A little old, a little long.... and, dammit, a little preachy

Gratuitous picture of lush grassy trails

“That’s a lot of K’s”

There it was again, that awkward moment when the fact that I’ve run an ultramarathon comes up in conversation.    Yes, I ran 50k. Yes that is literally 10 TIMES farther than a 5k. Yes, I’m planning to do it again.  It’s a weird conversation to engage in actually.   I regularly interact with people for whom finishing a 5K without walking is a major goal and when I hear of their success, I am genuinely happy for them.   Somehow however,   the conversation eventually turns to if I’ve run any 5Ks or other races.    It usually goes something like this:

“Have you run any races?” asks the new acquaintance.  We’ve just bonded by being runners. A new running friend!

“Yeah, but I’ve only run in a handful of events,” I respond while hoping this doesn’t go the way it normally does.  The statement is true, I’ve participated in exactly 5  organized races.

“Oh cool, what was the longest one you did?”, my new runner-friend asks expectantly.

“I ran  a 50k last year” I respond. Yep, this is going downhill fast.

“Oh, 50k.... how far is that?”

   

“It’s 31 miles.”

“Wow, that’s longer than a marathon right?   I could never do that, that’s crazy”

So it goes, with remarkable predictability. I usually offer some vague comment about how yeah, it’s a long way and shift the conversation to something else.  Sometimes I’ll try to make them feel better by telling them that I’d prefer to run 50K than 5K because a 5K is so painful. (This is really true – a 50K is hard, but it’s mostly an eating and drinking competition with some scenery thrown in.  A 5k race is a lactic acid firestorm from hell. Before my 50K I was excited.  Before every 5K I’ve run I felt lightheaded and nauseated from anxiety) Goodbye running friend. Unless they ask, I never tell them the truly crazy part.    It was all off-road and on trails with hills and rocks and roots and mud and treacherous footing.    I never mention I only really started training to run in March, only 6 months before the event.    I never talk about how on race day I executed my plan perfectly and crushed my goal time by over 40 minutes. I sure as heck don't discuss that I'm going  back to do it again, with the goal of lowering my time by over an hour.

Maybe I should. Maybe I ought to tell them all of that and more.

Because the only really crazy thing in the above conversation is the line “I could never do that”.

Today marks 5 months since my father passed and   the pain is still searing and sharp.   When I’m missing him I focus on the good memories and the valuable lessons he taught me.   One of the better lessons he shared is that life isn’t fair.  As he put it, everyone is dealt a different hand in life. It seems odd that a man whom I never knew to play cards would use playing cards as an analogy, but his point was simply this:

Not everyone has the same gifts and talents.  Everyone has their own struggles and demons to contend with.  There is no point in getting worked up over what someone else has in terms of natural gifts, you have to put your energy into the gifts you have and the things you can control. 

When  it comes to running or other athletic events,  I am woefully average.   The fictitious person above would probably disagree, but all of my life experiences point to me being neither the fastest or slowest, strongest or weakest, or the most or  the least coordinated person in a given athletic endeavor.  That doesn't mean I haven’t been successful however.    Following my father’s advice, I’ve always put my energy into the things I can control: training and effort.    In high school I played varsity basketball and I would practice free throws in the winter even if it meant I had to shovel the driveway.  I spent an entire summer improving my vertical jump, even on the days when I would also be working 10 hours on the farm. 

As a runner, I’m particularly disadvantaged.  I have a body that can gain weight just sniffing a donut.   I have asthma.  I’m tall and heavy, meaning my body is more susceptible to injury.  I also have allergies to most of the outside environment, making it hard to breathe for most of the spring and summer.  My maximum heart rate is EXACTLY what that stupid generic Max HR=220-AGE formula predicts. In terms of physical gifts, I am woefully average or worse in all things except desire. I want to succeed at running ultra marathons and I’m willing to work my ass off for it; I’m not willing to let self-imposed limitations stand in my way.   Regardless of what my physical gifts are, the thing I can control is my effort. 

I remember watching some inspirational videos on YouTube a while back and there was a line that really resonated with me.  “When you want to be successful more than you want to sleep, then you can be successful.”   I’m not sure why I want to run ultra marathons, but I know without a shadow of doubt that I do.  Instead of saying “I could never do that”, I take my limited physical gifts and go to work.  I research training methods. I sought out a training partner.  I am conscious about what I eat.   I put “I could never do that” in the closet with the other excuses of “I’m tired”, “I don’t have time”, or “That’s too far for me”. 

The thing I really hate about the above conversation is that the person I’m talking to is often left feeling somewhat deflated and it’s clear they feel like their accomplishment doesn’t amount to much. That’s nonsense.  Everyone has a different set of cards to play, and if you’re playing yours as best you can, then you ought to be damn proud of your accomplishment.  If you want to run an ultramarathon, you can.  It’s not much further than a marathon really.