Sidebar 1 - Do It While You Can

On our fifth morning abroad, we woke to the news that our favorite endurance run was terminating operations. It’s a very big run in a very small town. I got roped into it because a friend’s parents moved to the town. They raced because they were new, liked being outside, and wanted to actively commune with their neighbors.

It’s a grueling 30 mile trek along the continental divide. At the 25 mile mark, runners, hikers, and crawlers (some of them bawling), start a 1000 foot ascent that includes three separate summits in loose scree. Then they descend a steep goat trail and have to limp the last 5 miles to the finish.

Naturally, upon finishing the first time, these parents wanted to return for more. They’re just those kind of folks. What’s more? They wanted others to join in the fun. So they told their kids. And their kids told their friends. And over a span of nearly 10 years, they built a community of more than 40 runners that completed the race nearly 100 times in total.

Thursday night became Arrival Night and was accompanied with the Arrival Feast. Friday morning was for bakeries, grocery stores, thrifting, and chilling. Friday afternoon was Game Day followed by Run Fuel Feast (plain chicken breast, rice, and potato salad), then the standard long-winded pre-race meeting where we were reminded to drink lots of fluids and that it was way too late to do anything about performance. For the race director, even the night’s sleep immediately preceding the race was irrelevant. Then it was The Packing Hour followed by an early turn in.

Saturday morning we locked and loaded for a 4:30AM departure so that we could beat the buses to the porta-potties at the start. I made that trek to the start four times. I don’t think I ever rode in the same vehicle, or with the same set of people.

The chilly dawn pre-race jitters complete with dropped car keys, last minute potty runs, forgotten bags, and group photos just… can’t quite be replicated anywhere else. And then you’re off for an adventure that will take the group anywhere from 8 to 18 hours. While some of us were suffering, the smarter ones were napping, vacationing, exploring (typically in vehicles), and then setting up camp at the finish.

The steep descent about five miles from the finish drops runners out of cell service, so we created the norm of texting the group chat from there. That set a timer for the folks at the finish to be on the lookout about an hour and a half later. Every single runner that ever crossed the finish line with this particular group crossed to fanfare and personalized photographs. There were almost always giggles and squeals. Sometimes there were gross celebratory drinks. There were tears, family reunions, exhausted somersaults, quick trips to the first aid area, and always, always, a circle of proud supporters.

This treatment extended to folks who didn’t finish as well. Registration earned you approval and belonging. Starting earned you respect and a deeper camaraderie. After that, come what may. We were there to support each other. On course, we had shoes rip in half, undergarments go missing, knees that just couldn’t quite make it, and a host of other maladies that I’m sure will pepper any genAI list of “what to expect when you participate in a 30 mile endurance run…”

The race directors created an opportunity for us to live these moments instead of reading about them. They created a tapestry on which we could paint a beautiful and rewarding community. We lived it. And we loved it. I’ll forever be grateful for the invite, and for the memories.

Sunday morning typically came relatively early. Let’s call it Ouch Morning. Picture a penguin trying to cross sharp rocks. Then picture anywhere from five to a dozen more. Put them around an island chock full of delicious pastries and multiple carafes of coffee. Add in tupawares loaded with whatever cookies weren’t crammed away during the too-long pre-race meeting on Friday. Finally, imagine a few of the penguins sprawling on flat surfaces that won’t poke them uncomfortably.

That’s a good visual of Ouch Morning. Just eliminate any snickerdoodles from the cookie arrangement (those were surely disappeared by this point), and add in some nice veterinarians caring for the pathetic penguins and you’ve got it. Ouch Morning typically extended to languid Ouch Afternoon, which might include more board games with built in hobble, stretch, and massage breaks. In later years, massages extended to Spa Afternoon where we enjoyed a hot tub, a cold plunge, and an outdoor shower.

In my fourth finish of the 30 mile course, I posted a personal record: just shy of nine hours. A sort of milestone. On this particular Ouch Afternoon, we ventured into town for pizza and beer. Two particularly stiff penguins waddled by with their elderly parents in tow and we chatted about the experience. They had traveled 2000 miles to run the 60 mile version of the race. And they adamantly held that anyone who could run the 30 mile course in nine hours could surely run the 60 mile course.

I thought to myself: 60 miles in a single day? I don’t know about all that. I spent the next hour in quiet, distracted contemplation. Then resolved to finish the 60 mile course.

Addie and I trained for eight months, from before Thanksgiving through the following June. We sacrificed weekends, mornings, friend hangs, other hobbies. We ran, walked, lifted, meal prepped. She’d tell you she spent a lot of time looking at my backside surrounded by wilderness. Summing our totals, we ran almost 2500 miles.

Come race day, I happened to finish. But the experience, for me, was more about the five year long journey to that particular finish line than the moment of crossing it.

The run itself, too, has reached its destination. From our small crew, I know there are hundreds of stories of the journeys it enabled. I suspect there are millions of those stories around the world.

To the directors, merci beaucoup. Well done.

To the runners, this is a poignant reminder that we don’t control the opportunities that will present themselves to us. All we can do is choose our next trail, train, and invite our friends along as we forge ahead through new terrain.

After all, registration earns you approval and belonging. Starting earns you respect and a deeper camaraderie. From there, come what may. We are here to support each other.