I have known Krissy, Hal, and numerous others through the sport, for many years, but the totality of our interactions would likely barely rate ‘acquaintance’ status in most other walks of life. Yet somehow whenever the trails of our lives do intersect, that limited time spent at the junction yields a sum of experience much greater than the timepieces would seem capable of producing.
The line of ultrarunners that have come forward over the years to speak openly about their battles with depression is long and illustrious; and that darkness is often confusing when held against the light of their accomplishments and the boundless energy and enthusiasm permeating this sport. And it is impossible to ignore the implications; it seems no kind or amount of success or communal recognition affords illimitable immunity.
We’re all essentially on David Byrne’s road to nowhere, often wondering, ‘How did I get here?’ A choose your own adventure novel where we’re constantly being forced to decide which page to turn to before continuing a story of which we desperately want to sneak a final paragraph peek.
Seeing a DNF (did not finish) next to your name can be disheartening for a runner. For me it was my first 100-mile race, the H.U.R.T. 100, a race in the rainforest-plush mountains above Honolulu in January. After doing more of a death march than a run, I had to drop at mile 67. Little did I know the impact it would have on my life.
The young woman was in last place at the Kokanee Trail Runs. She walked into our aid station that morning with her pink long-sleeve shirt tied tightly around her waist.
I’m not an ultrarunner; heck, I’m not really even a runner. I own the gym CrossFit Hyannis and most of my time is spent coaching and throwing around barbells, not throwing myself down mountains.
We have scoreboards in our minds that have our mileage or time goals posted prominently on them. We frequently determine victory or defeat, success or failure, solely on whether our final result meets or exceeds the goals that we posted on our scoreboards prior to the race. The scoreboard though, is not a true or definitive indicator of how well or how poorly a team (or ultrarunner) played (ran) in any given game (race).
This issue of UltraRunning is a new one – it is a “double issue” that combines both December and January. Previously we had a December issue that was followed by our big blast double issue – January/February with Ultrarunner of the Year (UROY) and Year-end statistics. But timing and logistics made it extremely difficult to complete the UROY voting process, tally all the year’s races and prepare an entertaining magazine by the January deadline.
The idea of running non-stop for 100 miles would cause most folks to contemplate a rather long list of difficulties they might encounter. Instead, a clear narrative unfolds in my head of happily gliding through the woods basked in sunlight, merrily bantering with fellow runners while singing birds guide us along. What could possibly go wrong?
All last week I dreamed of today’s run, 22 miles on trails north of Mt. Rainier. Hours of tranquility and beauty.
Why would a 23-year-old want to run 100-miles? Because working towards a goal larger than life and crushing it just slingshot my life into overdrive.
In August 2015, on the sixth day of a cycling trip from Vienna, Austria to Venice, Italy, a dog ran into my bicycle and the resulting concussion changed our lives.
Because Patsy’s focus in training and racing was not on the numbers, the splits or the race plan, but rather on the health and well-being of others, she surpassed previously held notions of her own personal limits. Because she knew that as the only woman from Puerto Rico to have ever run 100 miles, that she could inspire her people to endure and come together, Patsy was able to run better than ever.
Covering a lot of distance on foot is what ultrarunning is all about. And one of the best ways to do it is to just set aside a full day and pick an audacious route that traverses beautiful natural places.
Recently some friends and I did just that – the fabled Rim to Rim to Rim of the Grand Canyon.
A friend asked me, “Why would you enter a 100-mile ultramarathon? It just seems so outlandish for an otherwise rational thinking person to wish to endure such torture.” My answer was long and he seemed to understand when I was finished. It is my soul that I am searching for out there in the midst of what you called torture.
Participation in mountain, ultra and trail (MUT) races continues to grow by leaps and bounds each year. However, many people in the sport have little understanding of the role that USA Track & Field (USATF) plays in the MUT world. As a MUT representative with USATF and a member of multiple US Teams for World Championships, my goal with this article is to shed some light on that relationship and its history, as well as the history and structure of various World Championships in MUT.
Do I trust myself to do the training, to put in the hours required? To show up for myself, even if that means pulling the plug when my ego really doesn’t want to? Do I trust myself to not listen to the brain when it says “Stop!” when it is only pain, and not actually debilitating? Do I trust myself to know the difference?
Rules; who likes ’em? Nobody.
Who needs ’em? Everybody.
Running ultras is supposed to be fun. The last thing we want to deal with is having a bunch of rules to worry about. Unfortunately, ultrarunning is practiced by humans. And, without rules, some of those humans are bound to take liberties with what might seem innately obvious.
Without trails our sport would not exist. Sure there are road ultras and many “trail” ultras entail portions along fireroads, tow paths, running tracks and, gasp, even pavement. But if you look at the most popular and iconic ultras, they all include some epic trails. So yes, we need them.
Whether you’re an ultrarunner, a musician, or in my case, both – you’re never ready for The Call when you get The Call.
There are many things about ultrarunning that are hard to describe, and even harder to understand. The Spartathlon, a 153-mile race from Athens to Sparta, is one of them.