to attempt my 50K. If I was going to fail, I wanted to go down while trying.

I hit my taper, and as I’ve shared, I fell apart. I was flooded with self-doubt, anxiety, and mind-numbing fear. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it. Sure, I had trained with dedication and perseverance for ten months, but now I had to actually do it. I had to push my body through a trail course for thirty-one miles.

I had already adopted a narrative where it didn’t matter whether I finished or not, and then, on the cusp of the thing, when faced with the possibility, I was paralyzed with the notion of that reality. I had told as few people as possible but still, people knew. And more importantly, I knew. I had worked so hard for so long, what would that mean if I couldn’t get it done?

My coach told me a story about a friend, a running buddy, who was an incredible runner who had trained, and killed it at a 100K distance race not long ago, and still, couldn’t finish his most recent 50K race. Coach sought to reassure me by advising that this friend had gone out over the following weekend and done the damn thing. This was meant to show me that sometimes the elements are against us and no matter what we do, we just have a day that doesn’t work in our favor. This was meant to be supportive and like a warm hug during a tough time. Instead, I panicked. I obsessed over the idea of trying and not completing my race and then, feeling compelled to run the damn thing on the streets of my neighborhood.

I felt entirely defeated.

And really, I was nauseas until my second wind at eight miles. I was fearful and out of my mind until my mom hugged me, and my cousin showed up to run a lap with me and I had an electrolyte tablet and some caffeine. I was uncertain and really, had no faith in my ability to do the damn thing. And then, I did. And I did. I did it. I finished a 50K. I ran 31.07 miles, on trail. I was on my feet for six hours and forty-four minutes and I fucking did it.

Maybe you are wondering the point of all of this race jitter rambling.

This is all to say that we can do hard things, as humans. I am not suggesting that we can do all the things, but there are things that we can do, if we set our heart and mind to the task. If we are willing to be humble and open, we can accomplish more than we even dream of. It we are able to listen to others with patience and the understanding that there is so much we don’t know, if we are able to be brave and consistent, I have seen that what we can accomplish is nothing short of spectacular.

It’s easy to give up. It’s easy to believe the naysayers and doom thinkers and people who will tell you to lean into the fear because of jealousy or projected worry. It’s easy to take a day or two or three off. It’s easy to decide that it’s just too damn hard.

But the hard stuff, boy does it pay off. The hard stuff is a gift. A delicious, fulfilling present that you can give yourself.

Things don’t always work out the way we want them to, that’s the truth, but I love knowing that I’ve always given it my absolute best shot. Always.

Always have, always will.

Do hard things. Believe in yourself. Dream big. Give yourself grace.

X

L.